Andy, who had just entered the saloon, was heading straight for the marshal. He plunged at once into his business.
"I'm Bordene o' the Box B, an' I'm supposin' you're the man Miss Sarel spoke to this afternoon," he began, and when Green nodded; "If yo're still huntin' that job--"
"I'm obliged to her, an' yu, but--" the marshal flipped aside his vest, disclosing his badge.
The young man's eyebrows rose. "Yo're the new marshal?" he asked, and then he smiled. "Congratulations," he added.
"Thank yu, seh," Green smiled back. "Yo're the first; the others just asked which was my favourite flower."
"Well, Lawless certainly takes a whole man to ride her, but I wish yu luck, an' if yu want help, yu'll find it at the Box B," Andy replied.
The marshal thanked him, and meant it; Bordene might have all the recklessness and inexperience of youth, but the stuff of which good men are made was there also. The Box B boys greeted their young boss with a familiarity that showed he was one of them.
"Say, Andy, don't yu get to presumin' any with that marshal fella; he's a friend of ours, an' bad medicine to fool with. Yo're liable to lose out: ask Rusty," said one.
"This fella's white," the culprit confessed. "I sized him up all wrong. I'm stayin' in town to-night."
The young rancher nodded, and then, hearing his name called, turned to find Seth Raven, with a stranger. The latter had ridden into town during the afternoon and had at once proceeded to the Red Ace. Raven, seated in his office, did not welcome the visitor too effusively.
" 'Lo, Parson, what yu wantin'?" he asked.
"A stake, Seth," the man in shabby black replied. "That damned hold-up skunk cleaned me out. But I'll get him, curse his thievin' hide, if I spend the rest o' my life at it."
He snarled the words out savagely, and his little eyes gleamed with hatred. The saloon-keeper's thin lips curled contemptuously as he replied, "Better forget it, Parson; yu'd stand one hell of a chance against Sudden, wouldn't yu?"
"I'll get him," the other repeated doggedly: "But to do that I gotta live. What about it?"
"Oh, I'll stake yu," Raven returned carelessly, as he took a wad of bills out of a drawer, counted, and passed them over. "I'm givin' yu a word o' warnin'; Lawless has got its growth an' won't stand for any raw stuff, see? Also, what I say goes around here, an' I won't stand for it neither."
The gambler sensed the covert threat in both words and tone. He knew that by accepting the money he had made himself the creature of this hunched-up, malignant devil, but he did not care; he was not a squeamish person.
"Anythin' yu want to tell me?" was how he asked for orders.
"Why, no," Seth replied with affected surprise. "There's a young fella I'll introduce yu to who fancies his brand o' poker; it wouldn't do him no harm to be educated some, but you'll remember he's a friend o' mine."
The Parson nodded. "Don't happen to have a spare gun, do yu?" he asked. "That swine Sudden took mine."
Raven pulled out another drawer in the desk. "Yu can have this; I never carry one," he said.
The gambler took the six-shooter and slipped it into his shoulder-holster. "All right for yu," he said. "Folks come an' give yu their money; yu don't never have to argue with 'em. Pussonally, I don't feel dressed unless I'm heeled. Thanks, Seth; see yu later."
So it came about that Bordene met the new-comer, presented as "Mister Pardoe," and accepted the saloon-keeper's proposal for a "little game." Youth is rarely critical, but he was not favourably impressed by the stranger. Moreover, as they moved towards a vacant table, he saw the marshal was watching them, and fancied he caught a slight shake of the head. Was it a warning? He looked again, but Green was apparently no longer interested. Nevertheless, when a fourth man had been found and the game had started Andy became aware of Green and Barsay just behind him.
"Yessir," the marshal was saying. "It was in Tombstone, and they catched him dealin' from the bottom o' the pack."
"Oughta shot the coyote," Pete said.
"Well, mebbe he was lucky thataway," the other conceded. "They just took his clothes off, poured a barrel o' molasses over him, rolled him in the sand, an' rid him outa town on a rail. It oughta been a complete cure."
Pardoe was facing Bordene and the latter was astounded at the sudden flush on the gambler's bilious face and the vindictive look he cast at the speaker. In a second, however, his eyes were on his cards again. Andy glanced at Raven, but the saloonkeeper's features were an expressionless mask. All at once he looked up.
"Sit in, marshal," he invited.
Green shook his head. "I'm on duty," he said, and smiled.
"Huh! It's quiet to-night--there'll be nothin' startin'," Raven replied.
"Just the time to watch out," the officer said.
Even as he spoke, the door of the saloon was thrust open and a wild figure sprang in. Snaky black hair hung beneath the pushed-back hat, bloodshot eyes glared behind the levelled six-shooter, and a snarling mouth showed teeth like yellow fangs. For an instant the man stood, his head turning from side to side as he surveyed the room, and then he let out a savage screech; most of the hearers knew it for the Apache war-cry.
"I want a man," he shouted. "I ain't killed one to-day, an' I'm that pizenous that when rattlers bite me they crawl away an' die. Where's thisyer marshal I bin hearin' about?"
Green noted furtive smiles on some of the faces. Had this fellow been primed with drink and put up to this silly prank to try the new officer out? Such a notion was quite in keeping with Western humour, and if the fool forgot that it was a joke... He stepped forward.
"Yu wantin'me?" he asked quietly.
Silence fell upon the room; the flip of cards and the rattle of poker chips ceased; the hum of conversation died out; everyone was intent on what was taking place. The moment Green had spoken the stranger froze, his gun covering the marshal's broad chest. The latter, making no attempt to draw his own weapon, advanced until a bare three yards separated the pair.
"Git down an' say yore prayers," the intruder ordered. "I'm Wild Bill Hickok, an' a shootin' fool. I'm agoin' to send yu down the Long Trail."
The marshal's laugh rang out. "Yore name's 'Hiccup' an' yo're a shoutin' fool. Now"--with a speed that baffled the eye his gun swept up, the muzzle within a few inches of the one covering him--"shoot, yu false alarm!"
As though dazed by a blow the ruffian glared at him. How it had come about he did not know, but he realized that he had been outplayed. To fire now would be suicide; he might slay the marshal but assuredly before he did so, lead would be tearing through his own body. At the thought his nerve failed. Green saw the indecision in his eyes.
"Drop it," he rasped, and there was more than an order in the words.
For a second the fellow hesitated, and then the gun clattered on the board floor. At the same instant the marshal's left fist came round and up, landing on the jaw with all the force of his body behind it; the man dropped like a pole-axed steer. Sheathing his gun, Green set the door open, and gripping the senseless one by neck and belt, flung him headlong into the street.
"If that fella's got any friends here they'd better tell him to hit the trail 'bout daylight," he said, and walked back to the bar.
CHAPTER V
Pete Barsay sat on a tilted chair, his back against one jamb of the marshal's office door and his upraised feet on the other. Green had gone riding somewhere, and to lighten his solitude Pete sang as he rolled himself a smoke:
An' speakin' o' women, yu never can tell. Sometimes they's heaven, an' sometimes they's...
"Oh, sir!" reproved a low, sweet voice, before he could complete the verse.
The vocalist's heels thumped the floor and he grabbed his hat from his head as he swung round to face the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Her smile added to his confusion.