Sundown Slim Part 41

Presently Banks closed his knife, slid it into his pocket, and leaned back in his chair. "Lone Johnny gone back?" he queried.

The deputy nodded.

Banks proffered his companion a cigar and lit one himself. For a while he smoked and gazed at the ceiling. "I got two cards to play," he said, straightening up and brus.h.i.+ng cigar-ash from his vest. "Last election was pretty close. By rights I ought to be at the county-seat.

Got any idea why they side-tracked me here in Antelope?"

The deputy grinned. "It's right handy to the line. And I guess they saw what was comin' and figured to put you up against it. They couldn't beat you at the polls, so they tried to put you where you wouldn't come back."

"Correct. And there's no use running against the rope. Now I want you to call on every citizen in Antelope and tell every dog-goned one of 'em what Lone Johnny kind of hinted at regarding the Concho and Loring.

And show 'em this note from Jack. Tell 'em I'm going to swear in each of 'em as a special. I want to go on record as having done what I could."

The deputy rose. "All right, Jim. Kind of late to make that move, ain't it?"

"I got another card," said the sheriff. "Tell 'em we'll be ready to start about twelve. It's ten, now."

With the departure of the deputy the sheriff reached in his desk and brought forth a book. It was thumbed and soiled. He turned the pages slowly, pausing to read a line here and there. Finally he settled back and became immersed in the perennial delight of "Huckleberry Finn." He read uninterruptedly for an hour, drifting on the broad current of the Mississippi to eventually disembark in Antelope as the deputy shadowed the doorway. The sheriff closed the book and glanced up. He read his answer in the deputy's eyes.

"'T ain't that they don't like you," said the deputy. "But they ain't one of 'em that'll do anything for Loring or do anything against Jack Corliss."

The sheriff smiled. "Public opinion is setting on the fence and hanging on with both hands. All right, Joe. I'll play her alone. I got a wire from Hank that he's got the herder, Fernando. Due here on the two-thirty. You hang around and tell Hank to keep on--take the Mexican along up to Usher."

"Goin' to go after the Concho boys and Loring's herders?"

"Sure thing. And I'm going alone. Then they won't make a fuss.

They'll come back with me all right."

"But you couldn't get a jury to send one of 'em over--not in this county."

"Correct, Joe. But the county's paying me to go through the motions--don't matter what I think personally. If they've pulled off a shooting-match at the water-hole, the thing's settled by this time. It had to come and if it's over, I'm dam' glad. It'll clear the air for quite a spell to come."

"The papers'll sure make a holler--" began the deputy.

"Not so much as you think. They got one good reason to keep still and that's because the free range is like to be opened up to homesteaders any day. Too much noise about cattle-and-sheep war would scare good money from coming to the State. I heard the other day that that Sundown Jack picked up is settled at the water-hole. I took him for a tenderfoot once. I reckon he ain't. It's hard to figure on those queer kind. Well, you meet the two-thirty. I guess I'll ride over to the Concho and see the boys."

The Loring-Corliss case is now a matter of record in the dusty files of the "Usher Sentinel" and its decidedly disesteemed contemporary, the "Mesa News." The case was dismissed for lack of anything like definite evidence, though Loring and Corliss were bound over to keep the peace.

Incidentally one tall and angular witness refused to testify, and was sentenced to pay a not insignificant fine for contempt of court. That his fine was promptly paid by Corliss furnished a more or less gratuitous excuse for a wordy vilification of the rancher and his "hireling a.s.sa.s.sin," "menace to public welfare," and the like.

Sundown, however, stuck to his guns, even to the extent of searching out the editor of the "Mesa News" and offering graciously to engage in hand-to-hand combat, provided the editor, or what was left of him after the battle, would insert an apology in the next issue of the paper--the apology to be dictated by Sundown.

The editor temporized by asking the indignant Sundown to frame the apology, which he did. Then the wily autocrat of the "Mesa News,"

after reading the apology, agreed to an armistice and mentioned the fact that it was a hot day. Sundown intimated that he knew one or two places in Usher which he was not averse to visiting under the circ.u.mstances. And so the treaty was ratified.

Perhaps among Sundown's possessions there is none so cherished, speaking broadly, as a certain clipping from an Arizona newspaper in which the editor prints a strangely worded and colorful apology, above his personal signature, for having been misled temporarily in his estimation of a "certain person of warlike proclivities who visited our sanctum bent upon eradicating us in a physical sense." The apology follows. In a separate paragraph, however, is this information:

"We find it imperative, however, to state that the above apology is a personal matter and in no wise affects our permanent att.i.tude toward the lawlessness manifest so recently in our midst. Moreover, we were forced at the muzzle of a six-shooter, in the hands of the above-mentioned Sundown, to insert that illiterate and blood-thirsty gentleman's screed in the MESA NEWS, as he, together with the gang of cutthroats with whom he seems in league, stood over us with drawn weapons until the entire issue had been run off. Such is the condition of affairs under the present corrupt administration of our suffering State."

Such advertising, Sundown reflected, breathing of battle and carnage, would obviate the necessity for future upholding of his reputation in a physical sense. Great is the power of the press! It became whispered about that he was a two-gun man of dexterous attainments in dispensing lead and that his mild and even apologetic manner was but a cloak.

Accident and the tongues of men earned for Sundown that peace which he so thoroughly loved. He became immune to strife. When he felt his outward att.i.tude sagging a little, he re-read the clipping and braced up.

Sundown rode to the Concho gate, dismounted and opened it. Chance ran ahead, leaping up as Corliss came from the ranch-house.

"Got them holes plugged in the tank," said Sundown. "Got the engine runnin' ag'in and things is fine. You goin' to put them cattle back on the water-hole range?"

"Yes, as soon as Bud can get around again. He's up, but he can't ride yet."

"How's Bull?"

"Oh, he's all right. Mebby-So's laid up yet. He got it pretty bad."

"Well, I reckon they ain't goin' to be no more fightin' 'bout cattle and sheep. I stopped by to the Loring ranch. Ole man Loring was sure ugly, so I reckon he's feelin' nacheral ag'in. He was like to get mad at me for stopping but his gal, Nell, she smoothed down his wool and asked me to stay and eat. I wasn't feelin' extra hungry, so I come along up here."

"I have some good news," said Corliss. "Got a letter from Billy last week. Didn't have time to tell you. He's working for a broker in 'Frisco. I shouldn't wonder if he should turn up one of these days.

How would you like to drive over to Antelope and meet him when he comes?"

"I'd sure be glad. Always did like Billy. 'Course you don't know when he's comin'--and I got to do some drivin' meself right soon."

"So?"

"Yep. 'Course I got the wagon, but they ain't no style to that. I was wantin' a rig with style to it--like the buckboard." Sundown fidgeted nervously with the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt. He coughed, took off his hat, and mopped his face with a red bandanna. Despite his efforts he grew warmer and warmer. He was about to approach a delicate subject.

Finally he seized the bull by the horns, so to speak, and his tanned face grew red. "I was wantin' to borrow that buckboard, mebby, Sat.u.r.day."

"Sure! Going to Antelope?"

"Nope--not first. I got business over to Chico Miguel's place. I'm goin' to call on a lady."

"Oh, I see! Anita?"

"Well, I sure ain't goin' to call on her ma--she's married a'ready."

Despite himself, Corliss smiled. "So that's what you wanted that new bed and table and the chairs for. Did they get marked up much coming in?"

"The legs some. I rubbed 'em with that hoss-liniment you give me. You can hardly tell. It kind of smelled like turpentine, and I didn't have nothin' else."

"Well, anything you want--"

"I know, boss. But this is goin' to be a quiet weddin'. No bra.s.s-bands or ice-cream or pop-corn or style. Just me and her and--and I reckon a priest, seein' she was brung up that way. I ain't asked her yet."

"What? About getting married, or the priest?"

"Nothin'. We got kind of a eye-understandin' and her ma and me is good friends. It's like this. Bein' no hand to do love-makin' stylish, I just pa.s.ses her a couple of bouquets onct or twict and said a few words. Now, you see, if I get that buckboard and a couple of hosses--I sure would like the white ones--and drive over lookin' like business and slip the ole man a box of cigars I bought, and Mrs. Miguel that there red-and-yella serape I paid ten dollars for in Antelope, and show Anita me new contract with the Concho for pumpin' water for seventy-five bones a month, I reckon the rest of it'll come easy. I'm figurin' strong on them white hosses, likewise. Bein' white'll kind of look like gettin' married, without me sayin' it. You see, boss, I'm short on the Spanish talk and so I have to do some figurin'."

"Well, Sun, you have come along a lot since you first hit the Concho!

Go ahead, and good luck to you! If you need any money--"

"I was comin' to that. Seein' as you kind of know me--and seein' I'm goin' to git hitched--I was thinkin' you might lend me mebby a hundred on the contrac'."

"I guess I can. Will that be enough?"

"Plenty. You see I was figurin' on buyin' a few head of stock to run with yourn on the water-hole range."