Part 30 (1/2)
”And I am a gunfighter. Always was. And it's my job. And I intend to get my price for my job. One thousand in advance, or the deal's off.”
”I'm not a rich man,” protested Rafe. ”I lack ready money. So does Mr. s.h.i.+ndle here. Say five hundred now and the rest in the spring.”
”I know how rich you are,” said Slike. ”And I can make a fair guess how you and Mr. s.h.i.+ndle stand for ready money. You can raise the thousand without too much trouble, I guess. Anyhow, it goes.”
”You drive a hard bargain.”
”A man in my business can't afford to be squeamish.” As Slike spoke his eyes narrowed.
”But----”
”No buts. You want Walton killed----”
”Sh-h! Not so loud,” cautioned Skinny s.h.i.+ndle. ”Removed is a better word than killed, anyway.”
”Aw, h.e.l.l,” sneered Dan Slike, ”you make me sick. I've got no use for a jigger that don't call a cow by its right name. I dunno the first thing about removing. But I'll kill anybody you say. I ain't a bit particular. Not a bit.” Here Slike bent on Skinny s.h.i.+ndle the full measure of a most baleful regard.
The strangely squeamish s.h.i.+ndle strove manfully to stare down the other man, but dropped his eyes within the minute. This appeared to please Mr. Slike. He smiled crookedly and turned his attention to Tuckleton.
”Rafe,” said he, ”my time is money. I can't stand here higgle-hoggling with you from h.e.l.l to breakfast. One thousand, or you get somebody else to do the job.”
”I suppose I'll have to do as you say,” Rafe grumbled. ”And the same amount for the sheriff.”
”Not-a-tall,” denied Slike. ”Not a-tall. Do you think I'm gonna rub out a sheriff for a thousand cases? You must have mush for a brain!
Killing a rancher is a short hoss, but a sheriff is another breed of cat. Besides, he's got two deputies, to say nothing of the feelings of the county. Killing this sheriff for you means I gotta leave the county on the jump. Do you think I'm gonna run the risk of being lynched for a measly thousand dollars? If you do, take another think.
Take two of 'em! Me, I'll take two thousand for your man.”
”Two thousand dollars for simply shooting a sheriff?”
”Again lemme remark that if the business was as simple as you say it is, you'd do it yourself. Two thousand in advance.”
”But that's three thousand in all.”
”You're a wonder at arithmetic. I make three thousand too.”
”But look here, Dan, we----”
”I'm looking,” interrupted Slike, ”and three thousand dollars is all I can see. You gotta expect to pay for your mistakes, Rafe. If you didn't want to have this sheriff hold office, what did you elect him for? You told me your political outfit was responsible.”
”How could we tell he'd turn out this way? We took it for granted he'd do what the party wanted, and the first card out of the box he appoints his own deputies.”
”Good men with a gun?”
”Both of 'em,” Rafe nodded absently.
”Wingo's no slouch himself,” s.h.i.+ndle supplied without thinking.
”And that's the kind of bunch you want me to go up against for a thousand dollars!” exclaimed Dan Slike. ”You fellers sure have your nerve!”
Slike teetered his chair back on two legs and laughed loudly, but without cheer. Rafe and Skinny found themselves somewhat chilled by the sardonic merriment. They looked one upon the other. Slike caught the look and laughed anew.