The Collected Western Classics & Adventures Novels. William MacLeod Raine
it must have cost y'u quite a bit. Not that y'u'll miss it where you are going,” he hastened to add.
“It was very like you to revenge yourself on dumb animals.”
“Think so?” The “King's” black gaze rested on him. “Y'u'll sing a different song soon Mr. Bannister. It's humans I'll drive next time and don't y'u forget it.”
“If you get the chance,” amended his cousin gently.
“I'll get the chance. I'm not worrying about that. And about those sheep—any man that hasn't got more sense than to run sheep in a cow country ought to lose them for his pig-headedness.
“Those sheep were on the right side of the dead-line. You had to cross it to reach them.” Their owner's steady eyes challenged a denial.
“Is that so? Now how do y'u know that? We didn't leave the herder alive to explain that to y'u, did we?”
“You admit murdering him?”
“To y'u, dear cousin. Y'u see, I have a hunch that maybe y'u'll go join your herder right soon. Y'u'll not do much talking.”
The sheepman fell back. “I think I'll ride alone.”
Rage flared in the other's eye. “Too good for me, are y'u, my mealy-mouthed cousin? Y'u always thought yourself better than me. When y'u were a boy you used to go sneaking to that old hypocrite, your grandfather—”
“You have said enough,” interrupted the other sternly. “I'll not hear another word. Keep your foul tongue off him.”
Their eyes silently measured strength.
“Y'u'll not hear a word!” sneered the chief of the rustlers. “What will y'u do, dear cousin?
“Stand up and fight like a man and settle this thing once for all.”
Still their steely eyes crossed as with the thrust of rapiers. The challenged man crouched tensely with a mighty longing for the test, but he had planned a more elaborate revenge and a surer one than this. Reluctantly he shook his head.
“Why should I? Y'u're mine. We're four to two, and soon we'll be a dozen to two. I'd like a heap to oblige y'u, but I reckon I can't afford to just now. Y'u will have to wait a little for that bumping off that's coming to y'u.”
“In that event I'll trouble you not to inflict your society on me any more than is necessary.”
“That's all right, too. If y'u think I enjoy your conversation y'u have got another guess coming.”
So by mutual consent the sheepman fell in behind the blatant youth who had wearied McWilliams so and rode in silence.
It was again getting close to nightfall. The slant sun was throwing its rays on less and less of the trail. They could see the shadows grow and the coolness of night sift into the air. They were pushing on to pass the rim of a great valley basin that lay like a saucer in the mountains in order that they might camp in the valley by a stream all of them knew. Dusk was beginning to fall when they at last reached the saucer edge and only the opposite peaks were still tipped with the sun rays. This, too, disappeared before they had descended far, and the gloom of the great mountains that girt the valley was on all their spirits, even McWilliams being affected by it.
They were tired with travel, and the long night watches did not improve tempers already overstrained with the expectation of a crisis too long dragged out. Rain fell during the night, and continued gently in a misty drizzle after day broke. It was a situation and an atmosphere ripe for tragedy, and it fell on them like a clap of thunder out of a sodden sky.
Hughie was cook for the day, and he came chill and stiff-fingered to his task. Summer as it was, there lay a thin coating of ice round the edges of the stream, for they had camped in an altitude of about nine thousand feet. The “King” had wakened in a vile humor. He had a splitting headache, as was natural under the circumstances and he had not left in his bottle a single drink to tide him over it. He came cursing to the struggling fire, which was making only fitful headway against the rain which beat down upon it.
“Why didn't y'u build your fire on the side of the tree?” he growled at Hughie.
Now, Hughie was a tenderfoot, and in his knowledge of outdoor life he was still an infant. “I didn't know—” he was beginning, when his master cut him short with a furious tongue lashing out of all proportion to the offense.
The lad's face blanched with fear, and his terror was so manifest that the bully, who was threatening him with all manner of evils, began to enjoy himself. Chalkeye, returning from watering the horses, got back in time to hear the intemperate fag-end of the scolding. He glanced at Hughie, whose hands were trembling in spite of him, and then darkly at the brute who was attacking him. But he said not a word.
The meal proceeded in silence except for jeers and taunts of the “King.” For nobody cared to venture conversation which might prove a match to a powder magazine. Whatever thoughts might be each man kept them to himself.
“Coffee,” snapped the single talker, toward end of breakfast.
Hughie jumped up, filled the cup that was handed him and set the coffee pot back on fire. As he handed the tin cup with the coffee to the outlaw the lad's foot slipped on a piece wet wood, and the hot liquid splashed over his chief's leg. The man jumped to his feet in a rage and struck the boy across the face with his whip once, and then again.
“By God, that'll do for you!” cried Chalkeye from the other side of the fire, springing revolver in hand. “Draw, you coyote! I come a-shooting.”
The “King” wheeled, finding his weapon he turned. Two shots rang out almost simultaneously, and Chalkeye pitched forward. The outlaw chief sank to his knees, and, with one hand resting on the ground to steady himself fired two more shots into the twitching body on the other side of the fire. Then he, too, lurched forward and rolled over.
It had come to climax so swiftly that not one of them had moved except the combatants. Bannister rose and walked over to the place where the body of his cousin lay. He knelt down and examined him. When he rose it was with a very grave face.
“He is dead,” he said quietly.
McWilliams, who had been bending over Chalkeye, looked up. “Here, too. Any one of the shots would have finished him.”
Bannister nodded. “Yes. That first exchange killed them both.” He looked down at the limp body of his cousin, but a minute before so full of supple, virile life. “But his hate had to reach out and make sure, even though he was as good as dead himself. He was game.” Then sharply to the young braggart, who had risen and was edging away with a face of chalk: “Sit down, y'u! What do y'u take us for? Think this is to be a massacre?”
The man came back with palpable hesitancy. “I was aiming to go and get the boys to bury them. My God, did you ever see anything so quick? They drilled through each other like lightning.”
Mac looked him over with dry contempt. “My friend, y'u're too tender for a genuwine A1 bad man. If I was handing y'u a bunch of advice it would be to get back to the prosaic paths of peace right prompt. And while we're on the subject I'll borrow your guns. Y'u're scared stiff and it might get into your fool coconut to plug one of us and light out. I'd hate to see y'u commit suicide right before us, so I'll just natcherally unload y'u.”
He was talking to lift the strain, and it was for the same purpose that Bannister moved over to Hughie, who sat with his face in his hands, trying to shut out the horror of what he had seen.
The sheepman dropped a hand on his shoulder gently. “Brace up, boy! Don't you see that the very best thing that could have happened is this. It's best for y'u, best for the rest of the gang and best for the whole cattle country. We'll have peace here at last. Now he's gone, honest men are going to breathe easy. I'll take y'u in hand and set y'u at work on one of my stations, if y'u like. Anyhow, you'll have a chance to begin life again in a better way.”
“That's right,” agreed the blatant youth. “I'm sick of rustling the