Ernest Haycox - The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox

"I reckon you acquire a taste for it," reflected Denver, "like olives or eggplant."

Mrs. Jim Coldfoot was discovered on the edge of the circle, aimlessly stabbing at food. It was apparent she meant to miss no word exchanged by these people.

"I like to see men in dress suits," said Lola.

"I could think of nothing more charming," added Eve.

"Now, there!" exploded Niland. "Right there's the insidious influence of the get-up. Nighty wears it, the women fall for it, and pretty soon we'll all have to follow in line. I consider this grave enough for the vigilantes."

"Supposing," suggested Denver, "we excuse ourselves for a smoke and consider the state of affairs at mature length?"

"Is it just a smoke you want?" was Debbie Lunt's malicious question. She looked at Steve, and he joined the departing men uneasily, while the rest of the women laughed.

Out in the yard they assembled. There was a slight gurgle. "What was that the Governor of South Ca'lina said to the Governor of North Ca'lina?" asked Steve. "Personally I despise strong drink, but my feet's hurtin' me awful."

"Don't see why they should," retorted Denver. "You been ridin' around all evenin' on somebody else's feet."

"I'd kill any other man for that," growled Steve, and began to cough. "Whoosh! Somebody hit me on the back 'afore I strangle. Who kicked me in the stummick?"

The Englishman, not yet quite up to the group, was suddenly plucked on the sleeve. A pair of shadows said "Shush!" in unison and drew him away. "It's us, Meems and Wango. Yore a stranger in the country and had ought to be introduced to somethin' nice. Come right over here. By this wagon. Lean agin it while I get the bottle. Don't want nobody else to see or they'd jest swamp us."

"But—" began Nightingale and was pushed against the wagon's side with cordial insistence.

"That's all right. Don't let yore gen'rosity get the best of you. Wango and me believe we owe it to a stranger once, anyhow. Here it is, the finest whisky money can buy. Take a drink. Take a big drink. Hell, take two-three drinks and see if we ain't got the best—"

"Oh, very well," agreed Nightingale and accepted the bottle. The partners crowded beside him, patted him on the back. Nightingale lowered the bottle. "Is this what you are proud of?"

"Ain't it the doggonedest, bestest—"

The Englishman belched magnificently. "I think your trust in nature is jolly well misplaced. Thanks for the disinfectant, and excuse me while I join my friends."

Meems and Wango waited until Nightingale had crossed the yard, then turned toward their horses. "After that," said Meems, "I think we better take our leave. Never know what a furriner will do."

"Yeah," agreed Wango. Together they swung to saddle and aimed for the maw of Copperhead bridge. Wango spoke doubtfully. "Say, Buck, do yuh think that was really funny?"

"Sure it was funny," insisted Meems. "I thought I'd die of laughin'—"

"That's a long jump and run from any proof it's funny," gloomed Wango. "Supposin' he takes exception?"

"Ah, shucks, Englishmen don't get mad. They just look pained."

"Well, mebbe it was funny."

"Sure it was funny. Haw, haw!"

"Damned if it wuzn't funny! Haw, haw, haw!"

The echo of this blank and hollow laughter ran back through the covered bridge and dismally died. A rider came out of the Sky Peak region, flailing down the sloping road. Meems and Wango, chary birds, moved off the highway without comment and halted. The rider ran past but drew to a walk at the bridge and went quietly across. Meems and Wango proceeded onward.

"Make him out?" whispered Wango.

"Yeah. I saw."

"Now, I wonder—"

"Shut your face. Yuh didn't see him atall, get me? You and me don't know nothin'. And is happy as such."

"Gosh, we're ign'runt ain't we, Buck?"

"You bet. I misdoubt they's two fellas in the world that knows as much as we do and is so plumb ign'runt."

Denver and his friends returned casually to the dance hall. It was Steve Steers who, stepping around Nightingale, first saw what had happened. Compressing his lips, he began to wigwag at the others. The Englishman walked forward to his lady and bowed ceremoniously; and by this time there were twenty people grinning at him. The Englishman began to feel something wrong and swung about, thus exposing his back to the length of the hall. Somebody whooped joyously. Whereat Nightingale twisted his neck, and looked among his friends.

"Do I," he demanded, "look odd?"

"Who've you been associatin' with lately?" Denver asked.

"Hm," breathed Nightingale. "Did those extr'ord'n'ary fellas, Meems and Wango, have an ulterior motive?" He bowed again at his lady and with a calmness that was iron-like shucked his coat to expose all the bracing and lacing and scaffolding of his shirt. He held up the back of the coat critically. Upon it clung a square sheet of paper, damp with paste, and across the paper was inscribed:

FOR RENT OR HIRE

SEE JAKE EPSTEIN

NOBBY CLOTHIER.

"So they took me," observed Nightingale, ripping off the sign. And though he maintained the utmost gravity, something like a beam of laughter sparkled in his azure eyes.

The women were outraged. But Denver chuckled broadly. "Well, we've got one point cleared up about that rig. He doesn't pin it on; he buckles it on."

Cal Steele, smiling languidly, let his glance play around the hall. His head jerked, and on the moment darkness came to his face. Rather forcibly he recovered his smile and murmured to Eve, "Just excuse me a minute." He strode out of the barn.

"Folks," said Eve, "in two or three hours it will be daylight. Most of our men have a day's work ahead. Supposing we go home."

"I think I do more work than anybody here," put in Nightingale. "Keepin' out of my foreman's way."

Steve Steers flushed and appeared uncomfortable, as indeed he had appeared most of the evening.

"Always was an officious rascal," drawled Denver. "The trouble is to keep him on the job. Temperamental I mean."

"Ain't I among friends?" was Steve's plaintive groan.

Debbie started to defend him with tartness, but Cal Steele returned and drew the circle's attention. Worry stamped his cheeks. He spoke without the customary ease, almost jerking the words out.

"This is bad. I've got to go home. Now. David, could I appeal to you to see that Eve is taken care of? Eve, my dear, I'll make up for this—"

"It's all right," Eve assured him quickly.

Denver was watching his friend with sharp attention. "Want help, Cal?"

"No. Not at all. But I've got to go."

It was Steve who had to crown his evening's misery by one supremely inopportune remark.

"Well, yuh got two girls now, Dave. What you goin' to do with 'em?"

In itself the statement was harmless; but it brought to the minds of all the long-standing question in Yellow Hill concerning Dave and Lola and Eve. In the moment of dead silence Steve saw his mistake and was practically paralyzed. He turned a dull red. It was Eve, herself flushed, who bridged the strained scene.

"That's soon settled," said she coolly. "Let Lola come home with me tonight."

"I would like that," replied Lola, dark eyes shining across at Eve.

Cal Steele gave the group a short flickering smile. "Goodnight to you all. I have had the evening of my life. And until we meet again—bless you, my children."

Denver was plainly worried, and he started after Steele. "Sure you don't want help, Cal?"

But Cal Steele shook his head. "Dave, old man, if I did I'd come to you first of all." The inner strain of his thoughts aged him; he stared at Denver like a man racked and wrung. "Just remember that. I'd always come to you first—and last. So long."

He disappeared, leaving behind the hint of trouble. Some of the sparkle went from the party, and by common consent they slowly paid their farewells and walked from the hall. Denver put Eve and Lola in his rig and went over to intercept Steve. "Listen, when you leave Debbie home, why not cut around by the rock road to the ranch? Just to see if anything's on the wing?"