Chapter X

Sunbeam had started in early on its nightly orgy. The yellow lights from the saloons and gambling-houses threw shadows out of which weaved miner and cowboy as they made their way from place to place. The rasping notes from fiddles, the discordant jangle of out-of-tune piano, blended with the raucous whoops from alcoholized vocal cords.

Skeeter Bill noticed that the larger crowd was at the Panhandle and he surmised that the sermon was the attraction. Straight to the doorway he went and squeezed his way inside. Luckily Skeeter was taller than most of the crowd, which gave him an almost unobstructed view of things.

On the performer’s platform stood the minister, with Mary Leeds beside him. At the other end of the platform was the fiddler and piano player. Tug Leeds leaned against the piano, grinning at a half-nude dance-hall girl, who was just coming from the rear of the platform. She halted at the center and laughed down at the crowd, which yelped a welcome to her. Tug Leeds swung away from the piano and came to her side, where he held up his hand for silence.

“Gents, it’s customary to open church with a song, ain’t it? All right, we’ll have the song.”

The two-piece orchestra broke into the introduction of a vulgar honkatonk song--a song too unclean for sober minds. Skeeter Bill knew what it meant--knew what Tug Leeds was aiming at. He was going to disgust the minister. Mary Leeds’ face was indistinct through the haze of tobacco smoke, but Skeeter could see her glance around as if seeking an avenue of escape. The minister moved closer to her, as though to protect her as much as possible.

The shrill voice of the singer began on the second verse, when Skeeter moved forward. No one gave him any heed except to swear at him for jostling them. Tug Leeds’ gang were grouped close to the platform, enjoying the song, when Skeeter Bill shoved his way past the last man and sprang to the platform. The fiddler blocked his way, but Skeeter flung him aside and he fell off the edge of the platform into the crowd.

Tug Leeds leaned forward and stared at Skeeter, who stepped back until he had no one behind him. Skeeter swung a heavy pistol in his right hand as he faced the assemblage. Like a flash the singer darted back and disappeared to the rear of the platform. Not a sound came from the audience. Suddenly a man seemed to move. Like a flash Skeeter fired straight down into the front row of the crowd.

The heavy pistol seemed to shake the building--then absolute silence for a moment. A man spoke:

“By ----, that’s shootin’! Cullop never moved, ’cept to go down.”

“What do you want here?” asked Tug, and his voice was almost a croak.

Skeeter Bill never moved a muscle and his eyes were invisible slits, which seemed to hide the pupils completely, making it impossible to tell just where he was looking. His lips barely moved as he replied:

“Your hired murderer missed me and hit my pardner. I want the preacher to go and see him.”

“Don’t move, Tug,” he gritted, as Leeds relaxed. “I’m takin’ a little time on your case. ’Pears to me that I can’t make up my mind whether to shoot yuh through the head and kill yuh all to once or to shoot your insides out one at a time and give me somethin’ to laugh at.”

From down in the crowd came a toneless laugh. Sandy McClain was standing on the front row, one arm still in a sling. The laugh jarred on Tug’s nerves and he turned his head to glare at McClain.

Men began to ease out of the place, backing into each other in their haste to get out of range. The minister and Mary Leeds had turned and were staring at Skeeter.

“You want the preacher?” asked Tug hoarsely. “I ain’t keepin’ him, am I?” Tug’s voice shrilled at the finish of the sentence.

“You dirty coyote!” Skeeter’s voice was dangerously even. “You brought that preacher and the girl here to make ’em ashamed. You invited ’em to use this place for a church and then you makes ’em listen to a rotten song sung by a naked woman who ain’t got no more shame than a buzzard.”

Tug Leeds did not reply. From down on the floor in front of the crowd came a muffled curse. Some one had trampled on the fiddler’s hand. Again came Sandy McClain’s toneless chuckle. Skeeter Bill spoke directly to the minister.

“Go to my place as fast as yuh can and see if there’s anythin’ yuh can do for my pardner. Take the girl with yuh, and see if yuh can’t find Mrs. Porter. This ain’t no place for either of yuh. Git goin’, can’t yuh?”

The platform was built about three feet above the floor level and the entrance was at the rear, but the minister dropped to the floor and helped Mary Leeds down. The crowd parted to let them through, but closed in behind them again. Skeeter saw three of Leeds’ men swing in behind them, but he was unable to stop them before the lane was choked with moving figures. For an instant Skeeter was off his guard, but it was enough.

Like a flash Tug Leeds grasped the back of the fiddler’s chair and hurled it at Skeeter. Leeds was a powerful man and he threw the chair as an ordinary man would fling a cane. Skeeter whirled and fired, but the chair struck him across the face and hand, spoiling the shot. Before he could shoot again Leeds was into him with a rush and they went backward off the platform.

The crash of their fall shook the building, but they fell sidewise with neither man on top. A pistol flashed almost in Skeeter’s face and the powder seared his cheek, but he broke Leeds’ hold and plowed forward on his hands and knees. Men were kicking at him and more than one landed, but he managed to block them from his face. Above the yells of the attack came the slow _pop-pop_ of a pistol, as if some one were shooting deliberately.

Skeeter fought his way to his feet, crashing a man against the wall and securing his gun by main strength. He dashed the blood from his forehead, where he had cut it in the struggle for the gun, and whirled.

Against the side of the platform stood Sandy McClain, leaning on his injured arm, and as Skeeter looked he fired his last shot. A man slid against the wall, clawing for support and went down. From the packed crowd came a shot and McClain dropped his gun. He swayed for a moment, looked over toward Skeeter and spoke clearly:

“Go after Leeds, Sarg! He’s got it framed to steal the girl for himself and then lead the vigilantes to hang you for it. You’ve spoiled his game, but he’s tryin’ to get her anyway.”

Skeeter Bill shoved away from the wall, covering the remains of the crowd.

“Why do you tell me this, McClain?” asked Skeeter.

McClain laughed tonelessly, swaying on his feet.

“Go and get her, man. For ----’s sake don’t let Tug----”

He swayed to his knees and sat flat on the floor.

Skeeter backed to the door and sprang into the night. He had no idea of where to go. Blindly he ran to the Porter shack and flung the door open. Mrs. Porter, resplendent in a new hat, which was half-twisted on her head, her dress torn and soiled, as if she had been in a battle, was sitting rigidly in a home-made rocking-chair, staring into space.

“Where is that girl?” asked Skeeter breathlessly.

Mrs. Porter looked at him trance-like, and he went over and shook her roughly.

“Where is that girl?” he repeated.

“The stable!” Mrs. Porter’s vocal cords suddenly came to life. “Tug Leeds’ stable! I was near the door of the saloon when they came out. Two men grabbed her. I tried to stop them but they knocked me down.” Mrs. Porter shook as if she had a chill, but continued. “Then Tug Leeds came running and helped them. I--I--they struck me when I screamed, but I saw them go to Tug’s stable.”

Skeeter Bill whirled and ran out. It was about three hundred yards to Leeds’ stable and corral, but Skeeter covered the distance as if running for his life. Around the corral fence he ran and stopped just in time to keep from crashing into several saddled horses. Muffled voices came from inside the barn, and he could hear Tug Leeds’ voice cursing harshly.

The door was flung open and the three came out, carrying a muffled figure. Skeeter was standing on the right side of the horse, motionless as a statue. The men came up to the left side of the animal.

“Is this the right horse?” asked Tug.

“Uh-huh,” growled one of the men.

“Well, rope her on good,” ordered Tug. “Tie her feet to the stirrups and under the horse’s belly and then tie her to cantle and horn. I hope to ---- that somebody killed Sarg. He busted up a good thing for me, ---- him! Now, we’ve all got to leave. Anyway, I got that old booze fightin’ lawyer.”

Not a sound came from the muffled figure as they hoisted it to the saddle.

“Go around and rope the other side, Allen,” said Leeds.

Skeeter stepped in close to the horse, and as Allen came up from under the horse’s neck Skeeter brought the barrel of his six-shooter down across his head. Allen dropped without a sound.

“What in ---- was that?” asked Leeds.

Skeeter reached out, picked up the reins and with a swift spring swung on behind the saddle. As his left leg whirled across he felt the toe of his boot strike a man in the head.

Came a muffled curse, and the flash of a pistol lit up the scene. The horse whirled sidewise, snorting with fear, and bucked viciously. It was probably its first experience in carrying double and it resented it with every muscle in its body.

Skeeter grasped the swaying figure in both arms, locked his heels into the animal’s flanks and rode as he had never ridden before. They crashed into the corral fence and the horse stumbled to its knees, but floundered back into its stride and pitched straight ahead in the dark, while behind them came curses and pistol shots.

Skeeter had no control over the bucking horse, as he had to devote all his time to keeping himself and the blanketed figure in the saddle from being thrown. He was forced to drop his gun. Leeds and his men had selected a powerful horse--a horse well versed in the arts of bucking, and Skeeter was riding under a handicap. He was unable to judge the future actions of the animal, unable to see where they were going.

Suddenly the animal seemed to spin in the air, came the crash of splintering poles and the horse and its riders came down in a tangle. The horse had bucked sidewise into a pole corral.

Skeeter rolled loose from the tangle, dazedly trying to prevent the horse from regaining its feet. He knew that Mary Leeds’ right foot must be tied to a stirrup and that he must not let the horse get up. Suddenly he realized that the horse was making no effort to rise. It was but the work of a moment to remove the ropes from the stirrup and drag her away from the saddle.

He found a match and scratched it on his boot heel. From the folds of a large blanket Mary Leeds’ frightened eyes looked up into his face.

“Skeeter Bill,” she whispered painfully.

“One and the same,” grinned Skeeter painfully. “We sure do meet in the ----est places, don’t we, ma’am.”

As the match flickered out he saw her eyes close and her body relax.