The Definite Object Part 81

Soapy was alone, which in itself was no new thing, for Soapy was a solitary soul at all times; but just now he sat close against the rotting fence which skirted that desolation behind O'Rourke's saloon.

Moreover, it was night, and solitude profound was his. He sat on a battered and disused pail that chanced to be handy, a smouldering cigarette dangling from his thin-lipped mouth, his long hands pendulous between his knees, his pallid eyelids sleepily a-droop; but his eyes, quick and watchful, scanned the deeper gloom of fence and dismal outbuilding, and he sat there very patient and very still. At last he stirred slightly, the cigarette quivered and was motionless again, for, amid the shadows, he had seen a dim shape that flitted swiftly toward him; on it came, creeping swift and silent beside the fence, nearer and nearer until it resolved itself into a slender form. Then Soapy spoke.

"h.e.l.lo, Kid!"

Ensued a moment of tense silence, then Spike answered, his voice unnaturally thin and high-pitched.

"That--that you, Soapy?"

"'S right, Kid!"

"What you--doin' around--here?"

"Who, me? Y' see, I'm kind o' yearnin' for that gun you got there--"

"Gun? I--I ain't got--no gun--"

"Well, Kid, I know Heine's all kinds of a liar, but he tells me he's loaned you one of his, an' so--" Soapy's long arm shot out in the gloom and seizing Spike's right arm he drew it near. "Why, Kid," said he, "it kind o' looks like Heine told the truth for once by accident, don't it?"

"You leggo my wrist!"

"Right-o, Kid, right-o! Don't get peeved--"

"Well, leggo then!"

"Sure! Only this artillery ain't goin' t' be no good t' you t'night--ye see, Bud--ain't here! 'S rough on ye, Kid, 's rough, but he ain't!"

"W--what--d' ye mean?" stammered the boy.

"I mean as you comin' here t' plug holes in Bud's carcase it's kind o'

rough on you as there ain't goin' t' be no carcase here to plug. Y' see, Bud's took his carcase up-town with him t'night--"

"You're a liar, Soapy, a liar! Bud's inside, I know he is. Leggo my arm, you can't con me!"

"'S right, Kid, I ain't tryin'. Only I'm tellin' you Bud's left me an'

Lefty t' run things here t'night. Bud's up-town at his old man's place.

I know because--I sent him, see?"

"You sent him--you? Ah, come off! You couldn't!"

"'S right, Kid; I got him away by a fake telegram."

The boy ventured a long, quivering sigh, his whole frame relaxed, and in that instant Soapy wrenched the weapon from his loosened hold and rose.

Choking with pa.s.sion, Spike sprang at him, but Soapy fended him off with a long arm.

"Gimme that gun!"

"Behave, Kid, behave, else I'll have t' dot ye one! Be good an' chase off home; this ain't no place for you t'night--nor no other time."

"Gimme that gun!"

"No!"

Spike ceased the useless struggle and leaned against the fence, panting, while Soapy reseated himself upon the battered pail.

"What you got t' come b.u.t.tin' in for?" demanded the boy, "this ain't your show, an' I guess you ain't so mighty fond o' Bud either--"

"'S right, too," nodded Soapy, "no, I ain't exactly fond of him, Kid; leastways I don't run t' help him if he falls nor kiss th' place t' make it well--no, Kid! But I kind o' feel that Bud's too good t' snuff it this way, or snuff it--yet!"

"Good?" said the lad bitterly, "good--h.e.l.l! He's ruined me, Soapy, he's done me in! He's come between me an'--an' Hermy. He tried t' make me think dirt of her, an' now--now I--I'm all alone; I ain't got n.o.body left--oh, my G.o.d!" and huddling to the fence, Spike broke out into a fierce and anguished sobbing, while Soapy, spinning the revolver dexterously on his finger, watched him under drooping lids.

"She was mighty good t' ye, Hermy was!" said he thoughtfully.

"Don't--ah, don't!" gasped Spike.

"An' when he spoke dirt of her, you--believed him, Kid!"

"I didn't."

"You did, else you'd have been with her now. She was always good t'

you, Hermy was, but you--well, you preferred Bud!"

"I didn't, Soapy; G.o.d knows I didn't--only--I thought Bud would make me a champion--"

"By gettin' ye soused, Kid!"

"Oh, I know--I know now he's only been stringin' me all along--I know now it's too late--that's why I'm goin' t' kill him."

"Kill him!" mused Soapy. "Kid, there's good killings an' bad killin's, an' I reckon this 'ud be a good killin', maybe. But this ain't your job."

"Why--why ain't it?"

"Well, you got a sister f'r one thing, an' besides, you ain't a killer."

"You gimme that gun an' see!" cried the lad, reaching out a hand tremulous and eager.

"When the time came, Kid, 'stead o' shootin', you'd drop your gun like that time in th' wood."

"Th' wood!" Spike's voice dropped to a strangled whisper and he shrank back against the fence. "You--my G.o.d, you--saw--!"

"'S right, Kid, I was there! An' I'm kind o' glad y' couldn't do it, glad for your sister's sake. But what I'm thinkin' is that maybe she thinks it was you--eh, Kid?"

Spike writhed and groaned.

"Eh, Kid?"

"Yes!"

"Why, then, if I was you, I'd skin off right now an' put her wise; it may mean a whole lot t' her. Y' know where she is--go an' tell her, Kid."