Paradise Bend Part 52

Archer fell over backwards. Laguerre thrust his chair to one side and leaped the other way.

No one saw Loudon's arm move. Yet, when the lanky man's fingers closed on the b.u.t.t of his gun, Loudon's six-shooter was in his hand.

The lanky man's six-shooter was half drawn when Loudon's gun spat flame and smoke. The lanky's one's fingers slipped their grip, and his arm jerked backward. Lips writhing with pain, for his right elbow was smashed to bits, the lanky man thrust his left hand under his vest.

"Don't," cautioned Loudon.

The lanky man's hand came slowly away--empty. White as chalk, his left hand clenched round the biceps of his wounded arm, the lanky man swayed to his feet and staggered into the street.

Archer arose awkwardly. His expression was so utterly nonplussed that it would have been laughable had not the situation been so tragic. A thread of gray smoke spiraled upward from the muzzle of Loudon's slanting six-shooter. Laguerre, balanced on his toes, watched the doorway.

Loudon stared at Archer. The latter moved from behind the table and halted. He removed his hat and scratched his head, his eyes on the trail of red blots leading to the door.

"----!" exclaimed Archer, suddenly, raising his head. "This here kind o' puts a crimp in our game, don't it?"

"That depends on how bad yuh want to play," retorted Loudon. "I'm ready--I'm always ready to learn new tricks."

"I don't just feel like poker now," hedged Archer, ignoring the insult.

"I reckon I'll see yuh later maybe."

"Don't strain yoreself reckonin'," advised Loudon.

"I won't. So long, gents."

With an airy wave of his head Bill Archer left the barroom.

Inch by inch the head of the bartender uprose from behind the breastwork of the bar. The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun rose with the head. When Loudon holstered his six-shooter the bartender replaced the sawed-off shotgun on the hooks behind the bar.

"Well, sir, gents," remarked the bartender with an audible sigh of relief, "which I'm never so glad in my life when Skinny Maxson don't pull that derringer. She's a .41 that derringer is, the bar's right in the line o' fire--it ain't none too thick--an' Skinny always shoots wide with a derringer. Gents, the drinks are on the house. What'll yuh have?"

"Yo're a Christian," grinned Loudon. "Is Skinny Maxson anythin'

special 'round here?"

"He's a friend o' Bill Archer's," replied the bartender, "an' he's got--I mean he had a reputation. I knowed he was lightning on the draw till I seen you--I mean till I didn't see yuh pull yore gun. Mr.

Franklin, that was sh.o.r.e the best exhibition o' quick drawin' I ever seen, an' I used to work in Dodge City. Good thing yuh was some swift.

Skinny don't shoot a six-gun like he does a derringer. No, not for a minute he don't! But look out for Skinny's brother Luke. He's got a worse temper'n Skinny, an' he's a better shot. This nickin' o' Skinny is a heap likely to make him paint for war. He's out o' town just now."

A clatter of running feet was heard in the street. Through the doorway bounded a stocky citizen, blood in his eye, and a shotgun in his hand.

"Where's the ---- shot Skinny!" he howled.

"Luke!" cried the bartender, and dived beneath the bar.

"Stranger, I wouldn't do nothin' rash," observed Loudon, squinting along the barrel of his six-shooter. "Drop that shotgun, an' drop her quick."

Loudon's tone was soft, but its menace was not lost on the wild-eyed man. His shotgun thudded on the floor.

"By Gar!" exclaimed Laguerre. "Eet ees----"

"Shut up!" roared Loudon. "I'm seein' just what yo're seein', but there's no call to blat it out!"

For the wild-eyed man was the same individual who had brought the tale of the Hatchet Creek Indian uprising to Farewell. But there was no recognition in the man's eyes, which was not remarkable. Loudon and Laguerre, on that occasion, had been but units in a crowd, and even when they exchanged shots with the fellow the range was too long for features to be noted. Besides, the thick growth of stubble on their faces effectually concealed their ident.i.ty from any one who did not know them well.

"I'd kind o' elevate my hands, Brother Luke," suggested Loudon.

"That's right. Yuh look more ornamental thataway. An' don't shake so much. You ain't half as mad as yo're tryin' to make out. If you was real hot you'd 'a' took a chance an' unhooked that shotgun when yuh come in. Brother Luke, yo're a false alarm--like Skinny."

"Lemme pick up my shotgun, an' I'll show yuh!" clamoured Luke Maxson, whom the purring voice was driving to a frenzy.

"Yuh lost yore best chance, an' chances don't travel in pairs--like brothers."

"Do somethin'! Do somethin'!" chattered Luke.

"No hurry. Don't get het, Brother Luke. If I was to do somethin' yore valuable an' good-lookin' carca.s.s would be damaged. An' I just ain't got the heart to shoot more than one man a day."

Laguerre laughed outright. From behind the bar came the sound of a snicker hastily stifled.

"You let me go," yapped Luke Maxson, "an' I'll down yuh first chance I git!"

"Good argument against lettin' yuh go."

At the window flanking the door appeared the plump face and shoulders of Judge Allison.

"Why don't yuh do somethin', ---- yuh?" yelled Luke Maxson. "I'm gettin' tired holdin' my arms up!"

"Well," said Loudon, "as I told yuh before, though yuh can't seem to get it through yore thick head, it's a mighty boggy ford. I feel just like the fellah swingin' on the wildcat's tail. I want to let go, but I can't. If I was sh.o.r.e none o' yore measly friends would shoot me in the back, I'd let yuh go get yore Winchester an' shoot it out with me in the street at a hundred yards. But the chance o' yore friends bustin' in sh.o.r.e dazzles me."

"None of 'em won't move a finger!" Luke hastened to a.s.sure Loudon.

The latter looked doubtful. The Judge coughed gently and rubbed his clean-shaven chin.

"Mr. Franklin," said Judge Allison, "should you care to try conclusions with Mr. Maxson in the street, pray accept my a.s.surances that no one will interfere. I speak unofficially, of course. Furthermore, in a wholly unofficial capacity I shall oversee proceedings from the sidewalk. If any one should be so ill-advised as to---- But no one will, no one will."

"You hear what the Judge says?" Loudon c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at Luke Maxson.

"Sh.o.r.e, sh.o.r.e," said that worthy, feverishly. "Lemme pick up my shotgun, an' in five minutes I'll be back in the middle o' Main Street a-waitin' for yuh."

"Five minutes is too long," observed Loudon. "Make it three. An' yuh needn't touch that shotgun. Yuh can get it later--if yo're able."

"Yo're sh.o.r.e in a hurry!" sneered Luke.

"I always am with a coward an' a liar an' a low-down, baby-robbin'

road-agent."

At these words rage almost overwhelmed Luke Maxson. Only the long barrel of that steady six-shooter aimed at his abdomen prevented him from hurling himself barehanded upon his tormentor.

"One moment, gentlemen!" exclaimed the Judge. "In the interest of fair play permit me to settle one or two necessary preliminaries. The street runs approximately north and south so the sun will not favour either of you. Mr. Maxson will take his stand in the middle of the street opposite the dance hall. Mr. Franklin will also post himself in the middle of the street but opposite the hotel. The hotel and dance hall are about a hundred yards apart. I shall be on the sidewalk midway between the two places. At a shot from my revolver you gentlemen will commence firing. And may G.o.d have mercy on your souls.

Gentlemen, the three minutes start immediately."

"Git," ordered Loudon.