Keith of the Border Part 15

"Well I don't propose to vouch for that--the proprietor ain't out there for his health--but, I reckon, you won't have no serious trouble--the boys mostly know a good woman when they see one--which isn't often--anyhow, they're liable to be decent enough as long as I vouch for you."

"But you know nothing of me."

"Don't need to--your face is enough--I'll get you the room all right."

She hesitated, then asked:

"Are you--are you connected with the railroad??'

"In a way, yes--I'm the contract surgeon--had to dig a bullet out of a water-tank tender back yonder--fellow howled as though I was killing him--no nerve--mighty poor stuff most of the riff-raff out here--ball wasn't in much below the skin--Indian must have plugged him from the top of the bluff--blame good shot too--ragged looking slug--like to see it?"

She shook her head energetically.

"Don't blame you--nothing very uncommon--get a dozen cases like it a day sometimes--stay in Sheridan, show you something worth while--very pretty surgical operation to-morrow--come round and get you if you care to see it--got to open the stomach--don't know what I'll find--like to go?"

"Oh, no! I'm sure you mean it all kindly, but--but I would rather not."

"Hardly supposed you would--only knew one woman who cared for that sort of thing much--she was nursing for me during the war--had a hare lip and an eye like a dagger--good nurse though--rather have your kind round me--ever nurse any? Could get you a dozen jobs in Sheridan--new prospects every night--fifty dollars a week--what do you say?"

"But I'm not seeking work, Doctor," smiling in spite of her bewilderment. "I have money enough with me."

"Well, I didn't know--thought maybe you wanted a job, and didn't like to ask for it--have known 'em like that--no harm done--if you ever do want anything like that, just come to me--my name's Fairbain--everybody knows me here--operated on most of 'em--rest expect to be--d.a.m.n that engineer.

I don't believe he knows whether he's going ahead or backing up." He peered out of the window, pressing his face hard against the gla.s.s. "I reckon that's Sheridan he's whistling for now--don't be nervous--I'll see you make the hotel all right."

Chapter XXI. The Marshal of Sheridan

It was called a depot merely through courtesy, consisting of a layer of cinders, scattered promiscuously so as to partially conceal the underlying mud, and a dismantled box car, in which presided ticket agent and telegrapher. A hundred yards below was the big shack where the railroad officials lodged. Across the tracks blazed invitingly the "First Chance" saloon. All intervening s.p.a.ce was crowded with men, surging aimlessly about in the glare of a locomotive head light, and greeting the alighting pa.s.sengers with free and easy badinage. Stranger or acquaintance made no difference, the welcome to Sheridan was noisily extended, while rough play and hoa.r.s.e laughter characterized the ma.s.s.

Hope paused on the step, even as Dr. Fairbain grasped her hand, dinned by the medley of discordant sounds, and confused by the vociferous jam of humanity. A band came tooting down the street in a hack, a fellow, with a voice like a fog horn, howling on the front seat. The fellows at the side of the car surged aside to get a glimpse of this new attraction, and Fairbain, taking quick advantage of the opportunity thus presented, swung his charge to the cinders below. Bending before her, and b.u.t.ting his great shoulders into the surging crowd, he succeeded in pushing a pa.s.sage through, thus finally bringing her forth to the edge of the street.

"Hey, there," he said shortly, grabbing a shirt-sleeved individual by the arm. "Where's Charlie?"

The fellow looked at him wonderingly.

"Charlie? Oh, you mean the 'Kid'? Well, he ain't here ter-night; had a weddin', an' is totin' the bridal couple 'round."

Fairbain swore discreetly under his breath, and cast an uncertain glance at the slender figure shrinking beside him. The streets of Sheridan were not over pleasant at night.

"Only hack in town is somewhere else, Miss," he explained briefly. "I reckon you and I will have to hoof it."

He felt the grip of her fingers on his sleeve.

"The boys are a little noisy, but it's just their way--don't mean anything--you hang on to me, an' keep the veil down--we 'll be there in the shake of a dog's tail."

He helped her over the muddy crossing, and as they reached a stretch of board walk, began expatiating on the various places lining the way.

"That's the 'Mammoth' over there,--dance hall back of it--biggest thing west of the Missouri--three men killed there last week--what for? Oh, they got too fresh--that's the 'Casino,' and the one beyond is 'Pony Joe's Place'--cut his leg off since I've been here--fight over a girl.

Ain't there any stores?--sure; they're farther back--you see the saloons got in first--that's 'Sheeny Mike's' gambling joint you're looking at--like to go over and see 'em play? All right, just thought I'd ask you--it's early anyhow, and things wouldn't be goin' very lively yet.

Say, there, you red head, what are you trying to do?"

The fellow had lurched out of the crowd in such a manner as to brush partially aside the girl's veil, permitting the glare of "Sheeny Mike's"

lights to fall full upon her revealed face. It was accomplished so openly as to appear planned, but before he could reel away again, Fairbain struck out, and the man went down. With an oath he was on his feet, and Hope cowered back against her protector. Each man had weapons drawn, the crowd scurrying madly to keep out of the line of fire, when, with a stride, a new figure stepped quietly in between them. Straight as an arrow, broad shouldered, yet small waisted as a woman, his hair hanging low over his coat-collar, his face smooth shaven except for a long moustache, and emotionless, the revolvers in his belt untouched, he simply looked at the two, and then struck the revolver out of the drunken man's hand. It fell harmless to the ground.

"And don't you pick it up until I tell you, Scott," he said quietly. "If you do you've got to fight me."

Without apparently giving the fellow another thought, he wheeled and faced the others.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Doctor? The drunken fool won't make any more trouble. Where were you taking the lady?"

"To the hotel, Bill."

"I'll walk along with you. I reckon the boys will give us plenty of room." He glanced over the crowd, and then more directly at Scott.

"Pick up your gun!" the brief words snapping out. "This is the second time I've caught you hunting trouble. The next time you are going to find it. I saw you run into the lady--what did you do it for?"

"I only wanted to see who she was, Bill."

"You needn't call me Bill. I don't trot in your cla.s.s. My name is Hick.o.c.k to you. Was it any of your affair who she was?"

"I reckoned I know'd her, and I did."

The marshal turned his eyes toward Hope, and then back upon Scott, evidently slightly interested.

"So? Recognized an old friend, I suppose?"

The slight sneer in "Wild Bill's" soft voice caused Scott to flame up in sudden pa.s.sion.

"No, I didn't! but I called the turn just the same--she's Christie Maclaire."

The marshal smiled.

"All right, little boy," he said soberly. "Now you trot straight along to bed. Don't let me catch you on the street again to-night, and I'd advise you not to pull another gun--you're too slow on the trigger for this town. Come along, Doctor, and we'll get Miss Maclaire to her hotel."

He shouldered his way through the collected crowd, the others following.

Hope endeavored to speak, to explain to Fairbain who she actually was, realizing then, for the first time, that she had not previously given him her name. Amidst the incessant noise and confusion, the blaring of bra.s.s, and the jangle of voices, she found it impossible to make the man comprehend. She pressed closer to him, holding more tightly to his arm, stunned and confused by the fierce uproar. The stranger steadily pushing ahead of them, and opening a path for their pa.s.sage, fascinated her, and her eyes watched him curiously. His name was an oddly familiar one, a.s.sociated in vague memory with some of the most desperate deeds ever witnessed in the West, yet always found on the side of law and order; it was difficult to conceive that this quiet-spoken, mild-eyed, gently smiling man could indeed be the most famous gun fighter on the border, hated, feared, yet thoroughly respected, by every desperado between the Platte and the Canadian. Beyond the glare and glitter of the Metropolitan Dance Hall the noisy crowd thinned away somewhat, and the marshal ventured to drop back beside Fairbain, yet vigilantly watched every approaching face.

"Town appears unusually lively to-night, Bill," observed the latter gravely, "and the boys have got an early start."

"West end graders just paid off," was the reply. "They have been whoopin' it up ever since noon, and are beginning to get ugly. Now the rest of the outfit are showing up, and there will probably be something interesting happening before morning. Wouldn't mind it so much if I had a single deputy worth his salt."

"What's the matter with Bain?"

"Nothing, while he was on the job, but 'Red' Haggerty got him in 'Pony Joe's' shebang two hours ago; shot him in the back across the bar. Ned never even pulled his gun."