CHAPTER II. The Rashness of Shorty
Buckskin was very hot; in fact it was never anything else. Few peoplewere on the streets and the town was quiet. Over in the Houston hotela crowd of cowboys was lounging in the barroom. They were very quiet--acondition as rare as it was ominous. Their mounts, twelve in all, wereswitching flies from their quivering skins in the corral at the rear.Eight of these had a large C 80 branded on their flanks; the other four,a Double Arrow.
In the barroom a slim, wiry man was looking out of the dirty windowup the street at Cowan's saloon. Shorty was complaining, "They shoreoughter be here now. They rounded up last week." The man nearest assuredhim that they would come. The man at the window turned and said, "They'syer now."
In front of Cowan's a crowd of nine happy-go-lucky, daredevil riderswere sliding from their saddles. They threw their reins over the headsof their mounts and filed in to the bar. Laughter issued from the opendoor and the clink of glasses could be heard. They stood in picturesquegroups, strong, self-reliant, humorous, virile. Their expensivesombreros were pushed far back on their heads and their hairy chaps werecovered with the alkali dust from their ride.
Cowan, bottle in hand, pushed out several more glasses. He kicked a dogfrom under his feet and looked at Buck. "Rounded up yet?" he inquired.
"Shore, day afore yisterday," came the reply. The rest were busyremoving the dust from their throats, and gradually drifted into groupsof two or three. One of these groups strolled over to the solitary cardtable, and found Jimmy Price resting in a cheap chair, his legs on thetable.
"I wisht yu'd extricate yore delicate feet from off'n this hyar table,James," humbly requested Lanky Smith, morally backed up by those withhim.
"Ya-as, they shore is delicate, Mr. Smith," responded Jimmy withoutmoving.
"We wants to play draw, Jimmy," explained Pete.
"Yore shore welcome to play if yu wants to. Didn't I tell yu when yugrowed that mustache that yu didn't have to ask me any more?" queriedthe placid James, paternally.
"Call 'em off, sonny. Pete sez he kin clean me out. Anyhow, yu kin havethe fust deal," compromised Lanky.
"I'm shore sorry fer Pete if he cayn't. Yu don't reckon I has to havefust deal to beat yu fellers, do yu? Go way an' lemme alone; I neverseed such a bunch fer buttin' in as yu fellers."
Billy Williams returned to the bar. Then he walked along it until hewas behind the recalcitrant possessor of the table. While his aggrievedfriends shuffled their feet uneasily to cover his approach, he tiptoedup behind Jimmy and, with a nod, grasped that indignant individualfirmly by the neck while the others grabbed his feet. They carried him,twisting and bucking, to the middle of the street and deposited him inthe dust, returning to the now vacant table.
Jimmy rested quietly for a few seconds and then slowly arose, dustingthe alkali from him.
"Th' wall-eyed piruts," he muttered, and then scratched his head fora way to "play hunk." As he gazed sorrowfully at the saloon he heard asnicker from behind him. He, thinking it was one of his late tormentors,paid no attention to it. Then a cynical, biting laugh stung him. Hewheeled, to see Shorty leaning against a tree, a sneering leer on hisflushed face. Shorty's right hand was suspended above his holster,hooked to his belt by the thumb--a favorite position of his whenexpecting trouble.
"One of yore reg'lar habits?" he drawled.
Jimmy began to dust himself in silence, but his lips were compressed toa thin white line.
"Does they hurt yu?" pursued the onlooker.
Jimmy looked up. "I heard tell that they make glue outen cayuses,sometimes," he remarked.
Shorty's eyes flashed. The loss of the horse had been rankling in hisheart all day.
"Does they git yu frequent?" he asked. His voice sounded hard.
"Oh, 'bout as frequent as yu lose a cayuse, I reckon," replied Jimmyhotly.
Shorty's hand streaked to his holster and Jimmy followed his lead.Jimmy's Colt was caught. He had bucked too much. As he fell Shorty ranfor the Houston House.
Pistol shots were common, for they were the universal method ofexpressing emotions. The poker players grinned, thinking their victimwas letting off his indignation. Lanky sized up his hand and remarkedhalf audibly, "He's a shore good kid."
The bartender, fearing for his new beveled, gilt-framed mirror, gave ahasty glance out the window. He turned around, made change and remarkedto Buck, "Yore kid, Jimmy, is plugged." Several of the more credulouscraned their necks to see, Buck being the first. "Judas!" he shouted,and ran out to where Jimmy lay coughing, his toes twitching. The saloonwas deserted and a crowd of angry cowboys surrounded their chum-aboy.Buck had seen Shorty enter the door of the Houston House and he swore."Chase them C 80 and Arrow cayuses behind the saloon, Pete, an' gitunder cover."
Jimmy was choking and he coughed up blood. "He's shore--got me. My--gunstuck," he added apologetically. He tried to sit up, but was not ableand he looked surprised. "It's purty-damn hot-out here," he suggested.Johnny and Billy carried him in the saloon and placed him by the table,in the chair he had previously vacated. As they stood up he fell acrossthe table and died.
Billy placed the dead boy's sombrero on his head and laid the refractorysix-shooter on the table. "I wonder who th' dirty killer was." He lookedat the slim figure and started to go out, followed by Johnny. As hereached the threshold a bullet zipped past him and thudded into theframe of the door. He backed away and looked surprised. "That's Shorty'sshootin'--he allus misses 'bout that much." He looked out and saw Buckstanding behind the live oak that Shorty had leaned against, firing atthe hotel. Turning around he made for the rear, remarking to Johnny that"they's in th' Houston." Johnny looked at the quiet figure in the chairand swore softly. He followed Billy. Cowan, closing the door and takinga buffalo gun from under the bar, went out also and slammed the reardoor forcibly.