The Two-Gun Man

  CHAPTER III

  THE CABIN IN THE FLAT

  It was the day appointed by Ferguson for his presence at the TwoDiamond ranch, and he was going to keep his word. Three hours out ofDry Bottom he had struck the Ute trail and was loping his pony througha cottonwood that skirted the river. It was an enchanted countrythrough which he rode; a land of vast distances, of white sunlight,blue skies, and clear, pure air. Mountains rose in the distances,their snowcapped peaks showing above the clouds like bald rock spiresabove the calm level of the sea. Over the mountains swam the sun, itslower rim slowly disappearing behind the peaks, throwing off broadwhite shafts of light that soon began to dim as vari-colors, rising ina slumberous haze like a gauze veil, mingled with them.

  Ferguson's gaze wandered from the trail to the red buttes that fringedthe river. He knew this world; there was no novelty here for him. Heknew the lava beds, looming gray and dead beneath the foothills; heknew the grotesque rock shapes that seemed to hint of a mysteriouspast. Nature had not altered her face. On the broad levels were theyellow tinted lines that told of the presence of soap-weed, the darklines that betrayed the mesquite, the saccatone belts that marked thelittle guillies. Then there were the barrancas, the arid stretcheswhere the sage-brush and the cactus grew. Snaky octilla dotted thespace; the crabbed yucca had not lost its ugliness.

  Ferguson looked upon the world with unseeing eyes. He had lived herelong and the country had not changed. It would never change. Nothingever changed here but the people.

  But he himself had not changed. Twenty-seven years in this country wasa long time, for here life was not measured by age, but by experience.Looking back over the years he could see that he was living to-day ashe had lived last year, as he had lived during the last decade--a hardlife, but having its compensations.

  His coming to the Two Diamond ranch was merely another of thoseincidents that, during the past year, had broken the monotony of rangelife for him. He had had some success in breaking up a band of cattlethieves which had made existence miserable for Sid Tucker, hisemployer, and the latter had recommended him to Stafford. The promiseof high wages had been attractive, and so he had come. He had notexpected to surprise any one. When during his conversation with thetall man in Dry Bottom he had discovered that the latter was the manfor whom he was to work he had been surprised himself. But he had notrevealed his surprise. Experience and association with men who kepttheir emotions pretty much to themselves had taught him the value ofrepression when in the presence of others.

  But alone he allowed his emotions full play. There was no one to see,no one to hear, and the silence and the distances, and the great,swimming blue sky would not tell.

  Stafford's action in coming to Dry Bottom for a gunfighter had puzzledhim not a little. Apparently the Two Diamond manager was intent uponthe death of the rustler he had mentioned. He had been searching for aman who could "shoot," he had said. Ferguson had interpreted this tomean that he desired to employ a gunfighter who would not scruple tokill any man he pointed out, whether innocent or guilty. He had hadsome experience with unscrupulous ranch managers, and he had admiredthem very little. Therefore, during the ride today, his lips hadcurled sarcastically many times.

  Riding through a wide clearing in the cottonwood, he spoke a thoughtthat had troubled him not a little since he had entered Stafford'semploy.

  "Why," he said, as he rode along, sitting carelessly in the saddle,"he's wantin' to make a gunfighter out of me. But I reckon I ain'tgoin' to shoot no man unless I'm pretty sure he's gunnin' for me." Hislips curled ironically. "I wonder what the boys of the Lazy J wouldthink if they knowed that a guy was tryin' to make a gunfighter out oftheir old straw boss. I reckon they'd think that guy was loco--or aheap mistaken in his man. But I'm seein' this thing through. I ain'tridin' a hundred miles just to take a look at the man who's hirin' me.It'll be a change. An' when I go back to the Lazy J----"

  It was not the pony's fault. Neither was it Ferguson's. The pony wasexperienced; behind his slant eyes was stored a world of horse-wisdomthat had pulled him and his rider through many tight places. AndFerguson had ridden horses all his life; he would not have known whatto do without one.

  But the pony stumbled. The cause was a prairie-dog hole, concealedunder a clump of matted mesquite. Ferguson lunged forward, caught atthe saddle horn, missed it, and pitched head-foremost out of thesaddle, turning completely over and alighting upon his feet. He stooderect for an instant, but the momentum had been too great. He wentdown, and when he tried to rise a twinge of pain in his right anklebrought a grimace to his face. He arose and hopped over to a flatrock, near where his pony now stood grazing as though nothing hadhappened.

  Drawing off his boot, Ferguson made a rapid examination of the ankle.It was inflamed and painful, but not broken. He believed he could seeit swelling. He rubbed it, hoping to assuage the pain. The woolensock interfered with the rubbing, and he drew it off.

  For a few minutes he worked with the ankle, but to little purpose. Hefinally became convinced that it was a bad sprain, and he looked up,scowling. The pony turned an inquiring eye upon him, and he grinned,suddenly smitten with the humor of the situation.

  "You ain't got no call to look so doggoned innocent about it," he said."If you'd been tendin' to your business, you wouldn't have stepped intono damned gopher hole."

  The pony moved slowly away, and he looked whimsically after it,remarking: "Mebbe if I'd been tendin' to my business it wouldn't havehappened, either." He spoke again to the pony. "I reckon you knowthat too, Mustard. You're some wise."

  The animal was now at some little distance from the rock upon which hewas sitting. He arose, hobbling on one foot toward it, carrying thediscarded boot in his hand. He thought of riding with the foot bare.At the Two Diamond he was sure to find some sort of liniment which,with the help of a bandage, would materially assist nature in----

  He was passing a filmy mesquite clump--the bare foot swinging wide.There was a warning rattle; a sharp thrust of a flat, brown head.

  Ferguson halted in astonishment, almost knocked off his balance withthe suddenness of the attack. He still held the boot, his fingersgripping it tightly. He raised it, with a purely involuntary motion,as though to hurl it at his insidious enemy. But he did not. The armfell to his side, and his face slowly whitened. He stared dully anduncomprehendingly at the sinuous shape that was slipping noiselesslyaway through the matted grass.

  Somehow, he had never thought of being bitten by a rattler. He hadseen so many of them that he had come to look upon them only as targetsat which he might shoot when he thought he needed practice. And now hewas bitten. The unreality of the incident surprised him. He lookedaround at the silent hills, at the sun that swam above the mountainpeaks, at the great, vast arc of sky that yawned above him. Hills,sky, and sun seemed also unreal. It was as though he had been suddenlythrust into a land of dreams.

  But presently the danger of the situation burst upon him, and he livedonce more in the reality. He looked down at his foot. A livid,pin-point wound showed in the flesh beside the arch. A tiny stream ofblood was oozing from it. He forgot the pain of the sprained ankle andstood upon both feet, his body suddenly rigid, his face red with asudden, consuming anger, shaking a tense fist at the disappearingrattler.

  "You damned sneak!" he shouted shrilly.

  In the same instant he had drawn one of his heavy guns and swung itover his head. Its crashing report brought a sudden swishing frombeneath the grass, and he hopped over closer and sent three morebullets into the threshing brown body. He stood over it for a moment,his teeth showing in a savage snarl.

  "You won't bite any one else, damn you!" he shouted.

  The impotence of this conduct struck him immediately. He flushed anddrooped his head, a grim smile slowly wearing down his expression ofpanic. Seldom did he allow his emotions to reveal themselves soplainly. But the swiftness of the rattler's attack, the surprise whenhe had not been thinking of such
a thing, the fact that he was far fromhelp and that his life was in danger--all had a damaging effect uponhis self-control. And yet the smile showed that he was still master ofhimself.

  Very deliberately he returned to the rock upon which he had beensitting, ripping off his coat and tearing away the sleeve of hiswoollen shirt. Twisting the sleeve into the form of a rude rope, hetied it loosely around his leg, just above the ankle. Then he thrusthis knife between the improvised rope and the leg, forming a crudetourniquet. He twisted the knife until tears of pain formed in hiseyes. Then he fastened the knife by tucking the haft under the rope.His movements had been very deliberate, but sure, and in a few minuteshe hobbled to his pony and swung into the saddle.

  He had seen men who had been bitten by rattlers--had seen them die.And he knew that if he did not get help within half an hour there wouldbe little use of doing anything further. In half an hour the viruswould have so great a grip upon him that it would be practicallyuseless to apply any of the antidotes commonly known to the inhabitantsof the country.

  Inquiries that he had made at Dry Bottom had resulted in the discoverythat the Two Diamond ranch was nearly thirty miles from the town. Ifhe had averaged eight miles an hour he had covered about twenty-fourmiles of the distance. That would still leave about six. And he couldnot hope to ride those six miles in time to get any benefit from anantidote.

  His lips straightened, he stared grimly at a ridge of somber hills thatfringed the skyline. They had told him back in Dry Bottom that the TwoDiamond ranch was somewhere in a big basin below those hills.

  "I reckon I won't get there, after all," he said, commenting aloud.

  Thereafter he rode grimly on, keeping a good grip upon himself--for hehad seen men bitten by rattlers who had lost their self-control--andthey had not been good to look upon. Much depended upon coolness;somewhere he had heard that it was a mistake for a bitten man to exerthimself in the first few minutes following a bite; exertion caused thevirus to circulate more rapidly through the system. And so he rode atan even pace, carefully avoiding the rough spots, though keeping asclosely to the trail as possible.

  "If it hadn't been a diamond-back--an' a five-foot one--this rope thatI've got around my leg might be enough to fool him," he said once,aloud. "But I reckon he's got me." His eyes lighted savagely for aninstant. "But I got him, too. Had the nerve to think that he couldget away after throwin' his hooks into me."

  Presently his eyes caught the saffron light that glowed in the westernsky. He laughed with a grim humor. "I've heard tell that a snakedon't die till sundown--much as you hurt him. If that's so, an' Idon't get to where I c'n get some help, I reckon it'll be a stand offbetween him an' me as to who's goin' first."

  A little later he drew Mustard to a halt, sitting very erect in thesaddle and fixing his gaze upon a tall cottonwood tree that rose nearthe trail. His heart was racing madly, and in spite of his efforts, hefelt himself swaying from side to side. He had often seen a rattlerdoing that--flat, ugly head raised above his coiled body, forked tongueshooting out, his venomous eyes glittering, the head and the part ofthe body rising above the coils swaying gracefully back and forth.Yes, gracefully, for in spite of his hideous aspect, there was acertain horrible ease of movement about a rattler--a slippery, sinuousmotion that partly revealed reserve strength, and hinted atrepressed energy.

  Many times, while watching them, he had been fascinated by their grace,and now, sitting in the saddle, he caught himself wondering if theinfluence of a bite were great enough to cause the person bitten toimitate the snake. He laughed when this thought struck him and drovehis spurs sharply against Mustard's flanks, riding forward past thecottonwood at which he had been staring.

  "Hell!" he ejaculated, as he passed the tree, "what a fool notion."

  But he could not banish the "notion" from his mind, and five minuteslater, when he tried again to sit steadily, he found the swaying morepronounced. The saddle seemed to rock with him, and even by jamminghis uninjured foot tightly into the ox-bow stirrup he could not stopswaying.

  "Mebbe I won't get very far," he said, realizing that the poison hadentered his system, and that presently it would riot in his veins, "butI'm goin' on until I stop. I wouldn't want that damned rattler to knowthat he'd made me quit so soon."

  He urged Mustard to a faster pace, even while realizing that speed washopeless. He could never reach the Two Diamond. Convinced of this, hehalted the pony again, swaying in the saddle and holding, for the firsttime, to the pommel in an effort to steady himself. But he stillswayed. He laughed mockingly.

  "Now, what do you think of that?" he said, addressing the silence."You might think I was plum tenderfoot an' didn't know how to ride ahorse proper."

  He urged the pony onward again, and for some little time rode withbowed head, trying to keep himself steady by watching the trail. Herode through a little clearing, where the grass was matted and somenaked rocks reared aloft. Near a clump of sage-brush he saw a suddenmovement--a rattler trying to slip away unnoticed. But the snake slidinto Ferguson's vision and with a sneer of hate he drew one of hisweapons and whipped it over his head, its roar awakening echoes in thewood. Twice, three times, the crashing report sounded. But therattler whisked away and disappeared into the grass--apparentlyuninjured.

  For an instant Ferguson scowled. Then a grin of mockery reached hisflushed face.

  "I reckon I'm done," he said. "Can't even hit a rattler no more, an'him a brother or sister of that other one." A delirious light flashedsuddenly in his eyes, and he seemed on the point of dismounting. "I'llcert'nly smash you some!" he said, speaking to the snake--which hecould no longer see. "I ain't goin' to let no snake bite me an' getaway with it!"

  But he now smiled guiltily, embarrassment shining in his eyes. "Ireckon that wasn't the snake that bit you, Ferguson," he said. "Theone that bit you is back on the trail. He ain't goin' to die tillsundown. Not till sundown," he repeated mechanically, grimly;"Ferguson ain't goin' to die till sundown."

  He rode on, giving no attention to the pony whatever, but letting thereins fall and holding to the pommel of the saddle. His face wasburning now, his hands were twitching, and an unnatural gleam had comeinto his eyes.

  "Ferguson got hooked by a rattler!" he suddenly exclaimed, hilarity inhis voice. "He run plum into that reptile; tried to walk on him with abare foot." The laugh was checked as suddenly as it had come, and agrim quality entered his voice. "But Ferguson wasn't no tenderfoot--hedidn't scare none. He went right on, not sayin' anything. You see, hewas reckonin' to be man's size."

  He rode on a little way, and as he entered another clearing a rationalgleam came into his eyes. "I'm still a-goin' it," he muttered.

  A shadow darkened the trail; he heard Mustard whinny. He became awareof a cabin in front of him; heard an exclamation; saw dimly the slightfigure of a woman, sitting on a small porch; as through a mist, he sawher rise and approach him, standing on the edge of the porch, lookingat him.

  He smiled, bowing low to her over his pony's mane.

  "I shot him, ma'am," he said gravely, "but he ain't goin' to die tillsundown."

  As from some great distance a voice seemed to come to him. "Mercy!" itsaid. "What is wrong? Who is shot?"

  "Why, the snake, ma'am," he returned thickly. He slid down from hispony and staggered to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of theslender posts and hanging dizzily on. "You see, ma'am, that damnedrattler got Ferguson. But Ferguson ain't reckonin' on dyin' tillsundown. He couldn't let no snake get the best of him."

  He saw the woman start toward him, felt her hands on his arms, helpinghim upon the porch. Then he felt her hands on his shoulders, felt thempressing him down. He felt dimly that there was a chair under him, andhe sank into it, leaning back and stretching himself out full length.A figure flitted before him and presently there was a sharp pain in hisfoot. He started out of the chair, and was abruptly shoved back intoit, Then the figure leaned over him, prying his jaws apart with
somemetal like object and pouring something down his throat. He clicked ashe swallowed, vainly trying to brush away the object.

  "You're a hell of a snake," he said savagely. Then the world blurreddizzily, and he drifted into oblivion.