CHAPTER XIV
NOTICE IS SERVED
Taterleg was finding things easier on his side of the ranch. Nick Harguswas lying still, no hostile acts had been committed. This may have beendue to the fierce and bristling appearance of Taterleg, as he humorouslydeclared, or because Hargus was waiting reenforcements from the penalinstitutions of his own and surrounding states.
Taterleg had a good many nights to himself, as a consequence of thesecurity which his grisly exterior had brought. These he spent atGlendora, mainly on the porch of the hotel in company of Alta Wood,chewing gum together as if they wove a fabric to bind their lives inadhesive amity to the end.
Lambert had a feeling of security for his line of fence, also, as herode home on the evening of his adventurous day. He had left a note onthe pieced wire reminding Grace Kerr of his request that she ease herspite by unhooking it there instead of cutting it in a new place. Healso added the information that he would be there on a certain date tosee how well she carried out his wish.
He wondered whether she would read his hope that she would be there atthe same hour, or whether she might be afraid to risk Vesta Philbrook'sfury again. There was an eagerness in him for the hastening of theintervening time, a joyous lightness which tuned him to such harmonywith the world that he sang as he rode.
Taterleg was going to Glendora that night. He pressed Lambert to joinhim.
"A man's got to take a day off sometimes to rest his face and hands," heargued. "Them fellers can't run off any stock tonight, and if they dothey can't git very far away with 'em before we'd be on their necks.They know that; they're as safe as if we had 'em where they belong."
"I guess you're right on that, Taterleg. I've got to go to town to buyme a pair of clothes, anyhow, so I'll go you."
Taterleg was as happy as a cricket, humming a tune as he went along. Hehad made liberal application of perfume to his handkerchief andmustache, and of barber's pomatum to his hair. He had fixed his hat oncarefully, for the protection of the cowlick that came down over hisleft eyebrow, and he could not be stirred beyond a trot all the way toGlendora for fear of damage that might result.
"I had a run-in with that feller the other night," he said.
"What feller do you mean?"
"Jedlick, dern him."
"You did? I didn't notice any of your ears bit off."
"No, we didn't come to licks. He tried to horn in while me and Alta wasout on the porch."
"What did you do?"
"I didn't have a show to do anything but hand him a few words. Alta shegot me by the arm and drug me in the parlor and slammed the door. No usetryin' to break away from that girl; she could pull a elephant away fromhis hay if she took a notion."
"Didn't Jedlick try to hang on?"
"No, he stood out in the office rumblin' to the old man, but that didn'tbother me no more than the north wind when you're in bed under fourblankets. Alta she played me some tunes on her git-tar and sung me somesongs. I tell you, Duke, I just laid back and shut my eyes. I felt aseasy as if I owned the railroad from here to Omaha."
"How long are you going to keep it up?"
"Which up, Duke?"
"Courtin' Alta. You'll have to show off your tricks pretty regular, Ithink, if you want to hold your own in that ranch."
Taterleg rode along considering it.
"Ye-es, I guess a feller'll have to act if he wants to hold Alta. She'syoung, and the young like change. 'Specially the girls. A man to keepAlta on the line'll have to marry her and set her to raisin' children.You know, Duke, there's something new to a girl in every man she sees.She likes to have him around till she leans ag'in' him and rubs thepaint off, then she's out shootin' eyes at another one."
"Are there others besides Jedlick?"
"That bartender boards there at the _ho_-tel. He's got four gold teeth,and he picks 'em with a quill. Sounds like somebody slappin' the crickwith a fishin'-pole. But them teeth give him a standin' in society; theylook like money in the bank. Nothing to his business, though, Duke; nosentiment or romance or anything."
"Not much. Who else is there sitting in this Alta game?"
"Young feller with a neck like a bottle, off of a ranch somewhere backin the hills."
Taterleg mentioned him as with consideration. Lambert concluded that hewas a rival to be reckoned with, but gave Taterleg his own way of comingto that.
"That feller's got a watch with a music box in the back of it, Duke.Ever see one of 'em?"
"No, I never did."
"Well, he's got one of 'em, all right. He starts that thing up about thetime he hits the steps, and comes in playin' 'Sweet Vilelets' like hejust couldn't help bustin' out in music the minute he comes in sight ofAlta. That feller gives me a pain!"
The Duke smiled. To every man his own affair is romance; every otherman's a folly or a diverting comedy, indeed.
"She's a little too keen on that feller to suit me, Duke. She sets outthere with him, and winds that fool watch and plays them two tunes overtill you begin to sag, leanin' her elbow on his shoulder like she hadhim paid for and didn't care whether he broke or not."
"What is the other tune?"
"It's that one that goes:
_A heel an' a toe and a po'ky-o_, _A heel an' a toe and a po'ky-o_
--you know that one."
"I've heard it. She'll get tired of that watch after a while, Taterleg."
"Maybe. If she don't, I guess I'll have to figger some way to beat it."
"What are Jedlick's attractions? Surely not good looks."
"Money, Duke; that's the answer to him--money. He's got a salt barrelfull of it; the old man favors him for that money."
"That's harder to beat than a music box in a watch."
"You _can't_ beat it, Duke. What's good looks by the side of money? Orbrains? Well, they don't amount to cheese!"
"Are you goin' to sidestep in favor of Jedlick? A man with all yourexperience and good clothes!"
"Me? I'm a-goin' to lay that feller out on a board!"
They hitched at the hotel rack, that looking more respectable, asTaterleg said, than to leave their horses in front of the saloon. Altawas heard singing in the interior; there were two railroad men belongingto a traveling paint gang on the porch smoking their evening pipes.
Lambert felt that it was his duty to buy cigars in consideration of theuse of the hitching-rack. Wood appeared in the office door as they cameup the steps, and put his head beyond the jamb, looking this way andthat, like a man considering a sortie with enemies lying in wait.
Taterleg went into the parlor to offer the incense of his cigar in thepresence of Alta, who was cooing a sentimental ballad to her guitar. Itseemed to be of parting, and the hope of reunion, involving one namedIrene. There was a run in the chorus accompaniment which Alta had downvery neatly.
The tinkling guitar, the simple, plaintive melody, sounded to Lambert asrefreshing as the plash of a brook in the heat of the day. He stoodlistening, his elbow on the show case, thinking vaguely that Alta had agood voice for singing babies to sleep.
Wood stood in the door again, his stump of arm lifted a little with analertness about it that made Lambert think of a listening ear. He lookedup and down the street in that uneasy, inquiring way that Lambert hadremarked on his arrival, then came back and got himself a cigar. Hestood across the counter from Lambert a little while, smoking, his browsdrawn in trouble, his eyes shifting constantly to the door.
"Duke," said he, as if with an effort, "there's a man in town lookin'for you. I thought I'd tell you."
"Lookin' for me? Who is he?"
"Sim Hargus."
"You don't mean Nick?"
"No; he's Nick's brother. I don't suppose you ever met him."
"I never heard of him."
"He's only been back from Wyoming a week or two. He was over there sometime--several years, I believe."
"In the pen over there?"
Wood took a careful survey of the door before replying, working hiscigar over to the othe
r side of his mouth in the way that a one-armedman acquires the trick.
"I--they say he got mixed up in a cattle deal down there."
Lambert smoked in silence a little while, his head bent, his facethoughtful. Wood shifted a little nearer, standing straight and alertbehind his counter as if prepared to act in some sudden emergency.
"Does he live around here?" Lambert asked.
"He's workin' for Berry Kerr, foreman over there. That's the job he usedto have before he--left."
Lambert grunted, expressing that he understood the situation. He stoodin his leaning, careless posture, arm on the show case, thumb hooked inhis belt near his gun.
"I thought I'd tell you," said Wood uneasily.
"Thanks."
Wood came a step nearer along the counter, leaned his good arm on it,watching the door without a break.
"He's one of the old gang that used to give Philbrook so muchtrouble--he's carryin' lead that Philbrook shot into him now. So he'sgot it in for that ranch, and everybody on it. I thought I'd tell you."
"I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Wood," said Lambert heartily.
"He's one of these kind of men you want to watch out for when yourback's turned, Duke."
"Thanks, old feller; I'll keep in mind what you say."
"I don't want it to look like I was on one side or the other, youunderstand, Duke; but I thought I'd tell you. Sim Hargus is one of themkind of men that a woman don't dare to show her face around where he iswithout the risk of bein' insulted. He's a foul-mouthed, foul-mindedman, the kind of a feller that ought to be treated like a rattlesnake inthe road."
Lambert thanked him again for his friendly information, understanding atonce his watchful uneasiness and the absence of Alta from the front ofthe house. He was familiar with that type of man such as Wood haddescribed Hargus as being; he had met some of them in the Bad Lands.There was nothing holy to them in the heavens or the earth. They did notbelieve there was any such thing as a virtuous woman, and honor was aword they never had heard defined.
"I'll go out and look him up," Lambert said. "If he happens to come inhere askin' about me, I'll be in either the store or the saloon."
"There's where he is, Duke--in the saloon."
"I supposed he was."
"You'll kind of run into him natural, won't you, Duke, and not let himthink I tipped you off?"
"Just as natural as the wind."
Lambert went out. From the hitching-rack he saw Wood at his post ofvigil in the door, watching the road with anxious mien. It was aSaturday night; the town was full of visitors. Lambert went on to thesaloon, hitching at the long rack in front where twenty or thirty horsesstood.
The custom of the country made it almost an obligatory courtesy to go inand spend money when one hitched in front of a saloon, an excuse forentering that Lambert accepted with a grim feeling of satisfaction.While he didn't want it to appear that he was crowding a quarrel withany man, the best way to meet a fellow who had gone spreading it abroadthat he was out looking for one was to go where he was to be found. Itwouldn't look right to leave town without giving Hargus a chance tostate his business; it would be a move subject to misinterpretation, anddamaging to a man's good name.
There was a crowd in the saloon, which had a smoky, blurred look throughthe open door. Some of the old gambling gear had been uncovered andpushed out from the wall. A faro game was running, with a dozen or moreplayers, at the end of the bar; several poker tables stretched acrossthe gloomy front of what had been the ballroom of more hilarious days.These players were a noisy outfit. Little money was being risked, butit was going with enough profanity to melt it.
Lambert stood at the end of the bar near the door, his liquor in hishand, lounging in his careless attitude of abstraction. But there wasnot a lax fiber in his body; every faculty was alert, every nerve setfor any sudden development. The scene before him was disgusting, ratherthan diverting, in its squalid imitation of the rough-and-ready timeswhich had passed before many of these men were old enough to carry theweight of a gun. It was just a sporadic outburst, a pustule come to asudden head that would burst before morning and clear away.
Lambert ran his eye among the twenty-five or thirty men in the place.All appeared to be strangers to him. He began to assort their faces, asone searches for something in a heap, trying to fix on one that lookedmean enough to belong to a Hargus. A mechanical banjo suddenly added itsmetallic noise to the din, fit music, it seemed, for such obscenecompany. Some started to dance lumberingly, with high-lifted legs andludicrous turkey struts.
Among these Lambert recognized Tom Hargus, the young man who had madethe ungallant attempt to pass Vesta Philbrook's gate with his father. Hehad more whisky under his dark skin than he could take care of. As hejigged on limber legs he threw his hat down with a whoop, his long blackhair falling around his ears and down to his eyes, bringing out theIndian that slept in him sharper than the liquor had done it.
His face was flushed, his eyes were heavy, as if he had been underheadway a good while. Lambert watched him as he pranced about, choppinghis steps with feet jerked up straight like a string-halt horse. TheIndian was working, trying to express itself in him through thisexaggerated imitation of his ancestral dances. His companions fell backin admiration, giving him the floor.
A cowboy was feeding money into the music box to keep it going, givingit a coin, together with certain grave, drunken advice, whenever itshowed symptom of a pause. Young Hargus circled about in the middle ofthe room, barking in little short yelps. Every time he passed his hat hekicked at it, sometimes hitting, oftener missing it, at last driving itover against Lambert's foot, where it lodged.
Lambert pushed it away. A man beside him gave it a kick that sent itspinning back into the trodden circle. Tom was at that moment roundinghis beat at the farther end. He came face about just as the hat skimmedacross the floor, stopped, jerked himself up stiffly, looked at Lambertwith a leap of anger across his drunken face.
Immediately there was silence in the crowd that had been assisting onthe side lines of his performance. They saw that Tom resented thistreatment of his hat by any foot save his own. The man who had kicked ithad fallen back with shoulders to the bar, where he stood presenting theface of innocence. Tom walked out to the hat, kicked it back within afew feet of Lambert, his hand on his gun.
He was all Indian now; the streak of smoky white man was engulfed. Hishandsome face was black with the surge of his lawless blood as hestopped a little way in front of Lambert.
"Pick up that hat!" he commanded, smothering his words in an avalancheof profanity.
Lambert scarcely changed his position, save to draw himself erect andstand clear of the bar. To those in front of him he seemed to becarelessly lounging, like a man with time on his hands, peace beforehim.
"Who was your nigger last year, young feller?" he asked, with good-humorin his words. He was reading Tom's eyes as a prize fighter reads hisopponent's, watching every change of feature, every strain of facialmuscle. Before young Hargus had put tension on his sinews to draw hisweapon, Lambert had read his intention.
The muzzle of the pistol was scarcely free of the scabbard when Lambertcleared the two yards between them in one stride. A grip of the wrist, atwist of the arm, and the gun was flung across the room. Tom struggleddesperately, not a word out of him, striking with his free hand. Sinewyas he was, he was only a toy in Lambert's hands.
"I don't want to have any trouble with you, kid," said Lambert,capturing Tom's other hand and holding him as he would have held a boy."Put on your hat and go home."
Lambert released him, and turned as if he considered the matter ended.At his elbow a man stood, staring at him with insolent, threateningeyes. He was somewhat lower of stature than Lambert, thick in theshoulders, firmly set on the feet, with small mustache, almost colorlessand harsh as hog bristles. His thin eyebrows were white, his hair but ashade darker, his skin light for an outdoors man. This, taken with hispale eyes, gave him an appearance of bloodless cruelty which the s
neeron his lip seemed to deepen and express.
Behind Lambert men were holding Tom Hargus, who had made a lunge torecover his gun. He heard them trying to quiet him, while he growled andwhined like a wolf in a trap. Lambert returned the stranger's stare,withholding anything from his eyes that the other could read, as somemen born with a certain cold courage are able to do. He went back to thebar, the man going with him shoulder to shoulder, turning his malevolenteyes to continue his unbroken stare.
"Put up that gun!" the fellow said, turning sharply to Tom Hargus, whohad wrenched free and recovered his weapon. Tom obeyed him in silence,picked up his hat, beat it against his leg, put it on.
"You're the Duke of Chimney Butte, are you?" the stranger inquired,turning again with his sneer and cold, insulting eyes to Lambert, whoknew him now for Sim Hargus, foreman for Berry Kerr.
"If you know me, there's no need for us to be introduced," Lambertreturned.
"Duke of Chimney Butte!" said Hargus with immeasurable scorn. He gruntedhis words with such an intonation of insult that it would have beenpardonable to shoot him on the spot. Lambert was slow to kindle. He puta curb now on even his naturally deliberate vehicle of wrath, lookingthe man through his shallow eyes down to the roots of his mean soul.
"You're the feller that's come here to teach us fellers to take off ourhats when we see a fence," Hargus said, looking meaner with everybreath.
"You've got it right, pardner," Lambert calmly replied.
"Duke of Chimney Butte! Well, pardner, I'm the King of Hotfoot Valley,and I've got travelin' papers for you right here!"
"You seem to be a little sudden about it," Lambert said, a lazy drawl tohis words that inflamed Hargus like a blow.
"Not half as sudden as you'll be, kid. This country ain't no place foryou, young feller; you're too fresh to keep in this hot climate, and thelonger you stay the hotter it gits. I'll give you just two days to makeyour gitaway in."
"Consider the two days up," said Lambert with such calm and suchcoolness of head that men who heard him felt a thrill of admiration.
"This ain't no joke!" Hargus corrected him.
"I believe you, Hargus. As far as it concerns me, I'm just as far fromthis country right now as I'll be in two days, or maybe two years.Consider your limit up."
It was so still in the barroom that one could have heard a match burn.Lambert had drawn himself up stiff and straight before Hargus, and stoodfacing him with defiance in every line of his stern, strong face.
"I've give you your rope," Hargus said, feeling that he had been calledto show his hand in an open manner that was not his style, and playingfor a footing to save his face. "If you ain't gone in two days you'llsettle with me."
"That goes with me, Hargus. It's your move."
Lambert turned, contempt in his courageous bearing, and walked out ofthe place, scorning to throw a glance behind to see whether Hargus cameafter him, or whether he laid hand to his weapon in the treachery thatLambert had read in his eyes.