CHAPTER XVII
LIKE A MAN
Big Medicine sprang to his feet as Guadalupe herded Lucy and Wanna into the room, but Kohler drove him back with a rifle barrel.
“Set down!” growled Baldy. “We gave yuh a front seat, and what more do yuh want? Set down and take yore medicine, you big fool! This ain’t United States.”
“You’ll pay for this, Kern,” said Big Medicine.
“Oh, all right,” laughed Baldy. “Anyway, you won’t be here to see it, so don’tcha worry about me. Get up here, Gonzales, and let’s get this thing over.”
Gonzales slouched to the front and tried to take Wanna by the arm, but she avoided him.
“Stand still!” snapped Baldy. “Yuh don’t want to be tied, do yuh? C’mere, priest.”
Father Francisco came forward slowly. He seemed very pale in the yellow lamplight; and his lips were set in a determined line.
“I refuse to perform this ceremony,” he said slowly.
“It is against the laws of God and man to do this thing.”
“Oh, the hell it is!”
Baldy gritted his teeth and grasped the priest by the arm, causing him to wince with pain.
“You go right ahead and perform this marriage ceremony, or there’ll be one priest runnin’ loose in Mexico without ears.”
“You would not dare!”
“Wouldn’t I?” Baldy laughed sneeringly. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m neither snivelin’ Catholic nor bawlin’ Protestant. You don’t mean anythin’ to me, pardner. You do as I say, or suffer the consequences.”
Baldy drew out a huge pocketknife, opened a blade, and tested it on his thumb. Father Francisco knew that this man was just drunk enough, heartless enough, unprincipled enough to follow out his threat.
“I will do it under protest,” said the priest slowly. “It will be no marriage to be sanctioned by God nor by man; words which may as well be spoken by any of you for all they may mean.”
“Thassall right,” grinned Baldy. “I reckon we’ll have plenty of witnesses to prove that a priest done the job all proper.”
Gonzales grasped Wanna by the arm and whirled her around, a laugh on his thick lips, when the lamplight flickered on a twisting blade, and Gonzales staggered back clawing at his thick neck.
Torres had missed again. The guard on the knife had struck Gonzales in the neck, but the point had missed by an inch.
With a roar of rage Gonzales whipped out a revolver. Torres had darted toward the door, but Gonzales’ bullet struck him and he went sidewise, slithering along the adobe wall, and fell on his face.
“That was close!” whispered Gonzales hoarsely, feeling of his throat.
The crowd was shocked for a moment. Baldy went to Torres and turned him over, but came back quickly.
“Good shootin’,” he said coldly. “That settles the argument, Gonzales, so we’ll go ahead.”
The priest was so badly shaken that he stared dumbly at the outstretched body of Torres, and his lips moved in prayer. Baldy touched him on the arm and motioned for him to proceed. Gonzales had released Wanna when the knife guard had struck him, but now he grasped her again.
But before the priest could begin the ceremony, Jack Meline stepped out from the wall, his bloody lips twisted strangely, and sent a bullet from a heavy revolver into the body of the big Gonzales.
It was so unlooked for that no one moved. Gonzales turned on his heel, a look of wonder on his cruel face. He did not seem to know what had happened. It seemed as if he were waiting for someone to explain. Then he went to his knees and sprawled sidewise, his huge hands gripping at the dirt floor.
Jack had not moved after the shot. The gun was still tensed at his side, a trickle of smoke coming from the muzzle.
“My God, what did yuh do that for?”
Baldy’s voice seemed high-pitched, querulous. Doctor Meline moved ponderously toward Jack, peering at him.
“You fool, have you gone mad?” he demanded. “Do you realize what you have done?”
Jack stepped against the wall, covering the doctor with the gun.
“I know what I’ve done,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t make me do it again.”
“By God, he’s gone loco!” exclaimed Baldy.
“I’m not crazy.” Jack shook his head.
“Go back,” he warned his father. “Go back before I shoot.”
Lucy and Wanna drew away, but no one tried to stop them.
“Somebody shoot the damn fool,” ordered Baldy. “He’s crazy, I tell yuh.”
“What’s the matter, Jack?” asked his father. “Put down that gun. Why are you acting like this?”
“Go ahead and shoot me, if you want to,” said Jack, ignoring the doctor’s questions.
“Stuck on the girl yourself, eh?” sneered Horan.
But Jack refused to debate the question. No one made a move to draw a gun. Kohler and Horan both held rifles in their hands, but something told them that this white-faced kid might shoot straight.
“It was a dirty deal,” said Jack evenly. “I’ve been raised to admire dirty deals, but this one was more than I could stand. I never had a chance to live honest. Until lately I’ve never had any ambition to be anything but a crook.
“I don’t know why I’ve changed. God knows, I’ve no reason to help Big Medicine, except that he was right and I was wrong. They were good to me as long as I was good. I went away hating all of them. I hated them until I seen you trying to marry that girl off to a dirty Mexican crook, and then something made me hate all of you. I’m no better than you are. I know that. But even if I am, I hate you, and I’ll block your dirty game as long as I can stand up.”
“Jack, you’re crazy!” Meline’s voice broke. “Crazy, I tell you.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“You’re full of dope!” declared Baldy.
Jack laughed softly, but shook his head.
“No, I’m not, Kern. I was one of my father’s free customers before I got shot. I’ve had one dose since—no more. God knows why he taught me to use it, but he did.”
Doctor Meline shook his head, as if to deny it all, turned away, but whirled suddenly and flung himself at Jack. It was almost a surprise assault, but not quite. Jack pulled the trigger as they clinched, and the big man staggered back gripping his right forearm, where the heavy bullet had smashed its way through.
Big Medicine sprang to his feet, but Kohler was into him, rifle upraised, just as Baldy drew and fired at Jack. He was too close to miss. Jack sagged back, throwing a hand up to his face, and the next instant Baldy Kern whirled drunkenly, grasping at the table, while from the connecting doors came the heavy report of a sixshooter.
It was Hashknife and Sleepy coming toward the crowd, shooting through their own smoke, taking the K-10 outfit so by surprise that they were stunned into inaction for a moment.
Kohler went down, almost falling into Big Medicine, who caught Kohler’s rifle, and leaned against the wall, shooting from his hip. Ike yelped joyfully and flung himself headlong across the floor to get possession of Baldy’s sixshooter, while Musical and Cleve almost fought each other to see which might get a chance to use the gun which was still in Kohler’s holster.
The room was choked with smoke, through which darted flicks of flame, and the old adobe walls fairly shook from the concussion of the guns.
Then the reports ceased. It was like the touching off of a pack of firecrackers, a blending of many explosions for several seconds, which died away to individual reports, unevenly spaced—then silence.
Smoke clouds drifted past the oil lamp. A man coughed rackingly; someone breathed heavily, like a runner after a long race. Hashknife and Sleepy came into the yellow fog around the table, peering through the haze.
“I think,” said Musical hoarsely, breaking the silence, “I think I got the son of a gun that busted my ‘Holy City.’”
He was on the floor beside the table, but now he got to his feet, peering at Hashknife and Sleepy. Big Medicine joined them. He had a bullet scrape across his cheek and there was blood on his right arm, where the sleeve had been torn away.
“Is everybody through?” queried Ike.
He and Cleve came into the lamplight.
“All through, I reckon,” said Hashknife wearily. “I wish this smoke would clear.”
Ike stumbled over and opened the door, and the air cleared rapidly. The priest had fallen back against the wall, but now he came to them, his face ashen.
“It has been a big night, Padre,” said Musical.
“A night of terror,” mumbled the priest. “A terrible thing.”
“Could ’a’ been worse,” smiled Sleepy. “We might ’a’ been down there on the floor—with them.”
The priest shuddered as Hashknife took the lamp and looked over the finish of the fight. There was little doubt of the outcome. Faro Lanning was still alive, as was Torres. The Pinnacle gambler squinted up at them, a painful grin on his thin lips.
“The hand is played out,” he said wearily. “You win. I’ve always stayed until the last pot was played.”
“I’m sorry, Faro,” said Big Medicine. “I didn’t know you were in on the deal until tonight.”
“Not their deal,” said Faro. “Torres, Reed, Garcia, and myself were together. Blair was with us, too. He was the one who stole Meline’s letter to Baldy Kern, tellin’ Baldy about sendin’ you a package. It was a fake package. We found it out. It said that Meline’s son was comin’ along, and Baldy was to send the package back by him. It would save any chance of a slip.
“Reed shot young Meline. It was a cold-blooded thing to do, but Reed hated Meline. The holdup netted us nothing. It was the four of us that took the cargo away from Baldy’s outfit, and we almost got caught by the revenue officers.
“It was the four of us that planned to send you out after rustlers, while we tried to find the cargo. Olsen is a crook, but he didn’t belong to either side. For five dollars he would do almost anything, and keep still. He knew we were goin’ to hold up the stage that night. Torres wanted the girl, so we helped him take them away.”
Torres had nothing to say. He knew that he was going fast, so they left him to the priest and went to the women. Wanna was crying, but Lucy, still stoical, held out her hand to Big Medicine, and they looked at each other. She did not show the least emotion, except that a faint smile passed her lips.
“Lucy,” said Big Medicine slowly, “there are times when I thoroughly appreciate you.”
She looked at him and turned her head away slightly.
“Sometimes,” she said slowly.
Ike had been doing a little investigating on his own hook, and now he came back. “That damned Guadalupe got away, I reckon,” he said. “He ain’t among the pile nowhere.”
“Let him go,” said Hashknife. “Mebbe it’s a good thing. He can come back and take care of his friends.”
Big Medicine held out his hand to Hashknife.
“I haven’t thanked you, Hartley,” he said. “You and Stevens showed up at the right moment, and it was your work that made it possible for us to get started.”
“Don’t thank me,” said Hashknife. “Thank Sleepy. He fell into the cave and found me. And yuh might give a little thanks to the feller we called Jack Hill.”
“Yes,” Big Medicine spoke softly. “He deserves our thanks.”
“I’d vote that we go home,” said Musical. “There’s nothin’ we can do here. Faro and Torres cashed in their last white chip.”
“Yes, we’ll go home,” said Big Medicine wearily. “Home will seem good after all this. Come, Lucy, Wanna. We’re going home again, but we are not going to stay home all the time. We are going to travel more. Wanna, you’ll see the cities, wear pretty clothes. I’ll have the old ranch-house torn down and a new one built. We’ll begin to live now!
“I’ve got plenty of cattle left. We’ll trail a bunch down to Caliente and sell them off. We’ll sell some horses, too. As soon as we’re able we’ll improve the hot springs, and make folks want to come to Hawk Hole. We’ve been buried for years, but now we’re going to dig our way out into the sunshine.”
He seemed almost incoherent in his promises. Wanna looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise, as he put his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek. It was not at all like him. Lucy grinned and held out her hand to Hashknife.
“Mahsie,” she said, half-whispering her thanks.
“Yo’re sure awful welcome,” he said gravely.
“Let’s go out the kitchen door,” suggested Sleepy, and they filed out into the night.
The stars seemed very close out there in the hills. Somewhere a mockingbird was calling, “Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter.”
“Lopez got away, too,” said Sleepy.
“That’s good,” sighed Hashknife. “He was only the cook.”
They left Big Medicine with the women and went after the horses. The shed was filled with saddles, and they had no trouble in selecting their horses. The K-10 horses were farther down the trail, so they only saddled for Hashknife, and the two women.
Hashknife led his tall gray out of the corral and around to the yard, where he found Lucy and Wanna together.
“Where’s Big Medicine?” he asked.
“He gone back,” said Lucy, pointing toward the door.
Hashknife dropped his reins and walked to the doorway. There was only an odor of the powder smoke left. Big Medicine was standing near the opposite wall, looking down at the body of Jack Meline. He did not see Hashknife, so intent was he. Suddenly he reached down, grasped one of the hands, and held it for several moments.
Then he got slowly erect, sighed deeply, and turned to see Hashknife. For several moments they looked at each other. Big Medicine came slowly across the room, stopped beside Hashknife, and looked back.
“What was it, Hawkworth?”
Hashknife spoke in a whisper, realizing that it was something that only concerned Big Medicine.
“The philosophy of ignorance,” said Big Medicine slowly.
Hashknife’s memory flashed back to the time he had said those same words to Big Medicine.
“You don’t mean——”
Hashknife hesitated, looking closely at Big Medicine.
“It was twenty years ago,” said the big man hoarsely. “Jim Meline was my best friend. I wanted to give the little kid a chance, Hartley. He was too small to remember. I didn’t want him to be a half-breed, don’t you see?”
“I’ve saved for him all these years. Meline was investing my money for the boy—I thought. It hurt Lucy.”
Big Medicine drew his hand across his forehead, as he turned and looked back at the body, lying in the shadows.
“But she doesn’t know, Hartley. She must never know.”
Big Medicine choked, as he gripped Hashknife’s arm.
“I’ve got to leave him here, Hartley. Maybe I’ll come back some day and find where they put him. But don’t you see, I wanted to give him his chance?”
“You did, pardner,” said Hashknife softly. “He took his chance when it came along. My God, he went out like a man! What more could you want?”
“Like a man,” mumbled Big Medicine. “Like a white man, Hartley.”
Big Medicine lifted his head. The boys were coming with the horses, and someone asked for Big Medicine and Hashknife.
“All right, boys,” called Big Medicine, “we’re coming.”
His big hand gripped the sore knuckles of Hashknife, and they went hand in hand back to the horses, which would soon take them out of the land of mañana and into a better tomorrow for Hawk Hole.
Behind them a mockingbird still called, “Peter.” Out at the corral a white-faced priest mumbled a prayer, as he saddled a swaybacked horse, while within the house the wrinkled face of Guadalupe peered over the edge of the trap door. He looked like a very old monkey, except that few have seen a monkey cry tears. Perhaps they were tears of remorse, but it must be remembered that Torres had promised him one hundred dollars in American gold. Quien sabe?
THE END