The Coming of the Law. Seltzer Charles Alden

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СКАЧАТЬ want anything to do with me at all?” His forced laugh had a harshness in it that caused the young man’s muscles to stiffen. He took a sly glance at the girl and saw her chin uplift with disdain.

      “Do you think it necessary for me to tell you that–again?” she said.

      A strange satisfaction thrilled the young man; sympathy for her drew his mouth into a peculiarly grim smile. But he had no time to enjoy his satisfaction for the big man spoke and this time he did not laugh.

      “Well,” he said shortly, “you’re going to have something to do with me. You’re going to hook up with me or I’m putting that crazy brother of yours out of business!”

      The girl was suddenly rigid and a deep red as suddenly suffused her cheeks. The young man’s face paled at the threat, his teeth came together with a snap, and he leaned forward, wishing to hear some more of this extraordinary conversation. More of it came quickly. The girl spoke, her voice even and well controlled, though burdened with a biting sarcasm:

      “What a terrible man you are, to be sure, to threaten to make war upon a defenseless girl and her afflicted brother. But I’m not afraid of you!”

      She took a step toward him, standing very close to him and looking straight into his eyes. She was fighting bravely for her composure, but the young man had seen that her lips had quivered pitifully during her brief speech. He stiffened with sympathy. He could not, of course, understand this strange conversation, but he could discern its drift, and the suggestive underplay in the big man’s words. But plainly he had not been mistaken in his estimate of the young woman–she seemed entirely able to take care of herself.

      He crowded a little closer, though he knew that this conversation was none of his affair further than that he was interested–as any man would be interested–in seeing that the young woman received decent treatment. Certainly so far she had not received that, yet neither had the big man said anything to warrant interference by a stranger. Stealing another glance, the young man saw a heavy revolver at the man’s hip, and he did not doubt, from what he had thus far seen of him, that he would use the weapon should he turn and discover that there was a listener to his conversation. Such an action would accord perfectly with tales that the young man had heard of this section of the country. But he edged closer.

      The big man’s face had become poisonously bloated. The girl’s defiance seemed to have enraged him.

      “Hell!” he said venomously. “You’re talking damn brave!” He leaned closer to her. “And you think you’d be disgraced if folks knowed you was a friend of mine?” He laughed harshly. “Most folks are tickled to be known as my friend. But I’m telling you this: If I ain’t a friend I’m an enemy, and you’re doing as I say or I’m making things mighty unpleasant for you and your poor, ‘afflicted’ brother!”

      The young man saw the girl’s hands clench, saw her face grow slowly pale. Twice now had the big man taunted her about her brother, and plainly his words had hurt her. Words trembled on her lips but refused to come. But for an instant she forced her eyes to meet those of the man and then they suddenly filled with tears. She took a backward step, her shoulders drooping. The big man followed her, gloating over her. Again the young man’s thoughts went to the lion and the mouse.

      “Hurts, does it?” said the big man, brutally. “Well, you’ve brought it on yourself, being such a damn prude!”

      He reached out and grasped her by the shoulder. She shrank back, struggling with him, trying to grasp the butt of an ivory-handled revolver that swung at her right hip. The big man pinned her arms and the effort was futile.

      And then retribution–like an avalanche–struck the big man. He heard the movement, sensed the danger, and flung his right hand toward his pistol butt. There was a silent struggle; a shot, one of the young man’s arms swung out–flail like–the clenched hand landing with a crash. The big man went down like a falling tree–prone to the ground, his revolver flying ten feet distant, a little blue-white smoke curling lazily upward out of its muzzle. The big man was raised again–bodily–and hurled down again. He lay face upward in the white sunlight–a mass of bruised and bleeding flesh.

      The young man’s anger had come and gone. He stood over the big man, looking down at him, his white teeth gleaming through his slightly parted lips.

      “I think that will do for you,” he said in an even, passionless voice.

      For an instant there was a tense silence. The young man turned and looked at the girl, who was regarding him with surprised and bewildered eyes.

      The young man smiled mirthlessly. “I think I waited rather too long. But he won’t bother you again–at least for a few minutes.”

      He saw the girl’s gaze directed to a point somewhere behind him and he turned to see that a door in the side of the Fashion Saloon was vomiting men. They came rushing out, filling the space between the two buildings–cowboys mostly, with a sprinkling of other men whose appearance and attire proclaimed them citizens. The young man stood silent while the newcomers ranged themselves about him, others giving their attention to the big man who still lay on the ground. The girl had not moved; she was standing near the young man, her face pale, her slight figure rigid, her eyes wide and flashing. The young man looked from her to the men who had crowded about him and he became aware that one of the men–a slender, olive-skinned cowboy–evidently a half-breed–was speaking to him. He stood looking at the man, saw menace in his eyes, heard his voice, writhing in profane accusation:

      “So you’ve shot Beeg Beel, you tenderfoot – !” said the man. His right hand was hooked in his cartridge belt, near the butt of his six-shooter.

      The young man had been coldly scrutinizing the face of the half-breed; he had seen a sneering insolence on the thin, snarling lips, and he knew instantly that this man was a friend of his fallen adversary. He had smiled grimly when the man had begun speaking, being willing to argue the justice of his action in striking the big man, but at the man’s vile insult his white teeth gleamed again and his right arm flew out–like a flail–the fist crashing against the half-breed’s jaw. Like the big man the half-breed collapsed in a heap on the ground. There was a sudden movement in the crowd, and pistols flashed in the sunlight. The young man took a backward step, halted, drew himself up and faced them, his lips curling.

      “Of course you’ll shoot now,” he said bitterly.

      He heard a rustle beside him, and turned to see the girl standing within a foot of him, the ivory-handled pistol in hand, her eyes flashing coldly.

      “I don’t think that any of them are going to shoot,” she declared evenly, her voice resounding in the sudden silence that had fallen; “Big Bill got just what he deserved, and this gentleman will not be molested. He isn’t armed,” she said, with a dry laugh; “shooting him would be murder, and if he is shot I promise to avenge him immediately.” She turned slightly, speaking to the young man while keeping her eyes on the men around her. During the pause that followed her words several of the men stealthily sheathed their weapons and stepped back.

      “I think Big Bill is able to fight his own battles,” continued the girl, taking advantage of the evident reluctance of the men to force trouble.

      Her face became slightly paler as she saw the big man sit up and stare about him. He got to his feet and stood, swaying dizzily for an instant, and then his gaze sought out the young man and was fixed on him with foreboding malignance. His right hand fell to his holster, and finding no weapon there he turned and sought it, finding it, and returning to a point near the young man, the weapon in hand. As he halted there was another movement and the half-breed was on his feet and dragging at his revolver. The young man crouched, prepared to spring, and the big man СКАЧАТЬ