The Heritage of the Hills Part 39

He was drunk as a lord, Oliver knew quite well from the augmented insolence of his cruel lips; but Oliver knew that he might be all the more deadly, and that some drunken gunmen can shoot better than when sober.

"What is this?--a holdup?" he asked, and bit his lip as he noted the tremble in his tones.

"A holdup is right," said Foss. "A holdup, an' a little business matter you and me's got to attend to."

"Well, let's get at it!" Oliver snapped.

"I'm gonta kill you after our business is settled," Foss told him in a matter-of-fact tone.

A cold chill ran along Oliver's spine. Should he make a dive for his gun? Foss had every advantage, but--

Foss was stepping lazily nearer, his eyes intent on the horseman, his six-shooter ready.

"Down there by the river they're fightin' it out all because o' you b.u.t.tin' into this country, where you ain't wanted." Foss had come to a stop, and was leering up at him. "You've made trouble ever since you come here. Old Man won't get rid o' you, but I'm goin' to today. But first, where's them gems?"

"I can't tell you," said Oliver.

"You're a liar!"

"Thank you. You have the advantage of me, you know. Slip your gun in the holster, and then call me a liar. I'll draw with you. My hands are up--you'll still have the advantage of having your hand closer to your gun b.u.t.t."

"D'ye think you could draw with me?"

"I know it. And before you. Try it and see!"

Foss studied over this. "Maybe--maybe!" he said. "I never did throw down on a man without givin' 'im a chance. But you got no chance with me, kid. They don't make 'em that can get the drop on Digger Foss!"

"I'll take a chance," said Oliver quietly.

"We'll see about that later. But where's them stones?"

"I don't know, I tell you."

"What did you come up in this country for?"

"On matters that concern me alone."

"No doubt o' that--or so you think. But they're interestin' to me, too.

What's in that letter Jess'my handed you at Lime Rock yesterday?"

"Oh, you were sneaking about and saw that, were you! Through your gla.s.ses, I suppose. Well, I haven't opened it, and don't know what's in it. If I did I wouldn't tell you. My arms are growing a little tired.

Will you holster your gun and give me a chance before my arms play out?"

"I will if you come across with what you know about the gems. You might as well. If I kill you, you won't be worryin' about gems. And if you croak me, why, what if you did tell me?--I'm dead, ain't I?"

"There's sound logic in that," said Oliver grimly. "I'll take you up.

Put your gun in its holster and drop your hands to your sides. Then we'll draw, with your gun hand three feet nearer your gun than mine will be. Come! I've got business down below."

The halfbreed's eyes widened in unbelief. "D'ye really mean it, kid? You saw me shoot Henry Dodd--d'ye really wanta draw with me?"

"I do."

"But then you'll be dead, and I won't know nothin' about the gems.

Unless that letter tells?"

"Perhaps. You mustn't expect me to take _all_ the chances, you know."

"Does the letter tell?"

"I haven't opened it, I say."

Foss studied in drunken seriousness. "And if you should happen to get me, why--why, where am I at again?" he puzzled.

Oliver laughed outright. "You're an amusing creature," he said. "I don't believe you're half the badman that you imagine you are." He believed nothing of the sort, but his arms were growing desperately weary and he must goad the drunken gunman into immediate action.

"There's just one thing that's the matter with you," he gibed on, ready to descend to any speech that would cut the killer and break his deadly calm. "That's my getting your girl away from you! It's not the gems; it's that that hurts you. Why, say, do you think she'd wipe her feet on you!"

Into the eyes of the halfbreed came a viperish light that almost stilled Oliver's heartbeats. For an instant he feared that he had gone too far, that Foss was about to shoot him down in cold blood.

Foss stood spread-legged in the path, as before, his face twisting with anger, the fingers of his left hand clinching and unclinching themselves. Then Oliver almost ceased to breathe as a silent, dark figure slipped wraithlike from the chaparral and began stealing toward the back of Digger Foss.

"That settles it," said Foss. "I'll kill you for that, gems or no gems!

Get ready! If you let down a hand while I'm puttin' up my gun I'll kill you like that!" He snapped the fingers of his left hand.

"I'll stick by my bargain," Oliver a.s.sured him, his glance struggling between Foss and that silent figure slinking in his rear.

What should he do? There was murder in the black eyes of the man who stole so stealthily upon the gunman's back. Should he shout to Foss? His sense of fair play cried out that he should. But Foss might misinterpret the meaning of his upraised voice, and fire. Should he--

"Here goes! I'm puttin' up my gun. Get ready, kid! When I--"

There was a leap, a flash of steel in the sunlight, a scream of agonizing pain.

Oliver's gun was out and levelled; but Foss was staggering from side to side, his arms limp before him, his head lopped forward as if he searched for something on the ground. He collapsed and lay there gasping hideously in the path, in a growing pool of blood.

The chaparral opened and closed again; and then only Oliver and the man in his death throes were remaining.

Even as Bolivio had died, so died Digger Foss, in a path in the wilderness, with the knife of a Showut Poche-daka in his back.

CHAPTER XXV

THE ANSWER

Two weeks had pa.s.sed since the battle of the Poison Oakers. That organization was now no more. Jessamy's efforts to mobilize a posse to stop the fight had proved fruitless. Only the constable and Damon Tamroy rode back with her with first aid packages, for Halfmoon Flat had voiced its indifference in a single sentence--"Let 'em fight it out!" Those whom the constable would have deputized promptly made themselves scarce.

So the Poison Oakers had fought it out, and in so doing appended "Finis"