The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  WHITE-EYE

  The third time that The Spider called at the hospital, and, as usual,in the evening, he was told by the young house-doctor, temporarily incharge, that he could not see the patient in room 218 withoutpermission from the physician in charge of the case, as it was aftervisiting hours, and, moreover, there had been altogether too muchfreedom allowed visitors as it was. This young doctor knew nothing ofThe Spider's connection with the Annersley case, and was altogetherunimpressed by The Spider's appearance, save that he mentally labeledhim a "rough-neck" who was evidently pretty badly crippled byrheumatism.

  The Spider felt tempted to resort to bribery, but there was somethingso officious and aggressively professional in the manner of this"straw-boss"--as The Spider mentally labeled him--that The Spiderhesitated to flatter his egotism by admitting that he held thewhip-hand.

  "Then mebby you can find out how he's getting along?" queried TheSpider, in his high-pitched voice.

  "No objection to that," said the young doctor, reaching for the desk'phone. "Two-eighteen, please. Two-eighteen? How is your patientto-night? That so? H-m-m! Oh, this is Miss Gray talking? H-m-m!Thanks." And he hung up the receiver.

  "The patient is doing very well--exceptionally well. Would you care toleave any message?"

  "You might tell Doc Andover to leave word that when I call, I get tosee the folks I come to see--and I reckon he'll set you straight."

  "Oh, I didn't--er--know you were a friend of Dr. Andover's. What isthe name, please?"

  "'T wouldn't interest you none, little man. Thanks for theinformation." And The Spider hobbled out and clumped stiffly down thewide stone stairway.

  The young doctor adjusted his glasses and stared into vacancy. "H-m-m!And he had the nerve to call _me_ 'little man.' Now I should call hima decidedly suspicious character. Looks something like an overgrownspider. Birds of a feather," he added sententiously, with an air ofconscious rectitude, and a disregard for the propriety of the impliedmetaphor. It is not quite certain whether he had Andover or Pete inmind. But it is most probable that had he allowed The Spider to seePete that evening and talk with him, The Spider would have left El Pasothe next day, as he had planned, instead of waiting until the followingevening, against his own judgment and in direct opposition to thatpeculiar mental reaction called "a hunch" by those not familiar withthe niceties of the English language, and called nothing really moreexpressive by those who are.

  So far as The Spider knew, he had not been recognized by any one. Yetwith that peculiar intuition of the gunman and killer he knew that hewas marked. He wondered which of his old enemies had found himout--and when and how that enemy would strike.

  That night he wrote a short letter to Pete, stating that he was in townand would call to see him the following evening, adding that if hefailed to call Pete was to go to the Stockmen's Security and ask forthe president when he was able to be about. He mailed the letterhimself, walking several blocks to find a box. On his way back a manpassed him who peered at him curiously. The Spider's hand had crepttoward his upper vest-pocket as the other approached. After he passed,The Spider drew out a fresh cigar and lighted it from the one he wassmoking. And he tossed the butt away and turned and glanced back. "Iwonder what White-Eye is doing in El Paso?" he asked himself. "He knewme all right." The Spider shrugged his shoulders. His hunch hadproved itself. There was still time to leave town, but the fact thatWhite-Eye had recognized him and had not spoken was an insidiouschallenge, the kind of a challenge which a killer never lets pass. Forthe killer, strangely enough, is drawn to his kind through the instinctof self-preservation, a psychological paradox to the layman, who doesnot understand that peculiar pride of the gunman which leads him toremove a menace rather than to avoid it. Curiosity as to a rival'sability, his personal appearance, his quality of nerve, the sound ofhis voice, has drawn many noted killers together--each anxious to proveconclusively that he was the better man. And this curiosity, driven bythe high nervous tension of the man who must ever be on the alert, isinsatiable, and is assuaged only by insanity or his own death. Theremoval of a rival does not satisfy this hunger to kill, but rathercreates a greater hunger, until, without the least provocation, thekiller will shoot down a man merely to satisfy temporarily this inhumanand terrible craving. The killer veritably feeds upon death, untilthat universal abhorrence of the abnormal, triumphant in the end,adjusts the quivering balance--and Boot Hill boasts one more woodencross.

  The Spider, limping up the stairway to his room, knew that he would notleave El Paso, knew that he could not leave the town until satisfied asto what White-Eye's silence meant. And not only that, but he wouldfind out. He lighted the oil-lamp on the dresser and gazed at himselfin the glass. Then he took off his coat, shaved, washed, and put on aclean shirt and collar. He took some gold and loose silver from hismoney-belt, put on his hat and coat, and hobbled downstairs. Hethought he knew where he could get word of White-Eye's whereabouts,stopped at a cigar-stand and telephoned for his cab--and his regulardriver. In a few minutes the cab was at the corner. He mentioned astreet number to the driver, who nodded knowingly. Pony Baxter'splace--where the game ran big. No place for a tin-horn. Only the realones played at Pony's. So this old-timer who paid so well was going totake a whirl at the game? The cabby thought he saw a big tip coming.Being somewhat of a sportsman in his way, and grateful for what TheSpider had already done for him, he drew up within a block of hisdestination and, stepping down, told The Spider that Pony's place wasbeing watched--and had been for more than a week: that the bulls wereout for some strangers who were wanted bad.

  The Spider showed no sign of surprise. "Suppose I was one of 'em, eh?"he queried.

  "That's none of my business, Captain. I ain't workin' for the force;I'm workin' for myself."

  "All right. I'll walk down to Pony's place. After I go up, you candrive down there and wait. I may be five minutes--or a couple ofhours. Here's something to make you forget who you're waiting for ifanybody should ask you."

  The cabby tucked the money in his pocket and climbed back to his seat."Don't know if somebody was to ask me," he said to himself, as hewatched The Spider hobble down the next block. "Lemme see," hecontinued as he drove slowly along. "Some guy comes up and asks me fora match and starts talkin' friendly, and mebby asks me to have a drink,and I get friendly and tell him about that young sport from the Eastthat's been seein' the town and how somebody over to his hotel must 'a'told him about the game at Pony's--and how he's upstairs, gettin' hishair cut--short. Oh, I guess I ain't been in this business eight yearsfor nothin'."

  But the inquisitive stranger did not appear and the cabby's inventionwas wasted.

  The Spider entered the first door to the left of the long hallway. Theroom was fitted up as an office, with huge leather-upholstered chairs,a mahogany center table, and a mahogany desk. In one corner stood alarge safe. On the safe-door was lettered "A. L. Baxter & Co."

  A man with a young, smooth face and silver-white hair was sitting atthe desk. He turned and nodded pleasantly.

  "I want to see Pony," said The Spider.

  "You're talking to him," said the other. "What can I do for you?"

  "You can tell Pony that I want to see him, here," said The Spider."And don't worry, he knows me."

  "The name, please."

  "Never mind that. Just take a good look at me--and tell him. He'llcome."

  The other rose and, stepping to the inner door, beckoned to some one inthe room beyond. The Spider seated himself, lighted a cigar, andleaned back as though thoroughly at home. Presently a big man came inbriskly: a full-bodied, smooth-cheeked man who looked like theprosperous manager of some legitimate business enterprise, save for thelarge diamond horseshoe scintillating in his gray silk tie.

  "Why, hello, Jim!" he cried, evidently surprised. He told his partnercasually that he could go on inside and look after things for a fewminutes. When the other had gone he turned to The Spi
der. "What can Ido for you, Jim?"

  "Tell me where I can find White-Eye."

  "White-Eye? He hasn't been in here for three or four years. I didn'tknow he was in town."

  "That might go with the bulls, Pony. I know White-Eye doesn't hang outreg'lar here--ain't his kind of a joint. But you can tell me where hedoes hang out. And I want to know."

  "You looking for him, Jim?"

  "No. But I've got a hunch he's looking for me."

  "Just how bad do you think he wants to see you?" queried Baxter,tilting back his swing-chair and glancing sideways at The Spider.

  "About as bad as I want to see him," said The Spider.

  "You haven't been in town for quite a while, Jim."

  "No. Fifteen years, I reckon."

  "You don't change much."

  "I was thinking the same of you; always playing safe. You ought toknow better than to pull a bluff like that on me. But if that is yourgame, I call. I want White-Eye."

  Pony Baxter had plenty of nerve. But he knew The Spider. "I haven'tseen White-eye for over three years," he said, turning to his desk. Hetore a memorandum slip from a pad and wrote something on it and handedit to The Spider. It was simply a number on Aliso Street. The Spiderglanced at it and tore the slip in two.

  "He's stayin' with friends?" queried The Spider.

  "Yes. And I think you know most of them."

  "Thanks for the tip, Pony."

  "You going down there alone, Jim?"

  "I might."

  "I wouldn't," said Baxter.

  "I know dam' well _you_ wouldn't," laughed The Spider.

  Scarcely had The Spider stepped into the cab when four men slouchedfrom a dark stairway entrance a few doors down the street and watchedthe cab turn a distant corner.

  "Well, you missed a good chance," said one of the men, as they movedslowly toward the entrance to Pony Baxter's.

  "How about you? If you ain't forgetting it was the first one of usthat seen him was to get him."

  "And White-Eye, here, seen him first, when he crawled out of that rig.If we'd 'a' gone up, instead of standin' here lettin' our feet gitcold--"

  "He must 'a' had his roll with him," said Pino, one of White-Eye'scompanions and incidentally a member of that inglorious legion, "TheMen Who Can't Come Back."

  "'T ain't his roll I want," said White-Eye.

  "Too dam' bad about you not wantin' his roll. Any time--"

  "Any time you git The Spider's roll, you got to git him," assertedanother member of this nocturnal quartette, a man whose right arm andshoulder sagged queerly.

  "The Spider ain't no _kid_, neither,"--and White-Eye paused at thedimly lighted stairway entrance.

  The man with the deformed shoulder cursed White-Eye. The otherslaughed.

  "Let's go git a drink--and then we'll have a talk with Pony. Come on,Steve."

  They turned and drifted on up the street. Presently they were back atthe stairway entrance. "Pony won't stand for no rough stuff," advisedWhite-Eye as they turned and climbed the stair. "I'll do the talkin'."

  "I reckon he'll stand for anything we hand him," said Pino. "Fancyclothes don't cut any figure with me."

  "Nobody that ever got a good look at you would say so," assertedWhite-Eye. He paused at the head of the stairs. "I aim to find outwhat The Spider wanted up here."

  "Go to it!"--and Pino grinned.

  As they entered the "office," Baxter was talking with his partner, withwhom he exchanged a significant glance as he realized who his visitorswere. The partner excused himself and stepped into the room beyond.

  "Well, boys, what can I do for you?" Baxter's manner was suavelyaffable.

  "We're lookin' for a friend," declared White-Eye.

  "I don't think he's here." And Baxter smiled his professional smile.

  "But he's been here," asserted White-Eye. "We ain't here to make anoise. We jest want to know what The Spider was doin' up here a spellago."

  "Oh, Jim? Why, he dropped in to shake hands. I hadn't seen him forseveral years. Didn't know he was in town."

  "Feed that soft stuff to the yearlins'," snarled White-Eye. "TheSpider ain't chousin' around El Paso for his health, or yours."

  Baxter was about to say something when Pino stooped and picked up thepieces of paper which The Spider had torn in two just before he left.Pino had no special motive in picking up those torn bits of paper. Hesimply saw them, picked them up, and rolled them nervously in hisfingers. White-Eye, watching Baxter, saw him blink and in turn watchPino's fingers as he twisted and untwisted the bits of paper.

  "He can't keep his hands still," said White-Eye, shrugging his shouldertoward Pino. "Ever meet Pino. No? Well, he's a artist--when it comesto drawin'--"

  Pino dropped the bits of paper, rose, and shook hands indifferentlywith Baxter. As Pino sat down again, Baxter stooped and casuallypicked up the torn pad-leaf on which he had written White-Eye'saddress. He turned to his desk and taking a box of cigars from adrawer passed it around. White-Eye's pin-point pupils glittered. PonyBaxter seemed mighty anxious to get those two bits of paper out ofsight. White-Eye had seen him drop them in the drawer as he opened it.

  "Where did you send The Spider?" asked White-Eye quickly.

  "Send him! Didn't send him anywhere. He said he was going back to hishotel."

  White-Eye blinked. He knew that The Spider was not stopping at ahotel. For some reason Baxter had lied.

  "How's the game to-night?" queried White-Eye.

  "Quiet," replied Baxter.

  "Any strangers inside?"

  "No--not the kind of strangers you mean."

  "Then I reckon we'll take a look in. Don't mind takin' a whirl at thewheel myself."

  "Come right in," said Baxter, as though relieved, and he opened thedoor and stood aside to let them pass.

  A quiet game of poker was running at a table near the door. Fartherdown the room, which was spacious and brilliantly lighted, a group wereplaying the wheel. At the table beyond the usual faro game was inprogress. All told there were some fifteen men in the room, notcounting the dealers and lookout. One or two men glanced up asWhite-Eye and his companions entered and sauntered from table to table.To the regular habitues of the place, White-Eye and his companions weresimply "rough-necks" to whom Baxter was showing "the joint."

  Presently Baxter excused himself and, telling his visitors to makethemselves at home, strode back to his office. White-Eye and Pinowatched the wheel, while the man with the deformed shoulder and hiscompanion stood watching the faro game. The room was quiet save forthe soft click of the chips, the whirring of the ball, an occasionaloath, and the monotonous voice of the faro-dealer.

  Pino nudged White-Eye and indicated the little pile of gold that wasstacked before a player at the faro table. White-Eye shook his headand stepped casually back. Pino sauntered over to him.

  "Chanct for a clean-up?" whispered Pino.

  "No show. The lookout's a gun. I know him. So is that guy at thewheel. Pony's pardner packs a gat; and that guy standin' over by thewall, smoking is drawin' down reg'lar pay for jest standin' there,every night. 'Sides, they ain't enough stuff in sight to take a chanctfor. We ain't organized for this kind of a deal."

  "Then what's the use of hangin' around?"

  "'Cause they was somethin' on that piece of paper you picked up outthere that Pony didn't want us to see--and I aim to find out what itwas."

  "The number of some dame, most like," said Pino, grinning.

  "Did you hear him say The Spider went back to his _hotel_? Well, Ponyis double-crossin' somebody. Jest stick around and keep your eye onthe door."

  Meanwhile The Spider had arrived at the address given him--an emptybasement store in the south end of town. The place was dark andevidently abandoned. Back of the store was a room in which were twocheap iron beds, a washstand, and two chairs. The rear door of thisroom opened on an alley, and it was through this door that White-Eyeand his companions entered and left the premises, w
hich they had rentedat a low rate from the lessee of the place who now ran a grocery on thestreet level, near the corner.

  The Spider had no means of knowing of the back room and thought thatBaxter had sent him to a chance number to get rid of him; or that thelatter would possibly suggest that White-Eye must have left theneighborhood.

  "Is there a back stairs to Pony's place?" queried The Spider as hestood by the cab.

  "No. But there's a fire-escape in the alley back of the block. Thelast time they raided Pony the bulls got six gents comin' down the ironladder."

  "Just drive round that way." The Spider stepped into the cab.

  "You ain't a Government man, are you?" queried cabby.

  "No. I play a lone hand," said The Spider.