“Name’s Gruger,” he said by way of introduction. “I’m up here looking for a bird called Lanning. Got any dope on him, or is he a stranger to you?”
“More or less,” said Si. “He’s twenty-five or twenty-six years old, and I’ve knowed him along about twenty-four years, I reckon. But I wouldn’t say we was ever familiar-like.”
There was a little glint in the quick eyes of Lefty as they traveled over the face of his companion. In some subtle way the two came to an understanding on the spot.
“If you mean you ain’t a friend of this guy,” said Lefty, “it don’t bother me none. I ain’t his brother myself. But can you tell me anything about him?”
Si Hulan cleared his throat and paused, as if making up his mind how far he could go. Then he felt his way as he spoke. “Lanning was a nice, quiet kid around town,” he said. “Nobody had nothing ag’in him, thought he was kind of spineless, as a matter of fact. All at once he busted loose. Got to be a regular fighter, a gunfighter!”
He waited to see if this shot had taken effect.
“You don’t say,” said Lefty with polite interest.
“Maybe you don’t know what a gunfighter is, friend,” observed Hulan.
“Maybe not,” said Lefty guilelessly.
“It means a gent who lives with his gun day and night and never lets it get more than an inch or so out of his hand. He practices all the time. Tries the draw, tries himself at a mark, and gets ready to use that gun in a fight to kill. And the usual windup is that he gets so blamed skillful that he ends by trying himself out and picking fights till he drops somebody. Then he’s outlawed and goes to the devil.”
“But I sort of get it that young Lanning ain’t gone to the devil yet.”
“Son,” said Si Hulan, who now seemed to feel at ease with the stranger, “that boy is rapping at Satan’s door, and he’ll get inside pretty pronto.”
“Uhn-huh,” said Lefty Gruger.
“Yesterday he made a little bust,” said Si Hulan. “He’s been here with us a few days, trying to make out that he figures on living real quiet. But yesterday he sort of busted loose. And now we’re sitting around waiting for him to make a play. And the minute he pulls a gun, he’ll be salted down. He’s no good. Once wrong always wrong.”
“You’ve said a mouthful, pal,” observed Lefty Gruger.
His little eyes twinkled with thought for a moment. Then he sat up and hailed a freckle-faced youngster passing the veranda.
“Son,” he said, “will you go find Andrew Lanning for me and tell him there’s a man waiting for him at the hotel.”
He followed the request with the bright arc of a quarter that spun into the clutching hand of the boy. The latter stared at the generous stranger for a moment, then dug his bare toes inches deep in the dust and gave himself a flying start down the street. Lefty Gruger watched him thoughtfully. An idea had come to him that he considered, for its simplicity and its effectiveness, to be the equal of any he had ever had in his entire criminal career. A glow of satisfaction with himself spread through him. It was a conclusive proof that the enforced idleness of his career in the prison had not dulled his wits a particle.
Presently he eluded a question of Si Hulan, slipped out of his chair, and began to walk up and down in front of the veranda, gradually increasing his distance until he was out of earshot of the men on the verandah—out of earshot as long as only a conversational tone was used. This was the strategic point that he wished to attain, and when the voices on the veranda had faded to a blur behind him, he halted, settled his hat more firmly to shade his eyes, and waited, cursing the dazzling flare of the sunlight from the dust of the street.
He had hardly reached this position when he saw his quarry coming. He knew the man as well as if a herald had gone before, announcing that this was Andrew Lanning. The bold, free step, the well-poised head, and something, moreover, of hair-trigger alertness about the man convinced him that this was the gunfighter; this was certainly the man of action.
Lefty slipped his hand into his coat pocket and ran the tips of his fingers lovingly over the familiar outlines of the automatic. He withdrew his hand, bringing out a cigarette box, and took out and lighted his smoke with his usual speed. He had snapped the match away, and it was fuming in the dust when Andrew Lanning came close.
Lefty surveyed him with a practiced eye. The promise from the distance was more than borne out in the details that he observed at close hand. Here was a man among many men. Here was a foeman worthy, almost, of his own steel. A sort of honest enthusiasm welled up in the heart of Lefty Gruger, just as the boxer feels a savage joy when his own first blow of the battle is deftly blocked, and a jarring return thuds home against head and breast. Lefty Gruger measured his enemy and felt that the battle might well be close.
“You’re Lanning,” he said smilingly, and held out his stubby hand.
It was very essential that he should be seen by the veranda crowd to greet Andrew Lanning amiably. He could not resist the temptation, however, and allowed some of his bull strength to go into the grip. There was an amazing reaction. His own bulky hand had hardly begun to tighten before the lithe, long fingers of Andrew curled up and became so many bands of contracting steel, cutting into flesh and grinding sinews against bone. It was only a moment. Then their hands fell apart, and Lefty Gruger felt the life slowly return to his numbed muscles.
He maintained his smile for the benefit of those on the veranda. Then he shifted his position as to bring Andrew facing the veranda, while he kept his own back turned.
“I’m Gruger,” he said, continuing the introduction. “I’ve dropped out here on a little piece of business with you. A sort of private business, Lanning. I didn’t know how to tackle it, but I got a couple of hints from the birds on the veranda. They sure love you a lot in this burg, Lanning.”
“They seem to,” said Andy coldly. “What did they tell you about me?”
“Not much, but enough. Tipped me that you were a gunfighter and a fire-eater and that they were just sitting around waiting for you to bust loose, which played right into my hand. Gives me a chance to do what I want to do, right in public. It’s about the first time that I’ve ever had an audience. And say, bo, I sure love applause.”
“I don’t understand,” said Andrew, falling back a pace, the better to study the half-grinning, half-ugly face of Gruger.
“Why, kid,” continued Lefty, “I’ve come out here to bump you off, and I find that I can do the job and get a vote of thanks and my traveling expenses out of the town. That’s easy, ain’t it?”
Andrew blinked. It seemed that the chunky stranger must be either mad or jesting.
“I’m talking straight,” said Lefty, dropping his voice to an ominous purr. “Kid, go for your gat. I’ve showed the folks that I’ve met you peaceable and all that. Now you got to go for your gat, and I’ll do my best to drop you.”
“I understand,” said Andrew huskily. “They worked up the job, eh? Found a man killer to fit my case and now … but it won’t work, Gruger. I’ve made up my mind to see this thing through. I’m going to live without gunfights. One gunfight is ruin for me. One more gunfight makes me what you are.”
“You lie!” said Lefty, letting his voice ring out suddenly. “I tell you, you lie!” He added in a murmur: “Now get the gun, you fool. Get the gun, or I’ll shame you, so you won’t be able to show your face around this town again as long as you live.”
The voices on the veranda had ceased. Men had scattered to shelter. From shelter they watched and listened. If someone had offered $5 for the life of the stranger, the offer would have been received with ardent laughter. But still there was no gunplay, even after Andy Lanning had been given the lie. They could see, also, that his face was white.