"So that's the pilgrim?" he asked. "Why didn't you let me salivate him right away; it would 'a' bin easy."
"Yes, too easy--for him," \the Chief retorted. "I could have done that myself, but I want him shamed before others, beaten at his own game. Let him see death coming, and wait for it, suffering those few seconds of agony which turn a man into a white-livered cur and make him sweat blood. Do you understand?"
His voice trembled with the virulence of his passion, and it made Butch think a little. "Yeah," he said slowly. "You mean you don't like him--much, but has it occurred to you that he might get me?"
Satan's expression was an insult. "You don't expect to pick up five hundred dollars without some risk, I suppose?" he said coldly. "Of course, if he's quicker than you ..."
The gunman leered. "I guess not, but you hadn't mentioned the dinero," he replied. "Well, that's fixed; I'll be on my way." He had a word as he went, "Hell, t'o're a good hater, ain't you?"
Had he heard the valediction which followed him he would have been less satisfied with the vile bargain he had made.
"Yes, I'm a good hater," Satan repeated. "Go, you dog, and kill or be killed; either way, I gain."
* * * Sudden was glad to find himself in the sunlight; he had meant what he said--these dismal caverns in the rock, the homes of a dead and gone race, depressed him, and the interview had intensified this feeling. He smiled mirthlessly as he recalled the incident of the picture; there had been no illusion, the moving eyes were those of a hidden marksman, ready to shoot him down at a sign. He did not suspect it was the man he had to meet, and--subdue, but it warned him that the bandit was not taking risks regarding his own safety.
"An' two-three times I came near to puffin' on him," he reflected ruefully. "Oughta guessed that dealin' with the scum he has to he'd have a card up his sleeve. If `fools for luck' is right, I must be a prize specimen."
He spent the rest of the day loafing about the town, watching, listening, but he learned nothing until the evening when, returning to the saloon, a whisper came to him out of the gloom.
"A bad man is here. If he falls foul of you, remember that his right hand is the dangerous one."
The voice was Anita's, and he realized that he was passingthe place where she lived. But he could see no one, and with a word of thanks, he went on. The caution could only refer to Butch.
He entered the saloon from the rear, and in the seclusion of his room, examined his guns, reloading them with fresh cartridges from his belt, and spinning the cylinders; his life might depend on their being in perfect order. He did not want to kill this man, and if possible, he would avoid the encounter, but ..
The bar was well patronized, most of those present being men. The few exceptions were of the type common in the cattle-towns, brazen, loud-voiced, gaudlly attired creatures who had followed hunted men into hiding, or had been driven into it by their own misdeeds. The atmosphere was hazy with tobacco smoke and reeked of liquor and kerosene.
With his back against the bar, Sudden surveyed the scene with apparent indifference, but his eyes were alert. Most of the faces were unfamiliar, but in one corner, Scar and his cronies were playing poker. He could see no one likely to be the man he was expecting.
"Business 'pears to be boomin'," he remarked to the proprietor. "Any particular reason?"
At that moment, a half-tipsy reveller raised his glass and shouted, "Here's to the Double K."
The toast produced a burst of raucous laughter, and a cry of "Don't forget the Twin Diamond."
"There's yore answer," Dirk replied. "The Chief pays prompt."
Nevertheless, the cowboy had a conviction that this did not explain things; an air of expectancy, frequent furtive glances at the door and himself, suggested that the crowd had not come solely to spend ill-gotten gains. The saloon-keeper's wife called her husband from the exit leading to the rear of the premises. When he returned he said: "There's a fella at the back askin' for you."
Sudden went out, but not too hurriedly, for it might be a trap. He found young Holt, alone, and bursting with his news.
"Bin lookin' for you all over," he began. "They aim to git you to-night in there--a gunman named Butch has come a-purpose. Muley got drunk this arternoon an' he's bin tellin' everybody to come to yore funeral."
"I'm thankin' yu," Sudden said. "But what can I do?"
"Keep out'n his way," Holt said eagerly. "you can hide--"
The grim smile stopped him. "Never look for trouble, son," the puncher replied, "but when it's lookin' for yu there's on'y one thing to do--stand up an' face it."
"But you ain't got a chance--they say he never misses," the lad urged.
"The best of 'em is liable to slip up once, an' that's aplenty. It was right kind o' yu to come."
"You stood up for me," Holt muttered, and, as he turned to go, "I hope you git him."
"I hope I don't have to," Sudden replied gravely. Returning to the saloon, he declined to have his glass replenished, contenting himself with a cigar. He had no more than lighted it when the buzz of conversation abruptly ceased as a black-coated, stooping figure flung back the swing-door and walked slowly to the bar. The effect of his entry upon the company told that this was the man for whom they were waiting.
Sudden absorbed every detail as he advanced; the poor physique and malevolent features interested him not at all, but the one gun, slung on the left hip, did. It suggested a left-handed marksman, but the woman had warned him against the right. Moreover, the butt of the weapon was turned backinstead of forward, as would have been the case had the wearer intended to use the other hand. He had seen gunmen who did that, but it was an awkward method. Then his eyes hardened and his teeth shut like a vice; he had solved the problem.
Meanwhile Butch had reached the bar and called for drink. He poured himself a modest dose, tossed it down his throat, and turned his half-shrouded, reptilian eyes upon the lounging form of his quarry, a few yards distant.
"What you think o' this liquor?" he asked.
"Pretty good," was the quiet answer.
"I say it's damned bad," Butch snarled. "So now what?"
"Matter o' taste, I s'pose," the cowboy said. "Anyways, I ain't sellin' it."
A sinister silence ensued; gamblers ceased their games, and men forgot to drink as they watched a duel which they knew could end only in one way. The mild snub, however, had produced a snigger which died swiftly when Butch glared towards the spot from whence it came. Then he turned his rancorous gaze on the man he had undertaken to destroy.
"One o' them funny fellas, huh?" he sneered. "You carry a couple o' guns, too, I see."
"Yore sight ain't deceivin' yu."
There were professional gunmen who had to flog themselves into a fury to arrive at the point of killing; others simulated anger with the object of flurrying an opponent into a false move. Butch belonged to neither class; he slew with the cold deliberation of one pursuing his trade, and the inoffensive demeanour of his victim aroused in him merely a feeling of contempt. Sudden knew that a clash was inevitable but he would do nothing to provoke it.
"I've put ten hombres outa business an' eight of 'em toted a pair o' sixes," Butch announced loudly. "I allus call a two-gun bluff." His frowning stare fastened upon the puncher.
"Shuck yore belt an' git down on yore knees, you sonof-a--" he barked.
The insult was deadly, and every eye in the room turned on the man at whom it had been hurled, still leaning easily against the bar. Breathlessly they waited for him to speak. Tense seconds, pregnant with menace, ticked by, and then the lolling figure slowly straightened, as though to obey the shameful command.
"Gawd, he's goin' to take it," whispered a card-player.
The neighbour to whom he spoke shook his head; the narrowed, ice-cold eyes were not those of a quitter.