Gimlet Butte devoted the night of the Fourth to a high old time.The roping and the other sports were to be on the morrow, and meanwhile the night hours were filled with exuberance.The cowboy's spree comes only once in several months, but when it does come he enters into the occasion with such whole-hearted enthusiasm as to make up swiftly for lost time.A traveling midway had cast its tents in a vacant square in competition with the regular attractions of the town, and everywhere the hard-riding punchers were "night herding" in full regalia.
There was a big masked ball in the street, and another in the Masonic Hall, while here and there flared the lights of the faker with something to sell.Among these last was "Soapy" Sothern, doing a thriving business in selling suckers and bars wrapped with greenbacks.Crowds tramped the streets blowing horns and throwing confetti, and everywhere was a large sprinkling of men in high-heeled boots, swinging along with the awkward, stiff-legged gait of the cowboy.Sometimes a girl was hanging on his arm, and again he was "whooping it up with the boys"; but in either case the range-rider's savings were burning a hole through his pockets with extreme rapidity.
Jim McWilliams and the sheepman Bannister had that day sealed a friendship that was to be as enduring as life.The owner of the sheep ranch was already under heavy obligation to the foreman of the Lazy D, but debt alone is not enough on which to found soul brotherhood.There must be qualities of kinship in the primeval elements of character.Both men had suspected that this kinship existed, but to-day they had proved it in the way that one had lost and the other had won the coveted championship.They had made no vows and no professions.The subject had not even been touched in words; a meeting of the eyes, followed by the handshake with which Bannister had congratulated the winner.That had been all.But it was enough.
With the casual democracy of the frontier they had together escortedHelen Messiter and Nora Darling through a riotous three hours of carnival, taking care to get them back to their hotel before the night really began "to howl."But after they had left the young women, neither of them cared to sleep yet.They were still in costume, Mac dressed as a monk, and his friend as a Stuart cavalier, and the spirit of frolic was yet strong in them.
"I expaict, mebbe, we better hunt in couples if we're going to help paint the town," smiled Mac, and his friend had immediately agreed.
It must have been well after midnight that they found themselves "bucking the tiger" in a combination saloon and gambling-house, whose patrons were decidedly cosmopolitan in character.Here white and red and yellow men played side by side, the Orient and the Occident and the aboriginal alike intent on the falling cards and the little rolling ball.A good many of them were still in their masks and dominos, though these, for the most part, removed their vizors before playing.
Neither McWilliams nor his friend were betting high, and the luck had been so even that at the end of two hours' play neither of them had at any time either won or lost more than fifteen dollars.In point of fact, they were playing not so much to win as just to keep in touch with the gay, youthful humor of the night.
They were getting tired of the game when two men jingled in for a drink.They were talking loudly together, and it was impossible to miss the subject of their conversation.
McWilliams gave a little jerk of his head toward one of them."Judd Morgan," his lips framed without making a sound.
Bannister nodded.
"Been tanking up all day," Mac added."Otherwise his tongue would not be shooting off so reckless."A silence had fallen over the assembly save for the braggarts at the bar.Men looked at each other, and then furtively at Bannister.For Morgan, ignorant of who was sitting quietly with his back to him at the faro-table, was venting his hate of Bannister and McWilliams.
"Both in the same boat.Did y'u see how Mac ran to help him to-day? Both waddies.Both rustlers.Both train robbers.Sho! I got through puttinga padlock on me mouth.Man to man, I'm as good as either of them--damn sight better.I wisht they was here, one or both; I wisht they would step up here and fight it out.Bannister's a false alarm, and that foreman of the Lazy D--" His tongue stumbled over a blur of vilification that ended with a foul mention of Miss Messiter.
Instantly two chairs crashed to the floor.Two pair of gray eyes met quietly.
"My quarrel, Bann," said Jim, in a low, even voice.The other nodded."I'll see y'u have a clear field."The man who was with Morgan suddenly whispered in his ear, and the latter slewed his head in startled fear.Almost instantly a bullet clipped past McWilliams's shoulder.Morgan had fired without waiting for the challenge he felt sure was at hand.Once--twice the foreman's revolver made answer.Morgan staggered, slipped down to the floor, a bullet crashing through the chandelier as he fell.For a moment his body jerked.Then he rolled over and lay still.
The foreman's weapon covered him unwaveringly, but no more steadily than Bannister's gaze the man who had come in with him who lay lifeless on the floor.The man looked at the lifeless thing, shuddered, and backed out of the saloon.
"I call y'u all to witness that my friend killed him in self-defense," said Bannister evenly."Y'u all saw him fire first.Mac did not even have his gun out.""That's right," agreed one, and another added: "He got what was coming to him.""He sure did," was the barkeeper's indorsement."He came in hunting trouble, but I reckon he didn't want to be accommodated so prompt.""Y'u'll find us at the Gimlet Butte House if we're wanted for this," said Bannister."We'll be there till morning."But once out of the gambling-house McWilliams drew his friend to one side."Do y'u know who that was I killed?""Judd Morgan, foreman before y'u at the Lazy D." "Yes, but what else?""What do y'u mean?"
