Part 23 (1/2)

Mr. Allison maintained his verbal flow unchecked. He had elocutionary gifts, had Mr. Allison, and flaunted them. Mingling scorn with reproach, and casting defiance over all, he spake in unmeasured terms of Dodge and its inhabitants. But never once did he lay hand to gun; it was solely an exhibition of rhetoric.

Mr. Masterson waxed weary. There were s.p.a.ces when the mills of Mr.

Allison's vituperation ran low; at such intervals Mr. Masterson would take the buffalo gun from his shoulder. Anon, Mr. Allison's choler would mount, his threats and maledictions against all things Dodgeian would soar. Thereupon, hope would relight its taper in the eye of Mr.

Masterson; he would again cover Mr. Allison with his buffalo gun. Mr.

Allison's energy would again dwindle, and the light of hope again sink low in the Masterson eye. The buffalo gun would be given another recess.

First and last, by the later word of Mr. Masterson, Mr. Allison was covered and uncovered twenty times. It was exceedingly fatiguing to Mr.

Masterson, who was losing respect for Mr. Allison, as one all talk and no shoot.

While Mr. Allison vituperated, his glance roved up and down the street.

”What's the matter with him!” considered Mr. Masterson disgustedly. ”Why doesn't he throw himself loose!”

Mr. Masterson's disgust became amazement when Mr. Allison turned in his saddle, and asked in tones wherein was more of complaint than challenge:

”Where's Bat Masterson? He's on the squar'! He won't let no cheap store clerk put it all over me, an' get away! Where's Bat?”

As though seeking reply, Mr. Allison in a most pacific manner got down from the saddle, and limped away out of range into Mr. Webster's Alamo.

Mr. Masterson pitched the buffalo gun into a corner, put on his more personal artillery, and repaired to the Alamo with the thought of investigating the phenomenon. In the Alamo he found Mr. Allison asking Mr. Webster-who looked a bit pale-to send for Mr. Masterson.

”Have somebody round Bat up,” said Mr. Allison, peevishly. ”Which I want a talk with him about my injuries.”

”What's wrong, Clay?” asked Mr. Masterson-outwardly careless, inwardly as alert as a bobcat. ”What's gone wrong?”

”Is that you, Bat?” demanded Mr. Allison, facing around on his lame foot. ”Wherever have you been for the last half hour? I've hunted you all over camp.”

”Where have I been for a half hour? I've been seesawing on you with a Sharp's for the better part of it.”

”Is that so!” exclaimed Mr. Allison, while his face lighted up with a kind of pleased conviction. ”Thar, d'ye see now! While I was in that saddle I could feel I was covered every moment. It was the sperits tellin' me! They kept warnin' me that if I batted an eye or wagged a year I was a goner. It was sh.o.r.e one of them prov'dential hunches which is told of by gospel sharps in pra'r-meetin's.”

Mr. Masterson's indignation was extreme when he had heard the story of Mr. Allison's ill usage. And at that, his anger rested upon the wrongs of Dodge rather than upon those of Mr. Allison.

”One may now see,” said Mr. Masterson, ”the hole into which good people can be put by a cowardly outcast of the Ground Owl type. That disgusting Ground Owl might have been the means of killing a dozen men. Here he turns in an' stirs Clay up; and then, when he's got him keyed to concert pitch, he sneaks away and hides, and leaves us with Clay on our hands!”

Cimarron Bill came into the Alamo; his brow turned dark with the scandal of those friendly relations between Mr. Masterson and Mr. Allison, which he saw and did not understand. Drawing aside, he stood moodily at the end of the bar, keeping a midnight eye the while on Mr. Allison, thirsting for an outbreak.

Mr. Masterson approached him craftily-being diplomatic and having a mind to preserve the peace.

”There's something I want you to do, Cimarron,” said Mr. Masterson, easily. The other brightened. ”No, not that!” continued Mr. Masterson, intercepting a savage look which Cimarron bestowed upon Mr. Allison, ”not Clay.”

”Who then?” demanded Cimarron, greatly disappointed.

”The other one,” responded Mr. Masterson. ”Still I don't want you to overplay. You must use judgment, and while careful not to do too little, be equally careful not to do too much. This is the proposition: You are to go romancing 'round until you locate that miscreant Ground Owl. Once located, you are to softly, yet sufficiently, bend a gun over his head.”

”Leave the Ground Owl to me,” said Cimarron Bill, his buoyant nature beginning to collect itself. As he went forth upon his mission, he tossed this a.s.surance over his shoulder: ”You gents'll hear a dog howl _poco tempo_, an' when you do you can gamble me an' that Ground Owl clerk has crossed up with one another.”

”That,” observed Mr. Short, who arrived in time to hear the commission given Cimarron Bill, ”that's what I call gettin' action both ways from the jack. You split out Cimarron from Clay here; an' at the same time arrange to stampede that malignant Ground Owl out o' camp. Which I always allowed you had a head for business, Bat.”