.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      The stranger's reply was full of dry humor. Suddenly Gordon's eyes lit.

      "Where is that 'sharp'? I haven't done with——"

      The stranger pointed after the train.

      "You'll need to hustle some."

      The anger died out of Gordon's eyes and he began to laugh. With some diffidence he accepted the money.

      "Say, it's—mighty decent of you," he cried cordially. Then, for want of better means of expression, "Mighty decent."

      The two men stood steadily regarding each other. Tall and broad as Gordon was, the stranger was no less. But he added to his stature the massiveness of additional years.

      Gordon's feelings were under perfect control now. His eyes began to brighten with their native humor. He was longing to solve the mystery of that eye-shade which had disappeared from his companion's face, but was constrained to check his curiosity.

      "You said you guessed how the scrap would end?" he said. "There's a sort of blank in my—memory. I mean about the finish."

      The big stranger began to rumble in his throat. To Gordon the sound was comforting in its wholesome enjoyment.

      "It don't need a heap of guessing when a train 'sharp,' who's got the conductor grafted from his brassbound cap to the soles of his rotten feet, gets into a scrap how things are going to end. I'd sort of hoped you'd 'out' him before the crew come along. Guess you'd have done it if there'd been more room. That's the worst of scrappin' in a railroad car," he added regretfully. "That train boss got along with his crew and threw you out—on your head. They kept the 'sharp' aboard, being well grafted, and figgered to hold up your baggage. I guessed diff'rently. That all your baggage?" he inquired anxiously.

      Gordon gazed down at the grip and coat.

      "That's all," he said. Then he impulsively threw out a hand, and the stranger took it. "It's decent—mighty decent of you." Again his buoyant laugh rang out. "Say, I surely do seem to have had some good time."

      The twinkling eyes of the stranger nearly closed up in a cordial grin.

      "Seems to me you're fixed here till to-morrow, anyway. There ain't any sort of train west till then. You best come along over to the hotel. They call it 'hotel' hereabouts. I'm goin' that way."

      Gordon agreed, gathered up his property, and fell in beside his companion.

      They moved across the track, and as they went he caught some impression of the ragged little prairie town at which he had so inadvertently arrived. There seemed to him to be but a single, unpaved street, consisting of virgin prairie beaten bare and hard by local traffic. This was lined on one side by a fringe of wooden houses of every size and condition, with gaps here and there for roads, yet to be made, turning out of it. These houses were mostly of a commercial nature. Back of this he vaguely understood there to be a sparse dotting of other houses, but their purpose and arrangement remained a mystery to him. Still farther afield he beheld the green eminence of foothills, and still farther on, away in the distance, the snowy ramparts of the Rocky Mountains. The town seemed to occupy only one side of the track—the south side. The depot was beyond it, on the other.

      They picked their way across the track and debouched upon the Main Street, the name of which Gordon discovered painted in indifferent characters upon a disreputable signboard. Then they turned westwards in the direction of an isolated building rather larger than anything else in the village.

      After awhile, as his companion made no further effort at conversation, Gordon's interest and curiosity refused to permit the continued silence.

      "What State are we in?" he inquired.

      "Montana."

      Gordon glanced quickly at his companion.

      "What place is this?"

      "Snake's Fall."

      The announcement set Gordon laughing.

      "What's amiss with Snake's Fall?" inquired the other sharply.

      "Why, nothing. I was just thinking. You see, the conductor told me 'most everybody was making for Snake's Fall on the train. I'm sorry that 'sharp' wasn't. Say——"

      "What?"

      Gordon laughed again.

      "I remember you in the smoker, only—you seemed to have a—a patch over your left eye."

      "Sure."

      "Now you haven't got it?"

      "No."

      "I'm not curious, only——"

      The stranger's eyes lit ironically.

      "Sure you ain't. That's the hotel. Peter McSwain's. He's the boss. He's a friend of mine, an' I guess he'll fix you right for the night."

      The snub was decided but gentle. The man's deep, musical voice contained no suggestion of displeasure. However, he had made the other feel that he had been guilty of unpardonable rudeness.

      He was reduced to silence for the rest of the journey to the hotel, and gave himself up to consideration of this new position in which he now found himself. The one great fact that stood out in his mind was that he had gained another day on the wrong side of his ledger, and, however wrong he had been in his first attempt at fortune, his course had been hopelessly diverted into a still more impossible channel. The absurdity of the situation inclined him to amusement, but the knowledge of the real seriousness of it held him troubled.

      As they neared the hotel his curiosity further made itself felt. The place was an ordinary frame building with a veranda. It was square and squat, like a box. It was two-storied, with windows, five in all, and a center doorway. These were dotted on the face of it like raisins in a pudding. Its original paint was undoubtedly white, but that seemed to have long since succumbed to the influence of the weather, and now suggested a hopeless hue which was anything but inspiriting.

      Leaning against the door-casing, in his shirt-sleeves, was a smallish, florid man with ruddy hair. His waistcoat was almost as cheerful as his face, and, judging by the sound of his voice as he talked to a number of men lounging on the veranda, the latter quite matched the pattern of his violently checked trousers.

      "That's Peter," remarked One Eye, the name, failing a better, Gordon still thought of his companion by. "He's a bright boy, is Peter," he added, chuckling.

      "The proprietor of the—hotel?" said Gordon, interested.

      "Sure."

      Then a hail reached them from the veranda.

      "Got back, Silas?" cried the loud-voiced hotel-keeper.

      "Just what you say yourself," retorted Silas amiably. "Seems to me I bought a ticket and just got off the train. Still, ther' ain't nothing certain in this world except—graft."

      "That's so," laughed the other. "Still, ther' ain't much of a shadow 'bout you, so we'll take it as real. Who's your friend?"

      The СКАЧАТЬ