Only for the good of the order, Henry, grinned the scout.
Nice job Jeff has picked out for me, muttered de Spain grimly, standing up in these Sleepy Cat barrooms to be shot at. He drew in a good breath and threw up the wet brim of his hat. Well, such is life in the high country, I suppose. Some fine day Mr. Sandusky will manage to get meor Ill manage to get himthat all depends on how the happening happens. Anyway, Bob, its bad luck to miss a man. Well hang that much of a handicap on his beef-eating crop. Is he the fellow John calls the butcher? demanded de Spain.
Thats what everybody calls him, I guess.
The two rejoined Lefever at the head of the stairs and the three discussed the news. Even Lefever seemed more serious when he heard the report. Scott, when asked where Sandusky now was, nodded toward the big room in front of them.
Lefever looked toward the gambling-tables. Well go in and look at him. He turned to Scott to invite his comment on the proposal. Think twice, John, suggested the Indian. If theres any trouble in a crowd like that, somebody that has no interest in de Spain or Sandusky is pretty sure to get hurt.
I
dont mean to start anything, explained Lefever. I only want de Spain to look at him.
But sometimes things start themselves. Lefever found Sandusky at a faro-table. At his side sat his partner, Logan. Three other players, together with the onlookers, and the dealerwhose tumbled hair fell partly over the visor that protected his eyes from the glare of the overhead lightmade up the group. The table stood next to that of Tenison, who, white-faced and impassive under the heat and light, still held to his chair.
Lefever took a position at one end of the table, where he faced Sandusky, and de Spain, just behind his shoulder, had a chance to look the two Calabasas men closely over. Sandusky again impressed him as a powerful man, who, beyond an ample stomach, carried his weight without showing it. What de Spain most noted, as it lay on the table, was the size and extreme length of the outlaws hand. He had heard of Sanduskys hand. From the tips of the big fingers to the base of the palm, this right hand, spread over his chips, would cover half again the length of the hand of the average man.
De Spain credited readily the extraordinary stories he had heard of Sanduskys dexterity with a revolver or a rifle. That he should so lately have missed a shot at so close range was partly explained now that de Spain perceived Sanduskys small, hard, brown eyes were somewhat unnaturally bright, and that his brows knit every little while in his effort to collect himself. But his stimulation only partly explained the failure; it was notoriously hard to upset the powerful outlaw with alcohol. De Spain noted the coarse, straw-colored hairplastered recently over the forehead by a barberthe heavy, sandy mustache, freshly waxed by the same hand, the bellicose nostrils of the Roman nose, the broad, split chin, and mean, deep lines of a most unpromising face. Sanduskys brown shirt sprawled open at the collar, and de Spain remembered again the flashy waistcoat, fastened at the last buttonhole by a cut-glass button.
At Sanduskys side sat his crony in all important undertakingsa much smaller, sparer man, with aggressive shoulders and restless eyes. Logan was the lookout of the pair, and his roving glance lighted on de Spain before the latter had inspected him more than a moment. He lost no time in beginning on de Spain with an insolent question as to what he was looking at. De Spain, his eye bent steadily on him, answered with a tone neither of apology nor pronounced offense: I am looking at you.
Lefever hitched at his trousers cheerily and, stepping away from de Spain, took a position just behind the dealer. What are you looking at me for? demanded Logan insolently.
De Spain raised his voice to match exactly the tone of the inquiry. So Ill know you next time.
Logan pushed back his chair. As he turned his legs from under the table to rise, a hand rested on his shoulder. He looked up and saw the brown face and feeble smile of Scott. Logan with his nearest foot kicked Sandusky. The big fellow looked up and around. Either by chance or in following the sound of the last voice, his glance fell on de Spain. He scrutinized for a suspicious instant the burning eyes and the red mark low on the cheek. While he did socomprehension dawning on himhis enormous hands, forsaking the pile of chips with which both had been for a moment busy, flattened out, palms down, on the faro-table. Logan tried to rise. Scotts hand rested heavily on him. Whats the row? demanded Sandusky in the queer tone of a deaf man. Logan pointed at de Spain. That Medicine Bend duck wants a fight.
With a man, Logan; not with a cub, retorted de Spain, matching insult with insult.
Maybe I can do something for you, interposed Sandusky. His eyes ran like a flash around the table. He saw how Lefever had pre-empted the best place in the room. He looked up and back at the man standing now at his shoulder, and almost between Logan and himself. It was the Indian, Scott. Sandusky felt, as his faculties cleared and arranged themselves every instant, that there was no hurry whatever about lifting his hand; but he could not be faced down without a show of resistance, and he concluded that for this occasion his tongue was the best weapon. If I can, he added stiffly, Im at your service.