Chapter XIX
Beaudry Blows a Smoke Wreath
Royal Beaudry carried about with him in his work on the Lazy Double Dpersistent memories of the sloe-eyed gypsy who had recently played solarge a part in his life. Men of imagination fall in love, not with awoman, but with the mystery they make of her. The young cattleman wasnot yet a lover, but a rumor of the future began to murmur in his ears.Beulah Rutherford was on the surface very simple and direct, but histhoughts were occupied with the soul of her. What was the girl likewhose actions functioned in courage and independence and harshhostility?
Life had imposed on her a hard finish. But it was impossible for Royto believe that this slender, tawny child of the wind and the sun couldat heart be bitter and suspicious. He had seen the sweet look of herdark-lashed eyes turned in troubled appeal upon her father. There hadbeen one hour when he had looked into her face and found it radiant,all light and response and ecstasy. The emotion that had pulsedthrough her then had given the lie to the sullen silence upon which shefell back as a defense. If the gods were good to her some day, the redflower of passion would bloom on her cheeks and the mists that dulledher spirit would melt in the warm sunshine of love.
So the dreamer wove the web of his fancy about her, and the mysterythat was Beulah Rutherford lay near his thoughts when he walked or rodeor ate or talked.
Nor did it lessen his interest in her that he felt she despised him.The flash of her scornful eyes still stung him. He was beyond caringwhether she thought him a spy. He knew that the facts justified him inhis attempt to save Dingwell. But he writhed that she should believehim a coward. It came too close home. And since the affray in thearcade, no doubt she set him down, too, as a drunken rowdy.
He made the usual vain valorous resolutions of youth to show her hisheroic quality. These served at least one good purpose. If he couldnot control his fears, he could govern his actions. Roy forced himselfby sheer will power to ride alone into Battle Butte once a week.Without hurry he went about his business up and down Mission Street.
The town watched him and commented. "Got sand in his craw, youngBeaudry has," was the common verdict. Men wondered what would happenwhen he met Charlton and Meldrum. Most of them would have backed JohnBeaudry's son both in their hopes and in their opinion of the result.
Into saloons and gambling-houses word was carried, and from there tothe hillmen of the park by industrious peddlers of trouble, that theyoung cattleman from the Lazy Double D could be found by his enemiesheeled for business whenever they wanted him.
Charlton kept morosely to the park. If he had had nothing to considerexcept his own inclination, he would have slapped the saddle upon acowpony and ridden in to Battle Butte at once. But Beulah had laid aninterdict upon him. For a year he had been trying to persuade her tomarry him, and he knew that he must say good-bye to his hopes if hefought with his enemy.
It was fear that kept Meldrum at home. He had been a killer, but themen he had killed had been taken at advantage. It was one thing toshoot this Beaudry cub down from ambush. It was another to meet him inthe open. Moreover, he knew the Rutherfords. The owner of the horseranch had laid the law down to him. No chance shot from the chaparralwas to cut down Dingwell's partner.
The ex-convict listened to the whispers of Tighe. He brooded overthem, but he did not act on them. His alcohol-dulled brain told himthat he had reached the limit of public sufferance. One more killingby him, and he would pay the penalty at the hands of the law. When hetook his revenge, it must be done so secretly that no evidence couldconnect him with the crime. He must, too, have an _alibi_ acceptableto Hal Rutherford.
Meldrum carried with him to Battle Butte, on his first trip after thearcade affair, a fixed determination to avoid Beaudry. In case he methim, he would pass without speaking.
But all of Meldrum's resolutions were apt to become modified bysubsequent inhibitions. In company with one or two cronies he made atour of the saloons of the town. At each of them he said, "Haveanother," and followed his own advice to show good faith.
On one of these voyages from port to port the bad man from ChicitoCanon sighted a tall, lean-flanked, long-legged brown man. He wascrossing the street so that the party came face to face with him at theapex of a right angle. The tanned stranger in corduroys, hickoryshirt, and pinched-in hat of the range rider was Royal Beaudry. It waswith a start of surprise that Meldrum recognized him. His enemy was nolonger a "pink-ear." There was that in his stride, his garb, and thesteady look of his eye which told of a growing confidence andcompetence. He looked like a horseman of the plains, fit for anyemergency that might confront him.
Taken at advantage by the suddenness of the meeting, Meldrum gaveground with a muttered oath. The young cattleman nodded to the trioand kept on his way. None of the others knew that his heart washammering a tattoo against his ribs or that queer little chills chasedeach other down his spine.
Chet Fox ventured a sly dig at the ex-convict. "Looks a right healthysick man, Dan."
"Who said he was sick?" growled Meldrum.
"Didn't you-all say he was good as dead?"
"A man can change his mind, Chet, can't he?" jeered Hart.
The blotched face of the bad man grew purple. "That'll be about enoughfrom both of you. But I'll say this: when I get ready to settle withMr. Beaudry you can order his coffin."
Nevertheless, Meldrum had the humiliating sense that he had failed tolive up to his reputation as a killer. He had promised Battle Butte togive it something to talk about, but he had not meant to let thewhisper pass that he was a four-flusher. His natural recourse was tofurther libations. These made for a sullen, ingrowing rage as the daygrew older.
More than one well-meaning citizen carried to Roy the superfluouswarning that Meldrum was in town and drinking hard. The young manthanked them quietly without comment. His reticence gave theimpression of strength.
But Beaudry felt far from easy in mind. A good deal of water hadflowed under the Big Creek bridge since the time when he had lookedunder the bed at nights for burglars. He had schooled himself not toyield to the impulses of his rabbit heart, but the unexpected clatterof hoofs still set his pulses a-flutter. Why had fate snatched sogentle a youth from his law desk and flung him into such turbid watersto sink or swim? All he had asked was peace--friends, books, a quietlife. By some ironic quirk be found himself in scenes of battle andturmoil. As the son of John Beaudry he was expected to show anunflawed nerve, whereas his eager desire was to run away and hide.
He resisted the first panicky incitement to fly back to the Lazy DoubleD, and went doggedly about the business that had brought him to BattleButte. Roy had come to meet a cattle-buyer from Denver and the man hadwired that he would be in on the next train. Meanwhile Beaudry had tosee the blacksmith, the feed-store manager, the station agent, andseveral others.
This kept him so busy that he reached the Station only just in time tomeet the incoming train. He introduced himself to the buyer, capturedhis suitcase, and turned to lead the way to the rig.
Meldrum lurched forward to intercept him. "Shus' a moment."
Roy went white. He knew the crisis was upon him. The right hand ofthe hillman was hidden under the breast of his coat. Even thecattle-buyer from Denver knew what was in that hand and edged towardthe train. For this ruffian was plainly working himself into a ragesufficient to launch murder.
"Yore father railroaded me to the penitentiary--cooked up testimonyagainst me. You bust me with a club when I wasn't looking. Here'swhere I git even. See?"
The imminence of tragedy had swept the space about them empty ofpeople. Roy knew with a sinking heart that it was between him and thehillman to settle this alone. He had been caught with the suitcase inhis right hand, so that he was practically trapped unarmed. Before hecould draw his revolver, Meldrum would be pumping lead.
Two months ago under similar circumstances terror had paralyzed Roy'sthinking power. Now his brain functioned in spite
of his fear. He wasshaken to the center of his being, but he was not in panic.Immediately he set himself to play the poor cards he found in his hand.
"Liar!" Beaudry heard a chill voice say and knew it was his own."Liar on both counts! My father sent you up because you were a thief.I beat your head off because you are a bully. Listen!" Roy shot thelast word out in crescendo to forestall the result of a convulsivemovement of the hand beneath his enemy's coat. "_Listen, if you wantto live the day out_, you yellow coyote!"
Beaudry had scored his first point--to gain time for his argument toget home to the sodden brain. Dave Dingwell had told him that most menwere afraid of something, though some hid it better than others; and hehad added that Dan Meldrum had the murderer's dread lest vengeanceovertake him unexpectedly. Roy knew now that his partner had spokenthe true word. At that last stinging sentence, alarm had jumped to theblear eyes of the former convict.
"Whadjamean?" demanded Meldrum thickly, the menace of horrible thingsin his voice.
"Mean? Why, this. You came here to kill me, but you haven't the nerveto do it. You've reached the end of your rope, Dan Meldrum. You're akiller, but you'll never kill again. Murder me, and the law would hangyou high as Haman--_if it ever got a chance_."
The provisional clause came out with a little pause between each wordto stress the meaning. The drunken man caught at it to spur his rage.
"Hmp! Mean you're man enough to beat the law to it?"
Beaudry managed to get out a derisive laugh. "Oh, no! Not when I havea suitcase in my right hand and you have the drop on me. I can't helpmyself--_and twenty men see it_."
"Think they'll help you?" Meldrum swept his hand toward the frightenedloungers and railroad officials. His revolver was out in the open now.He let its barrel waver in a semi-circle of defiance.
"No. They won't help me, but they'll hang you. There's no hole whereyou can hide that they won't find you. Before night you'll be swingingunderneath the big live-oak on the plaza. That's a prophecy for you toswallow, you four-flushing bully."
It went home like an arrow. The furtive eyes of the killer slidsideways to question this public which had scattered so promptly tosave itself. Would the mob turn on him later and destroy him?
Young Beaudry's voice flowed on. "Even if you reached the hills, youwould be doomed. Tighe can't save you--and he wouldn't try.Rutherford would wash his hands of you. They'll drag you back fromyour hole."
The prediction rang a bell in Meldrum's craven soul. Again he soughtreassurance from those about him and found none. In their place heknew that he would revenge himself for present humiliation by crueltylater. He was checkmated.
It was an odd psychological effect of Beaudry's hollow defiance thatconfidence flowed in upon him as that of Meldrum ebbed. The chilldrench of fear had lifted from his heart. It came to him that hisenemy lacked the courage to kill. Safety lay in acting upon thisassumption.
He raised his left hand and brushed the barrel of the revolver asidecontemptuously, then turned and walked along the platform to thebuilding. At the door he stopped, to lean faintly against the jamb,still without turning. Meldrum might shoot at any moment. It dependedon how drunk he was, how clearly he could vision the future, howgreatly his prophecy had impressed him. Cold chills ran up and downthe spinal column of the young cattleman. His senses were reeling.
To cover his weakness Roy drew tobacco from his coat-pocket and rolleda cigarette with trembling fingers. He flashed a match. A momentlater an insolent smoke wreath rose into the air and floated backtoward Meldrum. Roy passed through the waiting-room to the streetbeyond.
Young Beaudry knew that the cigarette episode had been the weak bluffof one whose strength had suddenly deserted him. He had snatched at itto cover his weakness. But to the score or more who saw that spiral ofsmoke dissolving jauntily into air, no such thought was possible. Thefilmy wreath represented the acme of dare-devil recklessness, the finalproof of gameness in John Beaudry's son. He had turned his back on adrunken killer crazy for revenge and mocked the fellow at the risk ofhis life.
Presently Roy and the cattle-buyer were bowling down the street behindDingwell's fast young four-year-olds. The Denver man did not know thathis host was as weak from the reaction of the strain as a childstricken with fear.