The Rider of Golden Bar

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE TRAPPERS

  "It's the women make half the trouble in the world," mused young RileyTyler, who had received the mitten from his girl of the period, therestaurant waitress, and was a misogynist in consequence.

  "You're wrong," said Shotgun Shillman. "They make all of it."

  "All?"

  "All. And not only that--they make all the good, too. Yep, Riley, youcan put down a bet there ain't a thing happens to a feller--good, bador indifferent--that you won't find a woman at the bottom of it. Agood man goes to hell or heaven--it depends on the woman."

  "That's right, dead right," corroborated young Riley.

  "Those fatal blondes!" grinned Shotgun; for the waitress was decidedlyof that type.

  "They're all deceivers," muttered Riley Tyler, reddening to his eartips.

  "Ain't it the truth!" said Shotgun Shillman. "They can lie to you witha straighter face than a government mule. Like that jail lady in theBible who put the kybosh on a feller named Scissors by nailing his headto the kitchen floor with a railroad spike. Yeah, her. Hugging himshe was ten minutes before using the hammer. Oh, that's their bestbet; kiss you with one hand and cut your throat with the other."

  "That's news," said Riley Tyler. "Where I come from the gent kisseswith his mouth, and if he has to cut your throat he uses the butcherknife."

  "Did that hasher do all those things?" Shotgun asked instantly.

  Riley made believe not to hear. Shotgun chuckled.

  "Billy's coming back," observed the latter, gazing through the window."Where did he go?"

  "Walton's, he said."

  "I thought he liked Hazel Walton."

  "He likes 'em all." Thus Riley, thinking of the scornful waitress whodid not like him. "'Lo, Bill, remember to wipe your feet on the mat.Li'l paddies all cold?"

  "She's a-thawing," replied Billy Wingo, kicking the snow from hisboots. "But I need a large, long, hot drink alla same. Where is thatbottle?"

  When the bottle and the three glasses had been returned to theirappointed place between the horse liniment and the spare handcuffs,Riley moved listlessly to the front window and drummed on the pane.

  "Oh, the devil," Riley groaned. "Here's work for li'l boys. As ifthere wasn't enough to do in summer."

  "Good thing to-day's a chinook," remarked Shillman, without interest.

  Billy joined Riley at the window. "Looks like Simon Reelfoot. It'sSimon's horse, anyway. It is Simon. I can see his long nose."

  Riley squinted at the approaching man. "I wonder what he wants."

  "I thought maybe I'd ask him when he comes in," said Billy.

  "I would," observed Riley. "That'll show you're interested in yourjob. It'll please Simon, too. He'll think you've got his interests atheart. After that shall I kick him out, or will you let Shotgun bitehim?"

  For Simon Reelfoot was not well thought of by the more decent portionof the community. Men that put money out at high interest and arecareless of their neighbors' property usually aren't. It was said ofhim that he still had the first nickel that he ever earned. Certainlyhe was not a generous person. Three women, at one time and another,had been unlucky enough to marry him. Each wife died within two yearsof her marriage--murdered by her husband. Not in such a way, however,that the law could take its proper course and hang Simon by the necktill he was dead. The murders were done in a perfectly legal mannerand all above-board--overwork and undernourishment. The two inconjunction will kill anything that lives and breathes. So Simon, ifnot a murderer, was at least an accomplice before and after the fact.A cheerful creature, indeed. There were no children.

  Something of all that Simon was and stood for passed through RileyWingo's mind as he stood with Riley at the window.

  "He always keeps his horses in good condition," said Billy.

  "He does--the skunk!" acquiesced Riley.

  "Stop calling a honest citizen names," directed Shotgun Shillman. "Mr.Reelfoot is an upright man. I don't believe he'd rob a child or stealthe pennies off a dead baby's eyes. I don't believe he would--if anyone was looking."

  Simon Reelfoot rode up, tied his horse on the lee of the building--hewas always tender of his stock--and entered.

  "Howdy," he said glumly. "Cold day."

  "If you'd wear something besides that relic of the days of '61 youwouldn't find it such a cold day," observed the straightforward Shotgun.

  At which allusion to his ratty old blue army overcoat Simon's upper liplifted. It might almost be said that he snarled silently.

  "Feller as poor as I am can't afford to buy buffalo coats," he declaredin the grumbling rumble so oddly at variance with his build. For hewas a little clean-shaven man, this Simon Reelfoot, with a hatchet faceand the watery peering eyes of the habitual drunkard.

  "Yeah," he grumbled, staring from one to another of the three officerswith open disapproval. "I ain't got money to buy buffalo coats. Ihave to work to earn my living, I do. I ain't got time to sit on myhunkers around a hot stove come-day-go-day a-taking the county's moneyfor doing nothin'."

  "Which will be just about all from you, Reelfoot," Billy Wingosuggested sharply.

  "Oh, you can't scare me," said Simon, shaking a lowering and doggedhead. "I say what I think, and if folks don't like it they know whatthey can do."

  "Of course, Reelfoot," pursued Billy, with his most pleasant smile,"folks naturally know what they can do. But you don't guess now itgives a feller any pleasure to squash every spider, caterpillar,hoptoad or snail he runs across. And-- But I don't know that I eversaw any snails in this part of the county. Suppose now we hold it downto spiders, caterpillars and hoptoads. Yeah. Why kill 'em? Yeahagain. Why put the kibosh on you, Mr. Reelfoot, just because you makeme think of a hoptoad? You may be a bad old man. I dunno that I care.But I don't like your company. Not a bit. You're a slimy old devil,and you never wash. Therefore let's hear what your business is so youcan take it away with you in a hurry."

  So saying Billy sat down, cocked his feet up on the table and regardedReelfoot gravely. Shillman and Tyler stood before the fireplace, theirlegs spread, their hands in the their pockets and their facesexpressionless.

  Simon Reelfoot's upper lip lifted in the same soundless snarl.

  "I'll go when I please," he began, "and----"

  "You're mistaken," contradicted Billy, taking out his watch and holdingit open in the palm of his hand. "Not to give it too a coarse a name,you'll go when I please. Yep. If you haven't begun to state yourofficial business with the sheriff within forty-five seconds, out yougo, Mr. Reelfoot, out you go."

  "You fellers are paid to see that the law is obeyed," growled SimonReelfoot. "You can't throw me out."

  "'Round and 'round the mulberry bush,'" quoted Billy Wingo. "Reverse.Try the other way for a change. You're getting dizzy."

  "You make me sick, you fellers. Talk! Talk! Talk! That's all youdo. Talk alla time. All right, I will see if you're able to doanything besides talk. Two of my cows have been shot and there's twoor three strangers baching it in that old shack of Cayler's on MuleCreek. Cows are worth thirty dollars per right now, and I want you tofind out if them fellers beefed my cattle."

  "Been over there yourself?"

  "Sure I have. They wouldn't lemme get inside the door. Threw down onme. Bad actors, them two lads."

  "I thought you said there were three," said Billy Wingo.

  "Two or three," snappily.

  "Suspicions don't count for much," said Billy. "You know that,Reelfoot. Have you any evidence against these men?"

  "Sure I have," was the reply. "The bodies of my two cows and a plaintrack of blood and moccasins to within a mile of the cabin."

  "Did the trail stop there--within a mile?"

  "Feller had a horse tied. He packed on the beef and rode himself. Itrailed the horse to the corral back of the cabin."

  "Were you alone?"

  "My friend Jack Faber was with me. He can back up everythi
ng I say."

  "And you mean to tell me, Reelfoot, that you trailed this beef to theCayler cabin and then allowed the men inside to get the drop on you andrun you off?"

  "They threw down first," Reelfoot insisted sullenly. "They got thedrop. What could we do?"

  "I don't know," replied Billy Wingo dryly. "I wasn't there."

  "Perhaps," put in the irrepressible Riley Tyler, "the parties of thesecond part forgot their guns."

  "A gun ain't much good when the other feller's got the drop," Simonsaid sourly.

  "The trick is," observed Billy, his manner that of one stating a newlydiscovered fact, "the trick is, Reelfoot, to get the drop first."

  Reelfoot gaped at him. Then his jaws closed with a click. But theyreopened immediately in violent speech. "What about my cows?" hesqualled. "What you gonna do about them cattle?"

  "We can't unscramble any eggs for you, Reelfoot, not being magicians,but maybe we can dump the rustlers for you. How will you havethem--shot or half-shot? Now, son, you shut up, close your trap,swallow your tongue or something. Riley Tyler is the only one allowedto swear around me. Where do you want to cool off--in here or out in asnowdrift?"

  Simon Reelfoot subsided into a chair. He produced a plug of tobaccofrom one capacious bootleg, a clasp-knife from the other, snicked openthe claspknife and haggled off a generous chew.

  Billy nodded approvingly. "That's better. Shotgun and I will be withyou in two minutes."

  Simon Reelfoot glared out of the window. Billy Wingo, whose eyes, forall their casualness, had not strayed from Simon for a minute, had notoverlooked the pucker of worry that had appeared between Simon's chinand straggly eyebrows at the mention of the two minutes. With folklike Simon it is always well to proceed with caution, to learn the realreason, not the apparent one at the bottom of every move. Quite so.Why was Simon worried?

  Simon's gaze returned from the world without. It skimmed across BillyWingo, dodged around both Shillman and Tyler, and dropped to the floor,where it fastened upon and clung to the nobbly tips of the Reelfootboots.

  "I don't guess there's any tearing rush," he mumbled.

  Strangely enough or rather naturally enough, Billy experienced nosurprise at the remark. "No hurry, huh?" he observed. "A minute agoyou were in a hot sweat to have us do something right away quick. Andnow you ain't. What has changed you, Mr. Reelfoot? I ask to know."

  "I want the job done right," was the lame explanation. "If you hustleoff too sudden you might forget something."

  "What do you think we're liable to forget?" queried Billy.

  "How do I know what? But I know it don't pay to go off half-cocked."

  Again Simon Reelfoot's eyes strayed to the window. When the eyesswiveled back to meet those of Billy Wingo, the pucker of worry hadbeen wiped from Reelfoot's eyebrows.

  "No," he resumed, in a tone that was unmistakably relieved, "it don'tpay to go off half-cocked."

  "No, it don't," concurred Billy, wondering greatly, both at the changein Simon's expression and the relief in his tone. Why? He desired toknow why. And he made up his mind to know why. For among his othervices, Simon was friendly with Rafe Tuckleton and his precious gang.

  Billy Wingo, shoving cartridges through the loading-gate of aWinchester, slouched casually past the window through which Simon waslooking. He perceived, kicking his way through the snow, Mr. TomDriver, the local Justice of the Peace. There was no one else in sight.

  "Lordy, how the snow dazzles your eyes," remarked Billy, stepping backand squinting. "Is that Tom Driver coming here?"

  "Where?" inquired Simon Reelfoot, and looked through the wrong window.Yet when Simon had glanced through the other window a moment before, hemust have seen the judge. Hum-m! Billy Wingo continued thoughtfullyto shove cartridges through the loading-gate.

  Entered the judge. "Good morning, gentlemen!" was the judicialgreeting. The judicial eyes absorbed the sheriff's preparations."You're not going anywhere, are you, Bill?" he inquired, hooking achair up to the table and sitting down after he had hung up his hat andcoat behind the door.

  "Reelfoot's had two cows shot," explained Billy. "He thinks he knowswho did it. Shotgun and I are going to see about it."

  "Only two cows," said the judge. "Then your presence isn't absolutelynecessary. You can send Riley Tyler instead. I have a little businessto go over with you, Bill--a county matter. And----"

  "Is it important?"

  "I think it is."

  "All right. I'll stay. Riley, I guess you'd better go with Shotgun."

  It was pure chance that enabled Billy to catch the gleam ofsatisfaction in Reelfoot's eyes. He had just happened to be looking atthe man. Satisfaction, yes. Why? Why was Simon glad chat he, BillyWingo, was not going with him on the trail of the beef-killers?

  When Shotgun and Riley were gone away with Reelfoot, Billy lookedacross at the judge and nodded.

  "Fly at it," said he.

  Without haste the judge fished some papers from his pocket and openedthem on the table. He did it awkwardly. His fingers might have beenall thumbs. He seemed to have difficulty in finding the paper hewanted.

  Billy Wingo, his eyes drowsy-looking, watched silently. "What's it allabout?" he asked curiously.

  "Jake Kilroe," replied Judge Driver. "He's been selling liquor to theIndians."

  "He always has."

  "I know he has. And it's a disgrace to the community. It's got tostop."

  Billy stared at the judge even more curiously. For this high and moraltone he did not understand at all. It was not like the judge. It wasnot in the least like the judge. No, not at all.

  "Stopping liquor-selling to the war-whoops is none of my job," pointedout Billy Wingo, "the man you want to see is Henry Black, the UnitedStates Marshal at Hillsville. Besides, what have you got to do withit, anyway? You're not a Federal judge?"

  "But the Federal authorities have ordered me to cooperate with them,"the judge said smoothly.

  "Which one asked you?" probed Billy Wingo.

  "The second deputy."

  "Slim Chalmers, huh? When did you see Slim Chalmers?"

  "Day before yesterday."

  "Here?"

  "No, over at Hillsville."

  "I didn't know you'd been out of town," Billy Wingo burrowed along.

  "Just got back this morning."

  "No trouble getting through?"

  "Not a bit. This chinook has thawed the drifts."

  "Did you go by stage?"

  "No, I rode."

  The judge was answering these apparently most unnecessary questionswithout a quiver or trace of annoyance. Billy made another cast.

  "Did you ride your gray horse?"

  "No, the black."

  "I hope you wore a coat." The gravity of Billy's tone could not havebeen bettered.

  "An overcoat?" smiled Judge Driver. "Naturally."

  "That's good, that's good. I like to see you looking after your healththisaway. You'd be a valuable citizen to lose, Judge. I dunno whatwe'd do without you. I don't indeed."

  What had gone before had been bad enough in all conscience. But thiswas even worse. Yet the judge took no offense. He merely smiledblandly upon Billy Wingo and proffered the latter gentleman his cigarcase. Billy declined with thanks. Whereupon the judge drew a long andvery black cigar from the case and bit off the end.

  "It's funny I didn't meet you in Hillsville," mused Billy, turning hishead as if to look at the stove but in reality looking at a mirrorhanging on the wall beside the stove that showed on its face anexcellent reflection of Judge Driver's features.

  As he expected, the judge gave him a quick sharp glance, but what hehad not expected was the demoniac expression of hatred that flashedacross the judge's face as summer lightning flashes across the face ofa dark cloud.

  Billy Wingo turned a slow head. His eyes met those of the judgesquarely. Gone was the expression of hatred. In its place was one ofcourteous regret,--regret that he had been so
unfortunate as to misshis friend Sheriff Wingo in Hillsville.

  Billy nodded indifferently. "That's all right. I wasn't inHillsville. My mistake. Sorry."

  The judge stared in frowning puzzlement.

  It was at this juncture that the door opened and Skinny Shindleentered. He greeted the two men surlily and laid a note on the desk infront of Billy.

  "I stopped at Walton's on my way back from Hillsville," said Shindle,"and Tom's niece gimme this. She said I was to be sure and give it toyou soon as I could. Seemed worried like, I should say."

  "When did she give you the note," Billy inquired casually.

  "When I stopped there for a drink. I was only there about fiveminutes."

  "When was that?"

  "Oh, round half-past two."

  "And you came straight here?"

  "Sure I did. You don't think I was gonna stop anywhere a day likethis, do you?"

  Without another word Shindle pulled his fur cap forward, turned andwalked out. He closed the door with a slam that shook the building.Billy Wingo opened the note.

  DEAR BILLY:

  Please come out here as soon as you can. Come to-night without fail.I need you.

  It was signed with Hazel Walton's full name.

  Billy folded the note carefully. He did not look directly at thejudge. He looked at him by way of the mirror. He was not undulyastonished to perceive that the judge was watching him like theproverbial hawk.

  Billy unfolded the note, read it again, then refolded it. He startedto put it into a vest pocket, though better of it, balled it into acrumple and tossed it into the cardboard box that served for awaste-paper basket.

  He got to his feet, pulled out his watch and glanced at the time.

  "Four-thirty-two," he muttered, apparently oblivious to the judge'spresence. "I'll have to hurry."

  He crossed the room to an open door giving into one of the inner rooms.Passing through the doorway, he pushed the door partly to behind him.Turning sharply to the left he sat down on a cot that creaked. Thefoot of the cot butted against the jamb on which the door was hung.Billy threw himself sidewise and applied his eye to the crack betweenthe door and the jamb. His feet at the end of the cot were busy thewhile, gently kicking the wall and iron-work of the cot. Any onehearing the noise would have been reasonably assured that Billy Wingowas employed in God knows what, at a distance from the door of at leasta cot length. What he might be doing did not matter. The point was togive the judge the impression that he was not close to the doorway.

  Evidently the judge was thus impressed. Billy saw him lean forward,pluck the wadded-up note from the wastebasket and dive noiselesslyacross the room to the stove. Without a sound the judge opened thestove door and dropped the letter on the top of the blazing wood.Closing the door as noiselessly as he had opened it, the judge returnedto his chair, sat down and crossed one knee over the other. Hisexpression was that of the cat that has just eaten the canary. Billycould almost see him licking his demure chops.

  Billy returned to the office. He was carrying a box of cartridges andan extra six-shooter. His regular six-shooter, with its holster andbelt, hung on the wall behind the table.

  "About Jake Kilroe now," said Billy, sitting down at the table andsnicking open the box of cartridges, "about Jake Kilroe--what does themarshal want me to do?"

  "Get evidence against him," was the smooth reply. "Enough to convicthim, of course."

  "Of course. Not enough to convict him would help us very little.Yeah. Any suggestions, Judge?"

  "What kind of suggestions?" the judge inquired with just a trace ofimpatience.

  "How I'm to start in--what do you guess? I don't know much about Jake,y'understand. For instance, where does Jake get his liquor in thefirst place?"

  "How should I know?"

  "I dunno. Thought maybe you might. Judges are supposed to know a lot.But if you don't, you don't, that's all."

  Judge Driver sat up a trifle straighter in his chair. He looked atBilly with some suspicion. It could not be humanly possible that Billywas joking with him, yet----

  "I guess I'd better start in this afternoon," continued Billy briskly."There's nothing like a quick start. And the marshal would like ittoo. Suppose you and I, Judge, go down to Jake's and see what we cansee."

  "I thought you were going somewhere else," demurred Judge Driver.

  "What makes you think so?"

  "That note-- You said you had to go some place in a hurry."

  "Did I? Well, I am. I'm going down to Jake Kilroe's, and you're goingwith me, huh?"

  "Look here," said the judge, the light of desperation in his eyes, "youdon't have to go down to Kilroe's now. That can wait. The marshalain't in such a fright of a hurry as all that. Go on and do whateveryou have to do. I didn't mean--I don't want this to interfere withyour personal business, and I'm sure the marshal wouldn't. He'llunderstand. I know he will. You go on and do whatever you have to do,Bill."

  "I will," murmured Billy. "I will. Where are you going, Judge?"

  "Oh, I guess I'll be drifting along, Bill," smiled the judge,half-turning on his way to the door. "You don't need me any longer."

  "Yes, I do too," Billy declared fretfully. "You come on back and setdown. I've got something here I want to read you."

  Involuntarily the judge's eyes strayed to the wastebasket. He cameback and sat down.

  On the table between the extra six-shooter that Billy had finishedloading and the box of cartridges was a small leather-bound book.Billy picked up this book and turned to the index. He ran his fingerdown the page till he came to that which he sought.

  "'Morality, rules of, where consonant with those of law,'" he readaloud, and turned back to page twenty-eight.

  Judge Driver stared at Billy Wingo in some amazement. What on earthwas the sheriff driving at. Rules of morality? Well!

  "This book," said Billy, glancing across at the judge, "is a copy ofthe grounds and maxims of the English laws, by William Noy, ofLincoln's Inn, Attorney General, and a member of the Privy Council toKing Charles the First."

  "What in God's name," demanded the now thoroughly amazed judge, "hasthat to do with me?"

  "I want to read you something," persisted Billy. "You know that ourlaws were practically taken from the English laws. Our grounds andmaxims are the same as theirs. What's good law with them is good lawwith us, and _vice versa_. You're a judge. You know that as well as Ido. Don't you?"

  The judge nodded. "I suppose so."

  "It says here," resumed Billy Wingo, "in section thirty-three underMoral Rules, that the 'law favoreth works of charity, right and truth,and abhorreth fraud, covin, and incertainties which obscure the truth;contrarities, delays, unnecessary circumstances, and such like. Deceitand fraud should be remedied on all occasions.' How about it? Don'tyou agree with Mr. William Noy?"

  "He's right; but there's nothing new about it. I knew it already."

  "Then you'll understand me, perhaps, when I tell you that I intend toget to the bottom of everything that has gone on here this afternoon."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that there has been more 'fraud, covin, and incertainties whichobscure the truth' scattered round in this room to-day than by rightthere should have been. I don't mind a little. Human beings are oddnumbers, anyway. You've got to take all that into consideration."

  "I don't understand you."

  "Then, too," pursued the unheeding Billy, "'contrarities, delays,unnecessary circumstances, and such like,' I despise. They give me abad taste in my mouth. Don't they you?"

  "They would any one," acquiesced the judge, and made to rise. "Well,now you've read me what you wanted to, I won't keep you any longer. Iknow you must be in a hurry to get away. We'll let the Kilroe businesswait over a few days."

  "Sit down, Judge," Billy Wingo murmured softly, his hand resting as ifby chance on the butt of the six-shooter lying on the table. "Sitdown, do."

  The judge hesitated.
Then with the well-known hollow laugh, he satdown. He looked at Billy Wingo. The latter looked at him in silencefor a space.

  "Judge," he remarked suddenly, "deceit and fraud should remedied on alloccasions. Tell me why you put that letter in the fire?"

  The judge continued to sit perfectly still. It might be said that hewas frozen to his chair. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, his righthand began to steal upward under the tail of his coat.

  "I wouldn't, Judge," continued Billy, "I just wouldn't if I were you."

  The judge's hand hung straight by his side. "You're getting in prettydeep, Bill," he observed with a cold smile.

  "But not as deep as you are already," said Billy Wingo, with an evencolder smile. "You haven't answered my question yet--about the burningof the letter. Why, Judge, why?"

  "Give it any name you like," replied the jurist carelessly. "I don'tfeel like answering any more questions."

  "Yet a li'l while back you didn't mind answering any questions I feltlike asking. Was it to gain time, Judge--to gain time till SkinnyShindle came in and did his part with the note from Miss Walton? Wasit, Judge, was it? Dumb, huh? Aw right, perhaps you'd rather tell mewhy Simon Reelfoot acted about the same way, except Simon was specialcareful to make us mad besides--mad when it wasn't necessary to make usmad if Simon was playing a straight game, but necessary enough if Simonwanted to gain more time. Yeah, Simon sure beat around the bush timeand again before he came to the point. I expect you were delayedgetting here, huh, Judge? Simon kept looking out of the window allatime, I remember."

  Billy Wingo felt silent and contemplated the judge. The latter staredback, his face impassive.

  "Be advised," said the judge suddenly. "You can't buck us alone. Youshould know that."

  "I should--maybe," returned Billy Wingo. "But I feel like taking agamble with you. So instead of going to Kilroe's, we'll do what theletter said and go out to Walton's to-day."

  The judge lifted his eyebrows. "We?"

  "We," confirmed Billy calmly. "You're going with me."

  "No," said the judge.

  "Yes," insisted Billy Wingo. "And what's more, I'll lend you a suit ofmy clothes and my white hat and my red-and-white pinto. Which thereain't another paint pony colored like mine in this county; and just tomake it a fair deal, I'll wear your buffalo coat and your fur cap, andI'll ride one of your horses,--that long-legged gray, I guess, will beall right."

  The judge's face wore a curiously mottled pallor that gave it the hueof a dead fish's belly. "Are you insane?" he gasped.

  "Not me," denied Billy Wingo. "It's like I said. I'm gambling withyou. I guess we understand each other, Judge. Ain't it luck, you andI being about of a size? Dressed up in my clothes with that white hatand all, you'd have to excuse anybody for mistaking you for me.Ca-a-areful, Judge, careful. Don't do anything we would be sorry for.And don't take it so to heart; perhaps he'll miss you."

  For a space he considered the judge, then he said:

  "I guess we're ready for Riley, now."

  Despite his professional calm the judge almost bounced out of hischair. "Riley! Where----"

  "In the kitchen with the door open," explained Billy. "He didn't gowith Shotgun and Reelfoot a-tall--that is, not far. Only round thehouse to the back door. Reelfoot wasn't completely successful inseparating me from my deputies. You didn't catch me whispering inRiley's ear while he was getting ready, did you? I thought maybe youwouldn't. Your back was turned. Moral: Never turn your back whenthere's a mirror behind you. Riley, you'd better come in now."

  Whereupon there was a noise of bootheels, and Riley entered and smiledcheerfully upon the discomfited judge.

  "Howdy, your honor," said Riley Tyler.

  The judge made no acknowledgment of the greeting. He continued to gazebefore him with a set and stony face.

  "Riley," said Billy Wingo, without, however, removing his eyes from thejudge, "I guess we'll need another witness. I wonder if you could gethold of Guerilla Melody."

  Riley nodded and went out.

  "And that's that," said Billy Wingo, smiling.

  The judge's hands gripped the arms of the chair. "You know that theman Melody is an enemy of mine," he said in a shaken voice.

  "I know that he is an honest man," returned Billy Wingo.

  "I won't go," the judge declared feebly.

  "You said that before," said Billy Wingo, in no wise moved. "You'll goall right. Yes, indeedy. Do you wanna know why? I'll tell you. Yousee, Judge, I know what I'm up against. I know that the only barrierthat stands between me and the graveyard is the lead in this gun. Ilike life. I enjoy it. Besides, I'm too young to die and too sinfuland all that. Therefore it's my business to see I ain't cut off in theflower of my youth, _et cetera_. You're considerably older than me,Judge, considerably. The gray is in your hair like frost on a punkin,and the devil has drawn two mighty mean lines down from your nose tothe corners of your mouth, and the crows have messed up youreye-corners too, for that matter, and may the Lord have mercy on yoursoul, you miserable sinner, because I won't--if you don't do exactlywhat I tell you to do. It's my life or yours, and it's not gonna bemine."

  "Baby talk," said the judge, but there was no conviction in his tone.

  "You think so? Aw right, let it go at that. Here's the rest of thebaby talk: The first false move you start to make between now and thetime I'm through with you, you get it."

  "You wouldn't dare!"

  "Wouldn't I? Call me and see. No trouble to show goods."

  The judge hesitated. It was obvious that he was of two minds. Hechose the safer course--for the present.

  "There is a law in this country--" he began.

  Billy Wingo leaned forward, his chin jutting out. His eyes wereunpleasantly cold. They matched his voice when he spoke.

  "Don't talk to me of the law," he said. "It's you and your friendsthat have made the law in Crocker County a spectacle for decent men.Law! You've dragged the statutes in the mud till you can't tell 'emapart from the turnips underground. Law! You've prostituted youroffice for a little filthy money here, there and everywhere, till it'sa wonder you're able to live with yourself. How do you do it? Don'tyou ever get tired of your own stink, you polecat?"

  This was too much. The judge was, after all, a human being. He hadhis pride, such as it was, and courage of a kind. He threw himselfsidewise, and at the same time his right hand flipped up under his coattail, flipped up and flipped out.

  There was a flash and a roar and a spirtle of smoke. The judge'ssix-shooter was wrenched from his fingers and sent spinning across theroom. The judge remained upon the floor. There was no feeling in hisright hand. But his right arm felt as if it had been struck with aspike-maul.

  The acrid smoke rose slowly toward the ceiling.

  "You can get up, Judge," Billy Wingo said calmly.

  The judge rose slowly and collapsed into the chair he had so abruptlyvacated. He held his right hand before his face and waggled it.Stupidly he looked at it. The flesh of the trigger finger was slightlytorn. It bled a little.

  "The bullet didn't touch you," said Billy. "The trigger guard did thatwhen the gun was twiddled out of your hand. The lead hit the frame infront of the cylinder. Wait, I'll show you." He crossed the room towhere the judge's six-shooter lay, picked it up and brought it to thejudge for his inspection.

  "See how I trust you," said Billy sardonically, holding up the judge'ssix-shooter within ten inches of the judge's eyes. "You could almostgrab this gun out of my hand if you felt like it. I really dunno butwhat I hope you'll feel like it."

  But the judge did not feel like it. He perceived without difficultythe gray splotch on the frame of the six-shooter that marked the spotwhere Billy Wingo's lead had struck, and he felt absolutely noinclination to gamble further with fate. Not he. No!

  Billy tucked the judge's six-shooter into his waistband and ran a handover and under the jurist's outer clothing.

  "You migh
t be carrying a derringer or something," he murmured inapology.

  But he found no other weapon, and he returned to his seat to await thearrival of Riley Tyler and Guerilla Melody.