The Hair-Trigger Kid, Max Brand [best classic literature TXT] 📗

Chapter 36 - Chuck

There was nothing particularly gained by listening to this conversation,

the Kid decided. He had learned that there was a certain amount of

fundamental decency in Dolly Smith. He had learned that Champ Dixon kept

his crew of barbarians controlled in the hollow of his hand. He had

learned, finally, that he himself was looked upon as the single danger to

the camp, and that danger they considered small.

 

“The Kid’s gonna have a bust,” Champ had declared with a prophetic

solemnity and the words rang and re-echoed through the mind of the boy as

he drew back again from the fire, working his way slowly among the boxes.

 

The cook came out from his kitchen tent carrying a bucket of steaming

coffee, and the Kid paused in his retreat to watch the other put down the

bucket where the heat of the fire would warm it. Then Bolony Joe—gaunt

as a crow, and evil of face—took some wood from a great heap which

towered a dozen feet into the air and freshened the fire.

 

“You gents ain’t got the sense to keep up your own fire,” said Bolony.

“Well, you can have cold coffee, then. I’m gonna turn in. This is the

worst job that I ever cooked for. They’s dust in everything. I hope you

bust your teeth on the grit in that corn bread. I’d rather cook in the

inside of a sand storm. I’m gonna turn in.”

 

“Take it easy, Bolony, will you?” said Champ Dixon soothingly. “That was

a fine mulligan that you cooked for supper.”

 

“There wasn’t enough tomatoes in it,” said Bolony. “You can’t make no

good mulligan without no tomatoes. I told you that we oughta have a lot

more tomatoes. Didn’t I tell you?”

 

“Yeah. You told me. I ordered ‘em. It was the fool of a kid at the

grocery store.”

 

“Well, you can’t do no cookin’ with nothin’ to cook with,” said Bolony.

“That’s all I gotta say.”

 

“You can,” said Champ Dixon. “Because you got brains, Bolony. I seen a

lot of them fancy French chefs that had everything in the world and they

couldn’t cook one side of you, Bolony. Because you got brains You gotta

have brains to be a cook.”

 

Bolony cleared his throat and frowned to keep from betraying pleasure

with a smile.

 

“That baked ham was pretty tough at noon,” he said.

 

“That was the hest ham I ever put a tooth into,” said Champ Dixon. “I

never seen no better cooked ham. All the boys said so. Look what they

done to that ham, I mean!”

 

“Well,” said Bolony, “they dunno nothin’ about eatin’. There ain’t any

call for a cook on this outfit. An Injun would do for them. They dunno

enough to know what they’re puttin’ in their faces. I got some dried

apples, Champ. How about some apple pie for breakfast?”

 

“Bolony, I leave it to you. I never heard of a thing like apple pie out

in camp. You sure got the ideas, Bolony.”

 

“Yeah,” said Bolony. “Soft-soap the cook. That’s the way it goes. A lotta

soft soap to make the dog feel good. I’m gonna turn in. S’long, Champ.”

 

“So long, Bolony.”

 

The cook turned away, and Champ Dixon, for a moment, smiled faintly to

himself. The Kid, in the farther darkness, was smiling also.

 

But then he turned seriously to whatever work he could find to do. The

very appearance of Bolony Joe had put an idea in his mind. Cows die

slowly on a Western range, with their water supply cut off. But hungry

men go on strike far sooner. The appearance of Bolony Joe and the sight

of the kitchen tent did the rest for the Kid. He started worming his way

toward it at once.

 

When he passed the big woodpile, where the accumulated brush had been

heaped, he was able to stand up and go more freely, for the shadow which

it cast concealed him well enough.

 

So he came to the kitchen tent.

 

Outside of it was the well-built fireplace over which Bolony Joe gloomily

performed his duties. The Kid gave a rather friendly glance at the dimly

glimmering embers of that fire. Then he passed into the tent.

 

He was amazed by what he found within it.

 

Certainly Billy Shay and Dixon, in equipping this expedition, had not

spared expense. They knew that high wages are the first requisite to keep

men happy; and right after money comes food. There were rows of tins and

heaps of boxed goods. There was a thin odor of hams and bacons, the

rankness of onions; the peculiar, earthy smell of potatoes. A pang of

hunger struck the Kid. It was so keen that he shook his head and smiled

at himself.

 

From the last of the cook’s fire, he gained enough light to see a good

deal of the interior.

 

Yes, every provision had been made. There was even an oil stove, in case

there should be some interruption of supply of wood for the fire. To feed

the oil stove, there were two ponderous tins of kerosene. And the

clutches of the Kid were instantly upon them.

 

He had unscrewed the top of the first and begun to pour its contents over

the boxes, when a sharp rattling of rifle shots to the east of Hurry

Creek halted him.

 

He went to the door of the tent to watch and listen.

 

It might be that Milman had gone around by the distant road to the far

eastern side of the creek, and from that quarter, was about to deliver a

suprise attack with a rush.

 

If that were the case. Heaven help him and his men. They never could deal

with these practiced ruffians!

 

The whole camp was instantly in an uproar, as the shots resounded. But

the uproar did not last long. There were only a few shouts to make sure

that every man had turned out for the alarm. And then came the bustle of

quick, sure preparation. These men knew their posts and went instantly

toward them.

 

Bad fortune was reasonably sure to come to all who tried to rush that

fortified camp with those repeating rifles in sure hands! The Kid,

gritting his teeth and grinning in impatient anger, waited there at the

door of the kitchen tent, and gripped the handles of his Colt.

 

If the attack really were pressed home, he would have to strike in order

to help Milman’s forces. He would have to strike, and then die like a rat

in a trap.

 

A fine ending, indeed!

 

However, the rattling of the rifle shots suddenly ended, and then a voice

was calling from the eastern fence of barbed wire.

 

Some one called for a lantern. There were shouts back and forth, but the

Kid thought that these calls were signs of rejoicing, rather than of mere

battle excitement.

 

The lantern was brought, on the run, setting the camp aswing with

gigantic, grotesque shadows. Then back came the light, and a group of men

with it. In the center of that group, the Kid saw a limping form—a tall,

spare man.

 

It was Billy Shay!

 

Even from a distance the first hint of the long, white face was enough to

make him guess the identity of the newcomer. He was being surrounded by

rejoicing cohorts.

 

“I couldn’t get through with nothing, boys,” said he. “All I could bring

you was myself, and I had a hard job of that. They shot my hoss from

underneath me!”

 

“We got you, Billy, and that’s good enough for us,” said Boone Tucker.

“We’d rather have your long bead around here than ten extra men, if it

comes to a show-down of any kind.”

 

“I wanted to be in here with you boys,” said Billy Shay genially. “I

didn’t want somebody else to be running into the danger for me. I wanted

to be in the same pot and stew with the rest of you.”

 

“Yeah,” said Tucker, “You’re all right, Billy. None of the boys will ever

forget this!”

 

“You got the right nerve, Billy.”

 

There was a chorus of appreciation.

 

In fact, the Kid was astonished by the risks which the gambler must have

taken in order to get there. It was not like Billy Shay to run

unnecessary risks, though he was known as a savage fighter in a pinch.

 

“How did you get through, Shay?”

 

“Why, I had a hard job. They’re watching the gap on both sides of the

creek as though it were a bank. Then there were the cows between the

Milman riders and the fence. Those cows were kind of shifting around,

though. Pretty soon there was a gap opened up through them and I made a

dive for it straight for the fence. A couple of the Milman punchers seen

me and opened up. They can shoot, too, that crew. Even by night.

Starlight is good enough for those gents.”

 

“They nick you, Billy?”

 

“No, not me, I guess. But they nicked the hoss. I almost got to the fence

when I felt him sag one step, and the next step he went down. The

sagging, it gave me a hint of what was likely to come, and I was riding

loose and light, ready for a tumble. I guess I went a hundred feet, when

he flopped. But I come up, all right. I was just a little dizzy from the

whang as I first hit the ground.”

 

“You’ve got your coat about tore off.”

 

“Well, I’m here, and that’s the main thing.”

 

“Yeah, that’s the main thing. How’s everything in Dry Creek?”

 

“They’re still talkin’ about the Kid and what a fool he made of me,” said

Shay, with astonishing frankness. “They dunno that the game ain’t ended.”

 

“Nope. It ain’t ended yet. That’s true, Billy!”

 

“When I heard that the Kid was out here with Milman, I decided that I’d

better