Laramie Holds the Range

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  MCALPIN AT BAY

  However others may have felt that night about Laramie's affairs, oneman, McAlpin, was proud of his ride, desperately wounded, all the wayto town. Laramie had made a confidant of no one but Kate. Hisexperience in being trapped was not so pleasant that he liked to talkabout it and neither McAlpin's shrewd questioning nor Carpy'srestrained curiosity was gratified that night.

  In the circumstances, McAlpin's fancy had full play; and distrustful ofhis imagination unaided, he repaired early to the Mountain House bar tostimulate it. Thus it gradually transpired along the bar, either fromthe stimulant or its reaction or from McAlpin's excitement, that a bigfight had taken place that morning in the Falling Wall from which onlyLaramie had returned alive. It was known that he had come back andinference as to who the dead men might be could center only on his twoactive enemies, Tom Stone and Harry Van Horn. The pawky barn boss, whopossessed perfectly the art of tantalizing innuendo, thus stirred thebar-room pool to the depths.

  McAlpin chose the rustler's end of the bar--as Abe Hawk's old stand wascalled--and held the interest of the room against all comers. As theplace filled for the evening, his cap, its vizor more than ordinarilyawry, was a conspicuous object and it became a favor on his part toaccept the courtesies of the bar at any man's hands.

  "I knowed how it had to end," he would repeat when he had rambled againaround all aspects of the mysterious encounter. "I knowed if they keptafter Jim how it _had_ to end. Why, hell, gentlemen," he would aver,planting a hob-nailed barn boot on the foot-rail, while swinging on oneelbow from the polished face of the mahogany, "I've _seen_ the boy stopa coyote on the go, at 900 yards--what could you expect? No, no, notagain. What? Well, go ahead; just a dash o' bitters in mine, Luke.Thank you.

  "Well, boys, accordin' to my notion, there's two men never would bemissed in this country, anyway, if nobody ever seen 'em again. 'N' ifmy count is anywhere near right, nobody ever will see 'em again. Theychased Laramie one foot too far--just one foot--'n' it looks as if theygot what was comin' to 'em. I won't name 'em--they won't bother nomore in this country."

  He had become so absorbed in his recital that the entrance into thebar-room from the barber shop of a booted and spurred man escaped him.The man, advancing deliberately, heard the last of McAlpin's words. Hegot fairly close to the unsuspecting barn boss unobserved. A few inthe listening circle, noting the approach of the new arrival, steppedback a little--for, of all men that might be expected, after McAlpin'sdark intimations, to appear, then and there, alive and aggressive, wasTom Stone.

  Freshly barbered, head forward, keen eyes peering from under staring,sandy brows; thumbs stuck in his belt and his face framing a confidentleer. Stone sauntering forward, listened to McAlpin. So intent wasMcAlpin on impressing his hearers that the foreman elbowed his way,before McAlpin saw him, directly to the front.

  "So you won't name 'em?" grinned Stone, confronting the startledspeaker. McAlpin caught his breath. The wiry Scotchman was not acoward, but he knew the merciless cruelty of Stone. Armed, McAlpinwould have been no man to affront his deadly skill; he now faced himunarmed.

  Stone, leaving his right hand hooked by the thumb in his belt, restedhis left elbow on the bar. The bartender, Luke, just back of him,leaning forward, mopped the bar more slowly and, listening, moved alittle farther down the bar until his fingers rested on an electricbutton underneath connecting with Tenison's office in the hotel.

  "Name the two men, McAlpin," said Stone, ominously, "while you're ableto talk."

  McAlpin exhausted his ingenuity in his efforts to evade his danger, butStone drew the noose about him tighter and tighter. He played theunlucky man with all the malice of an executioner. He baited him andtoyed with him. McAlpin, white, stood his ground. His fighting bloodwas all there and he broke at length into a torrent of abuse of the manthat he realized was bent on murdering him.

  Made eloquent by desperation, McAlpin never rose to greater heights ofprofane candor. It was as if he were making his last will andtestament of hatred and contempt for his murderer, and when he hadshowered on his enemy every epithet stored in a retentive memory hestruck his empty glass on the bar and shouted:

  "Now, you hellcat, shoot!"

  It might have been thought Stone would check such a public castigation.He did not. Impervious to abuse, because master of the situation, heseemed to enjoy his victim's fury. "I'm finishing up with your gangaround here, McAlpin," he snarled, never losing his grin. "You've runa rustler's barn in Sleepy Cat long enough. I've warned you and I'vewarned Kitchen. It didn't do no good. Fill up your glass, McAlpin."

  "Stone, I'd never fill up a glass with you if I was in hell 'n' youcould pull me out."

  Stone's grin deepened: "Fill up your glass, McAlpin."

  Onlookers, knowing what a refusal would mean, held their breaths. ButMcAlpin, white and stubborn, with another oath, again refused.

  "Fill it, McAlpin," urged a quiet voice behind the bar. Lookingquickly, like a hunted animal, around, McAlpin saw Harry Tenison,white-faced and cold, pushing the bottle in friendly fashion towardhim. Every man, save one, watching, hoped he would humor at least thatmuch his expectant murderer. But the barn-boss had reached a state offear and anger that inflamed every stubborn drop in his blood. Heswore he would not fill his glass.

  Tenison spoke grimly: "Will you drink it if I fill it, you mule?" hedemanded, picking up the bottle and pouring into both glasses in frontof him.

  In the dead silence McAlpin's brain was in a storm. He collected a fewof his wildly flying thoughts. Perhaps he remembered the wife andLoretta and the babies; at all events he stared at the liquor, gulpedto see whether he could swallow, and, reaching forward, picked up theglass. Stone lifted his own. The two men, their glasses poised, eyedeach other.

  Stone barbed a taunt for his victim: "Goin' to drink, air you?" hesneered, wreathing his eyes in leering wrinkles.

  "No," said a man, unnoticed until then by any except Tenison and Luke,and speaking as he pushed forward through the crowd to face both Stoneand McAlpin. "He's not going to drink."

  "No," said a man, . . . as he pushed forward to faceboth Stone and McAlpin. "He's not going to drink"]

  Stone's glass was half-way up to his lips; he looked across it and sawhimself face to face with Jim Laramie. Laramie who, unseen, had heardenough of the quarrel, stood with his coat slung over his rightshoulder; one arm he carried in a sling, but as far as this concernedStone, it was the wrong arm. Daring neither to raise the whisky to hislips nor to set the glass down, lest Laramie, suspecting he meant todraw, should shoot, Stone stood rooted. "McAlpin's not going to drink,Stone," repeated Laramie. "What are you going to do about it?"

  The mere sight of Laramie would have been a vastly unpleasant surprise.But to find himself faced by him in fighting trim after what had takenplace in the morning was an upset.

  "What am I going to do about it?" echoed Stone, lifting his eyebrowsand grinning anew. "What are you going to do about it, Jim?" hedemanded. "You and me used to bunk together, didn't we?"

  "I bunked with a rattlesnake once. I didn't know it," respondedLaramie dryly. "Next morning the rattlesnake didn't know it."

  "Jim, I'll drink you just once for old times."

  "I wouldn't drink with you, Stone. No man would drink with you if hewasn't afraid of you. And after tonight nobody's going to be afraid ofyou. You're a thief among thieves, Tom Stone: a bully, a coward, askulker. You shoot from cover. When Barb made you foreman, you andVan Horn stole his cattle, and Dutch Henry sold 'em for you and divviedwith you. Then, for fear Barb would get wise, you and Van Horn got upthe raid and killed Dutch Henry, so he couldn't talk.

  "Now you're going to quit this stuff. No more thieving, no moreman-killing, no bullyragging, no nothing. Tenison will clear thisroom. Hold your glass right where it is, till the last man gets out.When he gets out set down your glass; you'll have time enough allowedyou. After that, draw where you stan
d. You're not entitled to achance. God, Stone, I'd _rather_ bunk with a rattlesnake than withyou. I'd rather kill one than kill a thing like you. Your head oughtto be pounded with a rock. You're entitled to nothing. But you canhave your chance. Get the boys out of here, Harry."

  Not for one instant did he take his eye off Stone's eye, or raise histone above a speaking voice, and Laramie's voice was naturally low. Tocatch his syllables, listeners crowded in and craned their necks. Fewmen withdrew but everyone courteously and sedulously got out of theprospective line of fire.

  What it cost Laramie even to stand on his feet and talk, Tenison couldmost shrewdly estimate. From behind the bar he coldly regarded thewounded man. He knew that Laramie must have escaped Carpy and escapedBelle, to look for the men that had tried that morning to kill him.Having found Stone he meant then and there to fight.

  Tenison likewise realized that he was in no condition to do it, andpromptly intervened: "Don't look at me, Jim," he said. "But I'mtalking. There's no man in Sleepy Cat can clear this room now. Mostof this crowd are your friends. They want to see this hell-houndcleaned up. But you know what it means to some of 'em if two guns cutloose."

  Stone saw the gate open. He welcomed a chance to dodge. EyeingLaramie, he swallowed his drink, set his glass on the bar. With avoice dried and cracked, he cried: "Keep your hands off, Tenison. I'llgive Jim Laramie all the fight he wants, here or anywhere."

  Tenison was willing to bridge the crisis with abuse. "Shut up, youcoyote," he remarked, with complete indifference.

  "You'll throw a man down no matter how much of your whisky he drinks,won't you, Tenison?" cried Stone.

  Tenison, both hands judicially spread on the bar, seemed to fail tohear. "McAlpin," he said contemptuously, "walk around behind Laramieand lift Stone's gun."

  Stone started violently. "Look out, Tenison! I lift my gun whenthere's men to stand by and see fair play!"

  A roar of laughter went up. "I don't lift it for no frame-up," heshouted, turning angrily toward the unsympathetic crowd. "Get out!"cried one voice far enough back to be safe. "Send for Barb," shouted asecond. "Page Van Horn," piped a barber, as Stone moved toward thedoor.

  The baited foreman turned only for a parting shot at Laramie: "I'll see_you_ later."

  "If I was your friend," retorted Laramie, unmoved, "I'd advise you notto. If you ride my trail don't expect anything more from me. And Imake this town," he hammered home the point with his right forefingerindicating the floor, "and the Falling Wall range _my_ trail."

  "Stone ought to have tried it tonight," observed Tenison at the cashregister. He was speaking to his bartender long after Stone haddisappeared, Laramie had been put to bed again and the billiard hallhad been deserted. "He'll never get a chance again at Laramie halfshot to pieces."