When the West Was Young Part 10

Such were the eastern end of Cochise County and its metropolis when Johnny Behan told young Billy Breckenbridge to cross the Dragoons and collect taxes throughout that section. If he expected a protest he was mistaken, for Breckenbridge took the bidding with his usual good-natured smile. And if the sheriff looked for a request for a posse he was disappointed. The new deputy saddled up his horse one morning and rode forth alone, trim and neat as usual and, for all that any one could see, without a care on his mind.

He rode up the wide main street which bisects Tombstone from end to end, descended the hill and started his horse across the flatlands toward the ragged pinnacles of Cochise's stronghold.

Eastward he rode through tall mesquite thickets, over rolling hills where clumps of bear-gra.s.s grew among spiked yuccas and needle-pointed tufts of Spanish bayonet, and climbed the pa.s.s beyond. From its summit he looked down upon the wide reaches of the Sulphur Springs valley, level as a floor, as tawny as a lion's skin.

Then he descended from the sky-lined pinnacles of granite to the plain. Under the blazing heavens pony and rider showed upon that glowing surface as a tiny dot; a dot that moved slowly on and on until the yellow-brown carpet of the bunch-gra.s.s came to an end and was replaced by a gleaming sheet of alkali. Before that crawling dot the mirage wavered and undulated like a weirdly painted back-drop stirring in the wind.

The dot crept on, took strange new shapes that changed phantasmally, then vanished behind the curtain of which for a pa.s.sing moment it had been a part. Thus young Breckenbridge rode beyond the dominion of the written law and was swallowed up by no-man's-land.

When he had started forth from Tombstone he merely knew his errand; he owned no plan. Now as the splendid star-lit nights followed the long, blazing days he began, to see a course of action and this led him on, until one day he came down into the San Simon country and rode into the town of Galeyville.

The enterprising citizen whose cattle-buying business helped to keep dollars spinning across the bars of this outlaw metropolis was mildly curious when young Breckenbridge introduced himself that afternoon.

The presence of a sheriff's deputy was enough to set any one to thinking in those days.

His curiosity gave way to unspoken wonder as the caller unfolded his mission and stated the name of the man whom he wanted to see. Anyhow, this meeting promised to be worth while witnessing; the cattle-buyer said as much.

"Reckon we'll find him up the street right now," he added, and led the way to a near-by saloon.

There were a number of men in the place when the pair entered; a quintet playing cards, and as many others scattered about a quiet pool-game. And one burly fellow was lying on a poker-table, curled up for all the world like a sleeping dog. Now and then one of the gamblers would lift his head to take a look at the new-comers, and for a brief instant young Breckenbridge would find himself gazing into a pair of hard, steady eyes. Then the eyes would be lowered and the player would go on with the game.

It was during this uncomfortable interval of general sizing-up that the proprietor entered, a red-faced man and short of stature. He had been out to get a bucket of water; he set the pail down by the end of the bar and filled a tin cup from it.

"Here's how, boys," he said with loud facetiousness, and lifted the cup.

The burly man, who had apparently been awakened by the words, uncoiled himself, came to crouch with one arm supporting his body on the table-top and--all in the same lithe movement--drew his big-caliber revolver from the holster.

"Don't drink that stuff. It's pizen," he shouted, and with the last word his weapon flamed.

The tin cup flew from the saloon man's hand. A shout of laughter rose from the crowd at the two games; then the pool-b.a.l.l.s clicked again and--

"Raise you ten," a poker-player said.

Breckenbridge's guide beckoned to the man who had done the shooting.

He came across the room, shoving his gun back into the holster, a rather thickly built man but well-knit and there was a soft spring in his slowest movements which suggested snake-like quickness. He was dark-eyed, and his hair was a mat of close black curls. The cattle-buyer nodded, to indicate the introduced one.

"This," he said, "is Mr. Breckenbridge, one of Johnny Behan's deputies."

And--

"This is Curly Bill."

Young Breckenbridge smiled as usual and stretched forth his right hand. But the eyes of Curly Bill were narrow and his hand came out slowly. There was that in his whole manner which said he was on guard, watching every movement of the deputy.

And for this there was good reason. It was not long since Curly Bill had stood in very much the same att.i.tude on Tombstone's street facing Town Marshal White, the only difference being that his right hand on that occasion had been proffering his pistol, b.u.t.t foremost, to the officer. And in the pa.s.sing of the instant while Marshal White had touched the weapon with his fingertips the forty-five had swiftly reversed ends, to spit forth one leaden slug.

The officer had dropped in the dust of the roadway and Curly Bill had ridden out of town with a thousand dollars on his head. A thousand dollars was a thousand dollars and there was no telling what a man who wore a nickel-plated star might have up his sleeve.

"Mr. Breckenbridge," the cattle-buyer said as the two palms met, "is here on civil business."

The eyes of Curly Bill resumed their normal shape. His fingers tightened over the deputy's.

"Howdy," he said. "What yo' going to have?"

While the sting of the cow-town whisky was still rankling in their throats a man entered the front door.

"Oh, Bill," he called across the room, "your hoss is daid."

Deserting the bar to delve into this mystery, they found the outlaw's pony stretched out beside the hitching-rack near the rear of the building. The owner cast one glance at the dead animal; then his eyes went to a shattered window.

"'Twas when I shot that cup from Shorty's hand."

He shrugged his big shoulders and, with a grin--

"Plenty more good ponies in the valley--and the nights are moonlight now."

When they were back facing the battered bar young Breckenbridge explained, his business in no-man's-land.

"And this end of the county," he wound up, "is sort of rough. If I'd ride around alone, packing that money, somebody's liable to get the best of me when I'm not looking for it. I've got to have a good man along to help take care of that roll. And I'd admire to have you make the trip with me."

Curly Bill was a great deal slower at thinking than he was at drawing his gun and there was much food for thought in that bold proposition.

He gazed at young Breckenbridge for some moments in silence. Gradually his lips relaxed. Smiling, he turned and addressed the occupants of the room.

"Boys," he cried, "line up."

And when the line was formed before the bar he waved his hand.

"This here's the deputy sheriff, come to collect the taxes in our end of the county; and I aim to help him do the job up right."

By what means Curly Bill supplied himself with a new pony this chronicler does not know. But it is a fact that the outlaw rode forth from Galeyville the next day along with Johnny Behan's deputy, to guide the latter through the Sulphur Springs valley and the San Simon--and to guard the county's funds.

Travel was slow in those days; accommodations were few and far between. Outlaw and deputy jogged down the long, glaring flats enshrouded in the dust-fog which rose from their ponies' hoofs; mile after mile of weary riding under a scorching sun. They climbed by winding trails through narrow canons where the heat-waves jigged endlessly among the naked rocks. They camped by lonely water-holes and shared each other's blankets under the big yellow stars.

By day they watched the sky-line seeking the slightest sign of moving forms; by night they kept their weapons within easy reach and slept lightly, awakening to the smallest sound. They scanned the earth for tracks and, when they found them, read them with the suspicion born of knowledge of the country's savagery.

And sometimes other riders came toward them out of the desert to pa.s.s on and to vanish in the hazy distance; men who spoke but few words and watched the right hands of the two riders as they talked. But none attacked them or made a show toward hostility. Now and again the pair stopped at a ranch-house or a mine where Breckenbridge added to the county's money in his saddle-bags.

And as the days wore on, each with its own share of mutual hards.h.i.+p to bring these two to closer companions.h.i.+p, they began, as men will under such circ.u.mstances, to unfold their separate natures. Under the long trail's stern necessity they bared to each other those traits which would have remained hidden during years of acquaintance among a city's tight-walled streets.

A carelessly spoken word dropped at hot noontide when the water in the canteens had given out; a sincere oath, uttered by the fire at supper-time; a long, drowsy conversation as they lay in their blankets with the tang of the night breeze in their nostrils, gazing up at the splendor of the flaming stars; until they knew each other man to man--and Curly Bill began to feel something like devotion to his purposeful young companion. Thenceforth he talked freely of his deeds and misdeeds.

"Only one man that ever got the drop on me," the outlaw said one evening when they were lying on their blankets, enjoying the long inhalations from their after-supper cigarettes, "and that was ol' Jim Burnett over in Charleston, two years ago."

He paused a moment to roll another smoke. A coyote clamored shrilly beyond the next rise; a horse blew luxuriously feeding in the bunch-gra.s.s. Curly Bill launched into his tale.

"He was justice of the peace and used to hold co't in those days whenever he'd run on to a man he wanted. Always packed a double-barrel shotgun and he'd usually managed to throw it down on a fellow while he tried the case and named the fine.

"Well, me and some of the boys was in town this time and things was slack. Come a Sunday evenin' and I heard how some married folks had started up a church. I hadn't been inside of one since I could remember and we all made up our minds to go and see what it was like.