Still to the tune of “Dixie.” Their voices died out on the last word. The piano went on for a few bars, but pretty soon it died out, too. All eyes seemed to be on Pappy.
I didn't have any trouble picking Jim Langly out of the crowd. His eyes were wider, and his face was whiter, and he was having a harder time of breathing than anybody else in the place. When he had looked up from his poker hand and had seen Pappy coming toward him, he'd looked as if he was seeing a ghost. And maybe he was, as far as he was concerned. Maybe he'd figured that Pappy would be dead on a creek bank by now, and all he had to do was wait for the reward money to come in and think up ways to beat Hagan out of his share.
He started to get up, then thought better of it, and sat down again. You could almost see him take hold of himself, force himself to be calm. He laid his cards face down on the table, fanning them carefully.
“Why, hello, Pappy,” he said pleasantly.
He was a big, slack-faced man wearing the gambler's uniform of black broadcloth and white ruffled shirt. He wasn't wearing side guns, but there was a bulge under his left arm that looked about right for a .38 and a shoulder holster.
“Hello, Jim,” Pappy said quietly. “I guess you didn't expect to see me coming in like this, did you?”
I thought I saw the marshal's face get a little whiter. “Nobody ever knows when to expect Pappy Garret,” he smiled. One of his poker partners wiped his face uncomfortably, gathered in his chips, and eased away from the table. Langly pushed the empty chair out with his boot. “Sit down, Pappy. It's been a long time.”
Pappy shook his head soberly. Carefully, I moved down the bar, looking for a place where I could do the impossible of covering the saloon with two guns. I saw that Langly was having trouble again getting his words out.
“What can I do for you, Pappy? Is there any trouble?”
“Maybe, Jim,” Pappy murmured.
Marshal Langly wiped his face with a neat, clean handkerchief. “What is it, Pappy? What do you want?”
“I came to kill you,” Pappy said softly.
The words were soft, but they hit Langly like a sledge. You could hear the wind go out of him, see his guts leak out. He groped for words, but there weren't any there.
“That's the way it goes with men like us, Jim. You tried to kill me and failed. A man only gets one chance in this business.”
“Pappy, what the hell's wrong with you? I don't know what you're talking about!”
“Sure you do, Jim,” Pappy went on in that velvety voice of his. “Hagan, our trail boss, came to you yesterday with a proposition. A profitable proposition for you, Jim —maybe fifteen thousand dollars, if you could figure out a way to keep Hagan from getting his split of the reward.”
“How could I do anything to you, Pappy? Hell, I've been here all day playing draw.”
“But not your deputies,” Pappy said. “They're right on the job. The job you put them on.”
The saloon seemed to be holding its breath. I glanced at faces around me. There were quizzical half-smiles on most of them, as if they thought it was all some kind of a big joke. I turned back to Pappy. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.
For a long moment he was silent, motionless. Langly was frozen. Then Pappy said, “You might as well draw, Jim.”
The marshal's mouth worked. “Pappy, for God's sake!”
“I'll give you time to clear leather,” Pappy went on, “before I make a move. That ought to make it about even.”
“Pappy, listen to me!” The marshal was begging now, begging for his life. “Pappy, for God's sake, I had nothing to do with it!”
“I'll count to three,” Pappy went on, as if he hadn't heard. Then something hard jabbed me in the small of the back.
I jumped, grunted instinctively. Pappy stiffened, but he didn't turn around. “What's the matter, son?” he asked quietly.
I had to tell him.
“Somebody's got a gun in my back,” I said. “I'm sorry, Pappy. I guess I'll never learn.”
Chapter 10
I couldn't see who was holding the gun, and I didn't turn around to look. The slightest movement, I knew, would only get me a sudden trip to Boothill.
Marshal Langly started to breathe again. He stopped sweating and shaking, and his face began to get some color. Suddenly he sat back and laughed out of pure relief.
“Pappy Garret,” he chuckled after he caught his breath. “The notorious gunman!” Then his voice barked. “Unbuckle your cartridge belts and drop your pistols to the floor!”
Or I would get a bullet in the back, his eyes said.
For an instant I wondered if Pappy really cared what happened to me, as long as he could take his revenge out on Langly. But I didn't have to wonder long. Wearily, he unbuckled the belts and the pistols dropped at his feet.
“All right, Jim,” he said tiredly. “I guess you've got it going your way now.”
