Chapter XXVI. The Test
The most that could be said of Rickett was that it had a courthouse andplenty of quiet so perfect that the minds of the office holders couldturn and turn and hear no sound saving their own turning. There were,of course, more buildings than the courthouse, but not so many thatthey could not be grouped conveniently along one street. The hush whichrested over Rickett was never broken except in the periods immediatelyafter the spring and fall round-ups when the saloons and gaming tableswere suddenly flooded with business. Otherwise it was a rare eventindeed which injected excitement into the village.
Such an event was the gathering of Sheriff Pete Glass' posse.
There had been other occasions when Pete and officers before his timehad combed the county to get the cream of the fighting men, but thegathering of the new posse became different in many ways. In the firstplace the call for members was not confined to the county, for thoughit stretched as large as many a minor European kingdom, it had not thepopulation of a respectable manufacturing town, and Pete Glass went farbeyond its bounds to get his trailers. Everywhere he had the posters setup and on the posters appeared the bait. The state began the game witha reward of three thousand dollars; the county plastered two thousanddollars on top of that to make it an even five: then the town of Alderdug into its deep pockets and produced twenty-five hundred, whiledisinterested parties added contributions which swelled the total to around ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars reward for the man describedbelow, dead or alive. Ten thousand dollars which might be earned by theinvestment of a single bullet and the pressure on trigger; and abovethis the fame which such a deed would bring--no wonder that themountain-desert hummed through all its peaks and plains, and stirredto life. Moreover, the news had gone abroad, the tale of the Killingof Alder and everything that went before. It went West; it appeared innewspapers; it cropped up at firesides; it gave a spark of terror to amyriad conversations; and every one in Rickett felt that the eye ofthe nation was upon it; every one in Rickett dreamed nightly of the mandescribed: "Daniel Barry, called Whistling Dan, about five feet nine orten, slender, black hair, brown eyes, age about thirty years."
Secretly, Rickett felt perfectly convinced that Sheriff Pete Glass alonecould handle this fellow and trim his claws for they knew how many a"bad man" had built a reputation high as Babel and baffled posses andmurdered right and left, until the little dusty man on the little dustyroan went out alone and came back alone, and another fierce name wentfrom history into legend. However, there were doubters, since thisaffair had new earmarks. It had been buzzed abroad that Whistling Danwas not only the hunted, but also the hunter, and that he had pledgedhimself to strike down all the seven who first took his trail. Fiveof these were already gone; two remained, and of these two one was VicGregg, no despicable fighter himself, and the other was no less than theinvincible little sheriff himself. To imagine the sheriff beaten in thespeed of his draw or the accuracy of his shot was to imagine the FirstCause, Infinity, or whatever else is inconceivable; nevertheless, therewere such possibilities as bullets fired at night through the window,and attacks from the rear. So Rickett waited, and held its breath andkept his eyes rather more behind than in front.
In the meantime, there was no lack of amusement, for from the fourcorners, blown by the four winds, men rode out of the mountain-desertand drifted into Rickett to seek for a place on that posse. Twenty men,that was the goal the sheriff had set. Twenty men trained to a hair.Beside the courthouse was a shooting gallery not overmuch used exceptduring the two annual seasons of prosperity and reckless spending, andPete Glass secured this place to test out applicants. After, they passedthis trial they were mustered into his presence, and he gave them anexamination for himself. Just what he asked them or what he could neverbe known, but some men came from his presence very red, and othersextremely pale, and some men blustered, and some men swore, and some menrode hastily out of town and spoke not a word, but few, very few, werethose who came out wearing a little badge on their vest with the prideof a Knight of the Garter. At first the hordes rode in, young and old,youths keen for a taste of adventure, rusty fellows who had once beennoted warriors; but these early levies soon discovered that courageand willingness was not so much valued as accuracy, and the old-timerslearned, also, that accuracy must be accompanied by speed; and evenwhen a man possessed both these qualities of hand and eye the gentle,inscrutable little man in his office might still reject them for reasonsthey could not guess.
This one thing was certain: the next time Pete Glass ran for officehe would be beaten even by a greaser. He made enemies at the rate of ahundred a day during that period of selection.
Still the twenty was not recruited to the full. Thirteen, fourteen,fifteen were gathered into the fold, but still five men were lacking tocomplete the toll. Most men would have started their man-hunt with thatformidable force, but Pete Glass was methodical. In his own heart ofhearts he would have given his hope of heaven to meet Barry face to faceand hand to hand, and see which was the better man, but Pete Glass oweda duty to his state before he owed a duty to himself. He stuck by hisfirst plan. And every day the inhabitants of Rickett gathered at theshooting gallery to watch the tests and wonder at the successes andsmile at the failures.
It was a very hard test which the sheriff had imposed. A man stood toone side of the iron-plate back wall which served as the target. Hestood entirely out of sight and through an aperture in the side wall,at a signal, he tossed a round ball of clay, painted white. The marksmanstood a good ten paces off, and he must strike that clay ball as itpassed across the target. The balls were so small that even to strikethem when they were stationary was a difficult task, and to hit them inmotion was enough to task the quickest eye and the cunningest hand.
It was old Pop Giersberg who stood with his ancient forty-five behindthe counter, with his feet braced, on this bright morning, and behindhim half of Rickett was gathered.
"D'you give me warnin', son?" he inquired of the man at the counter.
"Nary a warnin'," grinned the other, who was one of the chosen fifteen.
He wished Pop well. So did they all, but they had seen every man failfor two days at that target and one and all they had their doubts. Pophad been a formidable man in his day, but now his hand was stiff and hishair gray. He was at least twenty years older than he felt.
He had hardly finished asking his question when a white ball was tossedacross the target. Up came the gun of Pop Giersberg, exploded, and thebullet clanged on the iron; the white ball floated idly on across thewall and disappeared on the other side.
"Gimme another chance!" pleaded Pop, with a quaver in his voice. "Thatwas just a try to get my eye in shape."
"Sure," chuckled the deputy. "Everybody gets three tries. It ain'thardly nacheral to hit that ball the first crack. Leastways, nobodyain't done it yet. You jest keep your eye peeled, Pop, and that ballwill come out ag'in."
And Pop literally kept his eye peeled.
He had double reason to pray for success, for his "old woman" had smiledand shook her head when he allowed that he would try out for a place onthat posse. All his nerves grew taut and keen. He waited.
Once more the white streak appeared and surely he who threw the ball hadevery wish to see Pop succeed, for he tossed it high and easily. Againthe gun barked from Giersberg's hand, and again the ball dropped almostslowly out of sight.
"It's a trick!" gasped Pop. "It's something damned queer."
"They's a considerable pile of gents, that think the same way you do,"admitted the deputy sheriff, dryly.
Pop glared at him and gritted his teeth.
"Lead the damn thing on ag'in," he said, and muttered the rest of hissentence to himself. He jerked his hat lower over his eyes, spread hisfeet a little more, and got ready for the last desperate chance.
But fate was against Pop. Twenty years before he might have struck thatmark if he had been in top condition, but today, though he put his verysoul into the effort, and though the ball for the third tim
e was lobbedwith the utmost gentleness through the air, his bullet banged vainlyagainst the sheet of iron and the white, inoffensive ball continued onits way.
Words came in the throat of Pop, reached his opened mouth, and diedthere. He thrust the gun back into its holster, and turned slowly towardthe crowd. There was no smile to meet his challenging eye, for Pop wasa known man, and though he might have failed to strike this elusive markthat was no sign that he would fail to hit something six feet in heightby a couple in breadth. When he found that no mockery awaited him, asheepish smile began at his eyes and wandered dimly to his lips.
"Well, gents," he muttered, "I guess I ain't as young as I was once.S'long!"
He shouldered his way to the door and was gone.
"That's about all, friends," said the deputy crisply. "I guess thereain't any more clamorin's for a place today?"
He swept the crowd with a complacent eye.
"If you got no objection," murmured a newcomer, who had just slippedinto the room, "I'd sort of like to take a shot at that."