The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  THE SPIDER'S ACCOUNT

  That the news of Pete's serious condition should hit The Spider as hardas it did was as big a surprise to The Spider himself as it could everhave been to his closest acquaintance. Yet it was a fact--and TheSpider never quarreled with facts.

  The spider of the web-weaving species who leaves his web, invitesdisaster unless he immediately weaves another, and The Spider ofShowdown was only too well aware of this. Always a fatalist, he tookthings as they came, but had never yet gone out of his way to tempt thepossibilities.

  Shriveled and aged beyond his natural years, with scarcely a truefriend among his acquaintances, weary of the monotony of life--not inincident but in prospect--too shrewd to drug himself with drink, andrealizing that the money he had got together both by hook and by crookand banked in El Paso could never make him other than he was, he facedthe alternative of binding himself to Pete's dire need and desperatecondition, or riding to Baxter and taking the train from thence to ElPaso--his eyes open to what he was doing, both as a self-appointedSamaritan and as a much-wanted individual in the town where Pete layunconscious, on the very last thin edge of Nothingness.

  The Spider's preparations for leaving Showdown were simple enough. Hehad his Mexican bale and cord the choicest of the rugs and blankets,the silver-studded saddle and bridle, the Bayeta cloth--rare andpriceless--and the finest of his Indian beadwork. Each bale wastagged, and on each tag was written the name of Boca's mother. Allthese things were left in his private room, which he locked. Whetheror not he surmised what was going to happen is a question--but he didnot disregard possibilities.

  His Mexican was left in charge of the saloon with instructions to keepit open as usual, tell no one where his master had gone, and wait forfurther instructions.

  The Spider chose a most ordinary horse from his string and wore a mostordinary suit of clothes. The only things in keeping with his linedand weathered face were his black Stetson and his high-heeled boots.He knew that it would be impossible to disguise himself. He would befoolish to make the attempt. His bowed legs, the scar running fromchin to temple, his very gait made disguise impossible. To those whodid not know him he would be an "old-timer" in from the desert. Tothose who did know him . . . Well, they were not many nor over-anxiousto advertise the fact.

  He left at night, alone, and struck south across the desert, ridingeasily--a shrunken and odd figure, but every inch a horseman. Justbeneath his unbuttoned vest, under his left arm, hung theservice-polished holster of his earlier days. He had more than enoughmoney to last him until he reached El Paso, and a plentiful stock ofcigars. It was about nine o'clock next morning when he pulled up atFlores's 'dobe and dismounted stiffly. Flores was visibly surprisedand fawningly obsequious. His chief was dressed for a long journey.It had been many years since The Spider had ridden so far fromShowdown. Something portentous was about to happen, or had happened.

  Flores's wife, however, showed no surprise, but accepted The Spider'spresence in her usual listless manner. To her he addressed himself asshe made coffee and placed a chair for him. They talked of Boca---andonce The Spider spoke of Boca's mother, whom the Senora Flores hadknown in Mexico.

  Old Flores fed The Spider's horse, meanwhile wondering what had drawnthe chief from the security of his web. He concluded that The Spiderwas fleeing from some danger---the law, perhaps, or from some ancientgrudge that had at last found him out to harry him into the desert, ahunted man and desperate. The Mexican surmised that The Spider hadmoney with him, perhaps all his money--for local rumor had it that TheSpider possessed great wealth. And of course he would sleep there thatnight . . .

  Upon returning to the 'dobe Flores was told by The Spider to saynothing of having seen him. This confirmed the old Mexican's suspicionthat The Spider had fled from danger. And Flores swore by the saintsthat none should know, while The Spider listened and his thin lipstwitched.

  "You'd knife me in my bed for less than half the money on me," he toldFlores.

  The Mexican started back, as though caught in the very act, and whinedhis allegiance to The Spider. Had he not always been faithful?

  "No," said The Spider, "but the senora has."

  Flores turned and shuffled toward the corral. The Spider, standing inthe doorway of the 'dobe, spoke to Flores's wife over his shoulder: "IfI don't show up before next Sunday, senora, get your man to take you toShowdown. Juan will give you the money, and the things I left upthere."

  "You will not come back," said the Mexican woman.

  "Don't know but that you are right--but you needn't tell Flores that."

  An hour later The Spider had Flores bring up his horse. He mounted andturned to glance round the place. He shrugged his shoulders. In a fewminutes he was lost to sight on the trail south which ran along thecanon-bed.

  That night he arrived at Baxter, weary and stiff from his long ride.He put his horse in the livery-stable and paid for its keep inadvance--"a week," he said, and "I'll be back."

  Next morning he boarded the local for El Paso. He sat in thesmoking-compartment, gazing out on the hurrying landscape. At noon hegot off the train and entered an eating-house across from the station.When he again took his seat in the smoker he happened to glance out.On the platform was a square-built, sombrero'd gentleman, his back tothe coach and talking to an acquaintance. There was something familiarin the set of those shoulders. The Spider leaned forward that he mightcatch a glimpse of the man's face. Satisfied as to the other'sidentity, he leaned back in his seat and puffed his cigar. The Spidermade no attempt to keep from sight. The square-shouldered man was thetown marshal of Hermanas. As the train pulled out, the marshal turnedand all but glanced up when the brakeman, swinging to the steps of thesmoker, reached out and playfully slapped him on the shoulder. The carslid past. The Spider settled himself in his seat.

  With the superstition of the gambler he believed that he would find anenemy in the third person to recognize him, and with a gambler's stolidacceptance of the inevitable he relaxed and allowed himself to plan forthe immediate future. On Pete's actual condition would depend whatshould be done. The Spider drew a newspaper clipping from his pocket.The El Paso paper stated that there was one chance in a thousand ofPete recovering. The paper also stated that there had been moneyinvolved--a considerable sum in gold--which had not been found. Theentire affair was more or less of a mystery. It was hinted that themoney might not have been honestly come by in the first place,and--sententiously--that crime breeds crime, in proof of which, thearticle went on to say; "the man who had been shot by the police wasnone other than Pete Annersley, notorious as a gunman in the service ofthe even more notorious Jim Ewell, of Showdown, or 'The Spider,' as hewas known to his associates." Followed a garbled account of the raidon the Annersley homestead and the later circumstance of the shootingof Gary, all of which, concluded the item, spoke for itself.

  "More than Pete had a chance to do," soliloquized The Spider. "Theygot the kid chalked up as a crook--and he's as straight as a die." Andstrangely enough this thought seemed to please The Spider.

  Shouldering through the crowd at the El Paso station, The Spider rubbedagainst a well-dressed, portly Mexican who half-turned, showed surpriseas he saw the back of a figure which seemed familiar--the bowed legsand peculiar walk--and the portly Mexican, up from the south becausecertain financial interests had backed him politically were becomingdecidedly uncertain, named a name, not loudly, but distinctly and withpeculiar emphasis. The Spider heard, but did not heed nor hurry. Ablack-shawled Mexican woman carrying a baby blundered into the portlyMexican. He shoved her roughly aside. She cursed him for a pig whorobbed the poor--for he was known to most Mexicans--and he so farforgot his dignity and station as to curse her heartily in return. TheSpider meanwhile was lost in the crowd that banked the station platform.

  El Paso had grown--was not the El Paso of The Spider's earlier days,and for a brief while he forgot his mission in endeavoring mentally to
reconstruct the old town as he had known it. Arrived at the Plaza heturned and gazed about. "Number two," he said to himself, recallingthe portly Mexican--and the voice. He shrugged his shoulders.

  His request to see the president of the Stockmen's Bank was bornehesitatingly to that individual's private office, the messengerreturning promptly with instructions to "show the gentleman in."

  Contrary to all precedent the president, Hodges, was not portly, but aman almost as lean as The Spider himself; a quick, nervous man,forceful and quite evidently "self-made."

  "Sit down, Jim."

  The Spider pulled up a chair. "About that last deposit--"

  The president thrust his hand into a pigeon-hole and handed The Spidera slip of paper.

  "So he got here with the cash before they nailed him?" And The Spideryface expressed surprise.

  "The money came by express--local shipment. I tried to keep it out ofthe papers. None of their dam' business."

  "I'm going to close my account," stated The Spider.

  "Going south?"

  "No. I got some business in town. After that--"

  "You mean you've got _no_ business in town. Why didn't you write?"

  "You couldn't handle it. Figure up my credit--and give me a draft forit, I'll give you my check. Make it out to Peter Annersley," said TheSpider.

  "One of your gunmen, eh? I see by the papers he's got a poor chance ofusing this."

  "So have I," and The Spider almost smiled.

  Hodges pushed back his chair. "See here, Jim. You've got no businessin this town and you know it! And you've got enough money to keep youcomfortable anywhere--South America, for instance. Somebody'll spotyou before you've been here twenty-four hours. Why don't you let mecall a taxi--there's a train south at eleven-thirty."

  "Thanks, E.H.--but I'm only going over to the hospital."

  "You sure will, if you stick around this town long."

  "I'm going to see that boy through," said The Spider.

  "Then you're not after any one?"

  "No, not that way."

  "Well, you got me guessing. I thought I knew you."

  "Mebby, Ed. Now, if the boy comes through all right, and I don't, Iwant you to see that he gets this money. There's nobody in town canidentify him but me--and mebby I won't be around here to do it. If hecomes here and tells you he's Pete Annersley and that The Spider toldhim to come, hand him the draft. 'Course, if things go smooth, I'lltake care of that draft myself."

  "Making your will, Jim?"

  "Something like that."

  "All right. I might as well talk to the moon. I used to think thatyou were a wise one--"

  "Just plain dam' fool, same as you, E.H. The only difference is thatyou're tryin' to help _me_ out--and I aim to help out a kid that isplumb straight."

  "But I have some excuse. If it hadn't been for you when I was downsouth on that Union Oil deal--"

  "Ed, we're both as crooked as they make 'em, only you play your gamewith stocks and cash, inside--and I play mine outside, and she's a lonehand. This kid, Pete, is sure a bad hombre to stack up against--buthe's plumb straight."

  "You seem to think a whole lot of him."

  "I do," said The Spider simply.

  The president shook his head. The Spider rose and stuck out his hand."So-long, Ed."

  "So-long, Jim. I'll handle this for you. But I hate like hell tothink it's the last time I _can_ handle a deal for you."

  "You can't tell," said The Spider.

  The president of the Stockmen's Security sat turning over the papers onhis desk. It had been a long while since he had been in thesaddle--some eighteen or twenty years. As a young man he had been sentinto Mexico to prospect for oil. There were few white men in Mexicothen. But despite their vicarious callings they usually stood by eachother. The Spider, happening along during a quarrel among the nativesand the oil-men, took a hand in the matter, which was merely incidentalto his profession. The oil-men had managed to get out of that part ofthe country with the loss of but two men--a pretty fair average, asthings went those days. Years afterwards the president of theStockmen's Security happened to meet The Spider in El Paso--and he didnot forget what he owed him. The Spider at that time had considerablegold which he finally banked with the Stockmen's Security at theother's suggestion. The arrangement was mutually agreeable. TheSpider knew that the president of the Stockmen's Security would neverdisclose his identity to the authorities--and Hodges felt that as asort of unofficial trustee he was able to repay The Spider for hisconsiderable assistance down in Mexico.