“Like a damned beast! He wanted to drink
right there with his dead man beside him. And
what was worse, I had to give him the bottle.
There was a sort of haze in front of my eyes.
I wanted to pump that devil full of lead, but I knowed
it was plain suicide to try it.
“So there he stood and ups with a glass that
was brimmin’ full, and downs it at a swallow—gurglin’—like
a hog! Fatty, how long will it be before there’s
an end to Mac Strann?”
But Fatty Matthews shrugged his thick shoulders and
poured himself another drink.
“There ain’t a hope for Jerry Strann?”
cut in Buck Daniels.
“Not one in a million,” coughed Fatty,
disposing of another formidable potion.
“And when Jerry dies, Mac starts for this Barry?”
“Who’s been tellin’ you?”
queried O’Brien dryly. “Maybe you
been readin’ minds, stranger?”
Buck Daniels regarded the bartender with a mild and
steadfast interest. He was smiling with the utmost
good-humour, but there was that about him which made
big O’Brien flush and look down to his array
of glasses behind the bar.
“I been wondering,” went on Daniels, “if
Mac Strann mightn’t come out with Barry about
the way Jerry did. Ain’t it possible?”
“No,” replied Fatty Matthews with calm
decision. “It ain’t possible.
Well, I’m due back in my bear cage. Y’ought
to look in on me, O’Brien, and see the mountain-lion
dyin’ and the grizzly lookin’ on.”
“Will it last long?” queried O’Brien.
“Somewhere’s about this evening.”
Here Daniels started violently and closed his hand
hard around his whiskey glass which he had not yet
raised towards his lips.
“Are you sure of that, marshal?” he asked.
“If Jerry’s held on this long ain’t
there a chance that he’ll hold on longer?
Can you date him up for to-night as sure as that?”
“I can,” said the deputy marshal.
“It ain’t hard when you seen as many go
west as I’ve seen. It ain’t harder
than it is to tell when the sand will be out of an
hour glass. When they begin going down the last
hill it ain’t hard to tell when they’ll
reach the bottom.”
“Ain’t you had anybody to spell you, Fatty?”
broke in O’Brien.
“Yep. I got Haw-Haw Langley up there.
But he ain’t much help. Just sits around
with his hands folded. Kind of looks like Haw-Haw
wanted Jerry to pass out.”
And Matthews went humming through the swinging door.
OLD GARY PETERS
For some moments after this Buck Daniels remained
at the bar with his hand clenched around his glass
and his eyes fixed before him in the peculiar second-sighted
manner which had marked him when he sat so long on
the veranda.
“Funny thing,” began O’Brien, to
make conversation, “how many fellers go west
at sunset. Seems like they let go all holts as
soon as the dark comes. Hey?”
