Whispering Smith

  CHAPTER XII

  PARLEY

  It was recalled one evening not long ago at the Wickiup that theaffair with Sinclair had all taken place within a period of two years,and that practically all of the actors in the event had been togetherand in friendly relation on a Thanksgiving Day at the Dunning ranchnot so very long before the trouble began. Dicksie Dunning was away atschool at the time, and Lance Dunning was celebrating with a ridingand shooting fest and a barbecue.

  The whole country had been invited. Bucks was in the mountains on aninspection trip, and Bill Dancing drove him with a party of railroadmen over from Medicine Bend. The mountain men for a hundred andfifty miles around were out. Gene and Bob Johnson, from Oroville andthe Peace River, had come with their friends. From Williams Cachethere was not only a big delegation--more of one than was reallydesirable--but it was led by old John Rebstock himself. When theinvitation is general, lines cannot be too closely drawn. Notonly was Lance Dunning something of a sport himself, but on the LongRange it is part of a stockman's creed to be on good terms with hisneighbors. At a Thanksgiving Day barbecue not even a mountainsheriff would ask questions, and Ed Banks, though present, respectedthe holiday truce. Cowboys rode that day in the roping contest whowere from Mission Creek and from Two Feather River.

  Among the railroad people were George McCloud, Anderson, the assistantsuperintendent, Farrell Kennedy, chief of the special service, and hisright-hand man, Bob Scott. In especial, Sinclair's presence at thebarbecue was recalled. He had some cronies with him from among hisup-country following, and was introducing his new bridge foreman,Karg, afterward known as Flat Nose, and George Seagrue, the Montanacowboy. Sinclair fraternized that day with the Williams Cache men, andit was remarked even then that though a railroad man he appearedsomewhat outside the railroad circle. When the shooting matches wereannounced a brown-eyed railroad man was asked to enter. He had beenout of the mountains for some time and was a comparative stranger inthe gathering, but the Williams Cache men had not forgotten him;Rebstock, especially, wanted to see him shoot. While much of the timeout of the mountains on railroad business, he was known to be closelyin Bucks's counsels, and as to the mountains themselves, he wasreputed to know them better than Bucks or Glover himself knew them.This was Whispering Smith; but, beyond a low-voiced greeting or anexpression of surprise at meeting an old acquaintance, he avoidedtalk. When urged to shoot he resisted all persuasion and backed up hisrefusal by showing a bruise on his trigger finger. He declined even toact as judge in the contest, suggesting the sheriff, Ed Banks, forthat office.

  The rifle matches were held in the hills above the ranch-house, and inthe contest between the ranches, for which a sweepstakes had beenarranged, Sinclair entered Seagrue, who was then working for him.Seagrue shot all the morning and steadily held up the credit of theFrenchman Valley Ranch against the field. Neither continued shootingnor severe tests availed to upset Sinclair's entry, and riding backafter the matches with the prize purse in his pocket, Seagrue, who wastall, light-haired, and perfectly built, made a new honor for himselfon a dare from Stormy Gorman, the foreman of the Dunning ranch.Gorman, who had ridden a race back with Sinclair, was at the foot ofthe long hill, down which the crowd was riding, when he stopped,yelled back at Seagrue, and, swinging his hat from his head, laid iton a sloping rock beside the trail.

  "You'd better not do that, Stormy," said Sinclair. "Seagrue will put ahole through it."

  Gorman laughed jealously. "If he can hit it, let him hit it."

  At the top of the hill Seagrue had dismounted and was making ready toshoot. Whispering Smith, at his side, had halted with the party, andthe cowboy knelt to adjust his sights. On his knee he turned toWhispering Smith, whom he seemed to know, with an abrupt question:"How far do you call it?"

  The answer was made without hesitation: "Give it seven hundred andfifty yards, Seagrue."

  The cowboy made ready, brought his rifle to his shoulder, and fired.The slug passed through the crown of the hat, and a shower ofsplinters flying back from the rock blew the felt into a sieve.Gorman's curiosity, as well as that of everybody else, seemedsatisfied, and, gaining the level ground, the party broke into ahelter-skelter race for the revolver-shooting.

  In this Sinclair himself had entered, and after the early matchesfound only one troublesome contestant--Du Sang from the Cache, who waspresent under Rebstock's wing. After Sinclair and Du Sang had tied intest after test at shooting out of the saddle, Whispering Smith, wholost sight of nothing in the gun-play, called for a pack of cards,stripped the aces from the deck, and had a little conference with thejudge. The two contestants, Sinclair and Du Sang, were ordered backthirty-five paces on their horses, and the railroad man, walking overto the targets, held out between the thumb and forefinger of his lefthand the ace of clubs. The man that should first spot the pip out ofthe card was to take the prize, a Cheyenne saddle. Sinclair shot, andhis horse, perfectly trained, stood like a statue. The card flew fromSmith's hand, but the bullet had struck the ace almost an inch abovethe pip, and a second ace was held out for Du Sang. As he raised hisgun his horse moved. He spurred angrily, circled quickly about,halted, and instantly fired. It was not alone that his bullet cut theshoulder of the club pip on the card: the whole movement, beginningwith the circling dash of the horse under the spur, the sudden halt,and the instantly accurate aim, raised a quick, approving yell for thenew-comer. The signal was given for Sinclair, and a third ace went up.In the silence Sinclair, with deliberate care, brought his gun down onthe card, fired, and cut the pip cleanly from the white field. Du Sangwas urged to shoot again, but his horse annoyed him and he would not.

  With a little speech the prize was given by Ed Banks to Sinclair."Here's hoping your gun will never be trained on me, Murray," smiledthe modest sheriff.

  Sinclair responded in high humor. He had every reason to feel good.His horses had won the running races, and his crowd had the honorswith the guns. He turned on Du Sang, who sat close by in the circle ofhorsemen, and, holding the big prize out toward him on his knee, askedhim to accept it. "It's yours by rights anyway, Du Sang," declaredSinclair. "You're a whole lot better shot than I am, every turn of theroad. You've shot all day from a nervous horse."

  Not only would Sinclair not allow a refusal of his gift, but, to makehis generosity worth while, he dispatched Flat Nose to the corral, andthe foreman rode back leading the pony that had won the half-miledash. Sinclair cinched the prize saddle on the colt with his ownhands, led the beast to Du Sang, placed the bridle in his hand, andbowed. "From a jay to a marksman," he said, saluting.

  Du Sang, greatly embarrassed by the affair--he had curious pinkeyes--blinked and got away to the stables. When Rebstock joined himthe Williams Cache party were saddling to go home. Du Sang made noreference to his gift horse and saddle, but spoke of the man that hadheld the target aces. "He must be a sucker!" declared Du Sang, with anoath. "I wouldn't do that for any man on top of ground. Who is he?"

  "That man?" wheezed Rebstock. "Never have no dealings with him. Heplays 'most any kind of a game. He's always ready to play, and holdsaces most of the time. Don't you remember my telling about the manthat got Chuck Williams and hauled him out of the Cache on abuckboard? That's the man. Here, he give me this for you; it's yourcard." Rebstock handed Du Sang the target ace of clubs. "Why didn'tyou thank Murray Sinclair, you mule?"

  Du Sang, whose eyelashes were white, blinked at the hole through thecard, and looked around as he rode back across the field for the manthat had held it; but Whispering Smith had disappeared.

  He was at that moment walking past the barbecue pit with GeorgeMcCloud. "Rebstock talks a great deal about your shooting, Gordon,"said McCloud to his companion.

  "He and I once had a little private match of our own. It was on thePeace River, over a bunch of steers. Since then we have got along verywell, though he has an exaggerated opinion of my ability. Rebstock'sworst failing is his eyesight. It bothers him in seeing brands. He'sliable to brand a critter half a dozen times. That albino, Du Sang
, isa queer duck. Sinclair gave him a fine horse. There they go." TheCache riders were running their horses and whooping across the creek."What a hand a State's prison warden at Fort City could draw out ofthat crowd, George!" continued McCloud's companion. "If the right manshould get busy with that bunch of horses Sinclair has got together,and organize those up-country fellows for mischief, wouldn't it makethings hum on the mountain division for a while?"

  McCloud did not meet the host, Lance Dunning, that day, nor since theday of the barbecue had Du Sang or Sinclair seen Whispering Smithuntil the night Du Sang spotted him near the wheel in the ThreeHorses. Du Sang at once drew out of his game and left the room.Sinclair in the meantime had undertaken a quarrelsome interview withWhispering Smith.

  "I supposed you knew I was here," said Smith to him amiably. "Ofcourse I don't travel in a private car or carry a bill-board on myback, but I haven't been hiding."

  "The last time we talked," returned Sinclair, measuring wordscarefully, "you were going to stay out of the mountains."

  "I should have been glad to, Murray. Affairs are in such shape on thedivision now that somebody had to come, so they sent for me."

  The two men were sitting at a table. Whispering Smith was cutting andleisurely mixing a pack of cards.

  "Well, so far as I'm concerned, I'm out of it," Sinclair went on aftera pause, "but, however that may be, if you're back here looking fortrouble there's no reason, I guess, why you can't find it."

  "That's not it. I'm not here looking for trouble; I'm here to fix thisthing up. What do you want?"

  "Not a thing."

  "I'm willing to do anything fair and right," declared WhisperingSmith, raising his voice a little above the hum of the rooms.

  "Fair and right is an old song."

  "And a good one to sing in this country just now. I'll do anything Ican to adjust any grievance, Murray. What do you want?"

  Sinclair for a moment was silent, and his answer made plain hisunwillingness to speak at all. "There never would have been agrievance if I'd been treated like a white man." His eyes burnedsullenly. "I've been treated like a dog."

  "That is not it."

  "That is it," declared Sinclair savagely, "and they'll find it's it."

  "Murray, I want to say only this--only this to make things clear.Bucks feels that he's been treated worse than a dog."

  "Then let him put me back where I belong."

  "It's a little late for that, Murray; a _little_ late," said Smithgently. "Shouldn't you rather take good money and get off thedivision? Mind you, I say good money, Murray--and peace."

  Sinclair answered without the slightest hesitation: "Not while thatman McCloud is here."

  Whispering Smith smiled. "I've got no authority to kill McCloud."

  "There are plenty of men in the mountains that don't need any."

  "But let's start fair," urged Whispering Smith softly. He leanedforward with one finger extended in confidence. "Don't let us have anymisunderstanding on the start. Let McCloud alone. If he is killed--nowI'm speaking fair and open and making no threats, but I know how itwill come out--there will be nothing but killing here for six months.We will make just that memorandum on McCloud. Now about the mainquestion. Every sensible man in the world wants something."

  "I know men that have been going a long time without what theywanted."

  Smith flushed and nodded. "You needn't have said that, but no matter.Every sensible man wants something Murray. This is a big country.There's a World's Fair running somewhere all the time in it. Why nottravel a little? What do you want?"

  "I want my job, or I want a new superintendent here."

  "Just exactly the two things, and, by heavens! the only two, I can'tmanage. Come once more and I'll meet you."

  "No!" Sinclair rose to his feet. "No--damn your money! This is myhome. The high country is my country; it's where my friends are."

  "It's filled with your friends; I know that. But don't put your trustin your friends. They will stay by you, I know; but once in a longwhile there will be a false friend, Murray, one that will sellyou--remember that."

  "I stay."

  Whispering Smith looked up in admiration. "I know you're game. Itisn't necessary for me to say that to you. But think of the fight youare going into against this company. You can worry them; you've doneit. But a bronco might as well try to buck a locomotive as for one manor six or six hundred to win out in the way you are playing."

  "I will look out for my friends; others--" Sinclair hitched his beltand paused, but Whispering Smith, cutting and running the cards, gaveno heed. His eyes were fixed on the green cloth under his fingers."Others--" repeated Sinclair.

  "Others?" echoed Whispering Smith good-naturedly.

  "May look out for themselves."

  "Of course, of course! Well, if this is the end of it, I'm sorry."

  "You will be sorry if you mix in a quarrel that is none of yours."

  "Why, Murray, I never had a quarrel with a man in my life."

  "You are pretty smooth, but you can't drive me out of this country. Iknow how well you'd like to do it; and, take notice, there's one trailyou can't cross even if you stay here. I suppose you understandthat."

  Smith felt his heart leap. He sat in his chair turning the packslowly, but with only one hand now; the other hand was free. Sinclaireyed him sidewise. Smith moistened his lips and when he replied spokeslowly: "There is no need of dragging any allusion to her into it. Forthat matter, I told Bucks he should have sent any man but me. If I'min the way, Sinclair, if my presence here is all that stands in theway, I'll go back and stay back as before, and send any one else youlike or Bucks likes. Are you willing to say that I stand in the wayof a settlement?"

  Sinclair sat down and put his hands on the table. "No; your matter andmine is another affair. All I want between you and me is fair andright."

  Whispering Smith's eyes were on the cards. "You've always had it."

  "Then keep away from _her_."

  "Don't tell me what to do."

  "Then don't tell me."

  "I'm not telling you. You will do as you please; so will I. I lefthere because Marion asked me to. I am here now because I have beensent here. It is in the course of my business. I have my living toearn and my friends to protect. Don't dictate to me, because it wouldbe of no use."

  "Well, you know now how to get into trouble."

  "Every one knows that; few know how to keep out."

  "You can't lay your finger on me at any turn of the road."

  "Not if you behave yourself."

  "And you can't bully me."

  "Surely not. No hard feelings, Murray. I came for a friendly talk, andif it's all the same to you I'll watch this wheel awhile and then goover to the Wickiup. I leave first--that's understood, I hope--and ifyour pink-eyed friend is waiting outside tell him there is nothingdoing, will you, Murray? Who is the albino, by the way? You don't knowhim? I think I do. Fort City, if I remember. Well, good-night,Murray."

  It was after twelve o'clock and the room had filled up. Roulette-ballswere dropping, and above the faro-table the extra lights were on. Thedealers, fresh from supper, were putting things in order for the longtrick.

  At the Wickiup Whispering Smith found McCloud in the office signingletters. "I can do nothing with him," said Smith, drawing down awindow-shade before he seated himself to detail his talk withSinclair. "He wants a fight."

  McCloud put down his pen. "If I am the disturber it would be betterfor me to get out."

  "That would be hauling down the flag across the whole division. It istoo late for that. If he didn't centre the fight on you he wouldcentre it somewhere else. The whole question is, who is going to runthis division, Sinclair and his gang or the company? and it is as easyto meet them on one point as another. I know of no way of making thiskind of an affair pleasant. I am going to do some riding, as I toldyou. Kennedy is working up through the Deep Creek country, and hasthree men with him. I shall ride toward the Cache and meet himsomewhere near South Mission P
ass."

  "Gordon, would it do any good to ask a few questions?"

  "Ask as many as you like, my dear boy, but don't be disappointed if Ican't answer them. I can look wise, but I don't know anything. Youknow what we are up against. This fellow has grown a tiger among thewolves, and he has turned the pack loose on us. One thing I ask you todo. Don't expose yourself at night. Your life isn't worth acoupling-pin if you do."

  McCloud raised his hand. "Take care of _your_self. If you are murderedin this fight I shall know I got you in and that I am to blame."

  "And suppose you were?" Smith had risen from his chair. He had fewmannerisms, and recalling the man the few times I have seen him, theonly impression he has left on me is that of quiet and gentleness."Suppose you were?" He was resting one arm on top of McCloud's desk."What of it? You have done for me up here what I couldn't do, George.You have been kind to Marion when she hadn't a friend near. You havestood between him and her when I couldn't be here to do it, and whenshe didn't want me to--helped her when I hadn't the privilege of doingit." McCloud put up his hand in protest, but it was unheeded. "Howmany times it has been in my heart to kill that man. She knows it; sheprays it may never happen. That is why she stays here and has kept meout of the mountains. She says they would talk about her if I lived inthe same town, and I have stayed away." He threw himself back into thechair. "It's going beyond both of us now. I've kept the promise I madeto her to-day to do all in my power to settle this thing withoutbloodshed. It will not be settled in that way, George."

  "Was he at Sugar Buttes?"

  "If not, his gang was there. The quick get-away, the short turn on VanHorn, killing two men to rattle the _posse_--it all bears Sinclair'sear-marks. He has gone too far. He has piled up plunder till he isreckless. He is crazy with greed and insane with revenge. He thinks hecan gallop over this division and scare Bucks till he gets down on hisknees to him. Bucks will never do it. I know him, and I tell you Buckswill never do it. He is like that man in Washington: he will fight itto the death. He would fight Sinclair if he had to come up here andmeet him single-handed, but, he will never have to do it. He put youhere, George, to round that man up. This is the price for youradvancement, and you must pay it."

  "It is all right for me to pay it, but I don't want you to pay it.Will you have a care for yourself, Gordon?"

  "Will you?"

  "Yes."

  "You need never ask me to be careful," Smith went on. "That is mybusiness. I asked you to watch your window-shades at night, and when Icame in just now I found one up. It is you who are likely to forget,and in this kind of a game a man never forgets but once. I'll lie downon the Lincoln lounge, George."

  "Get into the bed."

  "No; I like the lounge, and I'm off early."

  In the private room of the superintendent, provided as a sleepingapartment in the old headquarters building many years before hotelfacilities reached Medicine Bend, stood the only curio the Wickiuppossessed--the Lincoln lounge. When the car that carried the remainsof Abraham Lincoln from Washington to Springfield was dismantled, theWickiup fell heir to one piece of its elaborate furnishings, thelounge, and the lounge still remains as an early-day relic. WhisperingSmith walked into the bedroom and disposed himself in an incrediblyshort time. "I've borrowed one of your pillows, George," he called outpresently.

  "Take both."

  "One's enough. I hope," he went on, rolling himself like a hen intothe double blanket, "the horse Kennedy has left me will be all right;he got three from Bill Dancing. Bill Dancing," he snorted, driving hisnose into the pillow as if in final memorandum for the night, "he willget himself killed if he fools around Sinclair too much now."

  McCloud, under a light shaded above his desk, opened a roll ofblue-prints. He was going to follow a construction gang up theCrawling Stone in the morning and wanted to look over the surveys.Whispering Smith, breathing regularly, lay not far away. It was latewhen McCloud put away his maps, entered the inner room, and looked athis friend.

  He lay like a boy asleep. On the chair beside his head he had placedhis old-fashioned hunting-case watch, as big as an alarm-clock, thekind a railroad man would wind up with a spike-maul. Beside the watchhe had laid his huge revolver in its worn leather scabbard. Breathingpeacefully, he lay quite at his companion's mercy, and McCloud,looking down on this man who never made a mistake, never forgot adanger, and never took an unnecessary chance, thought of what betweenmen confidence may sometimes mean. He sat a moment with folded arms onthe side of his bed, studying the tired face, defenceless in theslumber of fatigue. When he turned out the light and lay down, hewondered whether, somewhere in the valley of the great river to whichhe was to take his men in the morning, he should encounter the slightand reckless horsewoman who had blazed so in anger when he stoodbefore her at Marion's. He had struggled against her charm too long.She had become, how or when he could not tell, not alone a prettywoman but a fascinating one--the creature of his constant thought.Already she meant more to him than all else in the world. He well knewthat if called on to choose between Dicksie and all else he could onlychoose her. But as he drew together the curtains of thought and sleepstole in upon him, he was resolved first to have Dicksie; to have allelse if he could, but, in any case, Dicksie Dunning. When he awoke daywas breaking in the mountains. The huge silver watch, the low-voicedman, and the formidable six-shooter had disappeared. It was time toget up, and Marion Sinclair had promised an early breakfast.