Part 58 (1/2)

And as the moments pa.s.sed his spirits fell lower and lower, until at last a great depression weighed him down.

It was in the midst of this depression, when, for the hundredth time, he had wished that his friend had never started out on his wild enterprise, that he suddenly found himself staring out across the river at the Sp.a.w.n City trail. He stared for some moments, scarcely comprehending that at which he looked. Then suddenly he became aware of a horseman racing down the slope towards the river, and in a moment mind and body were alert, and he stood waiting.

Minky was still standing on his veranda. But he was no longer leaning against the post; he was holding a letter in his hand which he had just finished reading. It was a painful-looking doc.u.ment for all its neat, clear writing. It was stained with patches of dark red that were almost brown, and the envelope he held in his other hand was almost unrecognizable for the same hideous stain that completely covered it.

The man who had delivered it was resting on the edge of the veranda.

He had told his story; and now he sat chewing, and watching his weary horse tethered at the hitching-post a few yards away.

”An' he drove that cart fer six hours--dead?” Minky asked, without removing his eyes from the blood-stained letter.

”That's sure how I sed,” returned the messenger, and went stolidly on with his chewing. The other breathed deeply.

Then he read the letter over again. He read it slowly, so as to miss no word or meaning it might contain. And, curiously, as he read a feeling of wonder filled him at the excellence of the writing and composition. He did not seem to remember having seen Bill's writing before. And here the rough, hard-living gambler was displaying himself a man of considerable education. It was curious. All the years of their friends.h.i.+p had pa.s.sed without him discovering that his gambling friend was anything but an illiterate ruffian of the West, with nothing but a great courage, a powerful personality and a moderately honest heart to recommend him.

”My Dear Minky,

”I'm dead--dead as mutton. Whether I'm cooked mutton, or raw, I can't just say. Anyway, I'm dead--or you wouldn't get this letter.

”Now this letter is not to express regrets, or to sentimentalize.

You'll agree that's not my way. Death doesn't worry me any. No, this letter is just a 'last will and testament,' as the lawyers have it. And I'm sending it to you because I know you'll see things fixed right for me. You see, I put everything into your hands for two reasons: you're honest, and you're my friend. Now, seeing you're rich and prosperous I leave you nothing out of my wad. But I'd like to hand you a present of my team--if they're still alive--team and harness and cart. And you'll know, seeing I always had a notion the sun, moon and stars rose and set in my horses, the spirit in which I give them to you, and the regard I had for our friends.h.i.+p. Be good to them, old friend.

For the rest, my dollars, and anything else I've got, I'd like Zip's kids to have. They're bright kids, and I've got a notion for them. And, seeing Zip's their father, maybe dollars will be useful to them. You can divide things equally between them.

”And in conclusion you can tell Zip if he can do a good turn, which I don't suppose he'll be able to, to either Sunny Oak, or Sandy Joyce, or Toby Jenks, he'd best do it. Because he owes them something he'll probably never hear about.

”This is the last will and testament, as the lawyers say, of

”Your old friend, ”Wild Bill.

”(A no-account gambler, late of Abilene.)”

Minky looked up from the letter again, and his eyes were shadowed. He felt that that letter contained more of the gambler's heart than he would ever have allowed himself to display in life.

And into his mind came many memories--memories that stirred him deeply. He was thinking of the days when he had first encountered Bill years ago, when the name of Wild Bill was a terror throughout Texas and the neighboring States. And he smiled as he remembered how a perturbed Government had been forced, for their own peace of mind, and for the sake of the peace of the country, to put this ”terror” on the side of law and order, and make him a sheriff of the county. And then, too, he remembered the trouble Bill was always getting into through mixing up his private feuds with his public duties. Still, he was a great sheriff, and never was such order kept in the county.

He turned again to the man at his side.

”An' he got thro' with the gold?” he inquired slowly.

”Jest as I sed,” retorted the weary messenger. ”Guess I helped sheriff to deposit it in the bank.”

”And he's dead?”

The man stirred impatiently and spat.

”Dead--as mutton.”