CHAPTER XVI.
_Self-defense_.
The wagons of the Double-Crank had stopped to tarry over the Fourthat Fighting Wolf Spring, which bubbles from under a great rock in anarrow "draw" that runs itself out to a cherry-masked point halfwayup the side of Fighting Wolf Butte. Billy, with wisdom born of muchexperience in the ways of a round-up crew when the Fourth of Julydraws near, started his riders at day-dawn to rake all Fighting Wolfon its southern side. "Better catch up your ridge-runners," he hadcautioned, "because I'll set yuh plumb afoot if yuh don't." The boys,knowing well his meaning and that the circle that day would be abig one over rough country, saddled their best horses and settledthemselves to a hard day's work.
Till near noon they rode, and branded after dinner to the tune of muchscurrying and bawling and a great deal of dust and rank smoke, urgedby the ever-present fear that they would not finish in time. But theirleader was fully as anxious as they and had timed the work so that byfour o'clock the herd was turned loose, the fires drenched with waterand the branding irons put away.
At sundown the long slope from Fighting Wolf Spring was dotted fora space with men, fresh-shaven, clean-shirted and otherwiserehabilitated, galloping eagerly toward Hardup fifteen miles away.That they had been practically in the saddle since dawn was a triflenot to be considered; they would dance until another dawn to make upfor it.
Hardup, decked meagrely in the colors that spell patriotism, wasunwontedly alive and full of Fourth of July noises. But even withthe distraction of a holiday and a dance just about to start and thesurrounding country emptied of humans into the town, the clatterof the Double-Crank outfit--fifteen wiry young fellows hungry forplay--brought men to the doors and into the streets.
Charming Billy, because his eagerness was spiced with expectancy, didnot stop even for a drink, but made for the hotel. At the hotel helearned that his "crowd" was over at the hall, and there he hurried sosoon as he had removed the dust and straightened his tie and brushedhis hair and sworn at his upstanding scalp-lock, in the corner of thehotel office dedicated to public cleanliness.
It was a pity that such single-hearted effort must go unrewarded, butthe fact remains that he reached the hall just as the couples werepromenading for the first waltz. He was permitted the doubtfulpleasure of a welcoming nod from Flora as she went by with thePilgrim. Dill was on the floor with Mama Joy, and at a glance he sawhow it was; the Pilgrim had "butted in" and come along with them. Hesupposed Flora really could not help it, but it was pretty hardlines, all the same. For even in the range-land are certain rules ofetiquette which must be observed when men and women foregather in thepursuit of pleasure. Billy remembered ruefully how a girl must dancefirst, last, and oftenest with her partner of the evening, and musteat supper with him besides, whether she likes or not; to tweak thisrule means to insult the man beyond forgiveness.
"Well, it wouldn't hurt me none if Flora _did_ cut him off short,"Billy concluded, his eyes following them resentfully whenever theywhirled down to his end of the room. "The way I've got it framed up,I'd spoke for her first--if Dilly told her what I said."
Still, what he thought privately did not seem to have much effect uponrealities. Flora he afterward saw intermittently while they danced aquadrille together, and she made it plain that she had not consideredBilly as her partner; how could she, when he was trailing around overthe country with the round-up, and nobody knew whether he would comeor not? No, Mr. Walland did not come to the ranch so very often.She added naively that he was awfully busy. He had ridden in withthem--and why not? Was there any reason--
Billy, though he could think of reasons in plenty, turned just then tobalance on the corner and swing, and to do many other senseless thingsat the behest of the man on the platform, so that when they stoodtogether again for a brief space, both were breathless and she wasanxiously feeling her hair and taking out side combs and putting themback again, and Billy felt diffident about interrupting her and saidno more about who was her partner.
An hour or so later he was looking about for her, meaning to dancewith her again, when a man pushed him aside hurriedly and went acrossthe floor and spoke angrily to another. Billy, moving aside so that hecould see, discovered Flora standing up with the Pilgrim for the dancein another "set" that was forming. The man who had jostled him wasspeaking to them angrily, but Billy could not catch the words.
"He's drunk," called the Pilgrim to the floor manager. "Put him out!"
Several men left their places and rushed over to them. Because Florawas there and likely to be involved, Billy reached them first.
"This was _my_ dance!" the fellow was expostulating. "She promised itto me."
"Aw, he's drunk," repeated the Pilgrim, turning to Billy. "It's GusSvenstrom. He's got it in for me because I fired him last week. Throwhim out! Miss Bridger isn't going to dance with a drunken stiff likehim."
"Oh, I'll go--I ain't so drunk I've got to be carried!" retorted theother, and pushed his way angrily through the crowd.
Flora had kept her place. Though the color had gone from her cheeks,she seemed to have no intention of quitting the quadrille, so therewas nothing for Billy to do but get off the floor and leave her to herpartner. He went out after the Swede, and, seeing him headed for thesaloon across from the hotel, followed aimlessly. He was not quitecomfortable in the hall, anyway, for he had caught Mama Joy eying himstrangely, and he thought she was wondering why he had not asked herto dance.
Charming Billy was not by nature a diplomat; it never once occurred tohim that he would better treat Mama Joy as if that half minute in thekitchen had never been. He had said good evening to her when he firstmet her that evening, and he considered his duty done. He did not wantto dance with her, and that was, in his opinion, an excellent reasonfor not doing so. He did not like to have her watching him with thosebig, round, blue eyes of hers, so he stayed in the saloon for a whileand only left it to go to supper when some one said that the dancecrowd was over there. There might be some chance that would permit himto eat with Flora.
There are moments in a town when, even with many people coming andgoing, one may look and see none. When Billy closed the door of thesaloon behind him and started across to the hotel, not a man did hesee, though there was sound in plenty from the saloons and the hoteland the hall. He was nearly half across the street when two men cameinto sight and met suddenly just outside a window of the hotel. Billy,in the gloom of starlight and no moon, could not tell who they were;he heard a sharp sentence or two, saw them close together, heard ablow. Then they broke apart and there was the flash of a shot. Oneman fell and the other whirled about as if he would run, but Billy wasthen almost upon them and the man turned back and stood looking downat the fallen figure.
"Damn him, he pulled a knife on me!" he cried defensively. Billy sawthat it was the Pilgrim.
"Who is he?" he asked, and knelt beside the form. The man was lyingjust where the lamp-light streamed out from the window, but his facewas in shadow. "Oh, it's that Swede," he added, and rose. "I'll getsomebody; I believe he's dead." He left the Pilgrim standing there andhurried to the door of the hotel office.
In any other locality a shot would have brought on the run every manwho heard it; but in a "cow-town," especially on a dance night,shots are as common as shouts. In Hardup that night there had beenperiodical outbursts which no one, not even the women, minded in theleast.
So it was not until Billy opened the door, put his head in, and cried:"Come alive! A fellow's been shot, right out here," that there was astampede for the door.
The Pilgrim still stood beside the other, waiting. Three or fourstooped over the man on the ground. Billy was one of them.
"He pulled a gun on me," explained the Pilgrim. "I was trying to takeit away from him, and it went off."
Billy stood up, and, as he did so, his foot struck against a revolverlying beside the Swede. He looked at the Pilgrim queerly, but he didnot say anything. They were lifting the Swede to carry him into theoffice; they knew that he was dead, even
before they got him into thelight.
"Somebody better get word to the coroner," said the Pilgrim, fightingfor self-control. "It was self-defense. My God, boys, I couldn't helpit! He pulled a gun on me. Yuh saw it on the ground there, right wherehe dropped it."
Billy turned clear around and looked again at the Pilgrim, and thePilgrim met his eyes defiantly before he turned away.
"I understood yuh to say it was a knife," he remarked slowly.
The Pilgrim swung back again. "I didn't--or, if I did, I was rattled.It was a gun--that gun on the ground. He met me there and started arow and said he'd fix me. He pulled his gun, and I made a grab for itand it went off. That's all there is to it." He stared hard at Billy.
There was much talk among the men, and several told how they hadheard the Swede "cussing" Walland in the saloon that evening. Someremembered threats--the threats which a man will foolishly make whenhe is pouring whisky down his throat by the glassful. No one seemed toblame Walland in the least, and Billy felt that the Pilgrim was in afair way to become something of a hero. It is not every man who hasthe nerve to grab a gun with which he is threatened.
They made a cursory search of the Pilgrim and found that he was notarmed, and he was given to understand that he would be expected tostay around town until the coroner came and "sat" on the case. Buthe was treated to drinks right and left, and when Billy went to findFlora the Pilgrim was leaning heavily upon the bar with a glass in hishand and his hat far back on his head, declaiming to the crowd thathe was perfectly harmless so long as he was left alone. But he wasn'tsafe to monkey with, and any man who came at him hunting trouble wouldsure get all he wanted and then some. He said he didn't kill people ifhe could help it--but a man was plumb obliged to, sometimes.
"I'm sure surprised to think I got off with m' life, last winter, whenI hazed him away from line-camp; I guess I must uh had a close call,all right!" Billy snorted contemptuously and shut the door upon thewordy revelation of the Pilgrim's deep inner nature which had beenuntil that night carefully hidden from an admiring world.
The dance stopped abruptly with the killing; people were already goinghome. Billy, with the excuse that he would be wanted at the inquest,hunted up Jim Bleeker, gave him charge of the round-up for a few days,and told him what route to take. For himself, he meant to ride homewith Flora or know the reason why.
"Come along, Dilly, and let's get out uh town," he urged, when he hadfound him. "It's a kinda small burg, and at the rate the Pilgrim isswelling up over what he done, there won't be room for nobody but himin another hour. He's making me plumb nervous and afraid to be aroundhim, he's so fatal."
"We'll go at once, William. Walland is drinking a great deal morethan he should, but I don't think he means to be boastful over sounfortunate an affair. Do you think you are taking an altogetherunprejudiced view of the matter? Our judgment," he addeddeprecatingly, "is so apt to be warped by our likes and dislikes."
"Well, if that was the case here," Billy told him shortly, "I've gotdislike enough for him to wind my judgment up like a clock spring.I'll go see if Flora and her mother are ready." In that way he avoideddiscussing the Pilgrim, for Dill was not so dull that he failed totake the hint.