Zane Grey (26 page)

Blue drawled these last words, as if he enjoyed remembrance of his keen
reasoning. A smile wreathed his thin lips. He drew twice on the
cigarette and emitted another cloud of smoke. Quite suddenly then he
changed. He made a rapid gesture—the whip of a hand, significant and
passionate. And swift words followed:

"Colonel Lee Jorth stalked out of the store—out into the road—mebbe a
hundred steps. Then he halted. He wore his long black coat an' his
wide black hat, an' he stood like a stone.

"'What the hell!' burst out Blaisdell, comin' out of his trance.

"The rest of us jest looked. I'd forgot your dad, for the minnit. So
had all of us. But we remembered soon enough when we seen him stalk
out. Everybody had a hunch then. I called him. Blaisdell begged him
to come back. All the fellars; had a say. No use! Then I shore cussed
him an' told him it was plain as day thet Jorth didn't hit me like an
honest man. I can sense such things. I knew Jorth had trick up his
sleeve. I've not been a gun fighter fer nothin'.

"Your dad had no rifle. He packed his gun at his hip. He jest stalked
down thet road like a giant, goin' faster an' faster, holdin' his head
high. It shore was fine to see him. But I was sick. I heerd
Blaisdell groan, an' Fredericks thar cussed somethin' fierce.... When
your dad halted—I reckon aboot fifty steps from Jorth—then we all
went numb. I heerd your dad's voice—then Jorth's. They cut like
knives. Y'u could shore heah the hate they hed fer each other."

Blue had become a little husky. His speech had grown gradually to
denote his feeling. Underneath his serenity there was a different
order of man.

"I reckon both your dad an' Jorth went fer their guns at the same
time—an even break. But jest as they drew, some one shot a rifle from
the store. Must hev been a forty-five seventy. A big gun! The bullet
must have hit your dad low down, aboot the middle. He acted thet way,
sinkin' to his knees. An' he was wild in shootin'—so wild thet he
must hev missed. Then he wabbled—an' Jorth run in a dozen steps,
shootin' fast, till your dad fell over.... Jorth run closer, bent over
him, an' then straightened up with an Apache yell, if I ever heerd
one.... An' then Jorth backed slow—lookin' all the time—backed to the
store, an' went in."

Blue's voice ceased. Jean seemed suddenly released from an impelling
magnet that now dropped him to some numb, dizzy depth. Blue's lean
face grew hazy. Then Jean bowed his head in his hands, and sat there,
while a slight tremor shook all his muscles at once. He grew deathly
cold and deathly sick. This paroxysm slowly wore away, and Jean grew
conscious of a dull amaze at the apparent deadness of his spirit.
Blaisdell placed a huge, kindly hand on his shoulder.

"Brace up, son!" he said, with voice now clear and resonant. "Shore
it's what your dad expected—an' what we all must look for.... If yu
was goin' to kill Jorth before—think how — — shore y'u're goin' to
kill him now."

"Blaisdell's talkin'," put in Blue, and his voice had a cold ring. "Lee
Jorth will never see the sun rise ag'in!"

These calls to the primitive in Jean, to the Indian, were not in vain.
But even so, when the dark tide rose in him, there was still a haunting
consciousness of the cruelty of this singular doom imposed upon him.
Strangely Ellen Jorth's face floated back in the depths of his vision,
pale, fading, like the face of a spirit floating by.

"Blue," said Blaisdell, "let's get Isbel's body soon as we dare, an'
bury it. Reckon we can, right after dark."

"Shore," replied Blue. "But y'u fellars figger thet out. I'm thinkin'
hard. I've got somethin' on my mind."

Jean grew fascinated by the looks and speech and action of the little
gunman. Blue, indeed, had something on his mind. And it boded ill to
the men in that dark square stone house down the road. He paced to and
fro in the yard, back and forth on the path to the gate, and then he
entered the cabin to stalk up and down, faster and faster, until all at
once he halted as if struck, to upfling his right arm in a singular
fierce gesture.

"Jean, call the men in," he said, tersely.

They all filed in, sinister and silent, with eager faces turned to the
little Texan. His dominance showed markedly.

"Gordon, y'u stand in the door an' keep your eye peeled," went on Blue.
"... Now, boys, listen! I've thought it all out. This game of man
huntin' is the same to me as cattle raisin' is to y'u. An' my life in
Texas all comes back to me, I reckon, in good stead fer us now. I'm
goin' to kill Lee Jorth! Him first, an' mebbe his brothers. I had to
think of a good many ways before I hit on one I reckon will be shore.
It's got to be SHORE. Jorth has got to die! Wal, heah's my plan....
Thet Jorth outfit is drinkin' some, we can gamble on it. They're not
goin' to leave thet store. An' of course they'll be expectin' us to
start a fight. I reckon they'll look fer some such siege as they held
round Isbel's ranch. But we shore ain't goin' to do thet. I'm goin'
to surprise thet outfit. There's only one man among them who is
dangerous, an' thet's Queen. I know Queen. But he doesn't know me.
An' I'm goin' to finish my job before he gets acquainted with me. After
thet, all right!"

Blue paused a moment, his eyes narrowing down, his whole face setting
in hard cast of intense preoccupation, as if he visualized a scene of
extraordinary nature.

"Wal, what's your trick?" demanded Blaisdell.

"Y'u all know Greaves's store," continued Blue. "How them winders have
wooden shutters thet keep a light from showin' outside? Wal, I'm
gamblin' thet as soon as it's dark Jorth's gang will be celebratin'.
They'll be drinkin' an' they'll have a light, an' the winders will be
shut. They're not goin' to worry none aboot us. Thet store is like a
fort. It won't burn. An' shore they'd never think of us chargin' them
in there. Wal, as soon as it's dark, we'll go round behind the lots
an' come up jest acrost the road from Greaves's. I reckon we'd better
leave Isbel where he lays till this fight's over. Mebbe y'u 'll have
more 'n him to bury. We'll crawl behind them bushes in front of
Coleman's yard. An' heah's where Jean comes in. He'll take an ax, an'
his guns, of course, an' do some of his Injun sneakin' round to the
back of Greaves's store.... An', Jean, y'u must do a slick job of this.
But I reckon it 'll be easy fer you. Back there it 'll be dark as
pitch, fer anyone lookin' out of the store. An' I'm figgerin' y'u can
take your time an' crawl right up. Now if y'u don't remember how
Greaves's back yard looks I'll tell y'u."

Here Blue dropped on one knee to the floor and with a finger he traced
a map of Greaves's barn and fence, the back door and window, and
especially a break in the stone foundation which led into a kind of
cellar where Greaves stored wood and other things that could be left
outdoors.

"Jean, I take particular pains to show y'u where this hole is," said
Blue, "because if the gang runs out y'u could duck in there an' hide.
An' if they run out into the yard—wal, y'u'd make it a sorry run fer
them.... Wal, when y'u've crawled up close to Greaves's back door, an'
waited long enough to see an' listen—then you're to run fast an' swing
your ax smash ag'in' the winder. Take a quick peep in if y'u want to.
It might help. Then jump quick an' take a swing at the door. Y'u 'll
be standin' to one side, so if the gang shoots through the door they
won't hit y'u. Bang thet door good an' hard.... Wal, now's where I
come in. When y'u swing thet ax I'll shore run fer the front of the
store. Jorth an' his outfit will be some attentive to thet poundin' of
yours on the back door. So I reckon. An' they'll be lookin' thet way.
I'll run in—yell—an' throw my guns on Jorth."

"Humph! Is that all?" ejaculated Blaisdell.

"I reckon thet's all an' I'm figgerin' it's a hell of a lot," responded
Blue, dryly. "Thet's what Jorth will think."

"Where do we come in?"

"Wal, y'u all can back me up," replied Blue, dubiously. "Y'u see, my
plan goes as far as killin' Jorth—an' mebbe his brothers. Mebbe I'll
get a crack at Queen. But I'll be shore of Jorth. After thet all
depends. Mebbe it 'll be easy fer me to get out. An' if I do y'u
fellars will know it an' can fill thet storeroom full of bullets."

"Wal, Blue, with all due respect to y'u, I shore don't like your plan,"
declared Blaisdell. "Success depends upon too many little things any
one of which might go wrong."

"Blaisdell, I reckon I know this heah game better than y'u," replied
Blue. "A gun fighter goes by instinct. This trick will work."

"But suppose that front door of Greaves's store is barred," protested
Blaisdell.

"It hasn't got any bar," said Blue.

"Y'u're shore?"

"Yes, I reckon," replied Blue.

"Hell, man! Aren't y'u takin' a terrible chance?" queried Blaisdell.

Blue's answer to that was a look that brought the blood to Blaisdell's
face. Only then did the rancher really comprehend how the little
gunman had taken such desperate chances before, and meant to take them
now, not with any hope or assurance of escaping with his life, but to
live up to his peculiar code of honor.

"Blaisdell, did y'u ever heah of me in Texas?" he queried, dryly.

"Wal, no, Blue, I cain't swear I did," replied the rancher,
apologetically. "An' Isbel was always sort of' mysterious aboot his
acquaintance with you."

"My name's not Blue."

"Ahuh! Wal, what is it, then—if I'm safe to ask?" returned Blaisdell,
gruffly.

"It's King Fisher," replied Blue.

The shock that stiffened Blaisdell must have been communicated to the
others. Jean certainly felt amaze, and some other emotion not fully
realized, when he found himself face to face with one of the most
notorious characters ever known in Texas—an outlaw long supposed to be
dead.

"Men, I reckon I'd kept my secret if I'd any idee of comin' out of this
Isbel-Jorth war alive," said Blue. "But I'm goin' to cash. I feel it
heah.... Isbel was my friend. He saved me from bein' lynched in Texas.
An' so I'm goin' to kill Jorth. Now I'll take it kind of y'u—if any
of y'u come out of this alive—to tell who I was an' why I was on the
Isbel side. Because this sheep an' cattle war—this talk of Jorth an'
the Hash Knife Gang—it makes me, sick. I KNOW there's been crooked
work on Isbel's side, too. An' I never want it on record thet I killed
Jorth because he was a rustler."

"By God, Blue! it's late in the day for such talk," burst out
Blaisdell, in rage and amaze. "But I reckon y'u know what y'u're
talkin' aboot.... Wal, I shore don't want to heah it."

At this juncture Bill Isbel quietly entered the cabin, too late to hear
any of Blue's statement. Jean was positive of that, for as Blue was
speaking those last revealing words Bill's heavy boots had resounded on
the gravel path outside. Yet something in Bill's look or in the way
Blue averted his lean face or in the entrance of Bill at that
particular moment, or all these together, seemed to Jean to add further
mystery to the long secret causes leading up to the Jorth-Isbel war.
Did Bill know what Blue knew? Jean had an inkling that he did. And on
the moment, so perplexing and bitter, Jean gazed out the door, down the
deserted road to where his dead father lay, white-haired and ghastly in
the sunlight.

"Blue, you could have kept that to yourself, as well as your real
name," interposed Jean, with bitterness. "It's too late now for either
to do any good.... But I appreciate your friendship for dad, an' I'm
ready to help carry out your plan."

That decision of Jean's appeared to put an end to protest or argument
from Blaisdell or any of the others. Blue's fleeting dark smile was
one of satisfaction. Then upon most of this group of men seemed to
settle a grim restraint. They went out and walked and watched; they
came in again, restless and somber. Jean thought that he must have
bent his gaze a thousand times down the road to the tragic figure of
his father. That sight roused all emotions in his breast, and the one
that stirred there most was pity. The pity of it! Gaston Isbel lying
face down in the dust of the village street! Patches of blood showed
on the back of his vest and one white-sleeved shoulder. He had been
shot through. Every time Jean saw this blood he had to stifle a
gathering of wild, savage impulses.

Meanwhile the afternoon hours dragged by and the village remained as if
its inhabitants had abandoned it. Not even a dog showed on the side
road. Jorth and some of his men came out in front of the store and sat
on the steps, in close convening groups. Every move they, made seemed
significant of their confidence and importance. About sunset they went
back into the store, closing door and window shutters. Then Blaisdell
called the Isbel faction to have food and drink. Jean felt no hunger.
And Blue, who had kept apart from the others, showed no desire to eat.
Neither did he smoke, though early in the day he had never been without
a cigarette between his lips.

Twilight fell and darkness came. Not a light showed anywhere in the
blackness.

"Wal, I reckon it's aboot time," said Blue, and he led the way out of
the cabin to the back of the lot. Jean strode behind him, carrying his
rifle and an ax. Silently the other men followed. Blue turned to the
left and led through the field until he came within sight of a dark
line of trees.

"Thet's where the road turns off," he said to Jean. "An' heah's the
back of Coleman's place.... Wal, Jean, good luck!"

Jean felt the grip of a steel-like hand, and in the darkness he caught
the gleam of Blue's eyes. Jean had no response in words for the
laconic Blue, but he wrung the hard, thin hand and hurried away in the
darkness.

Once alone, his part of the business at hand rushed him into eager
thrilling action. This was the sort of work he was fitted to do. In
this instance it was important, but it seemed to him that Blue had
coolly taken the perilous part. And this cowboy with gray in his thin
hair was in reality the great King Fisher! Jean marveled at the fact.
And he shivered all over for Jorth. In ten minutes—fifteen, more or
less, Jorth would lie gasping bloody froth and sinking down. Something
in the dark, lonely, silent, oppressive summer night told Jean this.
He strode on swiftly. Crossing the road at a run, he kept on over the
ground he had traversed during the afternoon, and in a few moments he
stood breathing hard at the edge of the common behind Greaves's store.