The Long Shadow, page 22
CHAPTER XXII.
_Settled In Full_.
On a lonely part of the trail to town--queerly, it was when he wasrounding the low, barren hill where he and Dill had first met--he tookout his brand-book and went over the situation. It was Barney he rode,and Barney could be trusted to pace along decorously with the reinstwisted twice around the saddle-horn, so Billy gave no thought to hishorse but put his whole mind on the figures. He was not much usedto these things; beyond keeping tally of the stock at branding andshipping time and putting down what details of his business he darednot trust to memory, a pencil was strange to his fingers. But thelegal phrases in the paper left by Dill and signed by the cook andnight-hawk as witnesses gave him a heavy sense of responsibility thateverything should be settled exactly right. So now he went over thefigures slowly, adding them from the top down and from the bottom up,to make sure he had the totals correct. He wished they were wrong;they might then be not quite so depressing.
"Lemme see, now. I turned over 4,523 head uh stock, all told (hellof a fine job uh guessing I done! Me saying there'd be over sixthousand!) That made $94,983. And accordin' to old Brown--and I guesshe had it framed up correct--Dilly owes him $2,217 yet, instead uhcoming out with enough to start some other business. It's sure queer,the way figures always come out little when yuh want 'em big, and bigwhen yuh want 'em little! Them debts now--they could stand a lot uhshavin' down. Twelve thousand dollars and interest, to the bank--Ican't do a darn thing about them twelve thousand. If Dilly hadn't goneand made a cast-iron agreement I coulda held old Brown up for a fewthousand more, on account uh the increase in saddle-stock. I'd workedthat bunch up till it sure was a dandy lot uh hosses--but what yuhgoing to do?"
He stared dispiritedly out across the brown prairie. "I'd oughta putDilly next to that, only I never thought about it at the time, andI was so dead sure the range-stuff--And there's the men, got to havetheir money right away quick, so's they can hurry up and blow it in!If Dilly ain't back to-night, or I don't hear from him, I reckonI'll have to draw m' little old wad out uh the bank and pay thesons-uh-guns. I sure ain't going to need it to buy dishes and rockingchairs and pictures--and I was going t' git her a piano--oh, hell!"
He still rode slowly, after that, but he did not bother overthe figures that stood for Dilly's debts. He sat humped over thesaddle-horn like an old man and stared at the trail and at theforefeet of Barney coming down _pluck, pluck_ with leisurelyregularity in the dust. Just so was Charming Billy Boyle tramplingdown the dreams that had been so sweet in the dreaming, and levelingruthlessly the very foundations of the fair castle he had buildedin the air for Dill and himself--and one other, with the fairest,highest, most secret chambers for that Other. And as he rode, theface of him was worn and the blue eyes of him sombre and dull; andhis mouth, that had lost utterly the humorous, care-free quirk at thecorners, was bitter, and straight, and hard.
He had started out with such naive assurance to succeed, and--he hadfailed so utterly, so hopelessly, with not even a spectacular crashto make the failing picturesque. He had done the best that was inhim, and even now that it was over he could not quite understand howeverything, _everything_ could go like that; how the Double-Crank andFlora--how the range, even, had slipped from him. And now Dill wasgone, too, and he did not even know where, or if he would ever comeback.
He would pay the men; he had, with a surprising thrift, saved nearlya thousand dollars in the bank at Tower. That, to be sure, was when hehad Flora to save for; since then he had not had time or opportunityto spend it foolishly. It would take nearly every dollar; the wayhe had figured it, he would have just twenty-three dollars left forhimself--and he would have the little bunch of horses he had in hisprosperity acquired for the pure love of owning a good horse. He wouldsell the horses, except Barney and one to pack his bed, and he woulddrift--drift just as do the range-cattle when a blizzard strikesthem in the open. Billy felt like a stray. His range was gone--goneutterly. He would roll his bed and drift; and perhaps, somewhere, hecould find a stretch of earth as God had left it, unscarred by fenceand plow, undefiled by cabbages and sugar-beets (Brown's new settlerswere going strong on sugar-beets).
"Well, it's all over but the shouting," he summed up grimly whenHardup came in sight. "I'll pay off the men and turn 'em loose--allbut Jim. Somebody's got to stay with the Bridger place till Dillyshows up, seeing that's all he's got left after the clean-up. The restuh the debts can wait. Brown's mortgage ain't due yet" (Billy had hisown way of looking at financial matters) "and the old Siwash ain't gotany kick comin' if he never gets another cent out uh Dilly. The bankain't got the cards to call Dilly now, for his note ain't due tillnear Christmas. So I reckon all I got to do after I pay the boys istake m' little old twenty-three plunks, and my hosses--if I can'tsell 'em right off--and pull out for God-knows-where-and-I-don't-care-a-damn!"
* * * * *
Charming Billy Boyle had done all that he had planned to do,except that he had not yet pulled out for the place he had namedpicturesquely for himself. Much as at the beginning, he was leaningheavily upon the bar in the Hardup Saloon, and his hat was pushed backon his head; but he was not hilarious to the point of singing about"the young thing," and he was not, to any appreciable extent, enjoyinghimself. He was merely adding what he considered the proper finishingtouch to his calamities. He was spinning silver dollars, one by one,across the bar to the man with the near-white apron, and he wasendeavoring to get the worth of them down his throat. To be sure,he was being assisted, now and then, by several acquaintances; butconsidering the fact that a man's stomach has certain well-definedlimitations, he was doing very well, indeed.
When he had spun the twenty-third dollar to the bartender, Billy meantto quit drinking for the present; after that, he was not quite clearas to his intentions, farther than "forking his hoss and pulling out"when there was no more to be done. He felt uneasily that between hispresent occupation and the pulling-out process lay a duty unperformed,but until the door swung open just as he was crying, "Come on,fellows," he had not been able to name it.
The Pilgrim it was who entered jauntily; the Pilgrim, who had notchanced to meet Billy once during the summer, and so was not awarethat the truce between them was ended for good and all. He knew thatBilly had not at any time been what one might call cordial, butthat last stare of displeasure when they met in the creek atthe Double-Crank, he had set down to a peevish mood. Under thecircumstances, it was natural that he should walk up to the bar withthe rest. Under the circumstances, it was also natural that Billyshould object to this unexpected and unwelcome guest, and that thevague, unperformed duty should suddenly flash into his mind clear, andwell-defined, and urgent.
"Back up, Pilgrim," was his quiet way of making known his purpose."Yuh can't drink on _my_ money, old-timer, nor use a room that I'mhonoring with my presence. Just right now, I'm _here_. It's up to youto back out--_away_ out--clean outside and across the street."
The Pilgrim did not move.
Billy had been drinking, but his brain was not of the stuff thatfuddles easily, and he was not, as the Pilgrim believed, drunk.His eyes when he stared hard at the Pilgrim were sober eyes, saneeyes--and something besides.
"I said it," he reminded softly, when men had quit shuffling theirfeet and the room was very still.
"I don't reckon yuh know what yuh said," the Pilgrim retorted,laughing uneasily and shifting his gaze a bit. "What they been dopingyuh with, Bill? There ain't any quarrel between you and me no more."His tone was abominably, condescendingly tolerant, and his look wasthe look which a mastiff turns wearily upon a hysterical toy-terrieryapping foolishly at his knees. For the Pilgrim had changed much inthe past year and more during which men had respected him becausehe was not considered quite safe to trifle with. According to thereputation they gave him, he had killed a man who had tried to killhim, and he could therefore afford to be pacific upon occasion.
Billy stared at him while he drew a long breath; a breath which seemedto press back a tangible weight of hatred and utter contempt for thePilgrim; a breath while it seemed that he must kill him there andstamp out the very semblance of humanity from his mocking face.
"Yuh don't know of any quarrel between you and me? Yuh say yuh don't?"Billy's voice trembled a little, because of the murder-lust thatgripped him. "Well, pretty soon, I'll start in and tell yuh all aboutit--maybe. Right now, I'm going t' give a new one--one that yuh caneasy name and do what yuh damn' please about." Whereupon he did ashe had done once before when the offender had been a sheepherder.He stepped quickly to one side of the Pilgrim, emptied a glass downinside his collar, struck him sharply across his grinning mouth, andstepped back--back until there were eight or ten feet between them.
"That's the only way _my_ whisky can go down _your_ neck!" he said.
Men gasped and moved hastily out of range, never doubting what wouldhappen next. Billy himself knew--or thought he knew--and his hand wason his gun, ready to pull it and shoot; hungry--waiting for an excuseto fire.
The Pilgrim had given a bellow that was no word at all, and whirledto come at Billy; met his eyes, wavered and hesitated, his gun in hishand and half-raised to fire.
Billy, bent on giving the Pilgrim a fair chance, waited anothersecond; waited and saw fear creep into the bold eyes of the Pilgrim;waited and saw the inward cringing of the man. It was like striking adog and waiting for the spring at your throat promised by his snarlingdefiance, and then seeing the fire go from his eyes as he grovels,cringingly confessing you his master, himself a cur.
What had been hate in the eyes of Billy changed slowly to incredulouscontempt. "Ain't that enough?" he cried disgustedly. "My God, ain'tyuh _man_ enough--Have I got to take yuh by the ear and slit yourgullet like they stick pigs--or else let yuh _go_? What _are_ yuh,anyhow? Shall I give my gun to the bar-keep and go out where it'sdark? Will yuh be scared to tackle me then?" He laughed and watchedthe yellow terror creep over the face of the Pilgrim at the taunt."What's wrong with your gun? Ain't it working good to-night? Ain't itloaded?
"Heavens and earth! What else have I got to do before you'll comealive? You've been living on your rep as a bad man to monkey with, andpushing out your wishbone over it for quite a spell, now--why don'tyuh get busy and collect another bunch uh admiration from thesefellows? _I_ ain't no lightning-shot man! Papa Death don't roost onthe end uh my six-gun--or I never suspicioned before that he did; butfrom the save-me-quick look on yuh, I believe yuh'd faint plumb awayif I let yuh take a look at the end uh my gun, with the butt-endtoward yuh!
"Honest t' God, Pilgrim, I won't try to get in ahead uh yuh! Icouldn't if I tried, because mine's at m' belt yet and I ain't soswift. Come on! Please--_purty_ please!" Billy looked around the roomand laughed. He pointed his finger mockingly "Ain't he a peach of aBad Man, boys? Ain't yuh proud uh his acquaintance? I reckon I'll haveto turn my back before he'll cut loose. Yuh know, he's just aching t'kill me--only he don't want me to know it when he does! He's afraid hemight hurt m' feelings!"
He swung back to the Pilgrim, went close, and looked at himimpertinently, his head on one side. He reached out deliberately withhis hand, and the Pilgrim ducked and cringed away. "Aw, look here!" hewhined. "_I_ ain't done nothing to yuh, Bill!"
Billy's hand dropped slowly and hung at his side."Yuh--damned--coward!" he gritted. "Yuh know yuh wouldn't get anymore than an even break with me, and that ain't enough for yuh. You'reafraid to take a chance. You're afraid--God!" he cried suddenly, sweptout of his mockery by the rage within. "And I can't kill yuh! Yuhwon't show nerve enough to give me a chance! Yuh won't even _fight_,will yuh?"
He leaned and struck the Pilgrim savagely. "Get out uh my sight,then! Get out uh town! Get clean out uh the country! Get out among thecoyotes--they're nearer your breed than men!" For every sentence therewas a stinging blow--a blow with the flat of his hand, driving thePilgrim back, step by step, to the door. The Pilgrim, shielding hishead with an uplifted arm, turned then and bolted out into the night.
FOR EVERY SENTENCE A STINGING BLOW WITH THE FLAT OF HISHAND.]
Behind him were men who stood ashamed for their manhood, not caring tolook straight at one another with so sickening an example before themof the craven coward a man may be. In the doorway, Billy stood framedagainst the yellow lamplight, a hand pressing hard against the casingswhile he leaned and hurled curses in a voice half-sobbing with rage.
It was so that Dill found him when he came looking. When he reachedout and laid a big-knuckled hand gently on his arm, Billy shivered andstared at him in a queer, dazed fashion for a minute.
"Why--hello, Dilly!" he said then, and his voice was hoarse andbroken. "Where the dickens did _you_ come from?"
Without a word Dill, still holding him by the arm, led him unresistingaway.
