Part 23 (1/2)
”Ye-es,” acknowledged Bowles; ”but I don't want to kill a man. I wouldn't like to shoot him with it.”
”Well, then, for Gawd's sake, _take it off_!” roared Brigham. ”If he'd shot you this mornin' he could a got off fer self-defense! Turn it over to the boss and tell him you don't want no trouble--then if Hardy shoots you he'll swing fer it!”
”But how about me?” queried Bowles.
”You're twice as likely to git shot anyway,” persisted Brig, ”with a gun on you. If you got to pack a gun, leave it in yore bed, where you can git it if you want it; but if the other feller sees you're heeled, and he's got a gun, it makes him nervous, and if you make a sudden move he plugs you. But if you ain't armed he don't dare to--they're awful strict out here, and these Rangers are the limit. Hardy won't shoot--you ain't afraid of 'im, are you?”
”No-o,” said Bowles; ”not if he'd fight fair.”
”D'ye think you could whip 'im?” demanded Brigham eagerly.
”I can try,” responded Bowles grimly.
”That's the talk!” cheered Brigham, leaning over to whack him on the back. ”Stand up to 'im! He's nothin' but a big bluff!”
”I don't know about that,” grumbled Bowles, with the affair of the morning still fresh in mind; ”I'm afraid he'll hit me with his gun.”
”Well, here, we'll fix that,” said Brig, hastily stripping the heavy quirt from his wrist. ”You turn yore pistol over to the boss and take this loaded quirt--then if Hardy offers to club you with his gun you knock his eye out with _this_!”
He made a vicious pa.s.s into the air with the bludgeon-like handle, holding the quirt by the lash, and pa.s.sed it over to Bowles.
”Now you're heeled!” he said approvingly. ”That's worse'n a gun, any time, and you kin hit 'im as hard as you please. Jest hang that on yore wrist, where it'll be handy, and turn that cussed six-shooter in.”
The matter was still a little mixed in Bowles' mind, and he felt that he was treading upon new and dangerous ground, but his evil pa.s.sions were still afoot and he longed gloomily for his revenge. So when they got into camp that evening he went over to Henry Lee's tent, with Brigham to act as his witness.
”Mr. Lee,” he said, speaking according to instructions, ”I've had a little difficulty with one of the boys, and I'd like to turn in my gun.
I don't want to have any trouble.”
”All right, Mr. Bowles,” answered the boss very quietly. ”Just throw it on my bed. What's the matter, Brig?”
”Oh, nothin' much,” replied Brigham. ”You saw it yorese'f--last night.”
”Um,” a.s.sented Henry Lee, glancing for a moment at Bowles' skinned cheek. ”Well, we don't want to have any racket now, boys--not while we've got these wild cattle on our hands--and I'm much obliged. Hope you don't have any more trouble, Mr. Bowles.”
He bowed them out of the tent without any more words, and they proceeded back to the camp. A significant smile went the rounds as Bowles came back from the tent, but in the morning he went to the corral as usual.
”I thought you'd got yore time,” ventured Buck Buchanan, as Bowles began to saddle up; and as the word pa.s.sed around that he had not, Hardy Atkins rode over to inquire.
”What's this I hear?” he said. ”I thought you was goin' to quit.”
”Then you were mistaken, Mr. Atkins,” answered Bowles politely. ”I am not.”
”Then what did you see the boss fer? Makin' some kick about me?”
”Your name was not mentioned, Mr. Atkins,” replied Bowles, still politely. ”I simply turned over my gun to Mr. Lee and told him I'd had some trouble.”
”Well, it's nothin' to what you _will_ have!” scowled the ex-twister hatefully. ”I can tell you that! And I give you till night to pull. If you don't----”
He paused with meaning emphasis and turned his horse to go, but Henry Lee had been watching him from a distance and now he came spurring in.