CHAPTER XXIV
CHEYENNE PLAYS BIG
Watching from his darkened window, Cheyenne had seen Panhandle leave theHole-in-the-Wall, and stride up the street alone. It was the first timeCheyenne had seen Sears since he had taken the single room opposite thegambling-house. Cheyenne stepped back, drew down the curtain, and turnedon the light. The bare board floor was littered with cigarette stubs. Apair of saddle-bags hung on the iron bedstead. Other furniture was achair, a scratched and battered washstand, a cracked mirror. Standing bythe washstand Cheyenne took his gun from its holster, half-cocked it,and punched out the loaded cartridges. He pulled the pin, pushed thecylinder out with his thumb, and examined it against the light.Carefully he cleaned and replaced the cylinder, reloaded it, held thehammer back, and spun the cylinder with his hand. Finally he thrust thegun in the holster and, striding to the bed, sat down, his chin in hishands.
Somewhere out there on the street, or in the Hole-in-the-Wall, he wouldmeet his enemy--in a few minutes, perhaps. There would be no wordyargument. They understood each other, and had understood each other,since that morning, long ago when they had passed each other on theroad--Panhandle riding in to Laramie and Cheyenne and Little Jim ridingfrom the abandoned home. Cheyenne thought of Little Jim, of his wife,and, by some queer trick of mind, of Bartley. He knew that the Easternerwas in town. The stableman at the Top-Notch had told him. Well, he hadseen Panhandle. Now he would go out and meet him, or overtake him.
Some one turned from the street into the hall below and rapidly climbedthe stairs. Cheyenne heard a knock at the door opposite his. That roomwas unoccupied. Then came a brisk knock at his own door.
"What do you want?"
"Is that you, Cheyenne?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Bartley. I just found out from Colonel Stevenson where you werecamping."
Cheyenne stepped to the door and unlocked it.
Bartley entered, glanced round the room, and then shook hands withCheyenne. "Been a week trying to find you. How are you and how are thehorses? Man, but it was a long, lonesome ride from San Andreas! If ithadn't been for that dog that adopted me--by the way, Colonel Stevensonwas telling Senator Brown that Panhandle is in town. I suppose you knowit."
"I seen him, this evenin'."
"So did I. Just passed him as I came down here. The Colonel said youwere camping somewhere opposite the Hole-in-the-Wall. How iseverything?"
"Quiet."
"Were you going anywhere?"
"No place in particular."
Bartley sat down on the edge of the bed and lighted a cigarette.Cheyenne stood as though waiting for him to leave. There was somethingqueer about Cheyenne. His eyes were somber, his manner stiff andunnatural. His greeting had been cool.
"About that man Panhandle--" Bartley began, but Cheyenne interruptedwith a gesture.
"You say you saw him, on your way down here?"
"Yes. He didn't seem to recognize me. He was walking fast."
"How was Little Jim when you left?"
"Just fine!"
"And the folks?"
"Same as ever. Miss Gray--"
"Well, I reckon I'll be steppin' along. Glad I saw you again."
"Going to leave town to-night?"
"I aim to."
Bartley could no longer ignore Cheyenne's attitude. He knew thatsomething had happened or was about to happen. Cheyenne's manner did notinvite question or suggestion. Yet Bartley had promised Dorothy that hewould exert what influence he had--and it seemed a critical time, justat that moment.
"I'd like to talk with you a minute, if you have time," said Bartley.
"Won't do no good, pardner." And without waiting for Bartley to sayanything more, Cheyenne stepped up to him and held out his hand. "Solong," he said.
"Well, good luck!" replied Bartley, and shook hands with him heartily."I hope you win."
Cheyenne gestured toward the door. Bartley stepped out into the hallway.The light in the room flickered out.
"I reckon you'll be goin' back to your hotel," said Cheyenne. "Wait.I'll just step down first."
At the foot of the stairs Cheyenne paused and glanced up and down thestreet. Directly across the way the Hole-in-the-Wall was ablaze withlight. A few doors east of the gambling-hall an indistinct group ofriders sat their horses as though waiting for some one. Cheyenne drewback into the shadows of the hallway.
Bartley peered out over Cheyenne's shoulder. From up the street in theopposite direction came the distant click of boot-heels. A figure strodeswiftly toward the patch of white light in front of the gambling-hall.
"Just stand back a little, pardner," said Cheyenne.
Bartley felt his heart begin to thump as Cheyenne gently loosened hisgun in the holster.
"It's Panhandle!" whispered Bartley, as the figure of Sears wassilhouetted against the lighted windows of the place opposite.
Out of the shadows where the riders waited came a single, abrupt word,peremptory, incisive: "Panhandle!"
Panhandle, about to turn into the lighted doorway, stopped short.
Sneed had called to Panhandle; but it was Posmo the Mexican who rodeforward to meet him. Sneed, close behind Posmo, watched to see that theMexican carried out his instructions, which were simply to tellPanhandle to get his horse and leave town with them. Seeing the groupbehind the Mexican, Panhandle's first thought was that Posmo hadbetrayed him to the authorities. It _was_ Posmo. Panhandle recognizedthe Mexican's pinto horse.
Enraged by what he thought was a trap, and with drunken contempt for theman he had cheated, Panhandle jerked out his gun and fired at theMexican; fired again at the bulky figure behind Posmo, and staggeredback as a slug shattered his shoulder. Cursing, he swung round andemptied his gun into the blur of riders that separated and spread acrossthe street, returning his fire from the vantage of the shadows. Flinginghis empty gun at the nearest rider, Panhandle lurched toward the doorwaywhere Cheyenne and Bartley stood watching. He had almost made the curbwhen he lunged and fell. He rose and tried to crawl to the shelter ofthe doorway. One of Sneed's men spurred forward and shot Panhandle inthe back. He sank down, his body twitching.
Bartley gasped as he saw the rider deliberately throw another shot intothe dying man. Then Cheyenne's arm jerked up. The rider swerved andpitched from the saddle. Another of Sneed's men crossed the patch oflight, and a splinter ripped from the door-casing where Cheyenne stood.Cheyenne's gun came down again and the rider pitched forward and fell.His horse galloped down the street. Again Cheyenne fired, and again.Then, in the sudden stillness that followed, Cheyenne stepped out anddragged Panhandle into the hallway. Some one shouted. A window above thesaloon opposite was raised. Doors opened and men came out, questioningeach other, gathering in a group in front of the Hole-in-the-Wall.
Stunned by the sudden shock of events, the snakelike flash of guns inthe semi-darkness, and the realization that several men had been gravelywounded, perhaps killed, Bartley heard Cheyenne's voice as though from adistance.
Cheyenne's hand was on Bartley's arm. "Come on. The game is closed forthe night."
As they stepped from the doorway a man stopped them and asked what hadhappened.
"We're goin' for a doctor," said Cheyenne. "Somebody got hurt."
Hastening along the shadowy wall of the building, they turned a cornerand by a roundabout way reached the city marshal's office.
The marshal, who had been summoned in haste, was at his desk. "Sneed andhis bunch got Panhandle," stated Cheyenne quietly. "Mr. Bartley, here,saw the row. Four of Sneed's men are down. One got away."
"Sure it was Sneed?"
"I reckon your men will fetch him in, right soon. Panhandle got Sneedand a Mexican, before they stopped him."
Colonel Stevenson glanced at Cheyenne's belt and holster. Cheyenne drewhis gun and handed it to the marshal. "She's fresh loaded," he said.
"Cheyenne emptied his gun trying to fight off the men who killedPanhandle," said Bartley, stepping forward.
"And you're sure they
were Sneed's men?" queried the marshal.
Cheyenne nodded.
"I am obliged to you," said the marshal. "But I'll have to detain youboth until after the inquest."