The Orphan Part 13

As Bill's brain cleared he became conscious of excruciating pains in his head, as if hammers were cras.h.i.+ng against his skull. Glancing upward he saw that a rope ran from his neck to the rock, over it and then to the pommel of a saddle, and his face twitched as its meaning sifted through his mind. Then he thought of the time The Orphan had held him up in the defile--how unlike these men the outlaw was! If he would only come now--what joy there would be in the flas.h.i.+ng of his gun; what ecstasy in the confusion, panic, rout that he would cause. He was dazed and the throbbing, heavy, monotonous pain dulled him still more. He seemed to be apart from his surroundings, to be an onlooker and not an actor in the game. He wondered if that whip was his: yes, it must be . . .

certainly it was. He ought to know his own whip . . . of course it was his. He regarded Tex curiously . . . there had been Indians, or was it some other time? What was Tex doing there on the ground? He struggled to think clearly, and then he knew. But the deadening pain was merciful to him, it made him apathetic. Was he going to die? Perhaps, but what of it? He didn't care, for then that pain wouldn't beat through him. Tex looked funny. . . . He closed his eyes wearily and seemed to be far away. He _was_ far away, and, oh, so tired!

Tex finally managed to gain his feet and straighten up and revealed his face, b.l.o.o.d.y and swollen and black from the blow. His words came with a hesitation which suggested pain, and they were mumbled between split and swollen lips.

"Now, d----n yu!" he cried, brokenly, staggering to the helpless man before him. "Now mebby yu'll talk! Why did yu help Th' Orphant? If yu lie yu'll swing!"

Bill swayed and his eyes opened, and after an interval he slowly and wearily made reply, for his senses had returned again.

"He saved my life," he said, "and I'll help--anybody for that."

"Oh, he did, did he?" jeered Tex. "An' why? That ain't his way, helpin'

strangers at his own risk. Why?"

"There was women--in the coach."

"Oh, there was, hey?" ironically remarked Tex. "Mebby he wanted 'em all to himself, eh?"

"He's a white man, not a cur."

"He's a cub of th' devil, that's what he is!" Tex cried. "He ain't no orphant, not by a d----d sight--th' devil's his father, an' all h.e.l.l is his mother. Now, I want an answer to this one, and I want it quick: no lie goes. Why don't th' sheriff get busy an' camp on his trail? What interest has th' sheriff an' Th' Orphant in each other? Come on, out with it!"

"I don't know," replied Bill, wis.h.i.+ng that the sheriff was at hand to make an appropriate answer. "Ask him, why don't you?" he asked, stretching his neck to ease the hairy, bristling clutch of the lariat.

"Oh, yu don't, an' yore still cheeky, eh?" cried the inquisitor. "An' yu want yore d----d neck stretched, do yu?"

He motioned to the man on the horse at the end of the rope and Bill straightened up and daylight showed under his heels. As he struggled there was an interruption from the man who covered the back trail: "'Nds up!"

he cried. "Don't move!"

Tex signalled for Bill to be let down and ran backward to the opposite side of the defile until he could see around the turn; and he discovered the sheriff, who sat quietly under the gun of the cowboy.

"Stop! Don't yu even wiggle!" cried the guard. "I'll blow yore head off at the first move!" he added in warning; and for once in his eventful life s.h.i.+elds knew that he was absolutely helpless, for the time, at least.

His hands were clasped over his sombrero, for it would be tiresome to hold them out, and he felt that he might have need of fresh, quick muscles before long.

"All right, all right, bub," he responded in perfect good nature, apparently. "Don't get nervous and let that gun go off, for it's sh.o.r.e your turn now," he added, smiling his war smile. "Any particular thing you want, or are you just practicing a short cut to eternity?"

"I want yu to stay just like yu are!" snapped the man with the drop. "And yu keep yore mouth shut, too!"

"Since it's your last wish, why, it goes," replied the sheriff, ignoring the command for silence. "Got any message for your folks? Any keep-sakes you'd like to have sent back East? Give me the address of your folks and I'll send them your last words, too."

"That's enough, Sheriff," said Tex, moving cautiously forward behind his leveled Colt. "I'll do all th' talkin' that's necessary; yu just listen for a while."

"Well, well," replied the sheriff, grinning and simulating surprise. "If here ain't Tex Williard, too! What's your pet psalm, sonny? Good G.o.d, what a face!"

"What's that got to do with this?" asked Tex, intently watching for war.

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," replied the sheriff. "But, Lord, that cayuse of yours can sh.o.r.e kick! Was you tickling it? They do go off like that some times. Any of your nose coming out the back of your head yet?

But to reply to your touching inquiry, I'll say that the psalm might work in handy after while, that's all. If you'll only tell me, I'll see that it is sung over your grave. But, honest, how did you get that face?"

"That'll just about do for yu!" cried the cowboy, angrily. "An' sit still, yu!" he added.

"Say, bub," confidentially said s.h.i.+elds, "my stomach itches like blazes.

Can't I scratch it, just once?"

"No! Think I'm a fool!" yelled Tex, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"Yu sit still, d----n yu!"

"Well, I only wanted to see just how much of a fool you really are,"

grinned the sheriff exasperatingly. "Judging from your present position I must say that I thought you didn't have any sense at all, but now I reckon you've got a few brains after all. But suppose you scratch it for me, hey? Just rub it easy like with your left paw."

Tex swore luridly, too tense to realize what a fool the sheriff was making of him. He could think of only one thing at a time, and he was thinking very hard about the sheriff's hands.

"Tut, tut, don't take it so hard," jeered the sheriff, smiling pleasantly.

"Now that I know that you are some rational, suppose you tell me the joke?

What's the secret? Who skinned his s.h.i.+n? What in thunder is all this artillery saluting me for?"

"Since yu want to know, I'll tell yu, all right," replied Tex. "Why are yu an' Th' Orphant so d----d thick? Don't be all day about it?"

"You d----d excuse!" responded the sheriff. "You mere accident! As the poet said, it's none of your business! Catch that?"

"Yes, I caught it," retorted Tex. "I reckon we needs a new sheriff, an'

d----d soon, too," he added venomously.

"Well, people don't always get what they need," replied s.h.i.+elds easily.

"If they did, you would get yours right now, and good and hard, too," he explained, making ready to put up the hardest fight of his life. Three men had him covered, and he knew they would all shoot if he made a move, for they had placed themselves in a desperate situation and could not back out now. He knew that never before had he been in so tight a hole, but he trusted to luck and his own quickness to crawl out with a whole skin. If he was killed, he would have company across the Great Divide; of that he was certain.

"I reckon I'll take yore guns for a while, just to be doin' somethin',"

Tex said as he advanced a step. "Mebby that itch will go away then."

"I reckon you'll be a d----n sight wiser if you don't force matters, for they are purty well forced now," s.h.i.+elds replied. "No man gets my guns'

b.u.t.ts first without getting all mussed up inside. You'll certainly be doing something if you try it."

"Well, then," compromised Tex, "answer my question!"

"And no man gets an answer to a question like that in words," the sheriff continued, as if there had been no interruption. "But I'll give you and your white-faced b.u.ms a chance for your lives--and I don't wonder The Orphan shot up Jimmy, neither. Put up your wobbling guns and get out of this country as fast as G.o.d will let you! If you ever come back I'll fill you plumb full of lead! It's your move, Lovely Face, and the quicker you do it the better it'll be for your health."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'The less you count the longer you'll live!' said s.h.i.+elds"

(See page 192.)]

"Oh, I don't know about that," replied Tex with a leer and swagger. "To a man up a tree it looks like yu are up agin a buzz saw this time."

"To a man on the ground it looks like your tin buzz saw has. .h.i.t the hardest knot it ever struck, and you'll feel the jar purty soon, too,"

s.h.i.+elds countered, his hazel eyes beginning to grow red. "You put up that gun and scoot before I blow your d----d head off!"

"I'll give yu 'til I counts three to answer my question," Tex said, ignoring the advice. "One!"

"The less you count the longer you'll live," said s.h.i.+elds, gripping his horse with his knees in readiness to jump it sideways.

"Two!"