Part 19 (1/2)

The Long Shadow B. M. Bower 51670K 2022-07-22

His eyes when he stared hard at the Pilgrim were sober eyes, sane eyes--and something besides.

”I said it,” he reminded softly, when men had quit shuffling their feet and the room was very still.

”I don't reckon yuh know what yuh said,” the Pilgrim retorted, laughing uneasily and s.h.i.+fting his gaze a bit. ”What they been doping yuh with, Bill? There ain't any quarrel between you and me no more.”

His tone was abominably, condescendingly tolerant, and his look was the look which a mastiff turns wearily upon a hysterical toy-terrier yapping foolishly at his knees. For the Pilgrim had changed much in the past year and more during which men had respected him because he was not considered quite safe to trifle with. According to the reputation they gave him, he had killed a man who had tried to kill him, and he could therefore afford to be pacific upon occasion.

Billy stared at him while he drew a long breath; a breath which seemed to press back a tangible weight of hatred and utter contempt for the Pilgrim; a breath while it seemed that he must kill him there and stamp out the very semblance of humanity from his mocking face.

”Yuh don't know of any quarrel between you and me? Yuh say yuh don't?”

Billy's voice trembled a little, because of the murder-l.u.s.t that gripped him. ”Well, pretty soon, I'll start in and tell yuh all about it--maybe. Right now, I'm going t' give a new one--one that yuh can easy name and do what yuh d.a.m.n' please about.” Whereupon he did as he had done once before when the offender had been a sheepherder.

He stepped quickly to one side of the Pilgrim, emptied a gla.s.s down inside his collar, struck him sharply across his grinning mouth, and stepped back--back until there were eight or ten feet between them.

”That's the only way _my_ whisky can go down _your_ neck!” he said.

Men gasped and moved hastily out of range, never doubting what would happen next. Billy himself knew--or thought he knew--and his hand was on his gun, ready to pull it and shoot; hungry--waiting for an excuse to fire.

The Pilgrim had given a bellow that was no word at all, and whirled to come at Billy; met his eyes, wavered and hesitated, his gun in his hand and half-raised to fire.

Billy, bent on giving the Pilgrim a fair chance, waited another second; waited and saw fear creep into the bold eyes of the Pilgrim; waited and saw the inward cringing of the man. It was like striking a dog and waiting for the spring at your throat promised by his snarling defiance, and then seeing the fire go from his eyes as he grovels, cringingly confessing you his master, himself a cur.

What had been hate in the eyes of Billy changed slowly to incredulous contempt. ”Ain't that enough?” he cried disgustedly. ”My G.o.d, ain't yuh _man_ enough--Have I got to take yuh by the ear and slit your gullet like they stick pigs--or else let yuh _go_? What _are_ yuh, anyhow? Shall I give my gun to the bar-keep and go out where it's dark? Will yuh be scared to tackle me then?” He laughed and watched the yellow terror creep over the face of the Pilgrim at the taunt.

”What's wrong with your gun? Ain't it working good to-night? Ain't it loaded?

”Heavens and earth! What else have I got to do before you'll come alive? You've been living on your rep as a bad man to monkey with, and pus.h.i.+ng out your wishbone over it for quite a spell, now--why don't yuh get busy and collect another bunch uh admiration from these fellows? _I_ ain't no lightning-shot man! Papa Death don't roost on the end uh my six-gun--or I never suspicioned before that he did; but from the save-me-quick look on yuh, I believe yuh'd faint plumb away if I let yuh take a look at the end uh my gun, with the b.u.t.t-end toward yuh!

”Honest t' G.o.d, Pilgrim, I won't try to get in ahead uh yuh! I couldn't if I tried, because mine's at m' belt yet and I ain't so swift. Come on! Please--_purty_ please!” Billy looked around the room and laughed. He pointed his finger mockingly ”Ain't he a peach of a Bad Man, boys? Ain't yuh proud uh his acquaintance? I reckon I'll have to turn my back before he'll cut loose. Yuh know, he's just aching t'

kill me--only he don't want me to know it when he does! He's afraid he might hurt m' feelings!”

He swung back to the Pilgrim, went close, and looked at him impertinently, his head on one side. He reached out deliberately with his hand, and the Pilgrim ducked and cringed away. ”Aw, look here!” he whined. ”_I_ ain't done nothing to yuh, Bill!”

Billy's hand dropped slowly and hung at his side.

”Yuh--d.a.m.ned--coward!” he gritted. ”Yuh know yuh wouldn't get any more than an even break with me, and that ain't enough for yuh. You're afraid to take a chance. You're afraid--G.o.d!” he cried suddenly, swept out of his mockery by the rage within. ”And I can't kill yuh! Yuh won't show nerve enough to give me a chance! Yuh won't even _fight_, will yuh?”

He leaned and struck the Pilgrim savagely. ”Get out uh my sight, then! Get out uh town! Get clean out uh the country! Get out among the coyotes--they're nearer your breed than men!” For every sentence there was a stinging blow--a blow with the flat of his hand, driving the Pilgrim back, step by step, to the door. The Pilgrim, s.h.i.+elding his head with an uplifted arm, turned then and bolted out into the night.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FOR EVERY SENTENCE A STINGING BLOW WITH THE FLAT OF HIS HAND.]

Behind him were men who stood ashamed for their manhood, not caring to look straight at one another with so sickening an example before them of the craven coward a man may be. In the doorway, Billy stood framed against the yellow lamplight, a hand pressing hard against the casings while he leaned and hurled curses in a voice half-sobbing with rage.

It was so that Dill found him when he came looking. When he reached out and laid a big-knuckled hand gently on his arm, Billy s.h.i.+vered and stared at him in a queer, dazed fas.h.i.+on for a minute.

”Why--h.e.l.lo, Dilly!” he said then, and his voice was hoa.r.s.e and broken. ”Where the d.i.c.kens did _you_ come from?”

Without a word Dill, still holding him by the arm, led him unresisting away.

CHAPTER XXIII.