Part 4

“I knew Williams,” he said softly. “Tug Leeds’ soul, if he has a soul, should shrivel and die with last night’s work. Williams was a good man. By gad, Skeeter Bill, this outlawry should be wiped out! Leeds and his crew should be dangling from ropes at this minute. I’m----”

“Hol’ on,” said Skeeter hoarsely, “Hol’ on, judge. I’m no better than they are. I ain’t never killed no helpless folks--ain’t never killed no man who ain’t had a even break, but I reckon mebbe they’d better string me up with the rest of ’em.”

Judge Tareyton stared at Skeeter Bill’s outburst. It was not often that Skeeter Bill showed any emotion by voice or action, but now his homely face was very serious, and his long arms dangled loosely at his sides as he stared into space.

For an appreciable space of time not a word was spoken; then the judge crossed the room and put his hand on Skeeter Bill’s shoulder.

Skeeter looked up quickly.

“Don’t say it, pardner. You’d argue that I wasn’t as bad as that bunch and didn’t deserve what they do, but you’re wrong. If they deserve a rope--so do I.”

“Skeeter Bill,” said the judge softly, “you jump at conclusions. I was just going to agree with you.”

Skeeter looked up at the serious expression on Judge Tareyton’s face and broke into a laugh. Skeeter Bill did not confine his merriment to facial contortions and vocal expression--he laughed from his heels to his head.

“They may hang you,” said the judge when Skeeter had regained normal conditions, “but I am fairly sure that you will be the only one at the occasion to see any humor in the situation.”

“I hope it’s a funny hangin’,” said Skeeter, serious again. “’Pears to me that it’s a even bet whether I get hung or killed with a bullet. Kinda between the devil and the deep blue sea, as my dad used to say. I ain’t got much choice, I reckon, unless it is to get out of town, and I hates to be herded.”

“Perhaps we had better go,” suggested the judge. “There are many, many places where we could go, Skeeter Bill. Suppose we pack up our belongings and----”

“Hol’ on!” Skeeter shook his head. “What about the old minister and the girl? I reckon I’ve got to see that they gets a square deal. I tol’ the old sky-pilot that I was with him from the dally to the hondo, and I can’t renege, judge.”

“But what can you do?” argued the judge. “One man against a dozen or more. No, I think we had better go.”

Skeeter Bill shook his head.

“Nope.”

Judge Tareyton studied Skeeter for a while, a half-smile on his face.

“Has this--uh--young lady anything to do with your ---- stubbornness, Skeeter Bill?”

Skeeter looked up quickly.

“I don’t reckon so, judge. No-o-o, I wasn’t thinkin’ about her.”

“Nice looking girl,” observed the judge wisely. “Very fine face. Well worth knowing, I might say. Her father did wrong in bringing her here.”

“He didn’t.” Skeeter shook his head. “Not the way you mean, judge. She came lookin’ for him.”

“Looking for him? What do you mean?”

Skeeter smiled.

“That preacher ain’t her father. I just fixed it up thataway so she’d have protection. She comes here kinda huntin’ her father, like I said before, but I--her father is--Tug Leeds.”

“Tug Leeds?” The judge’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.

“Her name is Mary Leeds,” explained Skeeter. “She’s likely forgot what he looks like, bein’ as she ain’t seen him for fourteen years. She heard somebody say that a man named Leeds lived in Sunbeam. I dunno how to tell her, ’cause Tug ain’t fit to be her dad.”

Judge Tareyton’s mouth twitched and his hand trembled as he wiped it across his dry lips. For a few moments he seemed incapable of speech.

“I dunno how we can keep her from findin’ it out,” said Skeeter helplessly. “She don’t know how low her dad is, judge.”

“No,” said the judge hoarsely. “No, she don’t, Skeeter Bill, and we’ve got to keep her from ever findin’ it out, if we can.”

“Which don’t stop him from bein’ her dad,” said Skeeter. “She’s got to find it out pretty soon. Tug Leeds is too prominent, and somebody is bound to mention him where she can hear it. Nobody outside of me and you and his gang knows what he really is, but everybody knows he kinda bosses the town, and they all knows the kind of--shucks!”

“You had a fair start, Skeeter Bill, but you got all tangled up with words. I know what you mean anyway. Just what is to be done? We must try and keep the girl from meeting him, because she is too fine, I think, to have her future marred by knowing that she is the daughter of Tug Leeds.”

Skeeter stared at the judge for a moment and got to his feet. He was very deliberate as he dug under the pillow on the bunk and took out one of the heavy pistols, which he shoved inside the waist-band of his overalls.

“What is the idea, Skeeter Bill?” asked the judge.

Skeeter half-smiled.

“I’m goin’ to kill Tug Leeds, judge. Mebbe we can get somebody to tell her that Bill Jones got in the road of my bullet. Anyway, we can get him buried before she has a chance to find out who he was, and, anyway, she ain’t seen him for years.”

The judge nodded slowly, as if in agreement with Skeeter’s scheme, but when Skeeter finished the judge said:

“Rough in construction, Skeeter Bill. The intent is very good, I might say, but your scheme reminds me of the Frenchman’s flea-powder directions, ‘First you must catch de leetle flea.’ When you open that door again, you are an animated target for Leeds’ men. Does----”

* * * * *

Both men glanced at the door and at each other. Some one was knocking softly on the outside. Skeeter Bill backed against the wall, loosened both guns and nodded to the judge, who had walked close to the door. He opened the door, shielding himself with it as he swung it open.

Three men, one of them the miner who had inquired for Skeeter that morning, were standing at the door. He nodded to the judge and said--

“Sarg in yet?”

“Sure is,” said Skeeter Bill, moving toward the door.

He had a smile on his face, a careless swing to his slow movements, but both hands were kept near his guns, as he came up beside the judge.

“Like to talk to yuh, Sarg,” said the miner. “Can we come inside?”

“Sure--come on in,” nodded Sarg, and the three men filed past him.

Two of them sat down, but the spokesman stood near the table. He was a middle-aged man, his beard and hair slightly gray. The other two were younger, but their clothes and general appearance proclaimed them to be placer miners.

“My name’s John McClung,” stated the spokesman, “McClung of the Solomon.” He pointed to the other two. “This is Jerry Byler, of the Ophir, and Dick Franklyn, of the Keystone.”

“Glad t’ meetcha,” nodded Skeeter. “Gents, this is Judge Tareyton, my pardner. Whatcha got on your mind?”

McClung hesitated, as if a trifle afraid to start the conversation. He cleared his throat softly.

“Sarg, you killed Jeff Billings yesterday.”

Skeeter’s eyes flashed from face to face, but there was nothing to show that these men were more than mildly interested in the fact that he had killed Billings.

“Uh-huh,” nodded Skeeter. “An’ then what?”

“Billings was a gun-fighter,” stated McClung. “He had a bad rep. We found out today that Billings was the leader of the gang that robbed my place and took two hundred ounces of gold.”

“Two men was killed,” said Byler. “Two men that we didn’t know. They has been buried.”

“Two hundred ounces of gold ain’t goin’ to break me,” continued McClung, “but it shows that we’ve got to protect ourselves. Billings wasn’t alone in this here robbery. We just heard that Rance Williams was killed at Poplar Springs last night and his whole outfit wiped out--all except a preacher and his girl. This preacher told Jerry.”

“Jerry was over to see Mrs. Porter,” said Franklyn meaningly. “He has dirty shirts every day in the week and two on Sunday.”

“I found ’em,” nodded Skeeter.

“They said yuh did,” agreed Byler. “That’s one of the reasons we come to see yuh. McClung was lookin’ for yuh this mornin’. After we found out that yuh brought the preacher and the girl in, we came again.”

“Just why did yuh want to see me?” asked Skeeter.

“’Cause you’ve got nerve,” stated McClung quickly. “Sunbeam needs a man with nerve right now.” He looked at the judge and back at Skeeter. “Your pardner is a lawyer, and we kinda reckoned that a lawyer won’t hurt us none, bein’ as we wants this kinda done right. We’re formin’ a vigilance committee and we need a leader. You are the man we need.”

Skeeter turned his head slightly and looked at the judge, who was staring at the floor, a half-smile on his flabby face.

“Tug Leeds said you was the right man to get,” said Byler.

Skeeter’s mouth sagged for a moment at this statement, but he turned slowly to Byler, a quizzical smile on his lips.

“Tug Leeds said that?”

“Today,” nodded McClung. “Kinda funny, at that. We talked about you last night. Tug has bought half-interest in the Keystone--bought it this mornin’, and he comes to Dick and opines that the best thing to do is to get up a vigilance committee to stamp out the outlaws. He said that you was the one man in Sunbeam to be the leader.”

“Anybody speak about me before he did?” asked Skeeter.

“I did,” replied Franklyn. “Tug offered me a big price for half of my claim, and after the deal was all closed, he suggested this committee. I told him we had talked it over, and kinda figured on gettin’ you for a leader. He said he thought it was a good scheme, but he said he’d take charge if we couldn’t get hold of you.”

“It’s goin’ to take a little time,” said McClung. “We don’t know just what we’re goin’ to do first, and we don’t want to make no bad moves. All we wants is for you to take charge of it, if yuh can. Yore pardner can give us the benefit of what he knows about law. We don’t want to go ----in’ into somethin’ and do it all wrong.”

“No,” agreed the judge absently, “you do not want to do things wrong. It is a weighty problem, gentlemen, and I would like to talk things over with Mr. Sarg before he decides what he will do.”

“Sure, take your time,” agreed McClung. “This ain’t nothin’ yuh can rush, but we’ve got to kinda get organized as soon as possible. When can yuh let us know?”

“Tomorrow,” replied the judge. “Tomorrow morning, I reckon.”

“Seen Leeds lately?” asked Skeeter.

“Not since early this mornin’,” replied Franklyn. “He came to my cabin and bought in with me. Said he thought you had left Sunbeam for good.”

“Might be a good thing for you to have a talk with Leeds,” suggested McClung. “Seems like he’s got some good ideas on handlin’ this here proposition.”

Skeeter nodded slowly.

“Mebbe I better do that, McClung. I’ll try and see yuh tomorrow.”

* * * * *

The three miners shook hands with Skeeter and the judge and went out. Skeeter watched them walk back toward the north end of town and then turned back to the judge, who was sitting on the edge of the bunk, holding his head in his hands.

“Skeeter Bill,” he said hoarsely, “I want to laugh. I want to shake my sides with merriment, but I am--too-- ---- dry. I’d sell my soul to a scavenger for one drink of bad whisky.”

Skeeter studied him for a few moments. There was no question but what Judge Tareyton was suffering. Skeeter walked to a corner of the room, lifted a half-nailed board and groped under the rough flooring. His hand came up holding a quart flask of liquor, and he looked at it in disgust. He looked back at the humped figure on the bunk, and the lines of his face softened.

“Judge,” he said, as he walked slowly over to the bunk, “I had this cached away for a rainy day. I reckon we’ll prognosticate a stormy night.”

Judge Tareyton lifted his head and stared at the bottle. His tongue-tip ran slowly across his dry upper lip and his bushy eyebrows lifted perceptibly, as he reached for the bottle.

“Skeeter Bill, you have saved my life,” he whispered. “The devil laughs at a time like this.”

He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank greedily. The liquor flashed through his being and he shrugged his heavy shoulders, as if shuddering from pain.

“Well!” He looked up at Skeeter seriously. “Well, I hope he gets a good laugh out of it, because I believe in giving the devil his due.”

“What do you think of Leeds?” asked Skeeter.

“Clever scoundrel,” pronounced the judge; “anticipated the vigilantes by joining at once. Became a mine-owner for self-protection.”

“Told ’em I’d make a good leader,” mused Skeeter.

“Protecting himself in case you are assassinated,” declared the judge. “Make you the leader, because you can’t very well denounce him without incriminating yourself. You will soon be killed and he will be the leader. Tug Leeds is fairly clever, Skeeter Bill, and he will use the vigilante organization to further his own ends.”

“No, I can’t tell on him,” agreed Skeeter. “I kinda like these miners, judge. They’re right, don’t yuh know they are? I ain’t no danged milk-fed calf, judge, but I kinda wish me and you was right. Aw, I ain’t afraid of Tug Leeds, nor afraid of them honest miners, but----”

Judge Tareyton sat staring at the half-empty bottle, scratching at the dirty label with a rough thumb nail. He looked up at Skeeter.

“I know how yuh feel, Skeeter Bill. God put a spark of something into all of us--a spark that flares up once in a while. I had one--once, but I guess I drowned it with hooch.”

“Aw-w, you’re all right,” said Skeeter quickly; “I was thinkin’ about me. I’ve stole cows, horses, money and I’ve killed men. I’ve been a ----winder of a cute little person, ain’t I?

“Now, some honest men comes along and asks me to help ’em put a rope around the necks of my own kind. Me and you and Tug Leeds are the only ones in Sunbeam what knows who I am. Tug knowed about me from somebody down Mohave way, I reckon, and that’s why he asks me to work with him. Billings and ‘Blondy’ Jones and ‘Kid’ Sisler knowed I was in that Solomon deal, but they’re all gone now. Tug is the only one of the gang what could yelp out loud about me. The rest could only say what they’ve heard.”

“You promised to help that preacher,” reminded the judge.

“Sure did, judge. That goes as she lays, and I reckon the only way I can help out his cause is to kill Tug Leeds right away.”

Skeeter opened the door to go out, but stopped on the threshold, facing the Reverend Josiah Weston.

VIII

Skeeter’s blows had both injured and humiliated Tug Leeds. His lower jaw pained him greatly, but the greater pain was within his soul, for Tug Leeds had never been knocked out before. He knew that his power in Sunbeam had dwindled, because no man respects or cares to take orders from the vanquished.

Nothing was said about the fight to him. He was allowed to recover in his own way, get to his feet by his own volition. Tug was in a killing mood when he went back to his own room and proceeded to imbibe quantities of liquor and rub liniment on his wrenched jaw muscles.

“Twin” Shevlin, who had charge of the Panhandle gambling business, thoroughly enjoyed it. Tug had beaten Twin thoroughly a week before, and Twin’s crooked mind had worked overtime in wishing disaster to come upon Tug Leeds.

Twin was a frail anemic flash gambler type. His linen was always spotless, his nails manicured and his tiny mustache always trimmed to a nicety. Twin was a crooked gambler. Otherwise he would not have been in Tug Leeds’ employ.

It was Twin who first saw Mary Leeds as she came quietly into the gambling-hall, looking timidly around, and he lost no time in approaching her. He listened while she asked permission to post a notice in the place. He read one of the hand-printed notices and looked thoughtfully at her.

“I’ll see the boss, if you want me to,” said Twin and went back to the room, where Tug was lying on his bed.

Tug cursed vitriolically at the request, but sat up when Twin described the girl. Girls were scarce in Sunbeam. The habitués of the Panhandle were greatly interested in Mary Leeds. The coarse dance-hall girls examined her raiment at close range and were not a bit delicate in their comments, but scattered like partridges at the approach of Tug Leeds.

Tug read the notices, a cold glint in his eyes, and was about to give the girl to understand that religion was not wanted in Sunbeam, when she mentioned the fact that Mr. Sarg was going to help them. Tug grew interested.

“What did yuh say Sarg was goin’ to do?” he asked.

Mary told him about the trouble at the Poplar Springs, and of how Skeeter Bill had assisted them. The Panhandle crowd listened closely while she innocently told of how Skeeter Bill was going to help them bring the gospel to Sunbeam. Tug nursed his sore jaw and worked his mind overtime.

The Reverend Josiah Weston came to the Panhandle, looking for Mary Leeds, just in time to be taken into consideration by Tug Leeds.

“Your daughter’s been tellin’ me about how yuh got taken in by Skeeter Sarg,” stated Tug. “He’s a slick _hombre_, that feller. Murdered Jeff Billings yesterday, and we runs him out of town. Likely mixed up in that killin’ at the Springs and came back to see if there was anythin’ he overlooked.”

The Reverend Dr. Weston was shocked. Mary Leeds started to voice her unbelief, but the buzz of corroborative conversation, regarding the killing of Jeff Billings, convinced her that her estimate of Skeeter Bill was all wrong. It was hard to believe that Skeeter Bill was a murderer, but facts are facts. Skeeter had told them that he was a horse-thief.

“But,” objected the Reverend Weston, “why should he be so anxious to assist us?”

Tug grinned and caressed his sore jaw. His eyes turned to Mary Leeds and back to the minister.

“Pretty girls are scarce in this country,” he said enigmatically.

Mary Leeds flushed and a suppressed giggle came from the group of dance-hall girls.

“Do you mean to say that Mr. Sarg had ulterior motives?” asked the minister.

“I reckon yuh might call it that, if yuh wanted to be polite,” agreed Tug. “He sure had a motive.”

Tug grinned and glanced around the room. There was no one in the place except his own crowd. Leaning against the bar, one arm in a sling, stood Sandy McClain, indifferently watching and listening. Tug’s eyes narrowed at the sight of McClain and their glances met.

McClain was thin-faced, thin-lipped, with eyes as expressionless as blue agate. McClain was a capable man--too capable. He was like a wolf which runs with the pack, but is not one of them; a strong fighter, which seems to bide its time to step in and wrest the leadership from the old pack master. Tug Leeds feared McClain.

Tug’s eyes shifted from McClain and he spoke directly to the minister.

“Your horse-thief friend promised yuh a lot, I reckon, but I’ll show yuh that Sunbeam appreciates your comin’. Tonight at nine o’clock I’ll let yuh preach right in here--here in the Panhandle.”

For a moment there was silence--then McClain laughed. It was not a hearty laugh, but a toneless flutter of the vocal cords. The crowd flashed a look at McClain, but his face had not changed expression. In fact he was not seemingly interested in the conversation. Tug’s heavy body stiffened, but he made no move. That laugh annoyed him.

“You--you mean that we can hold services in here?” faltered the minister.

“Y’betcha,” nodded Tug, his eyes still on McClain.

“I think it is very kind of you,” said Mary Leeds sweetly.

Again McClain’s lips parted in that toneless chuckle. His eyes lifted and he looked blankly at Tug for a moment and then moved sidewise to the door and went out.

The going of Sandy McClain seemed to leave a chill over the place. Gamblers looked at each other meaningly. One of the dance-hall girls drew a hand across her lips, leaving a crimson smudge across her cheek. They all had a feeling that something was going to happen very soon. McClain was a killer--a rattlesnake which might strike without any warning. There was also Skeeter Bill to reckon with. They looked askance at Mary Leeds, as if blaming her for interrupting the peace of Sunbeam.

“Then it is settled,” said the minister, breaking the quiet, “I shall hold services here this evening, and I want to thank you for your kindness to me and my--er--daughter. Good-day, sir.”

Mary Leeds turned and followed the old minister outside, while the crowd watched them in silence. Then Tug Leeds laughed loudly. Some of them, appreciating the wit and humor of their king, also laughed, but there was little mirth and no joy in the laughter.

IX

Skeeter Bill stared at the minister.

“I--I was just goin’ to start in helpin’ yuh,” stammered Skeeter, foolishly.

“I thank you,” said the old minister kindly. “It was fine of you not to forget me, but I do not think I will need any assistance. Things are progressing very nicely.”

“Yuh got started already?”

“Yes, indeed. Miss--er--my daughter----”

“Miss Leeds,” corrected Skeeter, as the minister hesitated at the sight of Judge Tareyton standing behind Skeeter. “The judge _sabes_ the whole works.”

“Ah, yes,” nodded the minister; “I see. As I was saying, she has been of very much service to me today. I was a trifle dubious over the reception accorded me, don’t you see. I talked with the estimable Mrs. Porter and she suggested that I--er--preach on the street. I could see the wisdom of such a course at once.

“Miss Leeds and I discussed this, with the result that I prepared several announcements for services this evening. Miss Leeds and I proceeded to post these in prominent places. There was no doubt of the sensation these created.”

“I reckon not,” drawled Skeeter.

“But that is not all,” said the minister triumphantly. “Miss Leeds asked the owner of a place called the Panhandle if she might post a notice therein. The man read it, rather curiously, I think, but acquiesced. He talked with Miss Leeds and I for some little time, but at the conclusion of this talk he offered to let us have the use of his entire establishment for the evening. I told him about your kindness to us.”

“Keep on talkin’,” said Skeeter seriously. “What did he say about me?”

“I told him that you were going to help me and he seemed to be greatly amused. You were very good to us, Mr. Sarg, and I came over to assure you that in spite of anything we appreciate your kindness.”

“In spite of anythin’,” repeated Skeeter. “You’re just as welcome as if you burned your shirt.”

For a while there was silence. The minister seemed to be trying to continue the conversation, but lacked fitting words. Skeeter Bill’s gaze slowly swept the rear of visible buildings and came back to the minister.

“Yuh don’t know what that man’s name was, do yuh?”

“They called him Mr. Tug, I think.”

“Mr. Tug,” said Skeeter slowly. “I know him.”

“Yes, I thought you did,” said the minister. “He told me he had ordered you out of town.”

“My ----!” gasped Skeeter. “He didn’t leave much of anythin’ to talk about, did he? Was the lady there when he talked so much?”

“Yes. He said she should know everything. But I assure you that we are very grateful----”

“You’re awful danged welcome,” said Skeeter bitterly. “Good day.”

Skeeter started to shut the door.

“Just a moment,” said the minister, and Skeeter turned his head. “Do you know of a family named Honkatonk? I have a message to the Honkatonk girls, and I----”

But Skeeter Bill shut the door, leaving the minister finishing his sentence to the exterior of the shack.

* * * * *

Judge Tareyton faced Skeeter and they stared at each other for several moments. From outside came the sound of footsteps as the minister turned and started away. Then the judge sat down on his bunk and picked up the bottle.

“At any rate, Skeeter Bill, you are relieved from any further necessity of assisting the spreading of gospel in Sunbeam town.”

Skeeter stared at the floor and rubbed a hand slowly across his chin.

“Well, judge, they can’t say I lied to ’em. I told ’em I was a horse-thief but they wouldn’t believe me.”