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The Fighting Edge, a novel by William MacLeod Raine |
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Chapter 22. An Alternative Proposed And Declined |
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_ CHAPTER XXII. AN ALTERNATIVE PROPOSED AND DECLINED The prediction made by Blister Haines that some overbearing puncher would bully Bob because of his reputation as safe game did not long wait fulfillment. A new rider joined the Slash Lazy D outfit. He had been working for the K Bar T for a couple of months. Prior to that time he had not been seen on the river. The rumor was that he hailed from Wyoming. To ask for more specific information would not have been good form. More than one or two cowboys in the Rio Blanco country had left their former homes just ahead of a sheriff. Bandy Walker knew how to rope and ride. That was the main consideration of Harshaw when he hired him. He guessed the fellow's name was not Walker any more than it was Bandy. One cognomen had been given him because he was so bow-legged; the other he had no doubt taken for purposes of non-identification. Bandy was short, heavy-set, and muscular. At a glance one would have picked him out as dangerous. The expression on the face was sulky. The eyes were expressionless as jade. He was given the bunk next Dillon and before twenty-four hours were past he had begun to bully him. It began with a surly request behind which Bob sensed a command. "Fellow, get my bridle, won't you? I left it with my saddle somewheres close to the chuck house. Got to fix it to-night." Dillon had taken off his high-heeled boots because they were hurting his feet. He observed that Walker, lying fully dressed on the blankets, was still wearing his. "Why, sure," Bob said amiably, and he tugged on his boots. Presently he returned with the bridle and handed it to Bandy. That was the beginning of it. Before the week was out Bob was the man's flunkey, the butt of his ill-natured jokes, the helpless victim of his bad temper. Inside, he writhed. Another failure was being scored against him. But what could he do? This Bandy Walker was a gunman and a rough-and-tumble fighter. He boasted of it. Bob would be a child in his hands. The other punchers watched the affair, drew deductions, but made no audible comments. The law of the outdoors is that every man must play his own hand. The Slash Lazy D resented Bandy. He was ugly in face, voice, and manner. His speech was offensive. He managed to convey insult by the curl of his lip. Yet he was cunning enough to keep within the bounds of safety. Nobody wanted to pick a quarrel with him, for it might turn out to be a serious business. The fellow looked rancorous. Moreover, the ranch riders had no use for Dillon. It would be a relief if Bandy drove him away. They felt disgraced when cowboys from the Circle Bar or the Quarter Circle Triangle inquired for the health of their new rider Miss Roberta. Dud and Bob were riding Milk Creek one day about a week after Walker's arrival. They unsaddled at noon and lay down to loaf on a sunny bank close to the water's edge. Hollister had been silent all morning, contrary to his usual custom. His good spirits usually radiated gayety. "What's the matter? Ain't you feelin' good?" Bob asked. "No, I ain't." "Stomach?" "Heart," returned Dud gloomily. Bob sat up. "Why, I never heard there was anything the matter with yore heart. If there is, you hadn't ought to be ridin' these crazy colts you do." "Nothin' the matter with _my_ heart. It's yore's I'm worryin' about." Bob flushed, but said nothing. "I'm wonderin' how long you're aimin' to let that bully puss fellow Walker run over you." "What can I do?" Bob did not look at his companion. He kept his eyes on the ground, where he was tracing figures with a broken stick. "Well, there's seve-re-al things you could do. You might work the plug-ugly over. It couldn't hurt his looks none, an' it might improve 'em. That's one suggestion. I've got others where that come from." "He's a bad actor. I expect he'd half kill me," Bob muttered. "I reckon he would, onless you beat him to it. That's not the point. You got to fight him or admit you're yellow. No two ways about that." "I can't fight. I never did," groaned Dillon. "Then how do you know you can't? If you can't, take yore lickin'. But you be on top of him every minute of the time whilst you're gettin' it. Go to it like a wild cat. Pretty soon something'll drop, an' maybe it won't be you." "I--can't." Dud's blue eyes grew steely. "You can't, eh? Listen, fellow. I promised Blister to make a man outa you if I could. I aim to do it. You lick Bandy good to-night or I'll whale you to-morrow. That ain't all either. Every time you let him run on you I'll beat you up next day soon as I get you alone." Bob looked at him, startled. "You wouldn't do that, Dud?" "Wouldn't I? Don't you bet I wouldn't. I'm makin' that promise right now." "I thought you were--my friend," Bob faltered. "Don't you think it. I'm particular who I call by that name. I ain't a friend of any man without sand in his gizzard. But I done give my word to Old Blister an' I gotta come through. It'll hurt you more'n it will me, anyhow." "I'll quit an' leave this part of the country," Bob said wretchedly. "I'm not stoppin' you, but you won't go till I've whopped you once good. Will you take it now?" "Let's talk it over reasonable," Bob pleaded. Dud looked disgusted. "I never see such a fellow for thinkin' he could chin himself outa trouble. Nothin' doing." "You've got no right to interfere in my affairs. It's not yore business," the worried victim of circumstances declared with an attempt at dignity. "Say, don't I know it? If I hadn't promised Blister--But what's the use? I done said I would, an' I got to go through." "I'll let you off yore promise." Dud shook his head. "Wish you could, but you can't. It was to Blister I give my word. No, sir. You gotta take or give a lickin', looks like. Either me or Bandy, I ain't particular which." "You lay off me, Dud Hollister." "Honest, I hope you'll fix it so's I can. Well, you got till to-morrow to decide. Don't forget. Me or Bandy one. You take yore choice." "I won't fight you." "Then it's Bandy. Suits me fine. Say, Bob, I ain't so darned sure that fellow'll be there so big when it comes to a show-down. He looks to me tricky rather than game. Take him by surprise. Then crawl his hump sudden. With which few well-chosen words I close. Yores sincerely, Well-wisher, as these guys sign themselves when they write to the papers." All through the rest of the day Bob was depressed. He felt as cheerful as a man about to be hanged. Why couldn't they let him alone? He never in his life went looking for trouble and it seemed to hunt him out if he was anywhere in reach. It was not fair. What claim had Dud to mix into his difficulties with Bandy? Absolutely none. He made up his mind to slip away in the night, ride to Glenwood, and take the train for Denver. There a fellow could live in peace. _ |
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