Faro Nell and Her Friends: Wolfville Stories. Lewis Alfred Henry

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СКАЧАТЬ 'but what's your friend, Dead Shot.'

      "Dead Shot, pale as a candle, wheels toward the door.

      "'Pore Dead Shot!' murmurs Nell, the tears in her eyes, to that extent she has to ask Boggs to take her place as lookout.

      "Four hours goes by, an' thar's the poundin' of a pony's hoofs, an' the creak of saddle-leathers, out in front. It's the Red Dog chief, who's come lookin' for Enright.

      "They confabs a minute or two at a table to the r'ar, an' then Enright calls Peets over.

      "'Dead Shot's gone an' got himse'f downed,' he says.

      "'It's on the squar' gents,' explains the Red Dog chief; 'Dead Shot'll say so himself. He jest nacherally comes huntin' it.'

      "It looks like Dead Shot, after that failure with Cherokee in the Red Light, p'ints across for Red Dog. He searches out a party who's called the Lightnin' Bug, on account of the spontaneous character of his six-shooter. Dead Shot finds the Lightnin' Bug talkin' with two fellow gents. He listens awhile, an' then takes charge of the conversation.

      "'Bug,' he says, raisin' his voice like it's a challenge–'Bug, only I'm afraid folks'll string you up a whole lot, I'd say it's you who stood up the stage last week in Apache Canyon. Also'–an' yere Dead Shot takes to gropin' about in his jeans, same as if he's feelin' for a knife–'it's mighty customary with me, on occasions sech as this, to cut off the y'ears of–'

      "Dead Shot stops short, by reason of a bullet from the Bug's pistol which lodges in his lungs.

      "When Peets an' Enright finds him, he's spread out on the Red Dog chief's blankets, coughin' blood, with the sorrow-stricken Bug proppin' him up one moment to drink water, an' sheddin' tears over him the next, alternate.

      "The Red Dog chief leads out the weepin' Bug, who's lamentin' mighty grievous, an' leaves Enright an' Peets with Dead Shot.

      "'It's all right, gents,' whispers Dead Shot; 'I comes lookin' for it, an' I gets it. Likewise, she ain't to blame; it's me. I oughtn't to have married her that time–she only a girl, an' me a full-growed man who should 'av had sense for both.'

      "'That's no lie,' says Peets, an' Dead Shot gives him a grateful look.

      "'No,' he goes on, 'she's too fine, too high–I wasn't her breed. An' I ought to have seen it.' Yere he has a tussle to hang on.

      "Peets pours him out some whiskey.

      "'It's licker, ain't it?' Dead Shot gasps, sniffin' the glass. 'I'm for water, Doc, licker makin' me that ornery.'

      "'Down with it,' urges Peets. 'Which, if I'm a jedge, you'll pack in long before you're due to start anything extra serious, even if you drinkt a gallon.'

      "'Shore!' agrees Dead Shot, as though the idee brings him relief. 'For a moment it slips my mind about me bein' plugged. But as I'm sayin', gents, don't blame her. An' don't blame him. I has my chance, an' has it all framed up, too, when I crosses up with 'em recent over in Tucson, to kill 'em both. But I can't do it, gents. The six-shooter at sech a time's played out. That's straight; it don't fill the bill; it ain't adequate, that a-way. So all I can do is feel sorry for 'em, an' never let 'em know I knows. For, after all, it ain't their fault, it's mine. You sports see that, don't you? She's never meant for me, bein' too fine; an', me a man, I ought to have knowed.'

      "Dead Shot ceases talkin', an' Enright glances at Peets. Peets shakes his head plenty sorrowful.

      "'Go on,' he says to Dead Shot; 'you-all wants us to do–what?'

      "'Thar you be!' an' at the sound of Peets' voice Dead Shot's mind comes creepin' back to camp. 'She'll be happy with him–they havin' so much in common–an' him an' her bein' eddicated that a-way–an' him havin' traveled a whole lot! An' this yere's what I wants, gents. I wants you-all, as a kindness to me an' in a friendly way–seein' I can't stay none to look-out the play myse'f–to promise to sort o' supervise round an' put them nuptials over right. I takes time by the forelock an' sends to Tucson for a sky-pilot back two days ago. Bar accidents, he'll be in camp by to-morry. He can work in at the funeral, too, an' make it a whipsaw.'

      "Dead Shot turns his eyes on Enright. It's always so about our old chief; every party who's in trouble heads for him like a coyote for a camp fire.

      "'You'll shore see that he marries her?–Promise!'

      "Thar's a quaver in Dead Shot's voice, Peets tells me, that's like a pra'r.

      "'Thar's my hand, Dead Shot,' says Enright, who's chokin' a little. 'So far as the letter man's concerned, it'll be the altar or the windmill, Jack Moore an' a lariat or that preacher party you refers to.'

      "Dead Shot's gettin' mighty weak. After Enright promises he leans back like he's takin' a rest. He's so still they're beginnin' to figger he's done cashed in; but all at once he starts up like he's overlooked some bet, an' has turned back from eternity to tend to it.

      "'About Cherokee an' his box,' he whispers; 'that's a lyin' bluff I makes. Tell him I don't mean nothin'; I'm only out to draw his fire.'

      "After this Dead Shot only rouses once. His voice ain't more'n a sigh.

      "'I forgets to tell you,' he says, 'to give her my love. An' you say, too, that I'm bumped off like snuffin' out a candle–too plumb quick for her to get yere. An' don't blame her, gents; it's not her fault, it's mine.'

      "It's the week after the fooneral. The postmaster's still in town, partly by nacheral preference, partly because Enright notifies Jack Moore to ride herd on him, an' fill him as full of lead as a bag of bullets in event he ondertakes to go stampedin' off.

      "In the Red Light the seventh evenin' Enright rounds up Peets.

      "'Doc,' he says, 'a month would be more respect'ble, but this yere's beginnin' to tell on me.'

      "'Besides,' Peets chips in, by way of he'pin' Enright out, 'that preacher sharp corraled over to Missis Rucker's is gettin' restless. Onless we side-lines or puts hobbles on that divine we-all can't expect to go holdin' him much longer.'

      "Enright leads the way to the r'ar wareroom of the Noo York store, which bein' whar the stranglers holds their meetin's is Wolfville's hall of jestice. After licker is brought Enright sends Jack Moore for the postmaster, who comes in lookin' plenty white. Missis Rucker brings over the divine; an' next Dead Shot's widow–she's plumb lovely in black–appears on the arm of Peets, who goes in person.

      "Thar's a question in the widow's eye, like she don't onderstand.

      "'Roll your game,' says Enright to the preacher sharp.

      "It's yere an' now Dead Shot's widow fully b'ars out that philos'pher who announces so plumb cold, that a-way, that women's the sublimation of the onexpected. Jack Moore's jest beginnin' to manoover that recreant public servant into p'sition on the widow's left hand, so's he can be married to the best advantage, an' the preacher sharp's gettin' out an' openin' his book of rooles, when the widow draws back.

      "P'intin' at the bridegroom postmaster, same as if he's a stingin' lizard, she addresses Enright.

      "'Whatever's the meanin' of this?'

      "'Merely the croode preelim'naries, Ma'am,' Enright explains, 'to what we-all trusts will prove a fa'rly deesir'ble weddin'.'

      "'Me marry him?' an' the onmitigated scorn that relict exhibits, to say nothin' of her tone of voice, shore makes the postmaster bridegroom feel СКАЧАТЬ