Black Jack Part 35

The big man whirled as though he had heard a gun; there was a ring in the voice of Terry like the ring down the barrel of a shotgun after it has been c.o.c.ked.

"You agin?" barked Larrimer.

"Me again. Larrimer, don't shoot the horse."

"Why not?"

"For the sake of your soul, my friend."

"Boys, ain't this funny? This gent is a sky-pilot, maybe?" He made a long stride back.

"Stop where you are!" cried Terry.

He stood like a soldier with his heels together, straight, trembling. And Larrimer stopped as though a blow had checked him.

"I may be your sky-pilot, Larrimer. But listen to sense. Do you really mean you'd shoot that red horse in front of the hotel?"

"Ain't you heard me say it?"

"Then the Lord pity you, Larrimer!"

Ordinarily Larrimer's gun would have been out long before, but the change from this man's humility of the moment before, his almost cringing meekness, to his present defiance was so startling that Larrimer was momentarily at sea.

"d.a.m.n my eyes," he remarked furiously, "this is funny, this is. Are you preaching at me, kid? What d'you mean by that? Eh?"

"I'll tell you why. Face me squarely, will you? Your head up, and your hands ready."

In spite of his rage and wonder, Larrimer instinctively obeyed, for the words came snapping out like military commands.

"Now I'll tell you. You manhunting cur, I'm going to send you to h.e.l.l with your sins on your head. I'm going to kill you, Larrimer!"

It was so unexpected, so totally startling, that Larrimer blinked, raised his head, and laughed.

But the son of Black Jack tore away all thought of laughter.

"Larrimer, I'm Terry Hollis. Get your gun!"

The wide mouth of Larrimer writhed silently from mirth to astonishment, and then sinister rage. And though he was in the shadow against the door, Terry saw the slow gleam in the face of the tall man--then his hand whipped for the gun. It came cleanly out. There was no flap to his holster, and the sight had been filed away to give more oiled and perfect freedom to the draw. Years of patient practice had taught his muscles to reflex in this one motion with a speed that baffled the eye. Fast as light that draw seemed to those who watched, and the draw of Terry Hollis appeared to hang in midair. His hand wavered, then clutched suddenly, and they saw a flash of metal, not the actual motion of drawing the gun. Just that gleam of the barrel at his hip, hardly clear of the holster, and then in the dimness of the big room a spurt of flame and the boom of the gun.

There was a clangor of metal at the farthest end of the room. Larrimer's gun had rattled on the boards, unfired. He tossed up his great gaunt arms as though he were appealing for help, leaped into the air, and fell heavily, with a force that vibrated the floor where Terry stood.

There was one heartbeat of silence.

Then Terry shoved the gun slowly back into his holster and walked to the body of Larrimer.

To these things Bill, the storekeeper, and Jack Baldwin, the rancher, afterward swore. That young Black Jack leaned a little over the corpse and then straightened and touched the fallen hand with the toe of his boot. Then he turned upon them a perfectly calm, unemotional look.

"I seem to have been elected to do the scavenger work in this town," he said. "But I'm going to leave it to you gentlemen to take the carrion away. Shorty, I'm going back to the house. Are you ready to ride that way?"

When they went to the body of Larrimer afterward, they found a neat, circular splotch of purple exactly placed between the eyes.

CHAPTER 31

The first thing the people in Pollard's big house knew of the return of the two was a voice singing faintly and far off in the stable--they could hear it because the door to the big living room was opened. And Kate Pollard, who had been sitting idly at the piano, stood up suddenly and looked around her. It did not interrupt the c.r.a.p game of the four at one side of the room, where they kneeled in a close circle. But it brought big Pollard himself to the door in time to meet Denver Pete as the latter hurried in.

When Denver was excited he talked very nearly as softly as he walked. And his voice tonight was like a contented humming.

"It worked," was all he said aside to Pollard as he came through the door. They exchanged silent grips of the hands. Then Kate drew down on them; as if a mysterious; signal had been pa.s.sed to them by the subdued entrance of Denver, the four rose at the side of the room.

It was Pollard who forced him to talk.

"What happened?"

"A pretty little party," said Denver. His purring voice was so soft that to hear him the others instantly drew close. Kate Pollard stood suddenly before him.

"Terry Hollis has done something," she said. "Denver, what has he done?"

"Him? Nothing much. To put it in his own words, he's just played scavenger for the town--and he's done it in a way they won't be forgetting for a good long day.

"Denver!"

"Well? No need of acting up, Kate."

"Who was it?"

"Ever meet young Larrimer?"

She shuddered. "Yes. A--beast of a man."

"Sure. Worse'n a beast, maybe. Well, he's carrion now, to use Terry's words again."

"Wait a minute," cut in big blond Phil Marvin. Don't spoil the story for Terry. But did he really do for Larrimer? Larrimer was a neat one with a gun--no good otherwise."

"Did he do for Larrimer?" echoed Denver in his purring voice. "Oh, man, man! Did he do for Larrimer? And I ain't spoiling his story. He won't talk about it. Wouldn't open his face about it all the way home. A pretty neat play, boys. Larrimer was looking for a rep, and he wanted to make it on Black Jack's son. Came tearing in.

"At first Terry tried to sidestep him. Made me weak inside for a minute because I thought he was going to take water. Then he got riled a bit and then--whang! It was all over. Not a body shot. No, boys, nothing clumsy and amateurish like that, because a man may live to empty his gun at you after he's been shot through the body. This young Hollis, pals, just ups and drills Larrimer clean between the eyes. If you'd measured it off with a ruler, you couldn't have hit exact center any better'n he done. Then he walks up and stirs Larrimer with his toe to make sure he was dead. Cool as h.e.l.l."

"You lie!" cried the girl suddenly.

They whirled at her, and found her standing and flaming at them.

"You hear me say it, Kate," said Denver, losing a little of his calm.

"He wasn't as cool as that--after killing a man. He wasn't."