Bat Wing Bowles Part 22

"You leave my girl alone, you blankety-blank!" and went muttering on his way.

This roused Bowles from his reverie, and he began to think. If Hardy Atkins had noticed a change, there were others who would do the same.

How Atkins had guessed, or what the clue had been, he could not tell; but, having been carefully brought up, Bowles knew exactly what he ought to do. Before the first rumor had run its course it was his duty as a gentleman to go to Henry Lee and make a report of the facts; then, if any exaggerated statements came to his ears later, Mr. Lee would know that his conduct had been honorable and that green-eyed envy was raising its hateful head. So, without more ado, he rode up to the point of the herd and saluted the austere boss.

"Mr. Lee," he said, as that gentleman turned upon him sharply, "I am sorry, but Miss Lee had a very bad fall this morning and she has gone ahead to camp."

"Yes, I saw her," returned the boss. "What about it?"

"Well--I was afraid she might not mention it to you, or might minimize her hurts, but as a matter of fact she fell on a steep hill, and if it hadn't been for a juniper tree she might have been seriously injured. As it is, her knee gave her quite a lot of trouble and I had to help her to mount."

"Oh!" commented Henry Lee, and glanced at him again. "Well, what is it?"

he inquired, as Bowles still rode at his side.

"Excuse me," stammered Bowles, holding resolutely to his task, "I thought perhaps you might want to ride ahead and help her off her horse."

For a moment the boss looked him over, then he grunted and bowed quite formally.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Bowles," he said. "Will you call Hardy to take my place?"

He waited until Hardy Atkins had started, and then put spurs to his horse, and when the cowboys reached camp he was busy about the tent. The next day Dixie did not ride out on the round-up, and when they came back she was gone. "Back to the home ranch," the cook reported, and he added that she was not very lame; but the cow-punchers glared at Bowles as if he had crippled her for life. And not only that, but as if he had done it on purpose.

"These blankety-blank tenderfeet!" commented Hardy Atkins by the fire.

"They can make an outfit more trouble than a bunch of Apache Indians. I cain't stand 'em--it's onlucky to have 'em around."

"I'd rather be short-handed, any time," observed Buck Buchanan sagely.

"Now, there's Dix," continued Hardy, with a vindictive glance at Bowles; "worth any two men in the outfit--ride anywhere--goes out with this tenderfoot and comes within an ace of gittin' killed. She raced with me, rode with Jack and Slim, and left the Straw a mile--the Hinglishman comes in behind her, crowds her outer the trail, and if it hadn't been fer that juniper she'd a-landed in them rocks."

Bowles looked up scornfully from his place and said nothing, but Brigham appeared for the defense.

"Aw, what do _you_ know about it?" he growled. "You wasn't there. Who told you he crowded her out of the trail?"

"Well, he says so himse'f!" protested Atkins, pointing an accusing finger at Bowles. "Didn't he come into camp and tell all about it? I believe that he was tryin' to do it so he could git a chance to----"

"Mr. Atkins," said Bowles, rising to his feet and speaking tremulously, "I shall have to ask----"

But that was as far as he got. With a tiger-like spring the ex-twister was upon him, and before he could raise his hands he struck him full in the face.

"You will talk about my gal, will ye?" he shouted, as Bowles went down at the blow. "Stand up hyer, you white-livered Hinglishman; I'll learn you to b.u.t.t in on my game!"

"Here! What're you tryin' to do?" demanded Brigham, leaping up hastily and confronting his old-time enemy. "You touch that boy again, and I'll slap yore dirty face off!"

"Well, he's been gittin' too important around hyer!" cried Atkins noisily. "And he's been talkin' about my gal--I won't take that from no man!"

"Huh!" sneered Brigham, drawing closer and clenching his hands. "You're mighty quick to hit a man when he ain't lookin'--why don't you take a man of yore size now and hit me?"

"I ain't got no quarrel with you!" raved Hardy Atkins. "That's the feller I'm after--he's been talkin' about my gal!"

"He has not!" replied Brigham deliberately. "He never talked about no gal, and I'll whip the man that says so--are you bad hurt, pardner?"

He knelt by the side of the prostrate Bowles, who opened his eyes and stared. Then he looked about him and raised one hand to his cheek, which was bruised and beginning to swell.

"I'll learn you to cut me out!" taunted Hardy Atkins, shaking his fist and doing a war-dance. "I'll make you hard to ketch if you try to b.u.t.t in on me!"

"Aw, shut up!" snarled Brigham, lifting his partner up. "You're brave when a man ain't lookin', ain't ye? Here, ketch hold of me, pardner, and I'll take you to yore bed."

Bowles dropped down on his blankets, still nursing his aching head; but in the morning he rose up with a purposeful look in his eye. He was a long way from New York and the higher life now, and that one treacherous blow had roused his fighting blood. For the courage which prompts a man to strike in the dark, he had little if any respect, and he went straight over to Hardy Atkins the moment he saw him alone.

"Mr. Atkins," he said, "you hit me when I wasn't looking last night.

Next time you won't find me so easy--but be so good as to leave Miss Lee's name out of this."

"Oho!" taunted the cow-puncher, straightening up and regarding him with a grin. "So you want some more, hey? That crack on the jaw didn't satisfy you. What's the matter with yore face this mawnin'?"

"Never you mind about my face," returned Bowles warmly. "If you are so low as to be proud of a trick like that, you are a coward, and no gentleman, and--put up your hands!"

He squared off as he spoke, falling back upon his right foot and presenting a long, menacing left; but Hardy Atkins only laughed and loosened his pistol.

"Aw, go on away," he said. "D'ye think I want to _box_ with you? No, if you git into a fight with me you're liable to stop 'most anythin'--I'll hit you over the coco with _this_!"

He laid his hand on the heavy Colt's which he always wore in his shaps, and gazed upon Bowles insolently.

"You can't run no blazer over me, Mr. Willie-boy," he went on, as Bowles put down his hands. "You're out West now, where everythin' goes. If you'd happen to whip me in a fist-fight I'd git my gun and shoot you, so keep yore mouth shut unless you want to go the limit. And while we're talkin'," he drawled, "I think you might as well drift--it's goin' to be mighty onhealthy around hyer if I ketch you with Dixie again."

"I asked you to leave her name out of this," suggested Bowles, trying bravely to keep his voice from getting thin. "If you've got a quarrel with me, well and good, but certainly no gentleman----"

"Aw, go on away from me," sneered Hardy Atkins, waving him wearily aside. "You seem to think you're the only gentleman in the outfit! Go chase yoreself--you make me tired!"

The sight of grinning faces about the corral recalled Bowles to the presence of an audience and, choking with anger and chagrin, he went off to saddle his horse. Ever since his arrival Hardy Atkins had ignored him, glancing at him furtively or gazing past him with supercilious scorn. Now for the first time they had met as man to man, and in that brief minute the ex-twister had shown his true colors. He was a man of treachery and violence, and proud of it. He did not pretend to fair play nor subscribe to the rules of the game. He did not even claim to be a gentleman! There was the crux, and Bowles labored in his mind to find the key. How could he compete--in either love or war--with a man who was not a gentleman?

It was Brigham who gave the answer, and to him it was perfectly simple.

"Well," he said, as they rode back together from the circle, "he's warned you out of camp--what ye goin' to do about it?"

"Why, what can I do?" faltered Bowles, whose soul was darkened with troubles.

"Fight or git out," replied Brigham briefly.

"But he won't fight fair!" cried Bowles. "He hits me when I'm not looking; then when I offer to fight him with my hands he threatens me with a pistol. What can a man do?"

"Threaten 'im with yourn!" returned Brigham. "He won't shoot--he's one of the worst four-flushers in Arizona! He's jest runnin' it over you because he thinks you're a tenderfoot."

"How do you know he won't shoot?" inquired Bowles, to whom the whole proposition was in the nature of an enigma. "What does he carry that pistol for, then?"

"Jest to look ba-ad," sneered Brigham, "and throw a big scare into strangers. _I_ ain't got no six-shooter, and he don't run it over me, does he? He's afraid to shoot, that's what's the matter--he knows very well the Rangers would be on his neck before he could cross the line.

Don't you let these Texicans buffalo you, boy--the only time they're dangerous is when they're on a drunk."

"Then you mean," began Bowles hopefully, "if I'd struck him this morning he wouldn't have used his gun?"

"Well," admitted Brig, "he might've drawed it--and if you'd whipped him he might've taken a shot at you. But you got a gun too, ain't you?"