The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 32

The Spider's proffer of work was accepted, but Pete a.s.serted that he would not leave Showdown until he had got his horse.

"I'll see that you get him," said The Spider.

"Thanks. But I aim to git him myself."

And it was shortly after this understanding that Pete sat in the patio back of the saloon--waiting impatiently for Malvey to show up, and half-inclined to go out and look for him. But experience had taught Pete the folly of hot-headed haste, so, like The Spider, he withdrew into himself, apparently indifferent to the loud talk of the men in the saloon, the raw jokes and the truculent swaggering, with the implication, voiced loudly by one half-drunken renegade, that the stranger was a short-horn and naturally afraid to herd in with "the bunch."

"He's got business of his own," said The Spider.

"That's different. I 'poligish."

The men laughed, and the bibulous outlaw straightway considered himself a wit. But those who carried their liquor better knew that The Spider's interruption was significant. The young stranger was playing a lone hand, and the rules of the game called for strict attention to their own business.

Presently a Mexican strode in and spoke to The Spider. The Spider called to a man at one of the tables. The noisy talk ceased suddenly.

"One," said The Spider. "From the south."

Pete heard and he shifted his position a little, approximating the distance between himself and the outer doorway. Card-games were resumed as before when a figure filled the doorway. Pete's hand slid slowly to his hip. His fingers stiffened, then relaxed, as he got to his feet.

It was Boca--alone, and smiling in the soft glow of lamplight. The Spider hobbled from behind the bar. Some one called a laughing greeting. "It's Boca, boys! We'll sure cut loose to-night! When Boca comes to town the bars is down!"

Pete heard--and anger and surprise darkened his face. These men seemed to know Boca too well. One of them had risen, leaving his card-game, and was shaking hands with her. Another asked her to sing "La Paloma."

Even The Spider seemed gracious to her. Pete, leaning against the doorway of the patio, stared at her as though offended by her presence.

She nodded to him and smiled. He raised his hat awkwardly. Boca read jealousy in his eye. She was happy. She wanted him to care. "I brought your saddle, senor," she said, nodding again. The men laughed, turning to glance at Pete. Still Pete did not quite realize the significance of her coming. "Thanks," he said abruptly.

Boca deliberately turned her back on him and talked with The Spider.

She was hurt, and a little angry. Surely she had been his good friend.

Was Pete so stupid that he did not realize why she had ridden to Showdown?

The Spider, who had just learned why she was there, called to his Mexican, who presently set a table in the patio. Slowly it dawned on Pete that Boca had made a long ride--that she must be tired and hungry.

He felt ashamed of himself. She had been a friend to him when he sorely needed a friend. And of course these men knew her. No doubt they had seen her often at the Flores rancho. She had brought his saddle back--which meant that she had found the buckskin, riderless, and fearing that something serious had happened, had caught up the pony and ridden to Showdown, alone, and no doubt against the wishes of her father and mother. It was mighty fine of her! He had never realized that girls did such things. Well, doggone it! he would let her know that he was mighty proud to have such a pardner!

The Spider hobbled to the patio and placed a chair for Boca, who brushed past Pete as though he had not been there.

"That's right!" laughed Pete. "But say, Boca, what made _me_ sore was the way them hombres out there got fresh, joshin' you and askin' you to sing, jest like they had a rope on you--"

"You think of that Malvey?"

"Well, I ain't forgittin' the way he--"

Boca's eyes flashed. "Yes! But here it is different. The Spider, he is my friend. It is that when I have rested and eaten he will ask me to sing. Manuelo will play the guitar. I shall sing and laugh, for I am no longer tired. I am happy. Perhaps I shall sing the song of 'The Outlaw,' and for you."

"I'll be listenin'--every minute, Boca. Mebby if I ain't jest _lookin'_ at you--it'll be because--"

"Si! Even like the caballero of whom I shall sing." And Boca hummed a tune, gazing at Pete with unreadable eyes, half-smiling, half-sad. How young, smooth-cheeked, and boyish he was, as he glanced up and returned her smile. Yet how quickly his face changed as he turned his head toward the doorway, ever alert for a possible surprise. Boca pushed back her chair. "The guitar," she called, nodding to The Spider.

Manuelo brought the guitar, tuned it, and sat back in the corner of the patio. The men in the saloon rose and shuffled to where Boca stood, seating themselves roundabout in various att.i.tudes of expectancy.

Pete, who had risen, recalled The Spider's terse warning, and stepped over to the patio doorway. Manuelo had just swept the silver strings in a sounding prelude, when The Spider, behind the bar, gestured to Pete.

"No, it ain't Malvey," said The Spider, as Pete answered his abrupt summons. "Here, take a drink while I talk. Keep your eye on the front. Don't move your hands off the bar, for there's three men out there, afoot, just beyond the hitching-rail. There was five, a minute ago. I figure two of 'em have gone round to the back. Go ahead--drink a little, and set your gla.s.s down, natural. I'm joshin' with you, see!"--and The Spider grinned hideously. "Smile! Don't make a break for the patio. The boys out there wouldn't understand, and Boca might get hurt. She's goin' to sing. You turn slow, and listen. When your back's turned, those hombres out there will step in." The Spider laughed, as though at something Pete had said. "You're mighty surprised to see 'em and you start to talk. Leave the rest to me."

Pete nodded and lifted his gla.s.s. From the patio came the sound of Boca's voice and the soft strumming of the guitar. Pete heard but hardly realized the significance of the first line or two of the song--and then:

"A rider stood at the lamplit bar, tugging the knot of his neckscarf loose, While some one sang to the silver strings, in the moonlight patio."

It was the song of "The Outlaw." Pete turned slowly and faced the patio. Manuelo swept the strings in a melodious interlude. Boca, her vivid lips parted, smiled at Pete even as she began to sing again.

Pete could almost feel the presence of men behind him. He knew that he was trapped, but he kept his gaze fixed on Boca's face. The Spider spoke to some one--a word of surprised greeting. In spite of his hold on himself Pete felt the sweat start on his lip and forehead. He was curious as to what these men would look like; as to whether he would know them. Perhaps they were not after him, but after some of the men in the patio--

"Annersley!"

Pete swung round, his hands up. He recognized two of the men--deputies of Sheriff Sutton of Concho. The third man was unknown to him.

"You're under arrest for the killing of Steve Gary."

"How's that?" queried The Spider.

"Steve Gary. This kid shot him--over to the Blue. We don't want any trouble about this," continued the deputy. "We've got a couple of men out back--"

"There won't be any trouble," said The Spider.

"No--there won't be any trouble," a.s.serted Pete. "Gimme a drink, Spider."

"No, you don't!" said the deputy. "You got too many friends out there," and he gestured toward the patio with his gun.

"Not my friends," said Pete.

Boca's song ended abruptly as she turned from her audience to glance in Pete's direction. She saw him standing with upraised hands--and in front of him three men--strangers to Showdown.

Came the shuffling of feet as the men in the patio turned to see what she was staring at.

"Sit still!" called The Spider. "This ain't your deal, boys. They got the man they want."

But Boca, wide-eyed and trembling, stepped through the doorway.

"That's close enough!" called a deputy.

She paused, summoning all of her courage and wit to force a laugh.

"Si, senor. But you are mistaken. It is not that I care what you do with _him_. I do but come for the wine for which I have asked, but there was no one to bring it to me,"--and she stepped past the end of the bar into The Spider's room. She reappeared almost instantly with a bottle of wine.

"I will open that for you," said The Spider.

"Never mind!" said one of the deputies; "the lady seems to know how."

Boca took a gla.s.s from the counter. "I will drink in the patio with my friends." But as she pa.s.sed round the end of the bar and directly beneath the hanging lamp, she turned and paused. "But no! I will drink once to the young vaquero, with whom is my heart and my life."

And she filled the gla.s.s and, bowing to Pete, put the gla.s.s to her lips.

The deputy nearest Pete shrugged his shoulder. "This ain't a show."

"Of a truth, no!" said Boca, and she swung the bottle. It shivered against the lamp. With the instant darkness came a streak of red and the close roar of a shot. Pete, with his gun out and going, leapt straight into the foremost deputy. They crashed down. Staggering to his feet, Pete broke for the outer doorway. Behind him the room was a pit of flame and smoke. Boca's pony reared as Pete jerked the reins loose, swept into the saddle, and down the moonlit street. He heard a shot and turned his head. In the patch of moonlight round The Spider's place he saw the dim, hurrying forms of men and horses. He leaned forward and quirted the pony with the rein-ends.