to
worry—he won’t have any sympathy for four men who let one send ‘em packin’.”
“Somethin’
in that,” Jansen admitted. “By all accounts, they’ll be lucky to git off with a
tongue-lashin’.”
“What’s
he like?”
“Young—’bout
yore age, I’d say—middlin’ size, an’ allus wears a mask, even amongst his own
men,” was the reply. “He’s reputed to ride an’ shoot like Old Nick hisself.”
“An’
that’s all yu know?”
The
freighter spoke for the first time. “Not quite,” he said. “We know he don’t
like bein’ discussed.” He looked sardonically at the stranger. “Lem Roberts
opened his mouth pretty wide a month back an’ two days later we found him
hanging from a tree on the trail-side with one o’ them little red devils pinned
to his vest.”
This
ended the subject. Sudden replaced his cartridge, and pointed to the gold coin.
“Sam, I believe yo’re a bit of a wizard yore own self,” he smiled. “Just pass a
hand over that an’ see if yu can turn it into liquor; I’m settin’ ‘em up for
the company.”
This
generous gesture sealed the cowboy’s popularity and did much to dispel the
suspicion with which a frontier community was wont to receive a stranger. Even
Black Sam forgot his fears for the future and regained his customary broad
smile. It was not until later, when the saloon was closed, that his face grew
gloomy again. Sudden went straight to the point:
“Yu
fellas are holdin’ out on me,” he said. “Who is this jasper yu all ‘pear to be
so scared of?”
The negro shook his head. “I dunno, sah—nobody dunno , but it’s claimed he’s Kunnel Keith’s son, young Massa
Jeff.” Sudden’s eyebrows rose. “Keith o’ the Double K?” he cried. “How come?”
“Keith lose his wife when de chile is born,” Sam explained.
“I don’ reckon he eber forgive de boy for dat—he was mighty ‘tached to her. It
mak’ him hard like de flint, an’ young Jeff he grow up de same, bot’ proud an’
obst’nate as de mule. It was when de boy comes back from college dat de big trouble begins, mebbe four-five years back. ‘Stead o’ bein’ de
owner’s son, Jeff has to work as one o’ de outfit, an’ for de same pay. Well,
he don’ kick, but I ‘spect he found it middlin’ dull aroun’ heah after de East,
an’ he spends a lot o’ time at Red Rock, thirty mile no’th. De tales come o’
drinkin’, high play, an’ den a man is hurt at de card-table. Foh his own name,
de Kunnel gits him out’n de mess, but done tells him he neber wants to see his
face agin. `Yo’ shan’t,’ Jeff sez, `but dat don’ mean I’m leavin’ de country
like a whipped houn’ at yore biddin’.”
“Which
might explain the mask, huh?”
“Suah
looks dataway, sah. We don’ heah no news o’ Jeff for a good whiles an’ den a
herd o’ Double K steers is stole; one o’ de rustlers has his face hid by a red
bandanner. Next, word comes dat folk is livin’ in de ol’ Injun dwellin’s an’
dat’s de start o’ Hell City.”
“An’
what d’yu think yoreself, Sam?”
“I’se
feared it’s true, sah,” was the reluctant reply. “Satan visit Dugout onct, an’
he look like Jeff; same size, voice, dress, an’ use his favourite queer
cuss-word, `By Christmas.’ “
For
some moments Sudden was silent, pondering over the singular story, and then he
put a question.
“She
de orphan chile of an ol’ friend—de Kunnel took charge of her ‘bout ten year
back,” Sam told him. “I guess he hoped she an’ Jeff’d tie up an’ dat was
suthin’ else he had agin de