Part 26 (2/2)
”Hey! Git a move on!” yelled a cow-puncher up on the fence. ”They's somebody comin' up the road!”
”Aw, let 'em come,” drawled Atkins carelessly. ”They're hurryin' up to see the show. Step up and look 'im over!” he grinned at Bowles. ”No rush--you got lots of time!”
”Let his foot down!” snarled Bowles, his nerves giving way to anger.
”I'm not----”
”It's Dix!” clamored the cow-puncher on the fence-top. ”It's Dix!”
There was a rush for the fence to make certain, and as Dixie Lee dashed in through the horse lot, Hardy Atkins threw down his hat and cursed.
Then he stood irresolute, gazing first at Bowles and then at the fence, until suddenly she slipped through the bars and came striding across the corral.
”Oho, Hardy Atkins,” she panted, as she tapped at her boot with a quirt.
”So this is what you were up to--riding horses while Dad went to town!
Didn't he tell you to keep off that Dunbar horse? Well, then, you just----”
She paused as she sensed the tense silence, and then she saw Bowles, walking resolutely up to the horse. In a flash it all came clear to her--the feud, the fights, and now this compact to ride.
”Mr. Bowles!” she cried, raising her voice in a sudden command--but before she could get out the words Hardy Atkins laid his hand on her arm.
”You go on back to the house!” he said, fixing her with his horse-taming eyes. ”You go back where you belong! I'm doin' this!”
”You let go of me!” stormed Dixie Lee, making a savage pa.s.s at him with her quirt--and then a great shout drowned their quarrel and made them forget everything but Bowles.
The obsession of days of brooding had laid hold upon him and left him with a single, fixed idea--to ride Dunbar or die. And to him, no less than to Hardy Atkins, the coming of Dixie Lee was a disappointment. For a minute, he too had stood irresolute; then, with the simplicity of madness, he went straight to the blindfolded horse and began to lower his foot. As the quarrel sprang up, he gathered his reins; without looking back, he hooked his stirrup; and then, very gently, he rose to the saddle. Then the shout rang out, and he reached down and twitched up the blind.
Gazing out from beneath the band which had held him in utter darkness, the deep-set rattlesnake eye of Dunbar rolled hatefully at the man on his back. He crooked his neck and twisted his malformed head, and Bowles felt him swelling like a lizard between his knees--then, with a squeal, he bared his teeth and snapped at his leg like a dog. The next moment his head went down and he rose in a series of buck-jumps, whirling sideways, turning half-way round, and landing with a jolt. And at every jolt Bowles' head snapped back and his muscles grew stiff at the jar.
But just as the world began to grow black, and he felt himself shaken in his seat, the trailing neck rope lapped Dunbar about the hind legs and he paused to kick himself free.
It was only a moment's respite, but it heartened the rider mightily. He caught the stirrup that he had lost, wiped the mist from his eyes, and settled himself deep in the saddle.
”Good boy! Stay with 'im!” yelled the maniacs on the fence-posts; and then old Dunbar broke loose. The man never lived that could ride him--Bowles realized that as he clutched for the horn--and then his pride rose in him and he sat limber and swung the quirt. One, two, three times, he felt himself jarred to the center, and the blood burst suddenly from his mouth and nose and splashed in a crimson flood. He had no knowledge of what was happening now, for he could not see; and then, with a heart-breaking wrench, he felt himself hurled from the saddle and sent tumbling heels over head. He struck, and the corral dirt rose in his face; there was a cloud before him, a mist; and then, as the dizziness vanished, he beheld the man-killer charging at him through the dust with all his teeth agleam.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”THE MAN-KILLER CHARGED AT HIM THROUGH THE DUST”]
”Look out!” yelled the crowd on the fence-top. ”Look out!”
And Bowles scrambled up and fell over to one side. His knees were weak; they would not bear him; and through the dust cloud he saw Dunbar slide and turn again. Then of a sudden he was in a tangle of legs and stirrups and striking feet, and somebody grabbed him by the arm. Three pistol shots rang out above him; he was snaked violently aside; and old Dunbar went down like a log. Somebody had killed him, that was certain; but it was not Brigham, for he could tell by the characteristic cursing that it was his partner who had pulled him out and was dragging him across the corral. He blinked and opened his eyes as he fetched up against the fence--and there was Dixie Lee, with a big, smoking pistol in her hand, striding after him out of the dust.
She looked down at him, her eyes blazing with anger; and then, snapping the empty cartridges out of the Colt's, she handed it back to a puncher.
”Well,” she said, ”I hope you boys are satisfied now!” And without a second look at Brigham, Bowles, Hardy Atkins, or the remains of Dunbar, she turned and strode back to the house.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY
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