Partners of Chance Part 35

"Double-crossed you, eh? And now you're sore and want his scalp."

"He talk too much of the Box-S horses in that cantina," stated Posmo deliberately. "He say that you owe him money." This was an afterthought, and an invention.

"Who did he say that to?" queried Sneed.

"He tell everybody in that place that you turn the good trick and then throw him hard."

"Either you're lyin', or Panhandle's crazy." Sneed turned and called to his men, a few paces off. They rode up on tired horses. "What do you say, boys? Panhandle is talkin', over there in Phoenix. Posmo, here, says Panhandle is talkin' about us. Now n.o.body's got a thing on us. We been south lookin' at some stock we're thinkin' of buyin'. Want to ride over with me and have a little talk with Panhandle?"

"Ain't that kind of risky, Cap?"

"Every time! But it ain't necessary to ride right into the marshal's office. We put our little deal through clean. The horses we're ridin'

belong to us. And who's goin' to stop us from ridin' in, or out, of town? I aim to talk to Panhandle into ridin' north with us. It's safer to have him along. If you all don't want to ride with me, I'll go in alone."

"We're with you, Cap," said one of the men.

"Mebby it's safer to ride through the towns from now on than to keep dodgin' 'em," suggested Lawson.

"Come on, then," and Sneed indicated Posmo.

"And don't make any mistakes," threatened Lawson, riding close to the Mexican. "If you do--you won't last."

Posmo had not counted on this turn of affairs. He had supposed that his news would send Sneed and his men in to have it out with Panhandle, or that one of them would ride in and persuade Panhandle to join them. But he now knew that he would have to ride with Sneed, or he would be suspected of double-dealing.

At the fork of the road leading into Phoenix, Sneed reined in. "We're ridin' tired horses, boys. And we ain't lookin' for trouble. All we want is Panhandle. We'll get him."

Sitting his big horse like a statue, his club foot concealed by the long _tapadero_, his physical being dominating his followers, Sneed headed the group that rode slowly down the long open stretch bordering on the east of the town. They entered town quietly and stopped a few doors below the lighted front of the Hole-in-the-Wall.

"Just step in and tell Panhandle I want to see him," and Sneed indicated one of his riders.

The man went in and came out again with the information that Panhandle had left the saloon about an hour ago; that he had told the bartender he was going out to get some money and come back and play the wheel.

"Get on your horse," said Sneed, who had been gazing up the street while listening to the other. "Here comes Panhandle now. I'll do the talking."

CHAPTER XXIV

CHEYENNE PLAYS BIG

Watching from his darkened window, Cheyenne had seen Panhandle leave the Hole-in-the-Wall, and stride up the street alone. It was the first time Cheyenne had seen Sears since he had taken the single room opposite the gambling-house. Cheyenne stepped back, drew down the curtain, and turned on the light. The bare board floor was littered with cigarette stubs. A pair of saddle-bags hung on the iron bedstead. Other furniture was a chair, a scratched and battered washstand, a cracked mirror. Standing by the washstand Cheyenne took his gun from its holster, half-c.o.c.ked it, and punched out the loaded cartridges. He pulled the pin, pushed the cylinder out with his thumb, and examined it against the light.

Carefully he cleaned and replaced the cylinder, reloaded it, held the hammer back, and spun the cylinder with his hand. Finally he thrust the gun in the holster and, striding to the bed, sat down, his chin in his hands.

Somewhere out there on the street, or in the Hole-in-the-Wall, he would meet his enemy--in a few minutes, perhaps. There would be no wordy argument. They understood each other, and had understood each other, since that morning, long ago when they had pa.s.sed each other on the road--Panhandle riding in to Laramie and Cheyenne and Little Jim riding from the abandoned home. Cheyenne thought of Little Jim, of his wife, and, by some queer trick of mind, of Bartley. He knew that the Easterner was in town. The stableman at the Top-Notch had told him. Well, he had seen Panhandle. Now he would go out and meet him, or overtake him.

Some one turned from the street into the hall below and rapidly climbed the stairs. Cheyenne heard a knock at the door opposite his. That room was unoccupied. Then came a brisk knock at his own door.

"What do you want?"

"Is that you, Cheyenne?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Bartley. I just found out from Colonel Stevenson where you were camping."

Cheyenne stepped to the door and unlocked it.

Bartley entered, glanced round the room, and then shook hands with Cheyenne. "Been a week trying to find you. How are you and how are the horses? Man, but it was a long, lonesome ride from San Andreas! If it hadn't been for that dog that adopted me--by the way, Colonel Stevenson was telling Senator Brown that Panhandle is in town. I suppose you know it."

"I seen him, this evenin'."

"So did I. Just pa.s.sed him as I came down here. The Colonel said you were camping somewhere opposite the Hole-in-the-Wall. How is everything?"

"Quiet."

"Were you going anywhere?"

"No place in particular."

Bartley sat down on the edge of the bed and lighted a cigarette.

Cheyenne stood as though waiting for him to leave. There was something queer about Cheyenne. His eyes were somber, his manner stiff and unnatural. His greeting had been cool.

"About that man Panhandle--" Bartley began, but Cheyenne interrupted with a gesture.

"You say you saw him, on your way down here?"

"Yes. He didn't seem to recognize me. He was walking fast."

"How was Little Jim when you left?"

"Just fine!"

"And the folks?"

"Same as ever. Miss Gray--"

"Well, I reckon I'll be steppin' along. Glad I saw you again."

"Going to leave town to-night?"

"I aim to."

Bartley could no longer ignore Cheyenne's att.i.tude. He knew that something had happened or was about to happen. Cheyenne's manner did not invite question or suggestion. Yet Bartley had promised Dorothy that he would exert what influence he had--and it seemed a critical time, just at that moment.

"I'd like to talk with you a minute, if you have time," said Bartley.