The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox. Ernest Haycox

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      XVI. A DUEL

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      San Saba was no fool; he had all of an animal's perceptions, he almost instinctively knew when to avoid danger and when to crowd his luck. In no other way could the man have survived so long his doubtful and shaded existence. Sometimes those perceptions prompted him to do queer things; more than once, when in the full tide of fortune, he had quietly taken to his horse and left the scene of his victories behind him, apparently impelled by no other motive than that of plain cowardice. And there had also been occasions when San Saba stuck to his course when every indication would have warned an even less cautious man. The ex-foreman was full of seeming contradictions. He had absolutely no scruples, and it must be said of him that he had an abundance of a certain kind of courage; for all of that he was no firebrand, and he seldom took an open course when a secret one served him as well. What made so dangerous a figure was that uncanny ability to sense the thoughts of others and to feel and to interpret the cross-currents sweeping around him.

      Thus he knew that Lispenard harboured some secret design. It took no great amount of perception to fathom this sullen and changeable figure, but it did augur uncommon wisdom that San Saba forbore forcing the issue. He waited as the days passed along and Lispenard grew more and more restless and more and more given over to fitful periods of brooding. The man rode out into the hills a great deal and always came back with a smouldering fire in his eyes, and after these excursions he always affected a casualness that only the more plainly warned San Saba. Still the ex-foreman bided his time. Then one morning Lispenard saddled his horse earlier than usual and started away without comment, San Saba's small eyes narrowed, and he called after the man.

      "We got a chore with Hazel to-night. Don't forget it."

      Lispenard turned fretfully. "To hell with Hazel. What's he done for us? Oh, I'll be around when the time comes."

      San Saba squatted on the ground, listening to the horse's hoofs crunch across the fallen twigs. The sound scarcely had died out before he was up and over to his own mount in one swift dive; and as he started in pursuit of the Blond Giant his arm dropped toward the gun at his belt. Every feature grew cramped and bleak, the tell-tale film of crimson spread around the white of his eyes. "The dawg—the rotten-livered houn'! He ain't fitten to know what he does know—he's too rotten to live. Gillette's up there—he's traffickin' with the man. Sho'. He can't play that game with me."

      He quickened his pace, then stopped as he saw Lispenard crossing a distant alley of the forest; then he went on again with all the stealthy intentness of a cat.

      As for Lispenard, he had no caution about him this day; he was ridden by a solitary desire, and the farther he advanced the greater it became. Earlier, when he first discovered Lorena, he had been at some pains to conceal the nature of his expeditions, to double back and watch for pursuit. But San Saba had never followed, and in time Lispenard grew careless in this maze of trickery. He suspected Gillette's presence in the cabin, and he lay cached day after day among the bushes until he saw the man step uncertainly out into the sunlight. At that point he had a fair target. He could have killed Gillette from ambush, or he could have set San Saba afresh on the trail, neither of which acts was he above doing. Instead, he kept his own counsel and waited.

      Before he got within sight of the cabin he heard Gillette calling back to the girl, and later he saw both Gillette and Quagmire swing down toward Deadwood. This was the situation for which he had long waited; directly they were out of sight he slipped off his horse, crept around on the blind side of the cabin, and circled until he stood by the door. She was singing to herself, crossing and recrossing the room. He marked her step until it came quite near the door, then he slid up to the entrance, traversed it at a stride and came face to face with her.

      She drew back, she started to turn. His arms caught her like a trap, and all the pent-up sullen rage broke across the few flimsy barriers left of his decency. He struck her with his closed fist, and when she cried out and the echo of that cry trembled through the still, hot air he struck her again and shook her with all his strength.

      "Shut up—you spitfire! I won't be bilked any more. By Godfrey, you'll pay your bill to me СКАЧАТЬ