Steele hissed the last word. Then for him—for me—for Hoden—there was the truth in Wright's working passion-blackened face.
Wright jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Steele lunged forward. His long arm swept up.
And Wright staggered backward, knocking table and chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture, against the wall.
“Don't draw!” warned Steele.
“Wright, get away from your gun!” yelled the cowboy Brick.
But Wright was crazed by fury. He tugged at his hip, his face corded with purple welts, malignant, murderous, while he got to his feet.
I was about to leap through the door when Steele shot. Wright's gun went ringing to the floor.
Like a beast in pain Wright screamed. Frantically he waved a limp arm, flinging blood over the white table-cloths. Steele had crippled him.
“Here, you cowboy,” ordered Steele; “take him out, quick!”
Brick saw the need of expediency, if Wright did not realize it, and he pulled the raving man out of the place. He hurried Wright down the street, leaving the horses behind.
Steele calmly sheathed his gun.
“Well, I guess that opens the ball,” he said as I came out.
Hoden seemed fascinated by the spots of blood on the table-cloths. It was horrible to see him rubbing his hands there like a ghoul!
“I tell you what, fellows,” said Steele, “we've just had a few pleasant moments with the man who has made it healthy to keep close-mouthed in Linrock.”
Hoden lifted his shaking hands.
“What'd you wing him for?” he wailed. “He was drawin' on you. Shootin' arms off men like him won't do out here.”
I was inclined to agree with Hoden.
“That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to meet. Besides, shooting him would have been murder for me!”
“Murder!” exclaimed Hoden.
“He was a fool, and slow at that. Under such circumstances could I kill him when I didn't have to?”
“Sure it'd been the trick.” declared Jim positively. “I'm not allowin' for whether he's really a rustler or not. It just won't do, because these fellers out here ain't goin' to be afraid of you.”
“See here, Hoden. If a man's going to be afraid of me at all, that trick will make him more afraid of me. I know it. It works out. When Wright cools down he'll remember, he'll begin to think, he'll realize that I could more easily have killed him than risk a snapshot at his arm. I'll bet you he goes pale to the gills next time he even sees me.”
“That may be true, Steele. But if Wright's the man you think he is he'll begin that secret underground bizness. It's been tolerable healthy these last six months. You can gamble on this. If thet secret work does commence you'll have more reason to suspect Wright. I won't feel very safe from now on.
“I heard you call him rustler. He knows thet. Why, Wright won't sleep at night now. He an' Sampson have always been after me.”
“Hoden, what are your eyes for?” demanded Steele. “Watch out. And now here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust.
“Hello, there's somebody coming. You meet Russ and me to-night, out in the open a quarter of a mile, straight from the end of this street. You'll find a pile of stones. Meet us there to-night at ten o'clock.”
The next few days, for the several hours each day that I was in town, I had Steele in sight all the time or knew that he was safe under cover.
Nothing happened. His presence in the saloons or any place where men congregated was marked by a certain uneasy watchfulness on the part of almost everybody, and some amusement on the part of a few.
It was natural to suppose that the lawless element would rise up in a mass and slay Steele on sight. But this sort of thing never happened. It was not so much that these enemies of the law awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar to the frontier.
The ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, if formidable. He would have been welcomed at card tables, at the bars, to play and drink with the men who knew they were under suspicion.
There was a rude kind of good humor even in their open hostility.
Besides, one Ranger, or a company of Rangers could not have held the undivided attention of these men from their games and drinks and quarrels except by some decided move. Excitement, greed, appetite were rife in them.
I marked, however, a striking exception to the usual run of strangers I had been in the habit of seeing. The Sneckers had gone or were under cover. Again I caught a vague rumor of the coming of Jack Blome, yet he never seemed to arrive.
Moreover, the goings-on among the habitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamble were unusually mild in comparison with former conduct.
This lull, however, did not deceive Steele and me. It could not last. The wonder was that it had lasted so long.
There was, of course, no post office in Linrock. A stage arrived twice a week from Sanderson, if it did not get held up on the way, and the driver usually had letters, which he turned over to the elderly keeper of a little store.
This man's name was Jones, and everybody liked him. On the evenings the stage arrived there was always a crowd at his store, which fact was a source of no little revenue to him.
One night, so we ascertained, after the crowd had dispersed, two thugs entered his store, beat the old man and robbed him. He made no complaint; however, when Steele called him he rather reluctantly gave not only descriptions of his assailants, but their names.
Steele straightaway went in search of the men and came across them in Lerett's place. I was around when it happened.
Steele strode up to a table which was surrounded by seven or eight men and he tapped Sim Bass on the shoulder.
“Get up, I want you,” he said.
Bass looked up only to see who had accosted him.
“The hell you say!” he replied impudently.
Steele's big hand shifted to the fellow's collar. One jerk, seemingly no effort at all, sent Bass sliding, chair and all, to crash into the bar and fall in a heap. He lay there, wondering what had struck him.
“Miller, I want you. Get up,” said Steele.
Miller complied with alacrity. A sharp kick put more life and understanding into Bass.
Then Steele searched these men right before the eyes of their comrades, took what money and weapons they had, and marched them out, followed by a crowd that gathered more and more to it as they went down the street. Steele took his prisoners into Jones' store, had them identified; returned the money they had stolen, and then, pushing the two through the gaping crowd, he marched them down to his stone jail and locked them up.
Obviously the serious side of this incident was entirely lost upon the highly entertained audience. Many and loud were the coarse jokes cracked at the expense of Bass and Miller and after the rude door had closed upon them similar remarks were addressed to Steele's jailer and guard, who in truth, were just as disreputable looking as their prisoners.