At that fall the six men scampered1 from beneath the table to seize the downed man. There was no need of their haste. Sheriff Anderson was a wreck2 rather than a fighting man. One arm was horribly crumpled3 beneath him; his ribs4 were shattered, there was a great gash5 where the rung of the chair had cut into the bone like a knife.
They stood chattering6 about the fallen man, straightening him out, feeling his pulse, making sure that he, who would soon hang at the will of the law, was alive. Outside, voices were rushing toward them, doors slamming.
Bull Hunter broke through the circle, bent7 over the limp body, and drew a big bundle of keys from a pocket. Then, without a word, he went back to the far end of the room, buckled8 on his gun belt, and in silence left the room.
The others paid no heed9. They and the newcomers who had poured into the room were fascinated by the work of the giant rather than the giant's self. They had a lantern, swinging dull light and grotesque10 shadows across the place now, and by the illumination, two of the men went to the wall and picked up the great oaken chair. They raised it slowly between them, a battered11 mass of disconnected wood. Then they looked to the far end of the long table where he who had thrown the missile had stood. Another line had been written into the history of Bull Hunter—the first line that was written in red.
Bull himself was on his way to the jail. He found it unguarded. The deputy had gone to find the cause of the commotion12 at the hotel. The steel bars, moreover, were sufficient to retain the prisoner and keep out would-be rescuers.
In the dim light of his lantern, Bull saw that Pete Reeve was sitting cross-legged on his bunk13, like a little, dried-up idol14, smoking a cigarette. His only greeting to the big man was a lifting of the eyebrows15. But, when the big key was fitted into the lock and the lock turned, he showed his first signs of interest. He was standing16 up when Bull opened the door and strode in.
"What things, big fellow?"
"Why, guns and things—and your hat, of course."
Pete Reeve walked to the corner of the cell and took a sombrero off the wall. "Here's that hat," he answered, "but they ain't passing out guns to jailbirds—not in these parts!"
"You ain't a jailbird," answered Bull, "so we'll get that gun. Know where it is?"
Reeve followed without a question through the open door, only stopping as he passed beyond the bars, to look back to them with a shudder18. It was the first sign of emotion he had shown since his arrest. But his step was lighter19 and quicker as he followed Bull into the front room.
"In that closet, yonder," said Reeve, pointing to a door. "That's where they keep the guns."
Bull shook out his bundle of keys into the great palm of his hand.
"Not those keys—the deputy has the key to the closet," said Pete. "I saw Anderson give it to him."
Bull sighed. "I ain't got much time, partner," he said. Approaching the door, he examined it wistfully. "But, maybe, they's another way." He drew back a little, raised his right leg, and smashed the heavy cowhide boot against the door. The wood split from top to bottom, and Bull's leg was driven on through the aperture20. He paused to wrench21 the fragments of the door from lock and hinges and then beckoned22 to Pete Reeve. "Look for your gun in here, Reeve."
The little man cast one twinkling glance at his companion and then was instantly among the litter of the closet floor. He emerged strapping23 a belt about him, the holster tugging25 far down, so that the muzzle26 of the gun was almost at his knee. Bull appreciated the diminutive27 size of the man for the first time, seeing him in conjunction with the big gun on his thigh28.
There was an odd change in the little man also, the moment his gun was in place. He tugged29 his broad-brimmed hat a little lower across his eyes and poised30 himself, as if on tiptoe; his glance was a constant flicker31 about the room until it came to rest on Bull. "Suppose you lemme in on the meaning of all this. Who are you and where do you figure on letting me loose? What in thunder is it all about?"
"We'll talk later. Now you got to get started."
Bull waved to the door. Pete Reeve darted32 past him with noiseless steps and paused a moment at the threshold of the jail. Plainly he was ready for fight or flight, and his right hand was toying constantly with the holstered butt33 of his gun. Bull followed to the outside.
"Hosses?" asked the little man curtly.
"On foot," answered Bull with equal brevity, and he led the way straight across the street. There was no danger of being seen. All the life of the town was drawn34 to a center about the hotel. Lights were flashing behind its windows, men were constantly pounding across the veranda35, running in and out. Bull led the way past the building and cut for the cottonwoods.
"And now?" demanded Pete Reeve. "Now, partner?"
That word stung Bull. It had not been applied36 to him more than a half a dozen times in his life, together with its implications of free and equal brotherhood37. To be called partner by the great man who had conquered terrible Uncle Bill Campbell!
"They's a mess in the hotel," said Bull, explaining as shortly as he could. "Seems that Sheriff Anderson was the gent that done the killing38 of Armstrong. It got found out and the sheriff tried to get away. Lots of noise and trouble."
"Ah," said Reeve, "it was him, then—the old hound! I might have knowed! But I kep' on figuring that they was two of 'em! Well, the sheriff was a handy boy with his gun. Did he drop anybody before they got him? I heard two guns go off like one. Them must of been the sheriff's cannons39."
"They was," said Bull, "but them bullets didn't hit nothing but wood."
"Wild, eh? Shot into the wall?"
"Nope. Into a chair."
The little man was struggling and panting sometimes breaking into a trot40 to keep up with the immense strides of his companion. "A chair? You don't say so!"
Bull was silent.
"How come he shot at a chair? Drunk?"
"The chair was sailing through the air at him."
"H'm!" returned Pete Reeve. "Somebody throwed a chair at him, and the sheriff got rattled41 and shot at it instead of dodging42? Well, I've seen a pile of funnier things than that happen in gun play, off and on. Who threw the chair?"
"I did."
"Hunter is my name. Mostly they call me Bull."
"You got the size for that name, partner. So you cleaned up the sheriff with a chair?" he sighed. "I wish I'd been there to see it. But who got the inside on the sheriff?"
"I dunno what you mean?"
Pete Reeve looked closely at his companion. Plainly he was bewildered, somewhere between a smile and a frown.
"I mean who found out that the sheriff done it?"
"He told it himself," said Bull.
"Drunk, en?"
"Nope. Not drunk. He was asked if he didn't do the murder."
"Great guns! Who asked him?"
"I done it," said Bull as simply as ever.
Reeve bit his lip. He had just put Bull down as a simple-minded hulk.
He was forced to revise his opinion.
"You done that? You follered him up, eh?"
"I just done a little thinking. So I asked him."
Reeve shook his head. "Maybe you hypnotized him," he suggested.
"Nope. I just asked him. I got a lot of folks sitting around, and then
I began telling the sheriff how he done the shooting."
"And he admitted it?"
"Nope. He jumped for a gun."
"And then you heaved a chair at him." Pete Reeve drew in a long breath. "But what reason did you have, son? I got to ask you that before I thank you the way I want to thank you. But, before you kick out, you'll find that Pete Reeve is a friend."
"My reason was," said Bull, "that I had business to do with you that couldn't be done in a jail. So I had to get you out."
"And now where're we headed?"
"Where we can do that business."
They had reached a broad break in the cottonwoods; the moonlight was falling so softly and brightly.
Bull paused and looked around him. "I guess this'll have to do," he declared.
"All right, son. You can be as mysterious as you want. Now what you got me here for?"
"To kill you," said Bull gently.
Pete Reeve flinched44 back. Then he tapped his holster, made sure of the gun, became more easy. "That's interesting," he announced. "You couldn't wait for the law to hang me, eh?"
Bull began explaining laboriously45. He pushed back his hat and began to count off his points into the palm of one hand. "You shot up Uncle Bill Campbell," he explained. "It ain't that I got any grudge46 agin' you for that, but you see, Uncle Bill took me in young and give me a home all these years. I thought it would sort of pay him back if I run you down. So I walked across the mountains and come after you."
"Wait!" exclaimed Pete Reeve. "You walked?"
"Yep," he went on, heedless of the fact that Pete Reeve was peering earnestly into the face of his companion, now puckered47 with the earnest frown of thought. "I come down hoping to get you and kill you. Besides, that wouldn't only pay back Uncle Bill. It would make him think that I was a man. You see, Reeve, I ain't quick thinking, and I ain't bright. I ain't got a quick tongue and sharp eyes, and they been treating me like I was a kid all my life. So I got to do something. I got to! I ain't got anything agin' you, but you just happen to be the one that I got to fight. Stand over yonder by that stump48. I'll stand here, and we'll fight fair and square."
Pete Reeve obeyed, his movements slow, as if they were the result of hypnotism. "Bull," he said rather faintly, looking at the towering bulk of his opponent, "I dunno. Maybe I'm going nutty. But I figure that you come down here to kill me for the sake of getting your uncle to pat you on the back once or twice. And you find you can't get at me because I'm in jail, so you work out a murder mystery to get me out, and then you tackle me. You say you ain't very bright. I dunno. Maybe you ain't bright, but you're mighty49 different!"
He paused and rubbed his forehead. "Son, I've seen pretty good men in my day, but I ain't never seen one that I cotton to like I do to you. You've saved my life. How can you figure on me going out and taking yours, now?"
"You ain't going to, maybe," said Bull calmly. "Maybe I'll get to you."
"Son," answered the other almost sadly, shaking his head, "when I'm right, with a good, steady nerve, they ain't any man in the world that can sling50 a gun with me. And tonight I'm right. If it comes to a showdown—but are you pretty good with a gun yourself, Bull?"
"No," answered Bull frankly51. "I ain't any good compared to an expert like you. But I'm good enough to take a chance."
"Them sort of chances ain't taken twice, Bull!"
"You see," said Bull, "I'm going to make a rush as I pull the gun, and if I get to you before I'm dead, well—all I ask is to lay my hands on you, you see?"
The little man shuddered52 and blinked. "I see," he said, and swallowed with difficulty. "But, in the name of reason, Bull, have sense! Lemme talk! I'll tell you what that uncle of yours was—"
"Don't talk!" exclaimed Bull Hunter. "I sort of like you, partner, and it sort of breaks me down to hear you talk. Don't talk, but listen. The next time that frog croaks53 we go for our guns, eh? That frog off in the marsh54!"
He had hardly spoken before the ominous56 sound was heard, and Bull reached for his gun. For all his bulk of hand and unwieldy arms, the gun came smoothly57, swiftly into his hand. He would have had an ordinary man covered, long before the latter had his gun muzzle-clear of the leather. But Pete Reeve was no ordinary man. His arm jerked down; his fingers flickered58 down and up. They went down empty; they came up with the burden of a long revolver, shining in the moonlight, and he fired before Bull's gun came to the level for a shot.
Only Pete Reeve knew the marvel59 of his own shooting this day. He had sworn a solemn and silent oath that he would not kill this faithful, courageous60 fellow from the mountains. He could have planted a bullet where the life lay, at any instant of the fight. But he fired for another purpose. The moment Bull reached for his weapon he had lurched forward, aiming to shoot as he ran. Pete Reeve set himself a double goal. His first intention was to disarm61 the giant; the other was to stop his rush. For, once within the grip of those big fingers, his life would be squeezed out like the juice of an orange.
His task was doubly difficult in the moonlight. But the first shot went home nicely, aimed as exactly as a scientist finds a spot with his instruments. Where the moon's rays splashed across the bare right forearm of Bull, he sent a bullet that slashed63 through the great muscles. The revolver dropped from the nerveless hand of the giant, but Bull never paused. On he came, empty-handed, but with power of death, as the little man well knew, in the fingers of his extended left hand. He came with a snarl64, a savage65 intake66 of breath, as he felt the hot slash62 of Pete's bullet. But Reeve, standing erect67 like some duelist of old, his left hand tucked into the hollow of his back, took the great gambling68 chance and refused to shoot to kill.
He placed his second shot more effectively, for this time he must stop that tremendous body, advancing upon him. He found one critical spot. Between the knee and the thigh, halfway69 up on the inside of the left leg, he drove that second bullet with the precision of a surgeon. The leg crumpled under Bull and sent him pitching forward on his face.
Perhaps the marsh ground was unstable70, but it seemed to Pete Reeve that the very earth quaked beneath his feet as the big man fell. He swung his gun wide and leaned to see how serious was the damage he had done. Bleeding would be the greater danger.
But that fraction of a second brought him into another peril71. The giant heaved up on his sound right leg and his sound left arm, and flung himself forward, two limbs dangling72 uselessly. With a hideously73 contorted face, Bull swung his left arm in a wide circle for a grip and scooped74 in Pete Reeve, as the latter sprang back with a cry of horror.
The action swept Pete in and crushed his gun hand and arm against the body of his assailant, paralyzing his only power of attack or defense75. Reeve was carried down to the ground as if beneath the bulk of a mountain. There was no question of sparing life now. Pete Reeve began to fight for life. He wrestled76 at his gun to tug24 it free, but found it anchored. He pulled the trigger, and the gun spoke55 loud and clear, but the bullet plunged77 into empty space. Then he felt that left arm begin to move, and the hand worked up behind his back like a great spider.
Higher it rose, and the huge, thick fingers reached up and around his throat, fumbling78 to get at the windpipe. Pete Reeve made his last effort; it was like striving to free himself from a ton's weight. Hysteria of fear and horror seized him, and his voice gave utterance79 to his terror. As he screamed, the big fingers joined around his throat. Any further pressure would end him!
He looked up into the glaring eyes and the contorted face of the giant; the rasping, panting breathing paralyzed his senses. There was a slight inward contraction80 of the grip; then it ceased.
Miraculously81 he felt the great hand relax and fall away. The bulk was heaved away from him, and staggering to his own feet, he saw Bull Hunter supported against a tree, one leg useless, one arm streaming.
"I couldn't seem to do it," said Bull Hunter thickly. "I couldn't noways seem to do it, Reeve. You see, I sort of like you, and I couldn't kill you, Pete."
When Pete Reeve recovered from his astonishment82 he said, "You can do more. You can go home and tell that infernal hound of an uncle of yours that you had the life of Pete Reeve under your fingertips and that you didn't take it. It's the second time I've owed my life, and both times in one day, and both times to one man. You tell your uncle that!"
The big man sagged83 still more against the tree. "I'll never go home, Pete, unless ghosts walk; and I'll never tell Uncle Bill anything, unless the ghosts talk. I'm dying pretty pronto, I think, Pete."
"Dyin'? You ain't hurt bad, Bull!"
"It's the bleeding; all the senses is running out of my head—like water—and the moon—is turning black—and—" He slumped84 down at the foot of the tree.
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1
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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5
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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6
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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7
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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11
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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12
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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15
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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16
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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17
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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19
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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20
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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21
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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22
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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24
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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25
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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26
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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32
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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33
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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34
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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38
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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39
cannons
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| n.加农炮，大炮，火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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40
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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41
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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42
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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43
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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44
flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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46
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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47
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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49
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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50
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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51
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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52
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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53
croaks
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的第三人称单数 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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54
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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55
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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56
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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57
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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60
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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61
disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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62
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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63
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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64
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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65
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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66
intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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67
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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68
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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69
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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71
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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72
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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73
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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74
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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75
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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76
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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77
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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78
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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79
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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80
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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81
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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82
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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83
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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84
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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