CHAPTER VIII
THE GIFT-HORSE
"Your dog is your own dog," remarked Jerry Strann, still to the back ofthe card-laying stranger, "but this ain't your back-yard. Keep your eyeon him, or I'll fix him so he won't need watching!"
So saying he made another step forward, and it brought a snarl from thedog; not one of those high-whining noises, but a deep guttural thatsounded like indrawn breath. The gun of Jerry Strann leaped into hishand.
"Bart," said the gentle-voiced stranger, "lie down and don't talk." Andhe turned in his chair, pulled his hat straight, and looked mildly uponthe gunman. An artist would have made much of that picture, for therewas in this man, as in Strann, a singular portion of beauty. It was not,however, free from objection, for he had not the open manliness of thelarger of the two. Indeed, a feminine grace and softness marked him; hiswrists were as round as a girl's, and his hands as slender and asdelicately finished. Whether it be the white-hot sun of summer or thehurricane snows of winter, the climate of the mountain-desert roughensthe skin, and it cuts away spare flesh, hewing out the face in angles;but with this man there were no rough edges, but all was smoothed overand rounded with painful care; as if nature had concentrated in thatbirth to show what she could do. Such fine workmanship, perhaps, wouldbe appreciated more by women than by men; for men like a certain weightand bulk of bone and muscle--whereas this fellow seemed as light of bodyas he was of hand. He sat now watching Strann with the utmost gravity.He had very large brown eyes of a puzzling quality; perhaps that wasbecause there seemed to be no thought behind them and one caught themystery and the wistfulness of some animals from a glance at him.
The effect of that glance on Strann was to make him grin again, and heat once banished the frown from his forehead and put away his gun; thebig dog had slunk deeper into the shadow and closer to his master.
"I'm Strann. Maybe you've heard of me."
"My name is Barry," said the other. "I'm sorry that I haven't heard ofyou before."
And the sound of his voice made Jerry Strann grin again; it was such alow, soft voice with the velvet of a young girl's tone in it; moreover,the brown eyes seemed to apologise for the ignorance concerning Strann'sname.
"You got a hoss out in front."
A nod of agreement.
"What's your price?"
"None."
"No price? Look here," argued Strann, "everything's got a price, and Igot to have that hoss, understand? _Got_ to! I ain't bargaining. I won'ttry to beat you down. You just set a figger and I'll cover it. I guessthat's square!"
"He ain't a gentle hoss," said Barry. "Maybe you wouldn't like him."
"Oh, that's all right about being gentle," chuckled Strann. Then hechecked his mirth and stared piercingly at the other to make out ifthere were a secret mockery. It could not, however, be possible. Theeyes were as gravely apologetic as ever. He continued: "I seen thehell-fire in him. That's what stopped me like a bullet. I like 'em thatway. Much rather have 'em with a fight. Well, let's have your price.Hey, O'Brien, trot out your red-eye; I'm going to do some businesshere!"
O'Brien came hastily, with drinks, and while they waited Strann queriedpolitely: "Belong around these parts?"
"No," answered the other softly.
"No? Where you come from?"
"Over there," said Barry, and waved a graceful hand towards half thepoints of the compass.
"H-m-m!" muttered Strann, and once more he bent a keen gaze upon hiscompanion. The drinks were now placed before them. "Here," he concluded,"is to the black devil outside!" And he swallowed the liquor at a gulp,but as he replaced the empty glass on the table he observed, withbreathless amazement, that the whiskey glass of the stranger was stillfull; he had drunk his chaser!
"Now, by God!" said Strann in a ringing voice, and struck a heavy handupon the top of the table. He regained his control, however, instantly."Now about that price!"
"I don't know what horses are worth," replied Barry.
"To start, then--five hundred bucks in cold cash--gold!--foryour--what's his name?"
"Satan."
"Eh?"
"Satan."
"H-m-m!" murmured Strann again. "Five hundred for Satan, then. How aboutit?"
"If you can ride him," began the stranger.
"Oh, hell," smiled Strann with a large and careless gesture, "I'll_ride_ him, all right."
"Then I would let you take him for nothing," concluded Barry.
"You'd--what?" said Strann. Then he rose slowly from his chair andshouted; instantly the swinging doors broke open and a throng of facesappeared at the gap. "Boys, this gent here is going to give me theblack--ha, ha, ha!--if I can ride him!" He turned back on Barry."They've heard it," he concluded, "and this bargain is going to stickjust this way. If your hoss can throw me the deal's off. Eh?"
"Oh, yes," nodded the brown-eyed man.
"What's the idea?" asked one of Jerry's followers as the latter steppedthrough the doors of the saloon onto the street.
"I dunno," said Jerry. "That gent looks kind of simple; but it ain't myfault if he made a rotten bargain. Here, you!"
And he seized the bridle-reins of the black stallion. Speed, lightningspeed, was what saved him, for the instant his fingers touched theleather Satan twisted his head and snapped like an angry dog. The teethclicked beside Strann's shoulder as he leaped back. He laughed savagely.
"That'll be took out of him," he announced, "and damned quick!"
Here the voice of Barry was heard, saying: "I'll help you mount, Mr.Strann." And he edged his way through the little crowd until he stood atthe head of the stallion.
"Look out!" warned Strann in real alarm, "or he'll take your head off!"
But Barry was already beside his horse, and, with his back towards thosevicious teeth, he drew the reins over its head. As for the stallion, itpricked one ear forward and then the other, and muzzled the man'sshoulder confidingly. There was a liberal chorus of astonished oathsfrom the gathering.
"I'll hold his head while you get on," suggested Barry, turning his mildeyes upon Strann again.
"Well," muttered the big man, "may I be eternally damned!" He added:"All right. Hold his head, and I'll ride him without pulling leather. Isthat square?"
Barry nodded absently. His slender fingers were patting the velvet noseof the stallion and he was talking to it in an affectionateundertone--meaningless words, perhaps, such as a mother uses to soothe achild. When Strann set his foot in the stirrup and gathered up the reinsthe black horse cringed and shuddered; it was not a pleasant thing tosee; it was like a dog crouching under the suspended whip. It was worsethan that; it was almost the horror of a man who shivers at the touch ofan unclean animal. There was not a sound from the crowd; and every grinwas wiped out. Jerry Strann swung into the saddle lightly.
There he sat, testing the stirrups. They were too short by inches but herefused to have them lengthened. He poised his quirt and tugged his hatlower over his eyes.
"Turn him loose!" he shouted. "Hei!"
And his shrill yell went down the street and the echoes sent it barkingback from wall to wall; Barry stepped back from the head of the black.But for an instant the horse did not stir. He was trembling violently,but his blazing eyes were fixed upon the face of his owner. Barry raisedhis hand.
And then it happened. It was like the release of a coiled watch-spring;the black whirled as a top spins and Strann sagged far to the left;before he could recover the stallion was away in a flash, like a racerleaving the barrier and reaching full speed in almost a stride. Notfar--hardly the breadth of the street--before he pitched up in a longleap as if to clear a barrier, landed stiff-legged with a sickening jar,whirled again like a spinning top, and darted straight back. And JerryStrann pulled leather--with might and main--but the short stirrups wereagainst him, and above all the suddenness of the start had taken him offguard for all his readiness. When the stallion dropped stiff-leggedJerry was thrown forward and an unlucky left foot jarred loose from thestirrup; and when the horse wh
irled Strann was flung from the saddle. Itwas a clean fall. He twisted over in the air as he fell and landed indeep dust. The black stallion had reached his master and now he turned,in that same catlike manner, and watched with pricking ears as Stranndragged himself up from the dust.
There was no shout of laughter--no cheer for that fall, and without asmile they watched Strann returning. Big O'Brien had seen from his opendoor and now he laid a hand on the shoulder of one of the men andwhispered at his ear: "There's going to be trouble; bad trouble, Billy.Go for Fatty Matthews--he's a deputy marshal now--and get him here asquick as you can. Run!"
The other spared time for a last glance at Strann and then hurried downthe street.
Now, a man who can lose and smile is generally considered the mostgraceful of failures, but the smile of Jerry Strann as he walked slowlyback worried his followers.
"We all hit dust sometime," he philosophized. "But one try don't provenothin'. I ain't near through with that hoss!"
Barry turned to Strann. If there had been mockery in his eyes or asmile on his lips as he faced Jerry there would have been a gun play onthe spot; but, instead, the brown eyes were as dumbly apologetic asever.
"We didn't talk about two tries," he observed.
"We talk about it now," said Strann.
There was one man in the crowd a little too old to be dangerous andtherefore there was one man who was in a position to speak openly toStrann. It was big O'Brien.
"Jerry, you named your game and made your play and lost. I guess youain't going to turn up a hard loser. Nobody plays twice for the samepot."
The hazel eye of Strann was grey with anguish of the spirit as he lookedfrom O'Brien to the crowd and from the crowd to Satan, and from Satan tohis meek-eyed owner. Nowhere was there a defiant eye or a glint of scornon which he could wreak his wrath. He stood poised in his anger for thespace of a breath; then, in the sharp struggle, his better natureconquered.
"Come on in, all of you," he called. "We'll liquor, and forget this."