Crooked Trails and Straight by William MacLeod Raine (best large ebook reader .txt) đź“–
- Author: William MacLeod Raine
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“Soapy is doing the talking.”
“I heard him; happened to be at the Silver Dollar when they dragged him in.”
Maloney’s eyebrows moved the least bit. His friend understood. Together they passed out of the back door of the shop into an alley. The others stood back and let them go. But their eyes did not leave Curly so long as he was in sight. Until this thing was settled one way or the other the young rustler would be one of the most important men in town. Citizens would defer to him that had never noticed him before. He carried with him a touch of the solemnity that is allowed only the dead or the dying.
Back to the hotel the two ran. When Curly buckled on his revolver and felt it resting comfortably against his thigh he felt a good deal better.
“I’ve seen Slats Davis,” Maloney explained. “He has gone to find Luck, who is now at the Del Mar. At least he was an hour ago.”
“Had any talk with Slats?”
“No. He said you’d do the talking.”
“I’m to wait for him on El Molino street to learn where I’m to meet Cullison.”
“That won’t do. You’d make too tempting a target. I’ll meet him instead.”
That suited Curly. He was not hunting trouble just now, even though he would not run away from it. For he had serious business on hand that could not take care of itself if Soapy should kill him.
Nearly an hour later Maloney appeared again.
“We’re to go right over to the Del Mar. Second floor, room 217. You are to go down El Molino to Main, then follow it to the hotel, keeping on the right hand side of the street. Slats will happen along the other side of the street and will keep abreast of you. Luck will walk with me behind you. Unless I yell your name don’t pay any attention to what is behind you. Soon as we reach the hotel Slats will cross the road and go in by the side door. You will follow him a few steps behind, and we’ll bring up the rear casually as if we hadn’t a thing to do with you.”
“You’re taking a heap of pains, seems to me.”
“Want to keep you from getting spoilt till September term of court opens. Didn’t I promise Bolt you would show up?”
They moved down the street as arranged. Every time a door opened in front of him, every time a man came out of a store or a saloon, Curly was ready for that lightning lift of the arm followed by a puff of smoke. The news of his coming passed ahead of him, so that windows were crowded with spectators. These were doomed to disappointment. Nothing happened. The procession left behind it the Silver Dollar, the Last Chance, Chalkeye’s Place and Pete’s Palace.
Reaching the hotel first, Davis disappeared according to program into the side door. Carly followed, walked directly up the stairs, along the corridor, and passed without knocking into Room 217.
A young woman was sitting there engaged with some fancy work. Slender and straight, Kate Cullison rose and gave Curly her hand. For about two heartbeats her fingers lay cuddled in his big fist. A strange stifling emotion took his breath.
Then her arm fell to her side and she was speaking to him.
“Dad has gone to meet you. We’ve heard about what happened this morning.”
“You mean what didn’t happen. Beats all how far a little excitement goes in this town,” he answered, embarrassed.
Her father and Maloney entered the room. Cullison wrung his hand.
“Glad to see you, boy. You’re in luck that convict did not shoot you up while he had the chance. Saguache is sure buzzing this mo’ning with the way you stood up to him. That little play of yours will help with the jury in September.”
Curly thanked him for going bail.
Luck fixed his steel-spoked eyes on him. “By what Dick tells me you’ve more than squared that account.”
Kate explained in her soft voice. “Dick told us why you went up to Dead Cow creek.”
“Sho! I hadn’t a thing to do, so I just ran up there. Sam’s in town with me. We’re rooming together.”
“Oh, take me to him,” Kate cried.
“Not just now, honey,” her father said gently. “This young man came here to tell us something. Or so I gathered from his friend Davis.”
Flandrau told his story, or all of it that would bear telling before a girl. He glossed over his account of the dissipation at the horse ranch, but he told all he knew of Laura London and her interest in Sam. But it was when he related what he had heard at Chalkeye’s place that the interest grew most tense. While he was going over the plot to destroy young Cullison there was no sound in the room but his voice. Luck’s eyes burned like live coals. The color faded from the face of his daughter so that her lips were gray as cigar ash. Yet she sat up straight and did not flinch.
When he had finished the owner of the Circle C caught his hand. “You’ve done fine, boy. Not a man in Arizona could have done it better.”
Kate said nothing in words but her dark longlashed eyes rained thanks upon him.
They talked the situation over from all angles. Always it simmered down to one result. It was Soapy’s first play. Until he moved they could not. They had no legal evidence except the word of Curly. Nor did they know on what night he had planned to pull off the hold-up. If they were to make a complete gather of the outfit, with evidence enough to land them in the penitentiary, it could only be after the hold-up.
Meanwhile there was nothing to do but wait and take what precautions they could against being caught by surprise. One of these was to see that Sam was never for an instant left unguarded either day or night. Another was to ride to Tin Cup and look the ground over carefully. For the present they could do no more than watch events, attracting no attention by any whispering together in public.
Before the conference broke up Kate came in with her protest.
“That’s all very well, but what about Mr. Flandrau? He can’t stay in Saguache with that man threatening to kill him on sight.”
“Don’t worry about me, Miss Kate;” and Curly looked at her and blushed.
Her father smiled grimly. “No, I wouldn’t, Kate. He isn’t going to be troubled by that wolf just now.”
“Doesn’t stand to reason he’d spoil all his plans just to bump me off.”
“But he might. He forgot all about his plans this morning. How do we know he mightn’t a second time?”
“Don’t you worry, honey. I’ve got a card up my sleeve,” Luck promised.
The old Arizona fashion of settling a difference of opinion with the six-gun had long fallen into disuse, but Saguache was still close enough to the stark primeval emotions to wait with a keen interest for the crack of the revolver that would put a period to the quarrel between Soapy Stone and young Flandrau. It was known that Curly had refused to leave town, just as it was known that Stone and that other prison bird Blackwell were hanging about the Last Chance and Chalkeye’s Place drinking together morosely. It was observed too that whenever Curly appeared in public he was attended by friends. Sometimes it would be Maloney and Davis, sometimes his uncle Alec Flandrau, occasionally a couple of the Map of Texas vaqueros.
It chanced that “Old Man” Flandrau, drifting into Chalkeye’s Place, found in the assembled group the man he sought. Billie Mackenzie, grizzled owner of the Fiddleback ranch, was with him, and it was in the preliminary pause before drinking that Alec made his official announcement.
“No, Mac, I ain’t worrying about that any. Curly is going to get a square deal. We’re all agreed on that. If there’s any shooting from cover there’ll be a lynching pronto. That goes.”
Flandrau, Senior, did not glance at the sullen face of Lute Blackwell hovering in the background but he knew perfectly well that inside of an hour word would reach Soapy Stone that only an even break with Curly would be allowed.
The day passed without a meeting between the two. Curly grew nervous at the delay.
“I’m as restless as a toad on a hot skillet,” he confessed to Davis. “This thing of never knowing what minute Soapy will send me his leaden compliments ain’t any picnic. Wisht it was over.”
“He’s drinking himself blind. Every hour is to the good for you.”
Curly shrugged. “Drunk or sober Soapy always shoots straight.”
Another day passed. The festivities had begun and Curly had to be much in evidence before the public. His friends had attempted to dissuade him from riding in the bucking broncho contest, but he had refused to let his name be scratched from the list of contestants.
A thousand pair of eyes in the grandstand watched the boy as he lounged against the corral fence laughing and talking with his friends. A dozen people were on the lookout for the approach of Stone. Fifty others had warned the young man to be careful. For Saguache was with him almost to a man.
Dick Maloney heard his voice called as he was passing the grandstand, A minute later he was in the Cullison box shaking hands with Kate.
“Is—is there anything new?” she asked in a low voice.
Her friend shook his head. “No. Soapy may drift out here any minute now.”
“Will he——?” Her eyes finished the question.
He shook his head. “Don’t know. That’s the mischief of it. If they should meet just after Curly finishes riding the boy won’t have a chance. His nerves won’t be steady enough.”
“Dad is doing something. I don’t know what it is. He had a meeting with a lot of cattlemen about it—— I don’t see how that boy can sit there on the fence laughing when any minute——”
“Curly’s game as they make ’em. He’s a prince, too. I like that boy better every day.”
“He doesn’t seem to me so——wild. But they say he’s awfully reckless.” She said it with a visible reluctance, as if she wanted him to deny the charge.
“Sho! Curly needs explaining some. That’s all. Give a dog a bad name and hang him. That saying is as straight as the trail of a thirsty cow. The kid got off wrong foot first, and before he’d hardly took to shaving respectable folks were hunting the dictionary to find bad names to throw at him. He was a reprobate and no account. Citizens that differed on everything else was unanimous about that. Mothers kinder herded their young folks in a corral when he slung his smile their way.”
“But why?” she persisted. “What had he done?”
“Gambled his wages, and drank some, and, beat up Pete Schiff, and shot the lights out of the Legal Tender saloon. That’s about all at first.”
“Wasn’t it enough?”
“Most folks thought so. So when Curly bumped into them keep-off-the-grass signs parents put up for him he had to prove they were justified. That’s the way a kid acts. Half the bad men are only coltish cowpunchers gone wrong through rotten whiskey and luck breaking bad for them.”
“Is Soapy that kind?” she asked, but not because she did not know the answer.
“He’s the other kind, bad at the heart. But Curly was just a kid crazy with the heat when he made that fool play of rustling horses.”
A lad made his way to them with a note. Kate read it and turned to Dick. Her eyes were shining happily.
“I’ve got news from Dad. It’s all right. Soapy Stone has left town.”
“Why?”
“A dozen of
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