The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  "CLOSE THE CASES"

  Pony Baxter's place, located near the middle of what is commonly termeda "business block," embraced the space once occupied by a number ofsmall offices, one of which he had retained as a sort ofreception-room, near the head of the stairway. That he might have aspacious room for his business, the partitions of the former officeshad been removed, with the exception of those enclosing his office, anda room at the extreme end of the building which opened on the hall,near the end window, just over the fire-escape. This room wasexpensively fitted up as a lavatory, with marble panels, basins, andtiling. A uniformed negro with the inevitable whisk-broom was alwaysin attendance, quite as keen at "getting the dust" as was his employer.The door to this room was fitted with a spring lock which allowed it tobe opened only from the inside, except with a pass-key.

  The Spider's cab, swinging into the alley, stopped directly beneath thelower extension of the fire-escape. "Pull over closer to the wall," hetold the driver. Then he climbed to the driver's seat and stepped ontothe iron ladder. "You can drive round to the front and wait," he toldthe cabby, who lost no time in getting out of the alley. Like mostnocturnal cabmen, he was quite willing to drive anywhere; but hesincerely preferred to do his waiting for his fare in a more openstreet.

  The window at the rear end of the hall was fastened. The Spider brokethe glass just below the catch with the butt of his gun. He raised thewindow and slid into the hallway.

  "Who dat?" came from the lavatory.

  "It's me, Sam," said The Spider thickly, imitating the voice of a manovercome by drink. "I cut my hand on the window. Want to get in--washup--blood--"

  "I ask Misto Baxtuh, suh."

  "Lemme in--quick--or you lose a five-spot. Bleeding bad--want to washup--"

  The spring lock clicked softly. Before Sam knew what had happened, TheSpider was in the lavatory and between him and the door to the mainroom. "Get going," said The Spider. The amazed negro backed away fromthat eloquent menace in The Spider's right hand."M-m-m-misto--misto--Captain-- Ah ain't done nuffin!"

  "Git!"--and The Spider indicated the rear window.

  The negro backed into the hall, saw the open window, and vanishedthrough it without parley. He dropped from the last step of thefire-escape and picking himself up started to run, with no definitedestination in mind save space.

  As Baxter had said, things were quiet that night. The poker table hadbeen deserted and the players had left. A few "regulars" still hungabout the faro layout and the wheel. The hired "bouncer" had steppedinto the office to speak to Baxter. It was past twelve. There were nostrangers present save the four roughly dressed men. Baxter was justtelling the bouncer that he knew them, and that he surmised they wereafter a certain party, but that that party would not be back there. Ashe talked Baxter stepped to the outer door and locked it. It was toolate to expect any worth-while business.

  The Spider, who was in reality looking for Baxter, whom he suspected oftrickery, opened the lavatory door far enough to see into the mainroom. In a flash he had placed three of the four men who "wanted" him.

  White-Eye and Longtree were standing near a player at the faro table,evidently interested for the moment in the play. Near White-Eye, Pinowas rolling a cigarette. Beyond them, at the next table, stood a manwith a deformed shoulder--and The Spider recognized Gary of theT-Bar-T, watching the few players at the wheel. . . . A film of cigarsmoke eddied round the lamps above the tables. Presently the playersat the faro table rose and left. The dealer put away his cases. Thelookout yawned and took off his green eye-shade. The man with thedeformed shoulder and his companion were moving toward White-Eye whenThe Spider slipped through the doorway and sidled toward the middle ofthe room. His hat was pushed back. He fumbled at his tie with hisright hand. "White-Eye!" he called.

  The faro-dealer and the lookout jerked round--then slowly backed towardthe side of the room. The man at the wheel paused with his hand in theair. The players, intent upon the game, glanced up curiously. Pino,who stood near White-Eye and almost in front of him, dropped hiscigarette. The room became as still as the noon desert. Three of thefour men who bore ancient grudge against The Spider, knew that therewould be no parley--that talk would be useless. The fourth, the manwhom they had addressed as Steve, had but recently associated himselfwith them, and had no quarrel with The Spider. In that tense moment,Gary wished himself well out of it.

  "Lost your nerve, Pino?" laughed The Spider, in his queer, high voice."You dropped your cigarette."

  One of the roulette players giggled hysterically. At the sound of thatlaugh, White-Eye jerked Pino in front of him. The Spider's gunappeared as though he had caught it from the air. As it roared, Pinostaggered sideways and fell. White-Eye fired as The Spider, throwingshot after shot, walked slowly toward him. Suddenly White-Eye coughedand staggered against the table. With his last shot The Spider droppedWhite-Eye, then jerked a second gun from his waistband. Gary, kneelingbehind the faro table, fired over its top. The Spider whirledhalf-round, recovered himself, and, sidling toward the table, threwdown on the kneeling man, who sank forward coughing horribly. Withineight feet of him The Spider's gun roared again. Gary's body jerkedstiff at the shock and then slowly collapsed. The fourth man,Longtree, with his hands above his head, begged The Spider not to killhis old pal! The Spider's face, horribly distorted, venomous as asnake's, colorless and glistening with sweat, twisted queerly as hespoke: "Kill you, you damned coyote?" And he shot Longtree down as aman would shoot a trapped wolf.

  Framed in the office doorway stood Pony Baxter, a blue automatic in hishand. The Spider, leaning against the roulette table, laughed. "Gaveme the double-cross, eh, Pony? How do you like the layout?" He swayedand clutched at the table. "Don't kill me, Pony!" he cried, in ghastlymimickry of Longtree's voice. "Don't kill an old pal, Pony!" And thesound of his voice was lost in the blunt roar of a shot that loosenedBaxter's fingers from the automatic. It clattered to the floor.Baxter braced himself against the door-frame and, turning, staggered tothe desk 'phone.

  The Spider nodded to the faro-dealer. "Close your cases," he said, andhe hiccoughed and spat viciously. "Get me downstairs--I'm done."

  The dealer, who possessed plenty of nerve himself, was dumb with wonderthat this man, who had deliberately walked into a fight against threefast guns, was still on his feet. Yet he realized that The Spider hadmade his last fight. He was hard hit. "God, what a mess!" said thedealer as he took The Spider's arm and steadied him to the office."You better lay down," he suggested.

  "Got a cab downstairs. General Hospital."

  The driver, who had been taking a nap inside the cab, heard the soundof shooting, started up, threw back the lap-robe, and stepped to thesidewalk. He listened, trying to count the shots. Then came silence.Then another shot. He was aware that his best policy was to leave thatneighborhood quickly. Yet curiosity held him, and finally drew himtoward the dimly lighted stairway. He wondered what had happened.

  "Cab?" somebody called from above. The cabby answered.

  "Give us a hand here," cried a voice from the top of the stairs. "Aman's been shot--bad."

  The cabby clumped up and helped get The Spider to the street."Where'll I take him?" he stammered nervously, as he recognized theshrunken figure.

  "He said something about the General Hospital. He's going--fast."

  "He used to call there, regular," asserted the cabby. "Anybody elsegit hurt?"

  "Christ, yes! It's a slaughter-pen up there. Beat it, or he'll cashin before you can get him to the hospital."

  The cabby pulled up at the General Hospital, leapt down, and hastenedround to the garage. He wakened the night ambulance-driver, stayeduntil the driver and an interne had carried The Spider into thehospital, and then drove away before he could be questioned.

  The house-doctor saw at once that The Spider could not live,administered a stimulant, and telephoned to the police station, laterasking the ambula
nce-driver for the cabman's number, which the otherhad failed to notice in the excitement. As he hung up the receiver anurse told him that the patient was conscious and wanted to speak toDr. Andover. The house-doctor asked The Spider if he wished to make astatement.

  The Spider moved his head in the negative. "I'm done," he whispered,"but I'd like to see Pete a minute."

  "Pete?"

  "Room 218," said the nurse.

  "Oh, you mean young Annersley. Well, I don't know."

  "He's my boy," said The Spider, using the last desperate argument--anappeal difficult to ignore.

  "Take him to 218," said the doctor, gesturing toward the stretcher.

  The nurse, who went with them, roused Pete out of a quiet sleep andtold him that they were bringing some one to see him. "Your father,"she said, "who has been seriously injured. He asked to see you."

  Pete could not at first understand what she meant. "All right," hesaid, turning his head and gazing toward the doorway. The nursestepped into the hall and nodded to the attendants and the doctor.

  They were about to move forward when The Spider gestured feebly to thedoctor. "Get me to my feet." "I won't bother you much after that."And The Spider, who felt that his strength was going fast, tried toraise himself on the stretcher. This effort brought the internes tohis side. They lifted him to his feet and shuffled awkwardly throughthe doorway.

  Swaying between the internes, his shriveled body held upright by adesperate effort of will, he fought for breath.

  Pete raised on his elbow, his dark eyes wide. "Spider!" he exclaimed.

  The internes felt The Spider's slackened muscles grow tense as heendeavored to get closer to the cot. They helped him a step forward.He pulled his arm free and thrust out his hand. Pete's hand closed onthose limp, clammy fingers.

  "I come ahead of time, pardner. Come to see how--you was--gettin'along." The Spider's arm dropped to his side.

  "Take him to the other bed there," said the doctor.

  The Spider shook his head. "Just a minute." He nodded toward Pete."I want you to do something for me. Go see that party--in letter--fixyou up--he's played square with me--same as you done."

  "But who was it--" began Pete.

  "Old bunch. Trailed me--too close. Got 'em--every dam' one. A masver. Tengo que marcharme, compadre." And then, "Close the cases,"said The Spider.

  The internes helped him to the cot on which Doris had rested as shewatched Pete through those dark hours, refusing to leave him till sheknew the great danger had passed.

  Pete lay back staring at the ceiling. He was, stunned by this suddencalamity. And all at once he realized that it must have been TheSpider who had called to see him several times. Doris had hinted toPete that some friend asked after him daily. So The Spider had come toEl Paso to find out if the money had been delivered--risking his lifefor the sake of a few thousand dollars! Pete turned and glanced at theother cot. The doctor was bending over The Spider, who mumbledincoherently. Presently brisk footsteps sounded in the hallway, andtwo men entered the room and stepped to where The Spider lay. Theyspoke in low tones to the doctor, who moved back. One of the men--aheavy-shouldered, red-faced man, whom Pete recognized--asked The Spiderwho had shot him, and if he had been in Pony Baxter's place that night.The Spider's lips moved. The other leaned closer. Dimly The Spiderrealized that this was the Law that questioned him. Even at the lastmoment his old enemy had come to hunt him out. The Spider's beadyblack eyes suddenly brightened. With a last vicious effort he raisedhis head and spat in the officer's face.

  The doctor stepped quickly forward. The Spider lay staring at theceiling, his sightless eyes dulled by the black shadow of eternal night.