The Parson nodded. 'Don't happen to have a spare gun, do yu?' he asked. 'That swine Sudden took mine.'
Raven pulled out another drawer in the desk. 'Yu can have this; I never carry one,' he said.
The gambler took the six-shooter and slipped it into his shoulder-holster. 'All right for yu,' he said. 'Folks come an' give yu their money; yu don't never have to argue with 'em. Pussonally, I don't feel dressed unless I'm heeled. Thanks, Seth; see yu later.'
So it came about that Bordene met the new-comer, presented as 'Mister Pardoe,' and accepted the saloon- keeper's proposal for a 'little game.' Youth is rarely critical, but he was not favourably impressed by the stranger. Moreover, as they moved towards a vacant table, he saw the marshal was watching them, and fancied he caught a slight shake of the head. Was it a warning? He looked again, but Green was apparently no longer interested. Nevertheless, when a fourth man had been found and the game had started Andy became aware of Green and Barsay just behind him.
'Yessir,' the marshal was saying. 'It was in Tombstone, and they catched him dealin' from the bottom o' the pack.'
'Oughta shot the coyote,' Pete said.
'Well, mebbe he was lucky thataway,' the other conceded. 'They just took his clothes off, poured a barrel o' molasses over him, rolled him in the sand, an' rid him outa town on a rail. It oughta been a complete cure.'
Pardoe was facing Bordene and the latter was astounded at the sudden flush on the gambler's bilious face and the vindictive look he cast at the speaker. In a second, however, his eyes were on his cards again. Andy glanced at Raven, but the saloonkeeper's features were an expressionless mask. All at once he looked up.
'Sit in, marshal,' he invited.
Green shook his head. 'I'm on duty,' he said, and smiled.
'Huh! It's quiet to-night--there'll be nothin' startin',' Raven replied.
'Just the time to watch out,' the officer said.
Even as he spoke, the door of the saloon was thrust open and a wild figure sprang in. Snaky black hair hung beneath the pushed-back hat, bloodshot eyes glared behind the levelled six-shooter, and a snarling mouth showed teeth like yellow fangs. For an instant the man stood, his head turning from side to side as he surveyed the room, and then he let out a savage screech; most of the hearers knew it for the Apache war-cry.
'I want a man,' he shouted. 'I ain't killed one to-day, an' I'm that pizenous that when rattlers bite me they crawl away an' die. Where's thisyer marshal I bin hearin' about?'
Green noted furtive smiles on some of the faces. Had this fellow been primed with drink and put up to this silly prank to try the new officer out? Such a notion was quite in keeping with Western humour, and if the fool forgot that it was a joke... He stepped forward.
'Yu wantin'me?' he asked quietly.
Silence fell upon the room; the flip of cards and the rattle of poker chips ceased; the hum of conversation died out; everyone was intent on what was taking place. The moment Green had spoken the stranger froze, his gun covering the marshal's broad chest. The latter, making no attempt to draw his own weapon, advanced until a bare three yards separated the pair.
'Git down an' say yore prayers,' the intruder ordered. 'I'm Wild Bill Hickok, an' a shootin' fool. I'm agoin' to send yu down the Long Trail.'
The marshal's laugh rang out. 'Yore name's 'Hiccup' an' yo're a shoutin' fool. Now'--with a speed that baffled the eye his gun swept up, the muzzle within a few inches of the one covering him--'shoot, yu false alarm!'
As though dazed by a blow the ruffian glared at him. How it had come about he did not know, but he realized that he had been outplayed. To fire now would be suicide; he might slay the marshal but assuredly before he did so, lead would be tearing through his own body. At the thought his nerve failed. Green saw the indecision in his eyes.
'Drop it,' he rasped, and there was more than an order in the words.
For a second the fellow hesitated, and then the gun clattered on the board floor. At the same instant the marshal's left fist came round and up, landing on the jaw with all the force of his body behind it; the man dropped like a pole-axed steer. Sheathing his gun, Green set the door open, and gripping the senseless one by neck and belt, flung him headlong into the street.
'If that fella's got any friends here they'd better tell him to hit the trail 'bout daylight,' he said, and walked back to the bar.
CHAPTER V
Pete Barsay sat on a tilted chair, his back against one jamb of the marshal's office door and his upraised feet on the other. Green had gone riding somewhere, and to lighten his solitude Pete sang as he rolled himself a smoke:
An' speakin' o' women, yu never can tell. Sometimes they's heaven, an' sometimes they's...
'Oh, sir!' reproved a low, sweet voice, before he could complete the verse.
The vocalist's heels thumped the floor and he grabbed his hat from his head as he swung round to face the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Her smile added to his confusion.
'What is the name of that song?' she asked. 'I don't think I've heard it before.'
The deputy was not surprised at this, but he did not say so. Instead, he lied nobly. 'I dunno, ma'am; that's all of it I ever learned my own self.' He grinned with returning courage. 'I guess I'll have to leave that last bit out when yo're around.'
'I'm afraid you are a flatterer, Mister--?' the girl said.
'My name's Barsay, an' my friends call me Pete,' he volunteered. 'I'm bettin' yo're Miss Tonia Sarel.'
'You win,' she replied. 'Do you sing much?'
Pete regarded her with a suspicious eye, but save for a distracting dimple, she seemed quite serious. 'I do not,' he confessed. 'Speakin' general, I on'y inflicts my vocal efforts on longhorns when they're a-beddin' down. Mebbe yu'd call it cruelty to animals, but cows ain't noways critical, an' my voice ain't started a stampede yet. Won't yu set down?'
'I just called to see the marshal,' she said. 'I suppose he is busy?'
'Not so as yu'd notice it,' Pete said gloomily. 'The durned town is dead--nothin' happens. Ever since me an' the marshal took office'--he grinned pridefully at the phrase--'folks here has been asleep. Yu'd think we were keepin' Sunday school. I'm tellin' yu, we got this town so tame we'll be losin' our jobs. If suthin' don't bust loose soon--'
He broke off suddenly as a rider dashed into view at the western end of the town. Bent low in the saddle, he was almost invisible in the clouds of dust which rose beneath the hammering hoofs of his horse. Barsay thrust the girl inside the door.
'That gent has pressin' business with somebody, an' mebbe it's me,' he apologized. 'Bullets ain't got no respect for beauty.'
It appeared that he was correct in his surmise, for on reaching the marshal's office, the rider pulled down his panting pony and leapt off. Barsay then saw that it was Andy Bordene, his face grimed with dust and perspiration, drawn and haggard, his eyes wild.
'Where's the marshal?' he cried hoarsely.
At that moment Green came up, having just turned his mount into the Red Ace corral. 'Who wants me?' he asked, and then, recognizing the young rancher. 'What's the trouble, Bordene?'
'Dad's been shot--murdered!' came the broken answer. 'Marshal, I want yu to help me find the dog who did it.'
With a pitiful cry Tonia ran to the side of the stricken boy, striving to comfort as she forced him to sit down, for the shock and subsequent punishing ride had taken a heavy toll and he was all in. Green slipped into the saloon and came back with a glass.
'Drink this, and then tell us about it,' he said.
The raw spirit gave Andy strength and steadied his shattered nerves. After a moment or two he looked up, and in a dull monotone, told his story.
'Dad started for town early this mornin',' he began. 'I suppose he got here?'
'Yeah. I saw him myself, goin' into the bank,' Green told him.
The boy. nodded. 'He told me he was drawin' some money an' he intended to come back pretty prompt,'
