CHAPTER III
KING OF LIARS
Tad Hicks, Windy Sam, and Kansas Jones, out of sight of the depotplatform, seized the little hobo's arms and dragged him willy-nillybehind a saloon.
"Yuh promised yuh wouldn't drink up that cartwheel Mrs. Ransom guvyuh," Tad Hicks reminded him.
"Aw, get out and leave me be," the hobo said truculently, with anevident attempt at bravado.
"What's that?" Windy roared as he tightened his grip on the arm.
The hobo's truculence vanished, and he whined: "Nothin'--where we goin'to eat?"
They led him to a Mexican eating house on Depot Street, where they werejoined by Toothpick. Having planked their charge in a chair and orderedfood, they settled back to have a little fun with the victim.
"What's yuhr name?" Windy Sam commenced.
"Jim Anson. What's yours?" the hobo asked.
"Windy Sam, now----"
The man called Jim Anson interrupted him.
"Is you called that because you talk too much, or because what you saydon't mean nothin'?" he asked innocently.
"Ha-ha!" the others exclaimed, and dug the red-faced Sam in the ribs.
One after the other they plied him with questions, but his answersalways left them floundering. He had a way of turning a thrust into aboomerang. He did this with such a guileless, cringing air that theywere never sure whether he was secretly laughing at them or if hisanswers were accidental. Before the meal was over he had them grinningat his absurd tales. In spite of themselves they listened, absorbed,and momentarily almost believed what he said.
"Rise up, liars, and salute yuhr king!" Toothpick shouted.
For a moment there was a change in the hobo's face. The fawningexpression was replaced by a broad, lovable grin that made thepunchers' hearts warm toward Jim Anson. Toothpick started. For a momenthe studied the hobo's face, saw the fawning smile there again, andshook his head.
The five adjourned to Maria's Cantina, on the corner of Depot Street.Jim Anson insisted that the first drink was on him and ordered it in aloud voice. Another followed and another. Toothpick chuckled when hesaw that, while Jim Anson always ordered the drinks, one of the threeriders paid for them.
All the while Jim Anson asked them questions in such a way that theynever realized they were being pumped. He turned on Toothpick andskillfully ferreted from him the story of the murder of the Courfayfamily two weeks before.
"When we got there they was all dead, except one gent what says: 'Feesdo dible chable' which I figures is French." Toothpick rambled on withhis story, but Jim Anson was not listening.
"_Fils du Diable a Cheval_," he muttered to himself. "Sons of the Devilon Horseback. Gosh!"
A little later "Mac" Kennedy, an Eastern dude, sauntered in. Jim Anson,after studying him a minute, turned to the others.
"Who's that gazebo all dressed up like a Christmas tree?" he asked.
"He's a white-livered dude," Windy snorted contemptuously.
"He comes out here about three months back and says it's for hishealth," Kansas elaborated. "Buys the Bar X, a little runt of a ranchwhat backs up against the lava fields."
"He don't look yellow," Anson said meditatively.
"He is, though. Plumb yellow, from the neck down and feet up," TadHicks hiccuped.
Ten minutes later Bill Anderson stepped into the _cantina_. Hehesitated for a moment when he saw the group at the table; then henodded to them.
"Boss in the back room?" he asked of Maria.
"_Si_, _si_, senor."
Anderson walked quickly to a door in the back, glancing over hisshoulder at the five at the table. Apparently they were too interestedin themselves to note his actions. Quietly he passed through and closedthe door after him.
Jim Anson insisted on buying one last drink here, despite his comrades'urging to try the liquor elsewhere. Maria brought the drinks. Kennedy,the dude laughed as he watched them. He leaned over the bar andwhispered something to Maria, then left the _cantina_.
The cow-punchers began to sing, and the woman came forward and orderedthem to leave.
"All right, we'll go," Jim Anson said with drunken dignity. Hestaggered to his feet and swayed toward the rear door. He turned thehandle and kicked it open. It led to a storeroom.
"That's not the way, stupid." The woman gave him a violent shove afterthe others. He grinned drunkenly at her and staggered out.
About ten that evening Bill Anderson swung in at Judge Ransom's gateand knocked at the door. When he and the judge were comfortablyinstalled in easy-chairs before a fire, he looked squarely at Ransom.
"What are you going to do about the trial to-morrow?" he asked bluntly.
"My duty," the older man replied with equal bluntness.
"Judge, don't think I'm asking you to do anything else," Anderson addedquickly. "You know I'm not in politics for my health. When I came herea couple of years ago, every one was at odds. The leaders of the partywere fighting among themselves. I'm not flattering myself when I saythat all stopped when I took hold. Judge, you understand that I'd soonlose my leadership if I nominated men who were not elected."
The judge had hoped against hope that Bill Anderson would back himbecause of his record, even if the Mexican vote was against him. He wassure, if he could get the nomination, he would be re-elected. Now hisheart sank.
"Let's be frank, judge. If you insist on bearing down too heavily inthe trial to-morrow, you lose the Mexican vote, and, much as I want to,judge, I don't see how I can propose you for renomination."
The judge pulled thoughtfully at his goatee. For the first time sincehe had known Bill Anderson, he detected a certain sinister qualitybeneath his bland air of good fellowship.
"But, Anderson, this Pete Cable isn't a Mexican," he said.
"That's not the question," Anderson replied. "For some reason theMexican vote is interested in him. Now, why not be sensible? Go easy atthe trial. Cable was drunk, he made a mistake and killed thisEasterner. Other men have killed in this town and gotten away with it.Why not be reasonable? Remember, you are not being asked to do anythingdishonorable. All these people ask you to do is to sit quiet--to donothing."
"You ask me to do nothing--nothing but pervert justice," the judge saidquietly.
The political boss' good nature and blandness dropped away. A strangerto the judge stood before him, with a face that was hard and cruel.
"This house is mortgaged, isn't it?" Anderson snapped.
This hit home, for the place was mortgaged to the hilt, and the noteswere due the following month. Ransom paled, but his eyes were steady ashe gazed into Anderson's granitelike brown ones.
"Is that a threat?" he asked.
"Only a reminder," Anderson said savagely. The next moment the judgeheard the front door slam, and he was alone.
Slowly he paced the floor. He and his wife had struggled for hispresent position, for this home. What sacrifices she had made to allowhim to finish law school, and through the years of poverty that hadfollowed his graduation! Little by little, after that, came success,until recently they had dreamed of the time when he would go toWashington, a United States senator. All that rosy future had seemedassured--until last month.
Now, not only the future, but the present, might be wiped out. Theirsavings were wasted; his hope of reelection crumbled; their home wouldgo next. All because of a murder trial with its mysteriousramifications. There would be no college for Mary, no ease in old agefor his wife.
Rebellion and temptation seized him. What right had he to bring ruin onhis family? All he had to do was to let events take their course, asAnderson had directed. His credit would be good once more; his dreamsof Washington might come true. Back and forth he walked and struggledwith the devils of temptation.
A door opened gently, and Snippets stood before him.
"Uncle," she said softly, "I heard. I couldn't help it."
"You heard?" he said, and his voice was harsh. "Then what shall I do?R
uin my wife and child?"
"No. Make them proud of you," she said firmly.
The judge's face cleared, and he smiled. "Thank Heaven for you, mychild," he said. "You're right. That's the one thing I must do."
Anderson left the judge's house in a high rage, but the moment he wasin the open his anger gradually left him, and he was once more hiscool, calculating self.
"That's the first time I lost my temper in nine years," he toldhimself. "Now what's to be done? First thing to-morrow I've got to seethe judge and apologize. I guess I better go and talk it over with mydear brother. How pleased he would be if he knew I'd lost my temper!"
He laughed and strode briskly down Main Street toward the Red Queen.Across from the Lone Star he saw Toothpick, Tad Hicks, Windy Sam, andJim Anson, staggering along, arm in arm. They had left Kansas asleep atthe Lone Star. Anderson waved at them; he was once more the politician.
"Come on, boys, I'll buy you a drink," he called.
They staggered after him into the Red Queen and lurched against thebar. The place was filled with shouting, singing men. The back of thelong bar shone ornately with polished glasses, mirrors, coloredbottles, and other glittering paraphernalia.
Anderson ordered the drinks, and his four guests drank thirstily, withprofuse thanks. He nodded to them, told them he would see them later,and pushed his way through the milling crowd toward the gambling room.Unseen, Jim Anson slipped through the crowd in his wake.
The gambling room of the Red Queen was on the left of the dance hall.Here Francisco Garcia, the owner, could be found on any night. TheToad, as he was called by some, but always behind his back, acted aslookout for a big game. He sat on a raised platform between the twofaro tables. He was so powerfully built that he looked squat despitehis height. Heavy jowls, thick lips, and protruding eyes relieved themonotony of his full-moon face. His swarthiness hinted at Mexicanblood. Garcia himself never carried a visible weapon; he relied on histwo paid killers for protection--"Yuma Kid" and "Baldy" Flynn. Andbecause his enemies had a strange habit of disappearing or endingviolently, he was more feared than any other man along the border.
Bill Anderson, with Jim Anson, still unnoted, at his heels, saunteredto the table and watched the play for a moment. Then he smiled toGarcia.
"Having a big game?"
The Toad grunted.
"I wanted a word with you, but to-morrow will do." Anderson turned away.
Jim Anson, that ubiquitous hobo, flopped drunkenly at a near-by table.From beneath his tattered hat brim he studied the gross Mexican and thetwo killers who lounged against the wall behind him. "Gosh! The Devilon Horseback," murmured Anson to himself. "And he had four sons! Hornedlizards. Rattlers. Coyotes, mixed up with tiger and Spanish bull."
He wandered out to the dance hall, staggering; yet, strangely enough,when a bully struck at him, he seemed to float away to escape the blow.
His comrades at the bar were now noisy and riotous with drink.
"I'd sure like to see some of this money that's bein' bet that PeteCable won't get his neck stretched," Windy announced to the world.
"Yuh wanta see it? Take a look at this." A wad of bills dropped on thebar. The three punchers swung about to stare at the money and at theman with the high, cackling voice who had produced it.
They met the toothless leer of old Baldy Flynn. Behind Baldy loungedthe Yuma Kid, twenty-one-year-old, two-gun killer. The Kid's pale eyesmet theirs, and his two buck teeth shone in a menacing sneer. Most mencould easily whip the narrow-chested Yuma Kid in a hand-to-handencounter, but he did not fight that way; and he was feared along theborder.
Baldy and the Kid, Garcia's two hired slayers, were inseparable. Theywere bound together by the bond of skill with a Colt and by theirunscrupulous cruelty, despite their varying characters. The Yuma Kidseldom talked, never laughed, and never drank. He avoided quarrels,save for profit. Baldy, on the contrary, loved his liquor, his ownjokes, and above all loved to quarrel with those who failed to laughwith him.
Toothpick realized that he and Windy stood no chance against these twokillers; he knew their reputation. Yet the bar was crowded; people werelistening and were already commencing to shuffle to one side in thehope of a fight.
"Yuh gents is talkin' loud. I'm bettin' yuh my roll that Pete don't gethis neck stretched," Baldy cackled.
Toothpick saw the menace in the killer's eyes, and it sobered him. Hetried to gather his scattered wits. He glanced at his friends and sawthat they were incapable of action. Tad Hicks, with drooping head,clung to the rail of the bar. Toothpick knew that Baldy would push theaffair and try to force Windy to take water. This, no matter what theconsequences, Toothpick would not permit; certainly not, with thatcrowd of spectators all watching and listening. Windy had been a fool;Toothpick would have to use his wits to get him out of it. He chose hiswords carefully.
"That roll of yallerbacks sure makes me hungry like a coyote, 'causeit's three days to pay day," he said, grinning. Both he and Windy movedto the left. If it came to gun play, their right hands would not behampered in the draw.
Baldy cackled derisively again. He turned to the hushed bystanders andgrinned. Out of the tail of his eye Toothpick saw Jim Anson squirmthrough the crowd toward them.
Baldy spoke slowly and raised his voice: "Gents, I'm askin' yuh to stepup an'----"
_Boom!_ A Colt roared behind Toothpick. Like flashes of light, gunsleaped into the hands of Baldy and the Yuma Kid.
"What the hell?" snarled Baldy.
Toothpick swung about and saw Jim Anson looking foolishly at a smokingColt on the floor.
"Darn it!" the hobo wailed. "The durn thing was loaded."
He looked so foolish as he stared at the gun that the crowd rocked withmirth, but Baldy spat like a wild cat.
"What did yuh expect, yuh bum?" he shrieked.
Tad Hicks had been aroused from his sleep by the shot and staredstupidly at Jim Anson.
"When yuh guv it to me, yuh didn't say it was loaded," Anson stutteredreproachfully.
Tad held out a wavering hand and picked up the gun.
"Kick that hobo out o' here," cried Baldy. Hands seized Jim Anson andsent him spinning to the sidewalk.
Jim Anson disposed of, Baldy turned again to Toothpick and Windy; butbefore he could speak, Bill Anderson shoved his way to the bar betweenthe killer and the two riders.
"It's right kind of you, Baldy," he remarked.
"Huh?" Baldy blinked with surprise. "What yuh mean?"
Bill Anderson looked at him blandly.
"Didn't you say, just as that fool hobo learned that guns are loaded:'Gents, I'm askin' you to step up and name your poison'? There's yourmoney on the bar."
The crowd chuckled and moved a step closer to the bar. Anderson,without waiting for a reply, called to the bartender:
"I'll take straight whisky for mine."
After one look into Anderson's eyes, Baldy grinned ingratiatingly.
Toothpick and Windy decided that discretion was the better part ofvalor. Dragging Tad Hicks with them, they slipped out of the bar.
"Huh!" Windy complained, as the cool air refreshed him. "I was lit upconsiderable, but now I'm plumb sober."
"Me, too. Baldy scared me sober," Toothpick agreed. "I'm goin' to buythat hobo drinks aplenty, 'cause he sure stopped Baldy from hurtin' myfeelings."
"Sure did. But I'm tellin' yuh that Bill Anderson is some nervy hombre,runnin' in on a sidewinder rattler like that toothless old ape. Folkssays he's a grafter, but I'll vote for a coyote, if he tells me to,just because he made that Baldy draw in his horns," Windy confided.
Toothpick did not reply. He was puzzling out an answer to a riddle. Whyhad Baldy backed down, when Anderson confronted him? He left Windy andTad Hicks at the Lone Star and then went to look for Jim Anson.
"That little runt sure saved my reputation, an' he can have half of mybed, even if he is a dirty little tramp," he told himself.
He wandered about, searching bar after bar. At last he discovered thehobo asleep in
Maria's. Before him on the table stood a half-emptybottle. Toothpick shook him awake. However, Anson refused to move untilthey had finished the bottle. Toothpick was agreeable because he wasnow stone sober. They had emptied the bottle when, to their surprise,Anderson stepped out of the back room. His face clouded when he sawthem.
"Darned good of yuh, Mr. Anderson, to steer Baldy away to-night,"Toothpick called.
Anderson smiled genially.
"That's nothing. Is that the little bum who just discovered guns areloaded?" he asked.
Toothpick nodded.
"Who is he?"
"A hobo what got hisself thrown off the train this evenin'."
Anderson called good night and left. The moment he was gone Jim Ansongrasped Toothpick's arm and staggered out with him. To better supportthe drunken hobo, Toothpick slipped a hand beneath his armpit. Hejerked the hand away suddenly.
"Say, who are you?" he demanded. "Yuh got a gun there in a shoulderholster, and yuh made believe yuh didn't savvy guns."
The hobo dropped his stagger and stood erect.
"Where's my hosses, Toothpick?" he asked softly.
Toothpick jumped; the whine had left that voice, and he knew it now.
"Gosh! Jim-twin Allen!" he whispered.
Allen laughed.
"Huh! That's what Snippets meant by callin' me stupid," said Toothpick."Yuh sure got everybody fooled except her."
"Maybe so," Allen said indifferently. "I give the brakeman five bucksto throw me off that train."
The two rode together out of town toward the lava fields.
"Why for did yuh watch Anderson at Maria's to-night?" asked Toothpick.
"'Cause I was plumb curious to savvy why Anderson went in that backroom and come out with straw on his boots. Is there a stable in thatblock?"
"Yeh. They's one behind the Red Queen."
"Thought so," Allen grunted sleepily.