Chapter IX: Skeeter Bill stared at the minister

“I--I was just goin’ to start in helpin’ yuh,” stammered Skeeter, foolishly.

“I thank you,” said the old minister kindly. “It was fine of you not to forget me, but I do not think I will need any assistance. Things are progressing very nicely.”

“Yuh got started already?”

“Yes, indeed. Miss--er--my daughter----”

“Miss Leeds,” corrected Skeeter, as the minister hesitated at the sight of Judge Tareyton standing behind Skeeter. “The judge _sabes_ the whole works.”

“Ah, yes,” nodded the minister; “I see. As I was saying, she has been of very much service to me today. I was a trifle dubious over the reception accorded me, don’t you see. I talked with the estimable Mrs. Porter and she suggested that I--er--preach on the street. I could see the wisdom of such a course at once.

“Miss Leeds and I discussed this, with the result that I prepared several announcements for services this evening. Miss Leeds and I proceeded to post these in prominent places. There was no doubt of the sensation these created.”

“I reckon not,” drawled Skeeter.

“But that is not all,” said the minister triumphantly. “Miss Leeds asked the owner of a place called the Panhandle if she might post a notice therein. The man read it, rather curiously, I think, but acquiesced. He talked with Miss Leeds and I for some little time, but at the conclusion of this talk he offered to let us have the use of his entire establishment for the evening. I told him about your kindness to us.”

“Keep on talkin’,” said Skeeter seriously. “What did he say about me?”

“I told him that you were going to help me and he seemed to be greatly amused. You were very good to us, Mr. Sarg, and I came over to assure you that in spite of anything we appreciate your kindness.”

“In spite of anythin’,” repeated Skeeter. “You’re just as welcome as if you burned your shirt.”

For a while there was silence. The minister seemed to be trying to continue the conversation, but lacked fitting words. Skeeter Bill’s gaze slowly swept the rear of visible buildings and came back to the minister.

“Yuh don’t know what that man’s name was, do yuh?”

“They called him Mr. Tug, I think.”

“Mr. Tug,” said Skeeter slowly. “I know him.”

“Yes, I thought you did,” said the minister. “He told me he had ordered you out of town.”

“My ----!” gasped Skeeter. “He didn’t leave much of anythin’ to talk about, did he? Was the lady there when he talked so much?”

“Yes. He said she should know everything. But I assure you that we are very grateful----”

“You’re awful danged welcome,” said Skeeter bitterly. “Good day.”

Skeeter started to shut the door.

“Just a moment,” said the minister, and Skeeter turned his head. “Do you know of a family named Honkatonk? I have a message to the Honkatonk girls, and I----”

But Skeeter Bill shut the door, leaving the minister finishing his sentence to the exterior of the shack.

* * * * *

Judge Tareyton faced Skeeter and they stared at each other for several moments. From outside came the sound of footsteps as the minister turned and started away. Then the judge sat down on his bunk and picked up the bottle.

“At any rate, Skeeter Bill, you are relieved from any further necessity of assisting the spreading of gospel in Sunbeam town.”

Skeeter stared at the floor and rubbed a hand slowly across his chin.

“Well, judge, they can’t say I lied to ’em. I told ’em I was a horse-thief but they wouldn’t believe me.”

“Skeeter Bill,” said the judge seriously, “you have been vindicated, but I still maintain that we are in a ---- precarious position.”

“Feller can’t die but once, judge.”

“Nor live,” nodded the judge, “I am still of the opinion that our skin is worth more to us than to posterity. Tonight, when the mantle of darkness covers the hills, we really must fold our tents and silently steal away.”

“I am a thief,” nodded Skeeter, “but I won’t steal away. Tonight when this here mantle covers the hills, I’m goin’ to church; _sabe?_”

Judge Tareyton measured a spot on the bottle and lowered the contents to the exact spot.

“Skeeter Bill, I shall go with you. It will shock the devil--I am very sure of that, but there will be little cause for the angels to sing--yet.”

Judge Tareyton sighed with regret as the supply of liquor dwindled. Night came swiftly after the sunset, and the room was already in semidarkness. Across the room from the judge stood Skeeter Bill, leaning against the one window, his tall figure slightly bowed. There were no sounds in the room except the creak of the bed as the judge reached for and replaced the almost empty bottle.

Suddenly Skeeter straightened and peered out of the window. A figure was coming toward the shack. As it came closer Skeeter saw that it was Mary Leeds. As she passed the corner of the shack, Skeeter stepped over and opened the door.

She stopped just short of the doorway and peered at him. Neither of them spoke for nearly a minute, then Skeeter Bill said softly--

“Evenin’, ma’am.”

“Oh, I--I couldn’t see you very well,” faltered Mary Leeds, “I----”

“Won’t yuh come in?” asked Skeeter.

“No, I----”

“Thassall right,” nodded Skeeter. “I don’t blame yuh.”

“But I want you to--I--” Mary Leeds grew confused.

“Lemme say it for yuh, ma’am. You know I’m a bad _hombre_, but you’re tryin’ to excuse me. That’s fine. I sure do appreciate it, but the fact that I’m a bad _hombre_ still hangs around, don’t it? Mebbe you’re sorry for me, ma’am.”

“Yes,” said Mary Leeds simply.

“Don’t do it, ma’am,” Skeeter straightened up. “Don’t do it. Laugh at me if yuh want to, but----”

“I just wanted you to know that it doesn’t make any difference what they say about you,” interrupted Mary Leeds. “You were very kind and considerate, and I want to thank you for it.”

Judge Tareyton came slowly to the door, brushing back his long hair and trying to make his weak knees carry his dead-weight body.

“Good evening,” said Mary Leeds.

“I have never seen a better one,” replied the judge hoarsely, bowing with difficulty. “The night hath many charms, but never before have I observed them from my own door. Will you not come in?”

“No,” Skeeter shook his head. “No, judge. It ain’t square to her to ask her into our house, ’cause she might accept to keep from hurtin’ our feelin’s.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mary Leeds softly, and turned away.

* * * * *

They watched her disappear in the direction of the Porter home.

“She is sorry,” stated the judge. “Did you hear that, Skeeter Bill? She pities you, and pity is akin to love.”

Skeeter laughed hoarsely.

“Pity a horse-thief? Mebbe she could, judge, but it would be as impossible as ---- for her to love one. No, she don’t feel sorry for me. She’s like a lot of human bein’s, who comes around and tells yuh how sorry they are--not doin’ it because they’re sorry, but because they figger that it’s the proper thing to do. If she was honest she’d tell me that she was much obliged for my help and sorry she bothered me.”

“I would rather hear you laugh, Skeeter Bill,” said the judge. “Tug Leeds would howl with delight if he knew how you were feeling at this moment. I anticipate something out of the ordinary in sermons tonight, as I am keyed to such a pitch that I could enjoy something extraordinary.”

“If I go there it will mean a killing,” said Skeeter thoughtfully. “The preacher and the girl both think I’m plumb ornery now, and if I start a killin’ they won’t feel any better about me.”

“Painful but true,” admitted the judge. “But just why did Tug Leeds give them the use of the saloon? It is a sure thing that it is not because he favors a sermon. Mary Leeds is a mighty likely-looking girl, Skeeter Bill.”

Skeeter nodded and turned away from the door. It was dark in the cabin and Skeeter mechanically picked up an old bottle and lit the candle which was stuck in the neck. The candle flickered for a moment from a draught from the open door. Came the crash of splintering glass, the candle disappeared, and from outside sounded the whip-like crack of a rifle.

Skeeter flung himself sidewise against the wall, while the judge stumbled out of line with the door. Two more shots pinged through the door, splintering their way out through the back of the cabin.

“Skeeter!” called the judge fearfully.

“Present,” grunted Skeeter. “Everythin’ accounted for except the bottle and candle. Keep out of line with that door, judge.”

“Tug Leeds opens the dance,” observed the judge.

“With a bad mistake,” chuckled Skeeter. “He should ’a’ held a foot further to the left. That’s the beauty of bein’ skinny, judge. If you’d ’a’ been in my place you’d a been a ghost right now.”

“What will we do now?”

“Kill somebody, judge. That was a good bottle. I reckon we’ll have to Injun a little, but it kinda makes me happy, don’t yuh know it.”

They remained flattened against the walls for a while, but no more shots were fired. A cloudy sky blotted out the moon, which made it safe for them to leave their protection.

“Just what is our move, Skeeter Bill?” asked the judge. “It is likely that the bushwhacker still desires our demise.”

“I dunno,” confessed Skeeter softly, searching around on the floor for their candle and placing it on the table.

“I’ve got to see Tug Leeds for a minute or two, and then I’ll--sh-h-h!”

Some one was walking boldly to the cabin, making no pretense of keeping quiet. Skeeter stepped in closer to the half-open door, covering the opening with his gun. A man stumbled on the crude step and grasped the side of the door.

“Sarg!” he called softly.

“Kinda close to yuh, pardner,” said Skeeter Bill easily.

The man laughed.

“Thought I’d missed yuh, Sarg. This is McClung.”

He stepped inside. Skeeter Bill scratched a match as he closed the door, and walked over to the candle.

“Didn’t see no light, so I thought mebbe yuh was uptown,” observed McClung, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

“The mosquitoes were bad,” explained the judge. “They’re deadly enough in the dark and we don’t intend to give them a light to work by.”

“I dunno much about ’em,” grinned McClung. “Never seen one in this country.”

“Perhaps I was wrong,” admitted the judge; “I am no bugologist, but I heard several of them humming and just drew a natural conclusion.”

McClung looked curiously at Skeeter, who laughed.

“Somebody fired three shots through the door and one of ’em busted the light.”

“In the dark?” asked McClung.

“Few minutes ago,” assented Skeeter. “Didn’t amount to nothin’, but kinda shows that a feller’s home ain’t sacred nowadays.”

McClung smiled, but grew serious.

“Sarg, we gave you until tomorrow to decide about leadin’ us, but the boys are at the Keystone cabin and they want to see yuh.”

Skeeter looked at the judge, who was hanging a blanket over the one window. Suddenly the judge staggered back, as if from a heavy blow, and from the outside came the _whang_ of a rifle.

The judge regained his balance and turned, a quizzical look on his frowsy face. He looked at Skeeter and McClung and pointed back at the window.

“Skeeter Bill--you--forgot--window--I--I--they--by--gad--it’s--dark----”

He swayed forward and Skeeter Bill caught him in his arms and half-dragged him to the bed. McClung helped Skeeter remove the judge’s old Prince Albert coat and the faded shirt. The bullet had torn its way completely through the shoulder, making a wicked wound.

“Lucky it was on the right side,” muttered McClung.

Skeeter Bill’s homely face was drawn with suffering as he looked down at his partner--his old drunken lawyer partner--and then he looked up at McClung.

“He can’t make it, McClung,” hoarsely. “He’s all burnt up with whisky. Might as well hit him dead center.”

Judge Tareyton gasped and opened his eyes. For a moment he seemed uncertain, but the blurred look faded from his eyes and he half-smiled up at Skeeter.

“I know you won’t lie to me, Skeeter Bill,” he said weakly. “Have I got a chance?”

Skeeter’s eyes turned slowly away and the lines of his face seemed to harden to granite as he turned slowly back and looked down at the judge.

“Judge, that ain’t a fair question. God A’mighty is the only one what can answer that. Old pardner, you’ve got a big hole in your right shoulder and your body ain’t fit for a hard battle. You’ve still got a fightin’ chance, but it’s got to be fought with your brains.”

Judge Tareyton smiled.

“Brains? Skeeter Bill, if I had brains I would still have a fighting body. You have been good to me, son. It appears that until now I have not realized how good you have been.”

Skeeter Bill turned away, rubbing the palms of his hands on his hips. The blurred look came back to Judge Tareyton’s eyes and he began to talk incoherently.

“Doc Brashear went to Ophir this afternoon,” said McClung softly. “There ain’t a soul what can help him, Sarg.”

“Oh, ----, don’t I know it?” groaned Skeeter. “He’s just a drunken old lawshark, McClung, but he’s my pardner. He’s the only one what cares a ---- about me. That shot was for me, don’t yuh know it?”

Skeeter looked back at the bed for a moment and then turned to McClung.

“Friend, will yuh stay here with him for a little while? I dunno whether he’d like it or not, but I’m goin’ to get that preacher. They use preachers when folks are passin’ out, don’t they?”

“They do when they can get ’em,” agreed McClung.

Skeeter shifted his cartridge belt and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

“Mebbe this one won’t want to come, but he’ll come if I have to cripple his legs and pack him here.”

Skeeter hurried to the Porter shack, but there was no one at home. Skeeter had no way of telling what time it was, but he knew that the minister must be at the Panhandle and that it would be a man-sized job to hold conversation with him in that place.