The Texan Part 1

The Texan.

by James B. Hendryx.

A PROLOGUE

Exactly twenty minutes after young Benton dismounted from his big rangy black before the door of a low adobe saloon that fronted upon one of the narrow crooked streets of old Las Vegas, he glanced into the eyes of the thin-lipped croupier and laughed. "You've got 'em. Seventy-four good old Texas dollars." He held up a coin between his thumb and forefinger.

"I've got another one left, an' your boss is goin' to get that, too--but he's goin' to get it in legitimate barter an' trade."

As the cowpuncher stepped to the bar that occupied one side of the room, a group of Mexicans who had lounged back at his entrance crowded once more about the wheel and began noisily to place their bets. He watched them for a moment before turning his attention to the heavy-lidded, flabby-jowled person who leaned ponderously against the sober side of the bar.

"Who owns this joint?" he asked truculently, as he eyed with disfavour the filthy s.h.i.+rt-sleeves rolled back from thick forearms, the sagging vest, and the collarless s.h.i.+rt-band that buried itself in a fold of the fat neck.

"I do," was the surly rejoinder. "Got any kick comin'?"

"Nary kick." The cowpuncher tossed his dollar onto the bar. "Give me a little red licker," he ordered, and grinned at the sullen proprietor as he filled his gla.s.s to the brim.

"An outfit," he confided, with slow insolence, "that'll run an eagle-bird wheel ain't got no more conscience than a _hombre's_ got brains that'll buck one. In Texas we'd shoot a man full of little holes that 'ud try it."

"Why'n you stay in Texas, then?" growled the other.

The cowman drank his liquor and refilled the gla.s.s. "Most fat men," he imparted irrelevantly, "are plumb mindful that they're easy hit, an'

consequent they're cheerful-hearted an' friendly. Likewise, they mind their own business, which is also why they've be'n let grow to onhuman proportions. But, not to seem oncivil to a stranger, an' by way of gettin' acquainted, I'll leak it out that it ain't no fault of Texas that I come away from there--but owin' only to a honin' of mine to see more of the world than what Texas affords.

"The way to see a world," I debates, "is like anythin' else--begin at the bottom an' work up. So I selects seventy-five dollars an' hits fer Las Vegas."

The fat man pocketed the dollar and replaced it with a greasy fifty-cent piece, an operation which the Texan watched with interest as he swallowed his liquor.

"They ain't nothin' like eagle-bird wheels an' snake-liniment at two bits a throw to help a man start at the bottom," he opined, and reaching for the half-dollar, tossed it to a forlorn-looking individual who lounged near the door. "Here, Greaser, lend a hand in helpin' me downward!

Here's four bits. Go lay it on the wheel--an' say: I got a hunch! I played every number on that wheel except the thirteen--judgin' it to be onlucky." The forlorn one grinned his understanding, and clutching the piece of silver, elbowed into the group that crowded the roulette wheel.

The cowpuncher turned once more to the surly proprietor:

"So now you see me, broke an' among evil companions, in this here G.o.d-forsaken, lizard-ridden, Greaser-loving sheep-herdin' land of sorrow.

But, give me another jolt of that there pizen-fermentus an' I'll raise to heights unknown. A few more shots of that an' they ain't no tellin' what form of amus.e.m.e.nt a man's soul might incline to."

"Y'got the price?"

"I ain't got even the makin's--only an ingrowin' cravin' fer spiritual licker an' a hankerin' to see America first----"

"That hoss," the proprietor jerked a thumb toward the open door beyond which the big rangy black pawed fretfully at the street. "Mebbe we might make a trade. I got one good as him 'er better. It's that sor'l standin' t'other side of yourn."

The Texan rested an arm upon the bar and leaned forward confidentially.

"Fatty," he drawled, "you're a liar." The other noted the hand that rested lightly upon the cowman's hip near the ivory b.u.t.t of the six-gun that protruded from its holster, and took no offence. His customer continued: "They ain't no such horse--an' if they was, _you_ couldn't own him. They ain't no man ever throw'd a kak on Ace of Spades but me, an'

as fer sellin' him, or tradin' him--I'll shoot him first!"

A sudden commotion at the back of the room caused both men to turn toward the wheel where a fierce altercation had arisen between the croupier and the vagabond to whom the Texan had tossed his last coin.

"You'll take that er nothin'! It's more money'n y'ever see before an'----"

"_Non_! _Non_! De _treize_! De, w'at you call t'irten--she repe't!

A'm git mor' as seex hondre dollaire--" The proprietor lumbered heavily from behind the bar and Benton noted that the thick fingers closed tightly about the handle of a bung-starter. The crowd of Mexicans thinned against the wall as the man with ponderous stealth approached to a point directly behind the excited vagabond who continued his protestations with increasing vigour. The next instant the Texan's six-gun flashed from its holster and as he crossed the room his eye caught the swift nod of the croupier.

When the proprietor drew back his arm to strike, the thick wrist was seized from behind and he was spun violently about to glare into the smiling eyes of the cowpuncher--eyes in which a steely glint flickered behind the smile, a glint more ominous even than the feel of the muzzle of the blue-black six-gun that pressed deeply into his flabby paunch just above the waistband of his trousers.

"Drop that mallet!" The words came softly, but with an ungentle softness that was accompanied by a boring, twisting motion of the gun muzzle as it pressed deeper into his midriff. The bung-starter thudded upon the floor.

"Now let's get the straight of this," continued the Texan. "Hey, you Greaser, if you c'n quit talkin' long enough to say somethin', we'll find out what's what here. You ort to look both ways when you're in a dump like this or the coyotes'll find out what you taste like. Come on, now--give me the facts in the case an' I'll a'joodicate it to suit all parties that's my way of thinkin'."

"_Oui_! A'm play de four bit on de _treize_, an' _voila_! She ween!

Da's wan gran' honch! A'm play heem wan tam' mor'. De w'eel she spin 'roun', de leetle ball she sing lak de bee an', _Nom de Dieu_! She repe't! De t'irten ween ag'in. A'm reech--But _non_!" The man pointed excitedly to the croupier who sneered across the painted board upon which a couple of gold pieces lay beside a little pile of silver. "A-ha, _canaille_! Wat you call--son of a dog! T'ief! She say, 'feefty dollaire'! Dat more as seex hondre dollaire----"

"It's a lie!" cried the croupier fiercely, "the thirteen don't repeat.

The sixteen win--you kin see fer yourself. An' what's more, they can't no d.a.m.n Injun come in here an' call me no----"

"Hold on!" The Texan s.h.i.+fted his glance to the croupier without easing the pressure on the gun. "If the sixteen win, what's the fifty bucks for? His stake's on the thirteen, ain't it?"

"What business you got, hornin' in on this? It hain't your funeral. You Texas tin-horns comes over here an' lose----"

"That'll be about all out of you. An' if I was in your boots I wouldn't go speakin' none frivolous about funerals, neither."

The smile was gone from the steel-grey eyes and the croupier experienced a sudden chilling in the pit of his stomach.

"Let's get down to cases," the cowpuncher continued. "I kind of got the Greaser into this here jack-pot an' it's up to me to get him out. He lays four bits on the thirteen--she pays thirty-five--that's seventeen-fifty. Eighteen, as she lays. The blame fool leaves it lay an' she win again--that's thirty-five times eighteen. Good Lord! An'

without no pencil an' paper! We'll cut her up in chunks an' tackle her: let's see, ten times eighteen is one-eighty, an' three times that is--three times the hundred is three hundred, and three times the eighty is two-forty. That's five-forty, an' a half of one-eighty is ninety, an'

five-forty is six-thirty. We'd ort to double it fer interest an'

goodwill, but we'll leave it go at the reglar price. So, just you skin off six hundred an' thirty bucks, an' eighteen more, an' pa.s.s 'em acrost.

An' do it _p.r.o.nto_ or somethin' might happen to Fatty right where he's thickest." The cowpuncher emphasized his remarks by boring the muzzle even deeper into the unctuous periphery of the proprietor. The croupier shot a questioning glance toward his employer.

"Sh.e.l.l it out! You fool!" grunted that worthy. "Fore this gun comes out my back. An', besides, it's c.o.c.ked!" Without a word the croupier counted out the money, arranging it in little piles of gold and silver.

As the vagabond swept the coins into his battered Stetson the Texan gave a final twist to the six-gun. "If I was you, Fatty, I'd rub that there thirteen number off that wheel an' paint me a tripple-ought or mebbe, another eagle-bird onto it."

He turned to the man who stood grinning over his hatful of money:

"Come on, Pedro, me an' you're goin' away from here. The licker this _hombre_ purveys will sh.o.r.e lead to bloodshed an' riotin', besides which it's onrespectable to gamble anyhow."

Pausing to throw the bridle reins over the horn of his saddle, the Texan linked his arm through that of his companion and proceeded down the street with the big black horse following like a dog. After several minutes of silence he stopped and regarded the other thoughtfully.

"Pedro," he said, "me an' you, fallin' heir to an onexpected legacy this way, it's fit an' proper we should celebrate accordin' to our lights.

The common an' onchristian way would be to spliflicate around from one saloon to another 'till we'd took in the whole town an' acquired a couple of jags an' more or less onfavourable notoriety. Then, in a couple of days or two, we'd wake up with fur on our tongue an inch long an' our wealth divided amongst thieves. But, Pedro, such carryin's-on is ondecent an' improvident. Take them great captains of industry you read about! D'you reckon every pay-day old Andy Rockyfellow goes a rampin'

down Main Street back there in Noo York, proclaimin' he's a wolf an' it's his night to howl? Not on your tintype, he don't! If he did he'd never of rose out of the rank an' file of the labourin' cla.s.s, an' chances is, would of got fired out of that fer not showin' up at the corral Monday mornin'! Y'see I be'n a-readin' up on the lives of these here saints to kind of get a line on how they done it. Take that whole bunch an' they wasn't hardly a railroad nor a oil mill nor a steel factory between 'em when they was born. I got all their numbers. I know jest how they done it, an' when I get time I'm a-goin' out an' make the Guggenhimers cough up my share of Mexico an' the Rocky Mountains an' Alaska.

"But to get down to cases, as the preachers says: Old Andy he don't cantankerate none noticeable. When he feels needful of a jamboree he goes down to the bank an' fills his pockets an' a couple of valises with change, an' gum-shoes down to John D. Swab's, an' they hunt up Charley Carnage an' a couple of senators an' a rack of chips an' they finds 'em a back room, pulls off their collars an' coats an' goes to it. They ain't no kitty only to cover the needful expenses of drinks, eats, an'

smokes--an' everything goes, from cold-decks to second-dealin'. Then when they've derove recreation enough, on goes their collars an' coats, an' they eat a handful of cloves an' get to work on the public again.

They's a lot of money changes hands in these here sessions but it never gets out of the gang, an' after you get their brands you c'n generally always tell who got gouged by noticin' what goes up. If coal oil hists a couple of cents on the gallon you know Andy carried his valises home empty an' if railroad rates jumps--the senators got nicked a little, an'

vicy versy. Now you an' me ain't captains of industry, nor nothin' else but our own soul, as the piece goes, but 'tain't no harm we should try a law-abidin' recreation, same as these others, an' mebbe after some practice we'll get to where the Guggenhimers will be figgerin' how to get the western hemisphere of North America back from us.

"It's like this. Me an' you'll stop in an' get us a couple of drinks.

Then we'll hunt us up a hash-house an' put a big bate of ham an' aigs out of circulation, an' go get us a couple more drinks, an' heel ourselves with a deck of cards an' a couple bottles of cactus juice, an' hunt us up a place where we'll be ondisturbed by the riotorious carryin's-on of the frivolous-minded, an' we'll have us a two-handed poker game which no matter who wins we can't lose, like I was tellin' you, 'cause they can't no outside parties horn in on the profits. But first-off we'll hunt up a feed barn so Ace of Spades can load up on oats an' hay while we're havin'