Part 27 (1/2)
But somebody already had drawn fresh attention. Daniel Adams was standing between her and her husband.
”Say, Mister, will yu fight?” he drawled, breathing hard, his broad nostrils quivering.
A silence fell. Singularly, the circle parted right and left in a jostle and a scramble.
Montoyo surveyed him.
”Why?”
”For her, o' course.”
The gambler smiled--a slow, contemptuous smile while his gray eyes focused watchfully.
”It's a case where I have nothing to gain,” said he. ”And you've nothing to lose. I never bet in the teeth of a pat hand. Sabe? Besides, my young Mormon cub, when did you enter this game? Where's your ante? For the sport of it, now, what do you think of putting up, to make it interesting? One of your mammies? Tut, tut!”
Daniel's freckled bovine face flushed muddy red; in the midst of it his faulty eyes were more p.r.o.nounced than ever--beady, twinkling, and so at cross purposes that they apparently did not center upon the gambler at all. But his right hand had stiffened at his side--extended there flat and tremulous like the vibrant tail of a rattlesnake. He blurted harshly:
”I 'laow to kill yu for that. Draw, yu----!”
We caught breath. Montoyo's hand had darted down, and up, with motion too smooth and elusive for the eye, particularly when our eyes had to be upon both. His revolver poised half-way out of the scabbard, held there rigidly, frozen in mid course; for Daniel had laughed loudly over leveled barrel.
How he had achieved so quickly no man of us knew. Yet there it was--his Colt's, out, c.o.c.ked, wicked and yearning and ready.
He whirled it with tempting carelessness, b.u.t.t first, muzzle first, his discolored teeth set in a yellow grin. The breath of the spectators vented in a sigh.
”Haow'll yu take it, Mister?” he gibed. ”I could l'arn an old caow to beat yu on the draw. Aw, shucks! I 'laow yu'd better go back to yore pasteboards. Naow git!”
Montoyo, his eyes steady, scarcely changed expression. He let his revolver slip down into its scabbard. Then he smiled.
”You have a pretty trick,” he commented, relaxing. ”Some day I'd like to test it out again. Just now I pa.s.s. Madam, are you coming?”
”You know I'm not,” she uttered clearly.
”Your choice of company is hardly to your credit,” he sneered. ”Or, I should say, to your education. Saintliness does not set well upon you, madam. Your clothes are ill-fitting already. Of your two champions----”
And here I realized that I was standing out, one foot advanced, my fists foolishly doubled, my presence a useless factor.
”--I recommend the gentleman from New York as more to your tastes. But you are going of your own free will. You will always be my wife. You can't get away from that, you devil. I shall expect you in Benton, for I have the hunch that your little flight will fetch you back pretty well tamed, to the place where damaged goods are not so heavily discounted.” He ignored Daniel and turned upon me. ”As for you,” he said, ”I warn you you are playing against a marked deck. You will find fists a poor hand. Ladies and gentlemen, good-morning.” With that he strode straight for his horse, climbed aboard (a trifle awkwardly by reason of his one arm disabled) and galloped, granting us not another glance.
Card shark and desperado that he was, his consummate aplomb n.o.body could deny, except Daniel, now capering and swaggering and twirling his revolver.
”I showed him. I made him take water. I 'laow I'm 'bout the best man with a six-shooter in these hyar parts.”
”Ketch up and stretch out,” Captain Adams ordered, disregarding. ”We've no more time for foolery.”
My eyes met My Lady's. She smiled a little ruefully, and I responded, shamed by the poor role I had borne. With that still jubilating lout to the fore, certainly I cut small figure.
This night we made camp at Rawlins' Springs, some twelve miles on. The day's march had been, so to speak, rather pensive; for while there were the rough jokes and the talking back and forth, it seemed as though the scene of early morning lingered in our vista. The words of Montoyo had scored deeply, and the presence of our supernumerary laid a kind of incubus, like an omen of ill luck, upon us. Indeed the prophecies darkly uttered showed the current of thought.
”It's a she Jonah we got. Sure a woman the likes o' her hain't no place in a freightin' outfit. We're off on the wrong fut,” an Irishman declared to wagging of heads. ”Faith, she's enough to set the saints above an' the saints below both by the ears.” He paused to light his dudeen. ”There'll be a Donnybrook Fair in Utah, if belike we don't have it along the way.”
”No Mormon'll need another wife if he takes her,” laughed somebody else.