Part 3

Skeeter Bill slept little that night. One of the outlaw’s saddlehorses drifted into the camp and Skeeter Bill caught it. The horse had belonged to Mears. Somehow, Skeeter Bill was indignant at Leeds for sending his men on this mission. He felt that Mears and Brent had received their just deserts for robbing the wagon-train, and for some reason he did not feel this way because of anything antagonistic to Leeds.

Skeeter Bill found himself alined with law and order, but quickly recovered. Didn’t he come down there to rob? Did the presence of this girl and the old preacher make him glad he was too late to beat Leeds’ gang? No, that was not it. The girl did not interest him at all and he had no sympathy for the minister.

He knew that Leeds and his gang would put him out of the way as speedily as possible when he showed up in Sunbeam. There were plenty ways of doing this--ways that would exonerate any one concerned. Skeeter was no supershot. It would be a dozen against one. He knew that the wisest course would be to start traveling away from Sunbeam, but Skeeter Bill had little wisdom in these things.

No, he would go back in spite of Leeds. The idea of backing the preacher amused Skeeter. He knew that Leeds and several other men would balk at a sermon in Sunbeam.

“Anyway,” decided Skeeter, “I’ve got to go back after the judge, and this sky-pilot gives me a excuse. I’ve got to present Leeds with his daughter. Skeeter Bill, it’s goin’ to be a busy day for you.”

Skeeter Bill prepared breakfast. Mary Leeds was cheerful, but Skeeter was able to see that she had slept little. The old minister walked with a decided limp and his left arm was very painful, but he talked cheerfully.

“Tell me something of this town of Sunbeam,” said the minister as he watched Skeeter deftly removing slices of bacon from the spattering grease.

Skeeter looked over his shoulder at the old man.

“---- was built a long time ago, but somebody got hold of a map of it and built Sunbeam after the same idea.”

“I--I--uh--surely you exaggerate,” stammered the old minister. “Perhaps you are prejudiced.”

Skeeter fished out more bacon before he replied.

“Yuh got me fightin’ my own head, parson. Two of them words I don’t _sabe_ a-tall. You and the judge would make a good pair to draw to. He swallowed a dictionary. Put on your nose-bags, folks. That coffee looks like stewed gunnysacks, don’t it? If I was cookin’ for saw-mills I wouldn’t get a splinter. The judge does the cookin’ at our shack, when he’s sober enough, which ain’t three meals a day reg’lar. Parson, I wish you’d temperance him for a while. The ---- old fool is goin’ to kill himself. First time he seen a pink elephant, and the second time it was a green buffalo, and now I’m bettin’ he’s about due to see a pinto geewhinkus. Any time he sees a pinto gee-whinkus he’s due to hammer a harp, yuh know it?”

The minister and Mary Leeds, neither of whom knew what Skeeter Bill meant, both nodded their heads and sat down to eat. Skeeter grinned, but the grin faded and he rubbed a hand across his chin. He turned to the minister and the girl.

“Folks, I want yuh to understand that Sunbeam ain’t no civilized place. You’re goin’ into a camp-town, where everythin’ goes except the cook-stove and three joints of pipe. Far as I can see you’re both buckin’ a brace game, and I just been figurin’ out a combination that might help yuh both.

“Suppose, parson, that you kinda adopts the lady. Let everybody think she’s your daughter. It ain’t goin’ to hurt neither one of you, is it? Kinda gives her protection, parson.”

The old minister nodded slowly over his coffee and turned to the girl.

“My dear, I think our friend is right. I am more than ready to offer my protection, if you will accept.”

“But why should we stoop to deception?” asked Mary. “Surely there is no harm in my going to Sunbeam to seek my father.”

“Sunbeam,” said Skeeter, “won’t care a ---- what you came there for. You’d be a maverick, miss. No, yuh better go in there as a preacher’s daughter.”

“Well,” said Mary wearily, “it does not make the slightest difference to me. I fail to see why I should do this, except to humor you, Mr. Bill.”

Skeeter Bill nodded seriously, but his face broke into a wide smile as he looked at her.

“Name’s Sarg, ma’am. Everybody calls me Skeeter Bill for short. I dunno whether you made any more mistakes in your discourse or not, ’cause I don’t _sabe_ anythin’ except English and cuss-words, but I appears to decipher that you’ll be the preacher’s daughter.”

Mary Leeds nodded and smiled. It was almost impossible to look at Skeeter’s homely face without smiling. The old man was slowly sipping at his coffee, looking absently off across the desert, but now he turned to Skeeter.

“My son, what line of endeavor do you pursue?”

Skeeter looked up quickly and stared at the old man.

“Just grazed me, parson,” he said softly. “Hit me dead center with plain United States, will yuh?”

“I do not understand you.”

Skeeter reached out a hand to the minister.

“Shake,” he grinned. “_Sabe_ sign-talk?”

“Sign-talk? No, I--I----”

“We’re kinda ace-deuce, I reckon, parson. Your talk goes antegodlin’ to me and I reckon my _wau-wau_ fogs your brain complete-like. Just what did you ask me?”

“He wants to know what you do for a living,” explained Mary Leeds, smiling at Skeeter’s serious expression.

“Me?” Skeeter debated for a moment. “I’m a horse-thief.”

“A horse-thief?” echoed Mary, while both of them stared blankly at Skeeter.

“When there’s horses,” nodded Skeeter. “Feller can’t be too particular, yuh know. Might get into a goat country and starve to death.”

“I can not believe that statement,” declared Mary.

“Yuh can’t?” Skeeter’s smile faded. “That’s the worst of it,” he wailed. “If I lied you’d believe me, but when I tell the truth I’m called a liar.”

“Surely you are not sincere,” said the minister. “No man will willingly admit a thing that would incriminate himself. It is ridiculous for you to assert to us that you follow such a sordid profession.”

Skeeter got slowly to his feet and brushed some crumbs off his wrinkled shirt.

“I reckon you two can ride my bronc to Sunbeam. He’s broke to pack double, but I dunno a ---- thing about this hammer-headed ring-tail what belonged to Mears; so I’ll fork him myself.”

“I do not attempt to follow your discourse,” stated the minister, “but I wish you would eliminate the profanity, especially in the presence of the lady.”

“My ----!” gasped Skeeter Bill, and turned to Mary. “Ma’am, I spent six weeks in a Cree Indian lodge. Had a busted leg, and the sheriff was ridin’ sign on me. It was natcheral that I hankered for information, but the old war-whoop didn’t _sabe_ English and I didn’t _sabe_ Cree; so we argued to beat ---- for six weeks and parted friends, ’cause neither one of us knowed what the other one meant. I’m kinda between, I reckon. A wise man uses words which I don’t _sabe_, and a ---- fool talks stuff that there ain’t no sense to.”

“Please do not swear so much,” begged the minister.

“Swear--so--much?” Skeeter Bill was amazed. “Why, parson, I ain’t swore once.”

“I do not wish to appear critical,” stated the minister, “but your adjectives are a--uh--trifle--uh----”

Skeeter Bill scratched his chin and studied the old minister, who was trying to grasp the proper word to convey the exact meaning. Mary Leeds turned away to hide a smile. Skeeter broke the silence.

“We’ll let her go as she lays, parson. There’s peace between us now, but I’ll send you a red belt as sure as ----, if yuh don’t quit talkin’ thataway. Let’s hit the trail. I want to get home before the judge gets so drunk I can’t rope him to a saddle.”

VI

Judge Tareyton awoke from his debauch. To him there was no “morning after” because of the fact that his drunks corresponded to the average man’s daily doings. The jug was empty, which also corresponded to the empty cupboard to the average man. The judge did not hunger, but he thirsted a-plenty.

As he placed the jug back on the chair, some one rapped loudly on the door. To have said, “Come in” would have been a very great effort for the judge’s dry throat; so he got shakily out of bed and answered the knock in person. It was a miner, bearded to the eyes and with the muck of the creek upon him. The judge shoved his frowsy face through the door and waited for the other to speak.

“Feller named Sarg live here?”

The judge took this under advisement, but finally admitted it with a curt nod.

“Here now?” asked the miner.

The judge considered this question, but gave a negative shake of his head. The man turned as if to leave, when the judge decided to take a chance on his vocal cords.

“What did you require of him?”

The man stopped and looked at the judge, as though undecided whether to disclose his mission or not. He stepped in closer and in a confidential tone inquired:

“Do yuh know if he heard about the vigilance committee or not?”

Judge Tareyton’s face twitched, but he cleared his aching throat and shook his head.

“We’re goin’ to make these thieves around here danged hard to catch.”

The judge swallowed with great difficulty, and watched the man walk away. He shut the door, stumbled back to his bunk and sank down.

“Vigilance committee!” he gasped aloud, and then added, “Lookin’ for Skeeter Bill.”

He picked up the empty jug, hoping against hope that it contained something beside an odor, but cast it aside, after holding it unsteadily over a tin cup. He looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock. Where was Skeeter Bill? Maybe the vigilantes had already found him. The judge groaned aloud at his inability to do anything, when prompt action was needed.

He lifted his wadded pillow and disclosed two big Colt pistols. At least he could help a little, he thought. His hand trembled with the weight of one of them, the barrel describing irregular circles. He laid the gun on the bed and shook his head.

“I’m a menace to myself,” he said aloud. “Not even able to hold a gun. As God is my judge, if I ever get over this--I’ll very likely do it all over again. I’ll----”

He stopped talking aloud to himself and stared at the floor. Again he looked at his watch.

“Five hours!” he grunted hoarsely. “Five hours they gave us to get out. Where is Skeeter Bill? Have they killed him?”

The judge almost squeaked that last question, but the bare walls of the shack did not even echo a reply. He got to his feet, found the remains of an old derby hat, an old Prince Albert coat, faded and torn. Fully attired he looked at himself in a broken mirror. For a moment he stared at the reflection, and with a sweep of his hand sent the glass crashing to the floor. His hand went to his eyes and he stumbled toward the door, where he stopped and looked back.

“Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us, to see oursel’s as ithers see us,” he quoted bitterly. “Seven years of bad luck for breaking a mirror. Judge Tareyton, you’re a disreputable old reprobate! By gad, sir, you are not fit to wear a steel bill and pick food in a barnyard with the chickens. I repeat, sir; you disgrace me. I wish----”

Came the sound of footsteps on the hard ground outside. For a moment the judge hesitated. There was not the slightest doubt but what this was either the vigilantes or some of Leeds’ men, he thought. He settled his battered derby at a more secure angle, squared his stubbled jaw and opened the door. There stood Skeeter Bill, a girl and an old man.

* * * * *

Judge Tareyton rubbed a hand across his eyes and stared at them. The girl was smiling at him, and the judge wondered if it was for him or at him. Skeeter turned to the minister and the girl.

“Folks, I wants to make yuh used to Judge Tareyton.” Then he turned to the judge. “This here is a preacher named Weston, and the lady is his daughter.”

The judge removed his battered hat and bowed low. It was an almost disastrous bow, for the judge was not at all steady in the knees, and his recovery was just a bit wabbly.

“Sir and ma’am, I am honored. Welcome to our humble village. There is not much for a visitor to see, that is true, but you must remember that the place is still in its swaddling clothes. Did I understand that you are a minister of the gospel?”

“Correctly,” nodded the minister. “I am here to bring a message to the dim places. Perhaps it is just a trifle strange for a man of my age to take up missionary work, but I felt called to do this and--I am here.”

“No doubt of that,” nodded the judge absently. “Not a scintilla of doubt.”

The judge shifted his bleared eyes and swept the visible part of the town.

“Sir, I have often groped for a word which would describe Sunbeam, but until now it has evaded me. Dim. Yes, that is the word. By gad, sir, this most surely is one of the dim places, and I hope your light never flickers.”

“God willing, it never will, sir.”

“I’m backin’ his play, judge,” stated Skeeter Bill.

Judge Tareyton stared at Skeeter, as if not believing his own ears. He stared at Skeeter until Skeeter shifted uneasily under that steady gaze.

“Perhaps we had better go to the hotel,” said Mary Leeds.

“There ain’t none,” replied Skeeter slowly. “I just been thinkin’ that mebbe Mrs. Porter would take yuh both in. Don’t yuh reckon that’s the best idea, judge?”

The judge nodded slowly and cleared his throat.

“A very, very good idea, Skeeter Bill. I have no doubt but what the good soul would welcome them.”

Skeeter Bill turned as if to go on, but the judge stopped him.

“Skeeter Bill, have you four-bits? The oil has all burned out of the old lamp.”

Skeeter grinned and handed him a silver dollar.

“Come on, folks, we’ll visit Mrs. Porter. _Adios_, judge.”

The judge nearly fell trying to execute his bow and move swiftly toward the street at the same time. His whole being shrieked for liquor and he forgot Leeds’ warning or the danger of a vigilance committee. His right hand gripped that silver dollar until it fairly cut into the palm of his hand.

“Dim places,” he muttered as he stumbled into the street. “By gad, the old lamp is badly in need of oil.”

Blindly he entered the Panhandle and leaned on the bar. The dollar clattered on the painted wood, the clink of bottle-neck on thin glass--the old lamp flickered up again.

Mrs. Porter had been made a widow by virtue of a stick of dynamite, which did not live up to its scientific principles of only exploding when detonated. She had found herself alone in Sunbeam, in dire necessity of making a living; so she turned to the business of laundress.

History of the old West does not record that outlaws ever stooped to dealing with such plebeian things as a bundle of laundry, but it is a fact that many of them had human desires for clean clothes. Skeeter Bill and the judge had little knowledge of laundry--hence the acquaintance of Mrs. Porter and her flat-irons.

Mrs. Porter was busily engaged in her chosen profession when Skeeter Bill arrived with his charges.

“Would you believe it?” exclaimed Mrs. Porter, after the introductions. “A preacher and his girl! Well, now ain’t it too bad you didn’t show up a month ago? Jim Porter didn’t have no preacher to speak over him. Jim was pretty good--good as husbands go--and it was hard to plant him without any respectable prayers.”

“Can yuh put ’em up for a while, ma’am?” asked Skeeter Bill.

“I can, Mr. Sarg. I have a cot for the lady; and the preacher--” Mrs. Porter sized up the old minister, much to his embarrassment-- “I think he ain’t too long for the lounge. Jim hung over at both ends, when he layed down on it, but you’re kinda runty. Sure, I can put you up. When do you start preachin’?”

“Is there a church?”

“A church?” Mrs. Porter wiped a soapy hand on her apron and looked appealingly at Skeeter. “Church in Sunbeam? Now would you listen to the innocent man, Mr. Sarg?”

“I reckon they don’t understand Sunbeam, ma’am,” said Skeeter, and added, “But I reckon they’ll learn.”

“I dunno.” Mrs. Porter shook her head sadly. “I dunno. Jim Porter ’lowed he knowed dynamite from A to Izzard. ’Course, nobody knows what Jim done, but it’s almost a cinch he got flip with a stick of it. Say, Jeff Billings had some laundry here, which is a total loss to me, as you might say.”

Skeeter Bill rubbed his chin for a moment, but reached in his pocket and took out some money.

“Dollar cover it, ma’am?”

“Plenty,” nodded Mrs. Porter, accepting the silver. “Might as well take the stuff and wear it.”

Skeeter opened his mouth several times, as if unable to frame a reply, but finally shook his head violently. Skeeter Bill was hard-boiled, but he could hardly think of wearing the clothes of the man he had killed.

“Go right in the house,” urged Mrs. Porter, and Mary Leeds and the minister started in.

“Ain’t you comin’ in, Mr. Sarg?” asked Mrs. Porter.

“Nope,” Skeeter shook his head. “I--I’ve gotta job to do. See yuh later, folks.”

“Thank you so much,” said Mary Leeds, holding out her hand.

Skeeter reached for the hand, but missed and grasped her elbow, much to his confusion, but he shook her arm solemnly and hurried away without looking back.

“Gee cripes!” he muttered to himself. “Clumsy danged hippy-pot-a-must! Can’t even shake hands. That drunken old pardner of mine makes me ashamed that I never learned how to bow. Now, I reckon I’ve got to turn reg’lar killer to make good with the sky-pilot.”

He swung into the street and headed for the Panhandle.

VII

The silver dollar worked wonders with Judge Tareyton. After the second drink he began to realize the seriousness of his position. Leeds’ warning, as told by Skeeter, came back to him. Nervously he ran the back of his hand across his lips and turned his head slowly, feeling that some one was watching him.

Behind him, leaning against the edge of a table, stood Tug Leeds. They faced each other. The liquor had made the judge strangely cool, and his form straightened in dignity as he gazed upon the man who had ordered him out of the town. Then Tug Leeds spoke.

“Still in town, eh?”

“I beg your pa’don,” drawled the judge slowly, brushing an imaginary speck from the lapel of his frayed coat. “You spoke to me, sir?”

Tug Leeds walked slowly up to the judge, his heavy under-jaw shoved out, as if trying to intimidate the other with his physical appearance. He halted with his face within a foot of the judge’s face and stared into his eyes.

“You know ---- well I spoke to you!” snarled Tug. “I told Sarg I’d give yuh both five hours to git out of this country. I reckon he had brains enough to take my warnin’.”

“You gave us five hours?” queried the judge. “By gad, that was generous of you, sir--mighty generous. Not to be outdone in generosity, Skeeter Bill gave us five hours, and the least I could do would be to reciprocate, which gave us a grand total of fifteen hours. I am sure that Skeeter Bill will join me in thanking you kindly, sir.”

For a moment Tug Leeds studied this reply. Tug was slow of understanding, but it suddenly dawned upon him that the judge was making a fool of him and belittling his warning.

Like a flash, Tug drew back his right hand and drove his fist into the judge’s face. The blow sent the judge staggering back, blinded by the impact. Leeds sprang into him, striking with both hands. The judge went to his knees, with both hands covering his face.

Came the scrape of a boot across the threshold and a lithe, lanky figure flashed past the crouched figure of the old judge and faced Tug Leeds. Skeeter Bill’s face was white with wrath. His eyes were mere, indistinct slits under his eyebrows, and the big humorous mouth was as narrow and harsh as a pencil-mark.

Tug Leeds’ hand dropped to his gun and he tried to move back, but Skeeter struck--struck as the panther strikes, and the blow, curving downward, struck Leeds on the chin. The force of the blow seemed to unhook Leeds’ under-jaw and paralyze his nerves.

Swiftly Skeeter moved ahead half a step. A long, left arm uncoiled, with the weight of that long, muscular body behind it and the fist caught Leeds under that sagging chin. Came the snap of teeth, a short animal-like grunt, and Tug Leeds slumped in a heap--knocked cold.

Quickly Skeeter Bill caught his balance and faced the room, a heavy Colt pistol tense at his hip. But the awed crowd made no move. Several of Leeds’ men were in the audience, but they remained unmoved. The judge got slowly to his feet, blood trickling from his battered face, and looked around. Tug Leeds did not move. The judge looked from Tug to Skeeter, and then stepped over beside Tug, where he appeared to examine the fallen man.

“Skeeter Bill,” he said painfully, “I’m sorry you hit him so hard.”

“You feelin’ sorry for him?” Skeeter’s voice was barely audible.

The judge nodded.

“Skeeter, I am sorry for any man who was born without any conception of humor. This man would be a good citizen if he knew when to laugh.”

Skeeter did not reply. It is doubtful whether he knew what the judge meant. He had not taken his eyes off the men in front of him. Now he spoke.

“I just want to say to yuh all; I’m goin’ to stay in Sunbeam--as--long--as--I--live. Any of yuh can pack that talk to Tug Leeds when he wakes up. Yuh can tell him that I’m goin’ to kill the next man what touches my pardner. That goes for Sunbeam; _sabe?_”

Without turning his head he spoke to the judge--

“Go out ahead of me, pardner.”

The judge turned and went out of the door, and Skeeter Bill backed slowly out of the place until he hit the rickety board sidewalk, where he stepped swiftly aside out of range of the windows and hurried after the judge.

They walked back to their shack and went inside before either spoke a word. Skeeter got a towel and sponged the blood from the judge’s face, working as tenderly as a woman.

“Ought to ’a’ let him start to pull,” muttered Skeeter. “Reckon I forgot I had a gun.”

Skeeter finished his rough surgery, and the judge walked over across the room to where the mirror had hung, but remembered smashing it.

“I am beginning to be superstitious, Skeeter Bill,” he said, turning to Skeeter. “I smashed our mirror today, and the old belief concerning broken mirrors seems to have started its baleful predictions.”

“Tug Leeds must ’a’ smashed one, too,” grinned Skeeter, examining his sore knuckles. Then, seriously, “What did he say to you, judge?”

“Chided me for not obeying his order. He was under the impression that you had left the country. By the way, Skeeter Bill, the miners are forming a vigilance committee to run out outlawry from Sunbeam.”

“What?” Skeeter Bill got to his feet staring at the judge. “Vigilance committee? How do yuh know?”

“One of them came looking for you.”

* * * * *

Skeeter Bill’s eyes were serious and the lines deepened around his mouth. It was one thing to fight outlaws and another to fight against law and order. It was true that no one knew him as one of the outlaws, none that he knew about, but why should one of the committee come to find him? The judge’s voice brought him out of his reveries.

“What about this minister and the girl, Skeeter Bill? What did you mean by saying that you were going to back them?”

“What I said, I reckon,” replied Skeeter, staring at the floor.

“Getting religious, Skeeter Bill?” softly.

Skeeter looked at the judge and a smile wreathed his lips.

“No-o-o, I reckon not, judge. Yuh see I kinda figured that a sky-pilot would rasp Tug Leeds plumb ragged. Tug orates that he owns the town, and I knowed he’d just about rise and shine at the idea of holdin’ church in Sunbeam.”

“Just where did you discover these folks?”

Skeeter told him of the fight at the Poplar Springs, and the wiping out of the whole outfit, with the exceptions of the minister and the girl. Judge Tareyton listened closely to the description of the burial, shaking his head sadly.