*CHAPTER VII*
_*The Man with the Red Head*_
Of two incidents that befell on the journey to Camp Kettle, I must tellyou; of the first because it showed me Apache Kid's bravery and calm;and that the first of these two noteworthy incidents befell at the "RestHotel" where we had "twenty minutes for supper" while the monsterhead-lamps were lit for the night journey; for between Baker City andCamp Kettle there was one "all-night division," as it was called.
Apache Kid, after getting into the stage, sat silent for a much longertime than it took him to regain his wind. The high speed of travel withwhich we started was not kept up all the way, needless to say, suchbursts being spectacular affairs for departures and arrivals. But withour six horses we nevertheless made good travel.
Occasional trivialities of talk were exchanged between thetravellers--there were three others besides ourselves--and Apache Kidgave no indication by his manner that he and I were in any way speciallyconnected. It was amusing indeed how he acted the part of one makingfriendly advances to me as though to a mere fellow-voyager, including mein his comments on the road, the weather, the coyotes that stoodwatching us passing with bared teeth and ugly grin. Later, when one ofthe others fell asleep and the remaining two struck up a conversation,he remarked:
"Well, that was a hot run I had. Whenever I turned the far corner ofBaker Street I took to my heels, doubled back behind the block, andsprinted the whole length of the town. I had to tell another lie,however, for I saw Canlan in Baker Street, just when I was thinking ofgetting aboard the stage. The driver was in having a drink beforestarting and, so as to prevent him raising questions about myblanket-roll lying in the stage and me not being there, I told him I hadforgotten something at this end of the town and that I would run alongand get the business done, and he could pick me up in passing. Lucky hedid n't come out then or he would have wondered at the direction I took.You had n't turned up, you see, and I knew I must let you know that itwas all right."
He paused and added: "But from to-day, no more lying. I don't want whenI come into this kingdom of mine to feel that I've got it at the expenseof a hundred cowardly prevarications."
He sat considering a little while.
"If Canlan should by any chance get wind of our departure and followup----" he began, and then closed his teeth sharply.
"What then?" I asked.
"He 'd be a dead man," said he, "and a good riddance to the world."
"I 'd think murder worse than lying," said I.
"Tut, tut!" said he. "You look at this from a prejudiced standpoint.Donoghue and I are going out to a certain goal. We 've arranged to winsomething for ourselves. Well, we 're not going to win it withhumbugging and lying. Where speech would spoil--we 'll be silent;otherwise we 're going to walk up like men and claim what's coming tous, to use the phrase of the country. Heavens! When I think of what I've seen, and been, and done, and then think of all this crawling way ofgoing about anything--it makes me tired, to use the----" and he mutteredthe rest as though by force of habit but knowing it quite unnecessary tosay.
There was nothing startling on our journey till the incident befellwhich I promised to tell you. It was when we came to the Rest House, atwo-storey frame house, with a planking built up in front of it twostoreys higher, with windows painted thereon in black on a whitebackground, making it look, from the road, like a four-storey building.
When we dismounted there one of the men on the coach said to theproprietor, who had come out to the door: "What's the colour of yourhash slinger? Still got that Chink?"
"I 've still got the Chinaman waiter, sir," replied the proprietor, in aloud, determined voice, "and if you don't like to have him serveyou--well you can----"
"I intend to," said the man, a big, red-faced, perspiring fellow withbloodshot eyes. "I intend to. I 'll do the other thing, as you wereabout to say;" and he remained seated in the coach, turning his broadback on the owner of the Rest Hotel.
"I won't eat here, either," said Apache Kid to me, "not so much fromdesiring in Rome to do as the Romans do, as because I likewise object tothe Chink, as he is called. You see, he works for what not even a whitewoman of the most saving kind could live upon. But there is such apeculiarly fine cocktail to be had in this place that I cannot denymyself it. Come," and we passed wide around the heels of four restivecow ponies that were hitched at the door, with lariats on theirsaddle-pommels and Winchester rifles in the side-buckets.
"Some cowboys in here," said Apache Kid, "up from Ney's place likely,after strayed stock," and he led the way to the bar, and seemed ratheraggrieved for a moment that I drew the line at cocktails.
When we entered the bar-room I noticed a man who turned to look at usremain gazing, not looking away as did the others. Instead, he boredApache Kid with a pair of very keen grey eyes.
Apache evidently was known to the barman, who chatted to him easilywhile concocting the drink of which I had heard such a good account, andboth seemed oblivious to the other occupants of the room. A flutter ofair made me look round to the door again. Apache Kid had said no word ofDonoghue, but I remembered Donoghue's remark as to seeing me later, in aday or two, and half expected him to appear here. But the door was notopening to a newcomer. Instead, the man who had cast so keen a look onmy friend was going out, and as he went he glanced backwards towardApache Kid again.
I stepped up to Apache Kid and said: "I don't like the manner of thatman who went out just now. I'm sure he means mischief of some kind. Hegave you a mighty queer look."
"What was he like?" Apache asked, and I described him, but apparentlywithout waking any memory or recognition in Apache's mind.
"Who was that who went out?" he asked, turning to the barman.
"Did n't observe, sir," was the reply.
"O! Thought I knew his----" Apache Kid began, and then said suddenly,as though annoyed at himself: "No, I 'm damned if I did--did n't thinkanything of the kind. Did n't even see him."
The barman smiled, and as Apache Kid moved along the counter away fromus to scrutinise an announcement posted on the wall, said quietly: "Hedon't look as if he hed bin drinkin' too much. Strange how it affectsdifferent men; some in the face, some in the legs. Some keep quitefresh looking, but when they talk they just talk no manner of sense atall."
I could have explained what was "wrong" with Apache Kid, but it was notnecessary. Instead, I stepped back and took my seat with what thebarman called, with a slight sneer, my "soft drink."
Apache Kid turned about and leant upon the counter. He sipped hiscocktail with evident relish, and suddenly the door flew open. Those inthe room were astonished, for the newcomer had in his grasp one of thoseheavy revolvers,--a Colt,--and he was three paces into the room and hadhis weapon levelled on Apache Kid before we had recovered from oursurprise.
"Well!" he cried, "I have you now!" and behind him in the doorway, thedoor being slightly ajar, I caught a glimpse of the man who had gone outso surreptitiously a few moments before.
Apache Kid's eyes were bright, but there seemed no fear on his face; Icould see none.
"You have me now," he said quietly.
The man behind the gun, a tall fellow with close-cropped red hair,lowered his revolver hand.
"I 've waited a while for this," he said.
"Yes," said Apache Kid. "To me it is incomprehensible that a man'smemory should serve so long; but you have the drop on me." Here came asmile on his lips, and I had a suspicion that it was a forced smile; butto smile at all in such a pass I thought wonderful. "You have the dropon me, Jake,--in the language of the country."
The man Jake lowered his hand wholly then.
"You can come away with that old gag of yourn about the language o' thecountry, and you right up against it like this? No, Apache Kid, Ican't--say!" he broke off, "are you heeled?"
And I thought to myself: "In the language of the country that means,'are you armed?'"
"I am not," said Apa
che, lightly.
The red-headed man--he looked like a cattleman, for he wore skinleggings over his trousers and spurs to his high-heeled boots--sent hisrevolver down with a jerk into the holster at his hip.
"I can't do it," he said. "You 're too gritty a man for me to put outthat way."
There was a quick jingle of his spurs, and he was gone.
A long sigh filled the room.
"A gritty man, right enough," said one man near by. "A pair of grittymen, I 'm thinking."
Apache Kid drained his glass, and I heard him say to the barman:
"Well, he 's no coward. A coward would have shot whenever he stepped inat the door, and given me no chance. And even if he had n't done that,"he continued, arguing the thing aloud, in a way I had already recognisedas natural to him, as though he must scrutinise and diagnose everything,"even if he had made up his mind to let me off, he would have backed outbehind his gun for fear of me. No, he 's not a coward."
"But you told him you were n't heeled," said the barman.
"Oh! But I might have been lying," said Apache Kid, and frowned.
"He was n't lying, I bet," said the man near me. "A cool man like thatthere don't lie. It's beneath him to lie."
But Apache Kid did not seem to relish the gaze of the room, and turnedhis back on it and on me, leaning his elbows on the bar again andengaging in talk with the barman, who stood more erect now, I thought,and held his head higher, with the air of a man receiving some highhonour.
And just then, "All aboard!" we heard the stage-driver intone at thedoor.
When we came forth again there were only two horses before the hotel.
"The red-headed man and his friend are gone," thought I, as I climbed tomy place, and away we lumbered through the night, the great headlightsthrowing their radiance forward on the road in overlapping cones thatsped before us, the darkness chasing us up behind.