Part 25 (2/2)
”What it won't do you no good to know. I guess I can go riding with a friend if I like. You seem to keep forgettin' you ain't got any ropes on me--nary a rope. Stop botherin' yore fool head about me and my doings, and think of something worth while--for instance, Jack Harpe.”
”Then what?”
”No wonder they call you Bull. That's all you are, beef to the heels and no more sense than a calf. Listen, Jack Harpe's respectable, ain't he? Or he aims to be, which is the same thing. Anyway, he's swelling round here like a poisoned pup and don't know us a-tall. Takin' him down a couple o' pegs wouldn't hurt him. He always was too tall. I'll bet if he was come at right he'd pay cash down on the hoof for us, me and you both, to keep our heads shut about what we know.”
”But we was in that, too.”
”But we didn't do what he done,” pointed out Marie. ”And you know yoreself the company don't drop the case like a ordinary sheriff does. No, I expect Jack Harpe would be worried some if he knowed we'd recognized him.... Aw, what are you scared of? Pap's dead, ain't he?
How can Harpe hurt us? He never knowed how intimate we knowed Pap while he was stayin' at our house. He just thought Pap was a friend.
He never knowed we got our share of the money. Nawsir, he can't hook us up with that killin' nohow, but we can hook him. Brace up to him, Bull. Maybe you can work him for a stake. They ain't no danger, I tell you.”
”By Gawd, I'd like to!” declared Bull and swore a string of oaths.
”Then go ahead,” urged Marie. ”And don't forget I want in on the stake.”
”Ah-h, I do all the work and then have to whack up with you, huh? I will not. What I get I keep.”
”I remember Jack Harpe used to say that. He sh.o.r.e hated himself, the poor feller. Alla same, I guess maybe you'll go even Steven with me, Bull. Who is it recognized him first? Who give you the idea? Who did, huh? Who did? Whatever you get you'll divide with me or I'll know the reason why. And if you don't think I'm a wildcat get me roused, man, get me roused.”
Bull stood back and scratched a tousled head. ”I--well--” he began and paused. Obviously the prospect did not wholly please him.
”Go to Jack Harpe easy like,” suggested the girl. ”Don't tell him too much, just enough to show yo're meanin' what you say. I'd do it myself only he'd laugh at me. He's one of those gents a woman has to shoot before they'll believe she's in earnest. He ain't the only one, they's another just like him in town.... Nemmine who. You go to Jack Harpe.
He'll listen to a man. G'on! They's money in it, if you work it right.
You want money, don't you? You need three hundred to pay what you owe Piggy Wadsworth, don't you? Yah, you big hunk, you been runnin' to me for money long enough! Here's a chance to make some of yore own. Fly at it.”
When Bull had picked up a rifle standing in a corner and departed, slamming the door behind him, Marie sat down on the lid of a mottled zinc trunk and wiped her hot face on a petticoat that hung on the wall conveniently to hand. ”Warm work, warm work!” she muttered, wearily.
”I dunno when I seen Bull so mad. I sh.o.r.e thought one time there I wasn't gonna get rid of him without a fight.” She rolled her well-shaped ankles and flipped the gilt ta.s.sels on her shoe tops to and fro (yes, indeed, some women wore ta.s.seled footgear in those days). ”Men,” she went on, staring down at the s.h.i.+ny ta.s.sels, ”men are sh.o.r.e h.e.l.l.”
CHAPTER XIII
A BOLD BAD MAN
Bull had halted a moment outside the door of the shack to roll a cigarette. Before he pulled out his tobacco bag he leaned the rifle against the doorjamb.
His eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness, did not see the crouching Racey Dawson within arm's-length.
Both of Bull's hands were cupped round the lighted match. He lifted it to the end of the cigarette. He sucked in his breath and--a voice whispered: ”Drop that match an' grab yore ears.”
Bull did not hesitate to obey, for the broad, cold blade of a bowie rested lightly against the back of his neck. Bull swayed a little where he stood.
”I got yore rifle,” resumed the whisperer. ”Walk away now. Yo're headin' about right. Don't make too much noise.”
Bull did not make too much noise. In fact, he made hardly any. It is safe to say that he never progressed more quietly in his life. The man with the bowie steered him to a safe haven behind a fat white boulder half buried in sumac.
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