Part 61 (1/2)

Billy sneered a refusal.

”Then I'll put a hole through you, by criminy.”

He leveled the revolver directly at Billy, whose thumb on the switch did not waver, and they could see the gleaming bullet-tips in the chambers of the cylinder.

”Why, you whiskery old skunk, you ain't got the grit to shoot sour apples,” was Billy's answer. ”I know your kind--brave as lions when it comes to pullin' miserable, broken-spirited bindle stiffs, but as leery as a yellow dog when you face a man. Pull that trigger! Why, you pusillanimous piece of dirt, you'd run with your tail between your legs if I said boo!”

Suiting action to the word, Billy let out an explosive ”BOO!” and Saxon giggled involuntarily at the startle it caused in the constable.

”I'll give you a last chance,” the latter grated through his teeth.

”Turn over that light-stick an' come along peaceable, or I'll lay you out.”

Saxon was frightened for Billy's sake, and yet only half frightened. She had a faith that the man dared not fire, and she felt the old familiar thrills of admiration for Billy's courage. She could not see his face, but she knew in all cert.i.tude that it was bleak and pa.s.sionless in the terrifying way she had seen it when he fought the three Irishmen.

”You ain't the first man I killed,” the constable threatened. ”I'm an old soldier, an' I ain't squeamish over blood--”

”And you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Saxon broke in, ”trying to shame and disgrace peaceable people who've done no wrong.”

”You've done wrong sleepin' here,” was his vindication. ”This ain't your property. It's agin the law. An' folks that go agin the law go to jail, as the two of you'll go. I've sent many a tramp up for thirty days for sleepin' in this very shack. Why, it's a regular trap for 'em. I got a good glimpse of your faces an' could see you was tough characters.” He turned on Billy. ”I've fooled enough with you. Are you goin' to give in an' come peaceable?”

”I'm goin' to tell you a couple of things, old hoss,” Billy answered.

”Number one: you ain't goin' to pull us. Number two: we're goin' to sleep the night out here.”

”Gimme that light-stick,” the constable demanded peremptorily.

”G'wan, Whiskers. You're standin' on your foot. Beat it. Pull your freight. As for your torch you'll find it outside in the mud.”

Billy s.h.i.+fted the light until it illuminated the doorway, and then threw the stick as he would pitch a baseball. They were now in total darkness, and they could hear the intruder gritting his teeth in rage.

”Now start your shootin' an' see what'll happen to you,” Billy advised menacingly.

Saxon felt for Billy's hand and squeezed it proudly. The constable grumbled some threat.

”What's that?” Billy demanded sharply. ”Ain't you gone yet? Now listen to me, Whiskers. I've put up with all your shenanigan I'm goin' to. Now get out or I'll throw you out. An' if you come monkeyin' around here again you'll get yours. Now get!”

So great was the roar of the storm that they could hear nothing. Billy rolled a cigarette. When he lighted it, they saw the barn was empty.

Billy chuckled.

”Say, I was so mad I clean forgot my run-around. It's only just beginnin' to tune up again.”

Saxon made him lie down and receive her soothing ministrations.

”There is no use moving till morning,” she said. ”Then, just as soon as it's light, we'll catch a car into San Jose, rent a room, get a hot breakfast, and go to a drug store for the proper stuff for poulticing or whatever treatment's needed.”

”But Benson,” Billy demurred.

”I'll telephone him from town. It will only cost five cents. I saw he had a wire. And you couldn't plow on account of the rain, even if your finger was well. Besides, we'll both be mending together. My heel will be all right by the time it clears up and we can start traveling.”

CHAPTER V