Part 26 (2/2)
Pete's face now told that, despite the proper loathing inspired by his misdeeds, this brother-in-law compelled a certain horrid admiration for his gift of elusiveness.
”What's your brother-in-law's name?”
Pete deliberated gravely.
”In my opinion his name Edward; mebbe Sam, mebbe Charlie; I think more it's Albert.”
”Well, what about that next time he broke out?”
”Whoos.h.!.+ d.a.m.n no-good squaw man get all Injins drunk on whiskey; then play poker with four aces. 'What you got? No good--four aces--hard luck--deal 'em up!'” Pete's flexible wrists here flashed in pantomime.
”Pretty soon Injin got no mules, no blanket, no spring wagon, no gun, no new boots, no nine dollars my old mahala gets paid for three bushel wild plums from Old Lady Pettengill to make canned goods of--only got one big sick head from all night; see four aces, four kings, four jacks. 'What you got, Pete? No good. Full house here. Hard luck--my deal. Have another drink, old top!'”
”Well, what did your brother-in-law do when he heard about this?”
”Something!”
”Shoot?”
”Naw; got no gun left. Choke him on the neck--I think this way.”
The supple hands of Pete here clutched his corded throat, fingertips meeting at the back, and two potent thumbs uniting in a sinister pressure upon his Adam's apple. To further enlarge my understanding he contorted his face unprettily. From rolling eyes and outthrust tongue it was apparent that the squaw man had survived long enough to regret the inveteracy of his good luck at cards.
”Then what?”
”Man tell you before?” He eyed me with frank suspicion.
”Certainly; you tell, too!”
”That b'other-in-law he win everything back this poor squaw man don't need no more, and son-of-gun beat it quick; so all liars say Old Pete turn that trick, but can't prove same, because my b'other-in-law do same in solitude. And old judge say: 'Oh, well, can't prove same in courthouse, and only good squaw man is dead squaw man; so what-the-bad-place!' I think mebbe.”
”Go on; what about that next time?”
”You know already,” said Pete firmly.
”You tell, too.”
He pondered this, his keen little eyes searching my face as he pensively fondled the axe.
”You know about this time that son-of-gun go 'n' kill a bright lawyer in Red Gap? I think that cap the climax!”
”Certainly, I know!” This with bored impatience.
”I think, then, you tell me.” His seamed face was radiant with cunning.
”What's the use? You know it already.”
He countered swiftly:
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