White Wolf's Law. Dunning Hal

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СКАЧАТЬ figured we’d take him to dinner with us-all,” Windy added with defensive genius.

      Mrs. Ransom shook her head, smiling, as they joined the hobo. They towered above him – a tatterdemalion dwarf between three guardsmen.

      She rejoined her husband. The sheriff nodded, and the judge and his family moved toward their home. Ransom was flanked by two deputies and further protected by Silent and Dutchy, who brought up a grim rear guard.

      Snippets turned back and ran to Toothpick.

      “Thank you for protecting me from that man,” she smiled, teasing.

      “Huh?” Toothpick queried dumbly.

      “Oh, you men! How dumb you are!” She stamped her foot. Then, on tiptoe, she delivered a quick kiss on the nose of the astounded Toothpick and ran to rejoin her party.

      Toothpick stared after her. He felt gingerly of his nose and scratched his head.

      “She meant somethin’ by that. But what was it?” he asked himself, and gave up the answer.

      CHAPTER III

      KING OF LIARS

      Tad Hicks, Windy Sam, and Kansas Jones, out of sight of the depot platform, seized the little hobo’s arms and dragged him willy-nilly behind a saloon.

      “Yuh promised yuh wouldn’t drink up that cartwheel Mrs. Ransom guv yuh,” Tad Hicks reminded him.

      “Aw, get out and leave me be,” the hobo said truculently, with an evident attempt at bravado.

      “What’s that?” Windy roared as he tightened his grip on the arm.

      The hobo’s truculence vanished, and he whined: “Nothin’ – where we goin’ to eat?”

      They led him to a Mexican eating house on Depot Street, where they were joined by Toothpick. Having planked their charge in a chair and ordered food, they settled back to have a little fun with the victim.

      “What’s yuhr name?” Windy Sam commenced.

      “Jim Anson. What’s yours?” the hobo asked.

      “Windy Sam, now – ”

      The man called Jim Anson interrupted him.

      “Is you called that because you talk too much, or because what you say don’t mean nothin’?” he asked innocently.

      “Ha-ha!” the others exclaimed, and dug the red-faced Sam in the ribs.

      One after the other they plied him with questions, but his answers always left them floundering. He had a way of turning a thrust into a boomerang. He did this with such a guileless, cringing air that they were never sure whether he was secretly laughing at them or if his answers were accidental. Before the meal was over he had them grinning at his absurd tales. In spite of themselves they listened, absorbed, and momentarily almost believed what he said.

      “Rise up, liars, and salute yuhr king!” Toothpick shouted.

      For a moment there was a change in the hobo’s face. The fawning expression was replaced by a broad, lovable grin that made the punchers’ hearts warm toward Jim Anson. Toothpick started. For a moment he studied the hobo’s face, saw the fawning smile there again, and shook his head.

      The five adjourned to Maria’s Cantina, on the corner of Depot Street. Jim Anson insisted that the first drink was on him and ordered it in a loud voice. Another followed and another. Toothpick chuckled when he saw that, while Jim Anson always ordered the drinks, one of the three riders paid for them.

      All the while Jim Anson asked them questions in such a way that they never realized they were being pumped. He turned on Toothpick and skillfully ferreted from him the story of the murder of the Courfay family two weeks before.

      “When we got there they was all dead, except one gent what says: ‘Fees do dible chable’ which I figures is French.” Toothpick rambled on with his story, but Jim Anson was not listening.

      “Fils du Diable à Cheval,” he muttered to himself. “Sons of the Devil on Horseback. Gosh!”

      A little later “Mac” Kennedy, an Eastern dude, sauntered in. Jim Anson, after studying him a minute, turned to the others.

      “Who’s that gazebo all dressed up like a Christmas tree?” he asked.

      “He’s a white-livered dude,” Windy snorted contemptuously.

      “He comes out here about three months back and says it’s for his health,” Kansas elaborated. “Buys the Bar X, a little runt of a ranch what backs up against the lava fields.”

      “He don’t look yellow,” Anson said meditatively.

      “He is, though. Plumb yellow, from the neck down and feet up,” Tad Hicks hiccuped.

      Ten minutes later Bill Anderson stepped into the cantina. He hesitated for a moment when he saw the group at the table; then he nodded to them.

      “Boss in the back room?” he asked of Maria.

      “Si, si, señor.”

      Anderson walked quickly to a door in the back, glancing over his shoulder at the five at the table. Apparently they were too interested in themselves to note his actions. Quietly he passed through and closed the door after him.

      Jim Anson insisted on buying one last drink here, despite his comrades’ urging to try the liquor elsewhere. Maria brought the drinks. Kennedy, the dude laughed as he watched them. He leaned over the bar and whispered something to Maria, then left the cantina.

      The cow-punchers began to sing, and the woman came forward and ordered them to leave.

      “All right, we’ll go,” Jim Anson said with drunken dignity. He staggered to his feet and swayed toward the rear door. He turned the handle and kicked it open. It led to a storeroom.

      “That’s not the way, stupid.” The woman gave him a violent shove after the others. He grinned drunkenly at her and staggered out.

      About ten that evening Bill Anderson swung in at Judge Ransom’s gate and knocked at the door. When he and the judge were comfortably installed in easy-chairs before a fire, he looked squarely at Ransom.

      “What are you going to do about the trial to-morrow?” he asked bluntly.

      “My duty,” the older man replied with equal bluntness.

      “Judge, don’t think I’m asking you to do anything else,” Anderson added quickly. “You know I’m not in politics for my health. When I came here a couple of years ago, every one was at odds. The leaders of the party were fighting among themselves. I’m not flattering myself when I say that all stopped when I took hold. Judge, you understand that I’d soon lose my leadership if I nominated men who were not elected.”

      The judge had hoped against hope that Bill Anderson would back him because of his record, even if the Mexican vote was against him. He was sure, if he could get the nomination, he would be re-elected. Now his heart sank.

      “Let’s be frank, judge. If you СКАЧАТЬ