[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
he could see the cabin and the narrow, grassy valley just beyond. To his
relief the horses were unsaddled and grazing. No man was in sight. But
there might be a dog. The hunter, in his slow advance, used keen and
unrelaxing vigilance, and at length he decided that if there had been a
dog he would have been tied outside to give an alarm.
Wade had now reached his objective point. He was some eighty paces from
the cabin, in line with an open aisle down which he could see into the
cleared space before the door. On his left were thick, small spruces,
with low-spreading branches, and they extended all the way to the cabin
on that side, and in fact screened two walls of it. Wade knew exactly
what he was going to do. No longer did he hesitate. Laying down his
rifle, he tied the hound to a little spruce, patting him and whispering
for him to stay there and be still.
Then Wade's action in looking to his belt-guns was that of a man who
expected to have recourse to them speedily and by whom the necessity was
neither regretted nor feared. Stooping low, he entered the thicket of
spruces. The soft, spruce-matted ground, devoid of brush or twig, did
not give forth the slightest sound of step, nor did the brushing of the
branches against his body. In some cases he had to bend the boughs.
Thus, swiftly and silently, with the gliding steps of an Indian, he
approached the cabin till the brown-barked logs loomed before him,
shutting off the clearer light.
He smelled a mingling of wood and tobacco smoke; he heard low, deep
voices of men; the shuffling and patting of cards; the musical click of
gold. Resting on his knees a moment the hunter deliberated. All was
exactly as he had expected. Luck favored him. These gamblers would be
absorbed in their game. The door of the cabin was just around the
corner, and he could glide noiselessly to it or gain it in a few leaps.
Either method would serve. But which he must try depended upon the
position of the men inside and that of their weapons.
Rising silently, Wade stepped up to the wall and peeped through a chink
between the logs. The sunshine streamed through windows and door. Jack
Belllounds sat on the ground, full in its light, back to the wall. He
was in his shirt-sleeves. The gambling fever and the grievous soreness
of a loser shone upon his pale face. Smith sat with back to Wade,
opposite Belllounds. The other men completed the square. All were close
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enough together to reach comfortably for the cards and gold before them.
Wade's keen eyes took this in at a single glance, and then steadied
searchingly for smaller features of the scene. Belllounds had no weapon.
Smith's belt and gun lay in the sunlight on the hard, clay floor, out of
reach except by violent effort. The other two rustlers both wore their
weapons. Wade gave a long scrutiny to the faces of these comrades of
Smith, and evidently satisfied himself as to what he had to expect
from them.
Wade hesitated; then stooping low, he softly swept aside the intervening
boughs of spruce, glided out of the thicket into the open. Two noiseless
bounds! Another, and he was inside the door!
"Howdy, rustlers! Don't move!" he called.
The surprise of his appearance, or his voice, or both, stunned the four
men. Belllounds dropped his cards, and his jaw dropped at the same
instant. These were absolutely the only visible movements.
"I'm in talkin' humor, an' the longer you listen the longer you'll have
to live," said Wade. "But don't move!"
"We ain't movin'," burst out Smith. "Who're you, an' what d'ye want?"
It was singular that the rustler leader had not had a look at Wade,
whose movements had been swift and who now stood directly behind him.
Also it was obvious that Smith was sitting very stiff-necked and
straight. Not improbably he had encountered such situations before.
"Who're you?" he shouted, hoarsely.
"You ought to know me." The voice was Wade's, gentle, cold, with depth
and ring in it.
"I've heerd your voice somewhars--I'll gamble on thet."
"Sure. You ought to recognize my voice, Cap," returned Wade.
The rustler gave a violent start--a start that he controlled instantly.
"Cap! You callin' me thet?"
"Sure. We're old friends--_Cap Folsom!_"
In the silence, then, the rustler's hard breathing could be heard; his
neck bulged red; only the eyes of his two comrades moved; Belllounds
began to recover somewhat from his consternation. Fear had clamped him
also, but not fear of personal harm or peril. His mind had not yet
awakened to that.
"You've got me pat! But who're you?" said Folsom, huskily.
Wade kept silent.
"Who'n hell is thet man?" yelled the rustler It was not a query to his
comrades any more than to the four winds. It was a furious questioning
of a memory that stirred and haunted, and as well a passionate and
fearful denial.
"His name's Wade," put in Belllounds, harshly. "He's the friend of Wils
Page 168
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Moore. He's the hunter I told you about--worked for my father
last winter."
"Wade?... What? _Wade!_ You never told me his name. It ain't--it
ain't--"
"Yes, it is, Cap," interrupted Wade. "It's the old boy that spoiled your
handsome mug--long ago."
"_Hell-Bent Wade!_" gasped Folsom, in terrible accents. He shook all
over. An ashen paleness crept into his face. Instinctively his right
hand jerked toward his gun; then, as in his former motion, froze in
the very act.
"Careful, Cap!" warned Wade. "It'd be a shame not to hear me talk a
little.... Turn around now an' greet an old pard of the Gunnison days."
Folsom turned as if a resistless, heavy force was revolving his head.
"By Gawd!... Wade!" he ejaculated. The tone of his voice, the light in
his eyes, must have been a spiritual acceptance of a dreadful and
irrefutable fact--perhaps the proximity of death. But he was no coward.
Despite the hunter's order, given as he stood there, gun drawn and
ready, Folsom wheeled back again, savagely to throw the deck of cards in
Belllounds's face. He cursed horribly.... "You spoiled brat of a rich
rancher! Why'n hell didn't you tell me thet varmint-hunter was Wade."
"I did tell you," shouted Belllounds, flaming of face.
"You're a liar! You never said Wade--W-a-d-e, right out, so I'd hear it.
An' I'd never passed by Hell-Bent Wade."
"Aw, that name made me tired," replied Belllounds, contemptuously.
"Haw! Haw! Haw!" bawled the rustler. "Made you tired, hey? Think you're
funny? Wal, if you knowed how many men thet name's made tired--an' tired
fer keeps--you'd not think it so damn funny." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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he could see the cabin and the narrow, grassy valley just beyond. To his
relief the horses were unsaddled and grazing. No man was in sight. But
there might be a dog. The hunter, in his slow advance, used keen and
unrelaxing vigilance, and at length he decided that if there had been a
dog he would have been tied outside to give an alarm.
Wade had now reached his objective point. He was some eighty paces from
the cabin, in line with an open aisle down which he could see into the
cleared space before the door. On his left were thick, small spruces,
with low-spreading branches, and they extended all the way to the cabin
on that side, and in fact screened two walls of it. Wade knew exactly
what he was going to do. No longer did he hesitate. Laying down his
rifle, he tied the hound to a little spruce, patting him and whispering
for him to stay there and be still.
Then Wade's action in looking to his belt-guns was that of a man who
expected to have recourse to them speedily and by whom the necessity was
neither regretted nor feared. Stooping low, he entered the thicket of
spruces. The soft, spruce-matted ground, devoid of brush or twig, did
not give forth the slightest sound of step, nor did the brushing of the
branches against his body. In some cases he had to bend the boughs.
Thus, swiftly and silently, with the gliding steps of an Indian, he
approached the cabin till the brown-barked logs loomed before him,
shutting off the clearer light.
He smelled a mingling of wood and tobacco smoke; he heard low, deep
voices of men; the shuffling and patting of cards; the musical click of
gold. Resting on his knees a moment the hunter deliberated. All was
exactly as he had expected. Luck favored him. These gamblers would be
absorbed in their game. The door of the cabin was just around the
corner, and he could glide noiselessly to it or gain it in a few leaps.
Either method would serve. But which he must try depended upon the
position of the men inside and that of their weapons.
Rising silently, Wade stepped up to the wall and peeped through a chink
between the logs. The sunshine streamed through windows and door. Jack
Belllounds sat on the ground, full in its light, back to the wall. He
was in his shirt-sleeves. The gambling fever and the grievous soreness
of a loser shone upon his pale face. Smith sat with back to Wade,
opposite Belllounds. The other men completed the square. All were close
Page 167
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
enough together to reach comfortably for the cards and gold before them.
Wade's keen eyes took this in at a single glance, and then steadied
searchingly for smaller features of the scene. Belllounds had no weapon.
Smith's belt and gun lay in the sunlight on the hard, clay floor, out of
reach except by violent effort. The other two rustlers both wore their
weapons. Wade gave a long scrutiny to the faces of these comrades of
Smith, and evidently satisfied himself as to what he had to expect
from them.
Wade hesitated; then stooping low, he softly swept aside the intervening
boughs of spruce, glided out of the thicket into the open. Two noiseless
bounds! Another, and he was inside the door!
"Howdy, rustlers! Don't move!" he called.
The surprise of his appearance, or his voice, or both, stunned the four
men. Belllounds dropped his cards, and his jaw dropped at the same
instant. These were absolutely the only visible movements.
"I'm in talkin' humor, an' the longer you listen the longer you'll have
to live," said Wade. "But don't move!"
"We ain't movin'," burst out Smith. "Who're you, an' what d'ye want?"
It was singular that the rustler leader had not had a look at Wade,
whose movements had been swift and who now stood directly behind him.
Also it was obvious that Smith was sitting very stiff-necked and
straight. Not improbably he had encountered such situations before.
"Who're you?" he shouted, hoarsely.
"You ought to know me." The voice was Wade's, gentle, cold, with depth
and ring in it.
"I've heerd your voice somewhars--I'll gamble on thet."
"Sure. You ought to recognize my voice, Cap," returned Wade.
The rustler gave a violent start--a start that he controlled instantly.
"Cap! You callin' me thet?"
"Sure. We're old friends--_Cap Folsom!_"
In the silence, then, the rustler's hard breathing could be heard; his
neck bulged red; only the eyes of his two comrades moved; Belllounds
began to recover somewhat from his consternation. Fear had clamped him
also, but not fear of personal harm or peril. His mind had not yet
awakened to that.
"You've got me pat! But who're you?" said Folsom, huskily.
Wade kept silent.
"Who'n hell is thet man?" yelled the rustler It was not a query to his
comrades any more than to the four winds. It was a furious questioning
of a memory that stirred and haunted, and as well a passionate and
fearful denial.
"His name's Wade," put in Belllounds, harshly. "He's the friend of Wils
Page 168
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Moore. He's the hunter I told you about--worked for my father
last winter."
"Wade?... What? _Wade!_ You never told me his name. It ain't--it
ain't--"
"Yes, it is, Cap," interrupted Wade. "It's the old boy that spoiled your
handsome mug--long ago."
"_Hell-Bent Wade!_" gasped Folsom, in terrible accents. He shook all
over. An ashen paleness crept into his face. Instinctively his right
hand jerked toward his gun; then, as in his former motion, froze in
the very act.
"Careful, Cap!" warned Wade. "It'd be a shame not to hear me talk a
little.... Turn around now an' greet an old pard of the Gunnison days."
Folsom turned as if a resistless, heavy force was revolving his head.
"By Gawd!... Wade!" he ejaculated. The tone of his voice, the light in
his eyes, must have been a spiritual acceptance of a dreadful and
irrefutable fact--perhaps the proximity of death. But he was no coward.
Despite the hunter's order, given as he stood there, gun drawn and
ready, Folsom wheeled back again, savagely to throw the deck of cards in
Belllounds's face. He cursed horribly.... "You spoiled brat of a rich
rancher! Why'n hell didn't you tell me thet varmint-hunter was Wade."
"I did tell you," shouted Belllounds, flaming of face.
"You're a liar! You never said Wade--W-a-d-e, right out, so I'd hear it.
An' I'd never passed by Hell-Bent Wade."
"Aw, that name made me tired," replied Belllounds, contemptuously.
"Haw! Haw! Haw!" bawled the rustler. "Made you tired, hey? Think you're
funny? Wal, if you knowed how many men thet name's made tired--an' tired
fer keeps--you'd not think it so damn funny." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]