Part 16 (2/2)
Hornaby b.u.t.tered no parsnips. ”You go right back,” said he, ”and kick out that bonehead marshal of yours and put a full-sized man into his place, a man that will cut that gun-play out and distribute a few of those plug-uglies over the landscape. What chance have I got in this Legislature as the 'Senator from Brimstone Center'? I'll never get shet of that fool tag whilst I'm up here.”
”You certainly have a right to be sore,” the judge admitted. ”But it ain't no boy's job, cleaning up our little burg. It's going to be good, stiff work. I don't know who to put into it.”
”I do.”
”Who?”
”My foreman, Ed Kelley.”
”I don't know him.”
”Well, I do. He's only been with me a few months, but I've tried him and he's all right. He's been all over the West, knows the greasers and Injuns, and can take care of himself anywhere. The man don't live that can scare him. You notice his eyes! He's got a glare like the muzzle of a silver-plated double-barrel shotgun. He don't know what fear is. I've seen him in action, and I know.”
The judge was impressed. ”Will the board accept him?”
”They've _got_ to accept him or go plumb to the devil down there. These articles and speeches have put us in wrong with the whole state. This wild West business has got to be cut out. It scares away capital. Now you get busy!”
The judge went back resolved upon a change of administration. The const.i.tuent who held the office of marshal was brave enough, but he had grown elderly and inert. He was, in truth, a joke. The gamblers laughed at him and the cowboys ”played horse” with him. The spirit of deviltry was stronger than it had ever been in the history of the county.
”Something religious has got to be done,” the judge argued to the city fathers, and, having presented Hornaby's message, demanded the installation of Kelley.
The board listened attentively, but were unconvinced. ”Who is this Kelley? He's nothing but a tramp, a mounted hobo. Who knows him?”
”Hornaby knows him and wants him, and his order goes. Let's have him in and talk with him, anyhow.”
Kelley was called in. He showed up a tall, composed young fellow of thirty, with weather-worn face and steady gray eyes in which the pupils were unusually small and very dark blue. His expression was calm and his voice pleasant. He listened in amused silence while the judge told him what the program was. Then he said:
”That's a whale of a job you've laid out for me; but Hornaby's boss. All is, if I start in on this, you fellows have got to see me through. It's a right stiff program and I need some insurance. 'Pears to me like there should be a little pot for Tall Ed at the end of this game--say, three dollars a day and a couple of hundred bones when everything is quiet.”
To this the judge agreed. ”You go in and clean up. Run these gunmen down the valley. Cut out this amatoor wild West business--it's hurting us.
Property is depreciating right along. We certainly can't stand any more of this brimstone business. Go to it! We'll see that you're properly reimbursed.”
”All right, Judge. But you understand if I go into this peacemaking war I draw no political lines. I am chief for the time being, and treat everybody alike--greasers, 'Paches, your friends, my friends, everybody.”
”That's all right. It's your deal,” said the judge and the aldermen.
II
Tall Ed had drifted into Sulphur from the Southwest some six months before, and although fairly well known among the ranchers on the Wire Gra.s.s, was not a familiar figure in town. The news of his appointment was received with laughter by the loafers and with wonder by the quiet citizens, who coldly said:
”He appears like a full-sized man, but size don't count. There's Clayt Mink, for instance, the worst little moth-eaten sc.r.a.p in the state, and yet he'll kill at the drop of a hat. Sooner or later he's going to try out this new marshal same as he did the others.”
This seemed likely, for Mink owned and operated the biggest gambling-house in Sulphur, and was considered to be (as he was) a dangerous man. He already hated Kelley, who had once protected a drunken cattleman from being almost openly robbed in his saloon. Furthermore, he was a relentless political foe to Hornaby.
He was indeed a mere sc.r.a.p of a man, with nothing about him full-sized except his mustache. And yet, despite his unheroic physique, he was quick and remorseless in action. In Italy he would have carried a dagger. In England he would have been a light-weight rough-and-tumble fighter. In the violent West he was a gunman, menacing every citizen who crossed his inclination, and he took Kelley's appointment as a direct affront on the part of Hornaby and Pulfoot.
”He'd better keep out of my way,” he remarked to his friends, with a malignant sneer.
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