Plain Mary Smith Part 12

"I promise, Mary," says I.

"Will, boy, I love you," she said, "and I love you because there's nothing silly in that honest red head of yours to misunderstand me. I want to be your dear sister--and to think that you might, too--" She broke off, and the tears overflowed.

Looking at her, a hard suspicion of Saxton jolted me. I didn't know a great deal of the crooked side, but, of course, I had a glimmer, and it struck me that if he had been cutting up bad, when he pretended to care for this girl, he needed killing.

"Tell me, Mary," I asked her, "has Arthur--"

"Hush, Will--I can tell you nothing. You must see with your own eyes.

And here's a kiss for your promise--which will be kept! And to-morrow at three you're to be here again."

And off I goes up the road sitting very straight, and I tell you, if it hadn't been for the mean suspicion of Saxton, what with the mouse-colored horse waving his cream mane and tail, my new steeple hat, the sash with a gun and machete in it, the spurs jingling, the memory of having chased a fierce road-agent to a finish, and the kiss of the most beautiful woman in the world on my lips, I'd been a medium well-feeling sort of boy. I guess my anxiety about Saxton didn't quite succeed in drowning the other, neither. You can't expect too much of scant eighteen.

X

"YOUR LIFE, IF YOU HURT HIM!"

I hadn't thought to ask what Saxton was at in a business way. I didn't know where to find him; there was no use in going back, so I rode at random through the streets.

As I swung into a dark alley I came upon a fierce and quiet little fight. Two men set upon a third, who had his back against the wall. The knives flashed, they ducked, parried, got away, cut and come again with a quickness and a savageness that lifted my hair. Jeeminy! There was spirit in that row! And not a sound except the soft sliding of feet and the noise of blows. They'd all been touched, too; red showed here and there on them, as well as on the stones.

While I looked the one man slipped and came down on his back, striking his head and his right elbow, the knife flying out of his hand.

I breathed quicker--some fights make you feel warlike--and when I see the other two dive right at the man, down and helpless, I broke the silence and the peace at one and the same instant. The mouse-colored horse b.u.t.ted a lad sailing down the alley. I grabbed the other up on the saddle and cuffed him with all my heart.

"You dirty Mut!" says I. "Two of you on one man! Have something with me," and I slapped his black face to a blister. He tried to get at me with the knife, but a pinch on the neck loosened his grip.

The feller the little horse rammed got on his feet, looking like he was going to return for a minute; it was me against the two. I crowded my victim down against the saddle with my left hand--Lord! how he squawked!--and drew my gun with the right. "Take either way that suits you," says I. The bucko didn't sabe English, maybe, but a forty-four gun is easy translated in any language. He chose the other end of the alley.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I crowded my victim against the saddle with my left hand"]

The feller that fell got on his feet. He was a good-looking chap, in spite of a big scar across his face and the careless way his white clothes were daubed with red.

"_Mushisimas gracias_, Senor," says he, "_me alegro mucho de ver a usted_."

"Don't mention it," says I. "I understand a little Spanish, but I speak English. I wouldn't have cut in if they hadn't played it crooked on you--here's your boy, not damaged much, if you want to have it out."

"I spike Anglish veree splendidlee," says he, "I th-thank ju. Eef you weel so kindly han' me dthat man, I keel heem."

"Holy Christmas!" says I--he asked as cool as he would a light for his cigar--"What do you mean? Just _stick_ him?"

"_Certamente_," says he, "he ees no good."

I chucked my victim as far as I could throw him. "Run, you fool!" I says, and he scuttled out of that like a jack-rabbit.

He was gone before my friend could start after him. I got the full blast of the disappointment.

"I do not quite understand, Senor," says he, with his hand on his knife.

"Hold!" says I, "you've no call to jump me--I can't stand for a man being slit in cold blood--no offense meant."

"I forget your service," says he. "Pardon--here ees my han'." We shook hands. "But you have made the foolish thing," he says. "There ees a man who ees to be keeled dead, and you let heem go--that ees more foolish as to let the Fer-de-lance free."

"Well, I know," says I, "I suppose you're right, but my ideas ain't quite foreign enough yet."

He smiled. "Your largeness made me mistake," says he. "I see you are a gentleman not of so many years, but of the heart strong and the arm stronger--you play with that man--chuckee--chuckee--chuckee--like hees mother. Eet was lovelee. May I ask the name?"

"William De La Tour Saunders," says I, "commonly called Bill."

"Ah, Beel!" says he, "I r-r-remember. Here is Antonio Orinez--your frien' when you wish."

"Well, Mr. Orinez," says I, "hadn't we better be walking along? You're bleeding pretty free."

"_Ta!_" says he, shrugging his shoulders. "I am used to eet--still, I go. Thees ees not a healthy land for me."

"What was the row about?" I asked, my kid curiosity coming up.

"I cannot tell even my best frien'," he answers, smiling so pleasant there was no injury. "_Quiere poqnito de aguardiente?_"

"No," I says, "I'm not drinking at present--it's a promise I made." (Oh, the vanity of a boy!) "But I'll trot along with you."

He shook his head. "Do not," he says, "believe me, I have reason--can I do you any service, now?"

I was a little anxious to get on my own business. The lull from the fight had come in the shape of a seasick feeling.

"Do you know a man by the name of Saxton?" I inquired.

He gave me a quick look--a friendly look, "Arthur Saxton--tall--grande--play the violeen like the davil?"

"That's him."

"Around that corner, not far, on thees side," waving his left hand, "you see the name--eet ees a es-store for food."

I was surprised enough to find that Sax had opened a grocery store.

"Thanks," says I, and swung in the saddle.

Orinez raised a hand, playful.

"Geeve me some other ho-r-r-r-se!" says he. "Bin' opp my wounds!" he laughed. "By-by, Beel, r-remember me, as I shall remember ju!"

"Good-by, Mr. Orinez," says I. He called after me, "Eef you need a frien', there is Orinez!"

"Same to you, old man!" I says, and swings around the corner.

Saxton was working outside the store, overseeing the unloading of some wagons. It was a large store, with a big stock, and Sax was busy as a hound-pup at a rabbit-hole. I rubbed my eyes. Somehow the last thing I expected to see Sax was a storekeeper. I slipped up and put my hands on his shoulders to surprise him. It surprised him all right. I felt the muscles jump under the coat, although he stood still enough, and he whirled on me with an ugly look in his eye.