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Two-Gun Man

<h2 id="id01108" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> <h5 id="id01109">THE DIM TRAIL.</h5> A shadow fell upon the rock. Ferguson turned his head and looked toward the west, where the sun had already descended over the mountains. "Why it's sundown!" he said, smiling into Miss Radford's eyes. "I reckon the days must be gettin' shorter." "The happy days are always short," she returned, blushing. He kissed her for this. For a while they sat, watching together the vari-colors swimming in the sky. They sat close together, saying little, for mere words are sometimes inadequate. In a little time the colors faded, the mountain peaks began to throw sombre shades; twilight—gray and cold—settled suddenly into the flat. Then Miss Radford raised her head from Ferguson's shoulder and sighed. "Time to go home," she said. "Yes, time," he returned. "I'm ridin' down that far with you." They rose and clambered down the hillside and he helped her into the saddle. Then he mounted Mustard and rode across the flat beside her. Darkness had fallen when they rode through the clearing near the cabin and dismounted from their ponies at the door. The light from the kerosene lamp shone in a dim stream from the kitchen door and within they saw dishes on the table with cold food. Ferguson stood beside his pony while Miss Radford went in and explored the cabin. She came to the door presently, shading her eyes to look out into the darkness. "Ben has been here and gone," she said. "He can't be very far away. Won't you come in?" He laughed. "I don't think I'll come in," he returned. "This lover business is new to me, an' I wouldn't want Ben to come back an' ketch me blushin' an' takin' on." "But he has to know," she insisted, laughing. "Sure," he said, secure in the darkness, "but you tell him." "I won't!" she declared positively, stamping a foot. "Then I reckon he won't get told," he returned quietly. "Well, then," she said, laughing, "I suppose that is settled." She came out to the edge of the porch, away from the door, where the stream of light from within could not search them out, and there they took leave of one another, she going back into the cabin and he mounting Mustard and riding away in the darkness. He was in high spirits, for he had much to be thankful for. As he rode through the darkness, skirting the cottonwood in the flat, he allowed his thoughts to wander. His refusal to enter the cabin had not been a mere whim; he intended on the morrow to seek out Ben and tell him. He had not wanted to tell him with her looking on to make the situation embarrassing for him. When he thought of how she had fooled him by making it appear that she had led him on for the purpose of getting material for her love story, he was moved to silent mirth. "But I cert'nly didn't see anything funny in it while she was puttin' it on," he told himself, as he rode. He had not ridden more than a quarter of a mile from the cabin, and was passing a clump of heavy shrubbery, when a man rose suddenly out of the shadows beside the trail. Startled, Mustard reared, and then seeing that the apparition was merely a man, he came quietly down and halted, shaking his head sagely. Ferguson's right hand had dropped swiftly to his right holster, but was raised again instantly as the man's voice came cold and steady: "Get your hands up—quick!" Ferguson's hands were raised, but he gave no evidence of fear or excitement. Instead, he leaned forward, trying, in the dim light, to see the man's face. The latter still stood in the shadows. But now he advanced a little toward Ferguson, and the stray-man caught his breath sharply. But when he spoke his voice was steady. "Why, it's Ben Radford," he said. "That's just who it is," returned Radford. "I've been waitin' for you." "That's right clever of you," returned Ferguson, drawling his words a little. He was puzzled over this unusual occurrence, but his face did not betray this. "You was wantin' to see me then," he added. "You're keen," returned Radford, sneering slightly. Ferguson's face reddened. "I ain't no damn fool," he said sharply. "An' I don't like holdin' my hands up like this. I reckon whatever you're goin' to do you ought to do right quick." "I'm figuring to be quick," returned Radford shortly. "Ketch hold of your guns with the tips of one finger and one thumb and drop them. Don't hit any rocks and don't try any monkey business." He waited until Ferguson had dropped one gun. And then, knowing that the stray-man usually wore two weapons, he continued sharply: "I'm waiting for the other one." Ferguson laughed. "Then you'll be waitin' a long time. There ain't any 'other one. Broke a spring yesterday an' sent it over to Cimarron to get it fixed up. You c'n have it when it comes back," he added with a touch of sarcasm, "if you're carin' to wait that long." Radford did not reply, but came around to Ferguson's left side and peered at the holster. It was empty. Then he looked carefully at the stray-man's waist for signs that a weapon might have been concealed between the waist-band and the trousers—in front. Then, apparently satisfied, he stepped back, his lips closed grimly. "Get off your horse," he ordered. Ferguson laughed as he swung down. "Anything to oblige a friend," he said, mockingly. The two men were now not over a yard apart, and at Ferguson's word Radford's face became inflamed with wrath. "I don't think I'm a friend of yours," he sneered coldly; "I ain't making friends with every damned sneak that crawls around the country, aiming to shoot a man in the back." He raised his voice, bitter with sarcasm. "You're thinking that you're pretty slick," he said; "that all you have to do in this country is to hang around till you get a man where you want him and then bore him. But you've got to the end of your rope. You ain't going to shoot anyone around here. "I'm giving you a chance to say what you've got to say and then I'm going to fill you full of lead and plant you over in the cottonwood—in a place where no one will ever be able to find you—not even Stafford. I'd have shot you off your horse when you come around the bend," he continued coldly, "but I wanted you to know who was doing it and that the man that did it knowed what you come here to do." He poised his pistol menacingly. "You got anything to say?" he inquired. Ferguson looked steadily from the muzzle of the poised weapon to Radford's frowning eyes. Then he smiled grimly. "Some one's been talkin'," he said evenly. He calmly crossed his arms over his chest, the right hand slipping carelessly under the left side of his vest. Then he rocked slowly back and forth on his heels and toes. "Someone's been tellin' you a pack of lies," he added. "I reckon you've wondered, if I was goin' to shoot you in the back, that I ain't done it long ago. You're admittin' that I've had some chance." Radford sneered. "I ain't wondering why you ain't done it before," he said. "Mebbe it was because you're too white livered. Mebbe you thought you didn't see your chance. I ain't worrying none about why you didn't do it. But you ain't going to get another chance." The weapon came to a foreboding level. Ferguson laughed grimly, but there was an ironic quality in his voice that caught Radford's ear. It seemed to Radford that the stray-man knew that he was near death, and yet some particular phase of the situation appealed to his humor—grim though it was. It came out when the stray-man spoke. "You've been gassin' just now about shootin' people in the back—sayin' that I've been thinkin' of doin' it. But I reckon you ain't thought a lot about the way you're intendin' to put me out of business. I was wonderin' if it made any difference—shootin' a man in the back or shootin' him when he ain't got any guns. I expect a man that's shot when he ain't got guns would be just as dead as a man that's shot in the back, wouldn't he?" He laughed again, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "That's the reason I ain't scared a heap," he said. "From what I know about you you ain't the man to shoot another without givin' him a chance. An' you're givin' me a chance to talk. I ain't goin' to do any prayin'. I reckon that's right?" Radford shifted his feet uneasily. He could not have told at that moment whether or not he had intended to murder Ferguson. He had waylaid him with that intention, utterly forgetful that by shooting the stray-man he would be committing the very crime which he had accused Ferguson of contemplating. The muzzle of his weapon drooped uncertainly. "Talk quick!" he said shortly. Ferguson grinned. "I'm takin' my time," he returned. "There ain't any use of bein' in such an awful hurry—time don't amount to much when a man's talkin' for his life. I ain't askin' who told you what you've said about me—I've got a pretty clear idea who it was. I've had to tell a man pretty plain that my age has got its growth an' I don't think that man is admirin' me much for bein' told. But if he's wantin' to have me put out of business he's goin' to do the job himself—Ben Radford ain't doin' it." While he had been talking he had contrived to throw the left side of his vest open, and his right hand was exposed in the dim light—a heavy six-shooter gleaming forebodingly in it. His arms were still crossed, but as he talked he had turned a very little and now the muzzle of the weapon was at a level—trained fairly upon Radford's breast. And then came Ferguson's voice again, quiet, cold, incisive. "If there's goin' to be any shootin', Ben, there'll be two of us doin' it. Don't be afraid that you'll beat me to it." And he stared grimly over the short space that separated them. For a full minute neither man moved a muscle. Silence—a premonitory silence—fell over them as they stood, each with a steady finger dragging uncertainly upon the trigger of his weapon. An owl hooted in the cottonwood nearby; other noises of the night reached their ears. Unaware of this crisis Mustard grazed unconcernedly at a distance. Then Radford's weapon wavered a little and dropped to his side. "This game's too certain," he said. Ferguson laughed, and his six-shooter disappeared as mysteriously as it had appeared. "I thought I'd be able to make you see the point," he said. "It don't always pay to be in too much of a hurry to do a thing," he continued gravely. "An' I reckon I've proved that someone's been lying about me. If I'd wanted to shoot you I could have done it quite a spell ago—I had you covered just as soon as I crossed my arms. You'd never knowed about it. That I didn't shoot proves that whoever told you I was after you has been romancin'." He laughed. "An' now I'm tellin' you another thing that I was goin' to tell you about to-morrow. Mebbe you'll want to shoot me for that. But if you do I expect you'll have a woman to fight. Me an' Mary has found that we're of one mind about a thing. We're goin' to hook up into a double harness. I reckon when I'm your brother-in-law you won't be so worried about shootin' me." Radford's astonishment showed for a moment in his eyes as his gaze met the stray-man's. Then they drooped guiltily. "Well I'm a damn fool!" he said finally. "I might have knowed that Mary wouldn't get afoul of any man who was thinkin' of doing dirt to me." He suddenly extended a hand. "You shakin'?" he said. Ferguson took the hand, gripping it tightly. Neither man spoke. Then Radford suddenly unclasped his hand and turned, striding rapidly up the trail toward the cabin. For a moment Ferguson stood, looking after him with narrowed, friendly eyes. Then he walked to Mustard, threw the bridle rein over the pommel of the saddle, mounted, and was off at a rapid lope toward the Two Diamond. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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