"Poggin, you're a gambler, you are--the ace-high, straight-flush hand of the Big Bend," he said, with stinging scorn. "I'll bet you my roll to a greaser peso that I can deal you a hand you'll be afraid to play.""Phil, you're talkin' wild," growled Poggin, with both advice and menace in his tone.
"If there's anythin' you hate it's a man who pretends to be somebody else when he's not. Thet so?"Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath.
"Well, Jim's new pard--this man Dodge--he's not who he seems.
Oh-ho! He's a hell of a lot different. But _I__ know him. An' when I spring his name on you, Poggin, you'll freeze to your gizzard. Do you get me? You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be stiff when it ought to be lightnin'--All because you'll realize you've been standin' there five minutes--five minutes ALIVEbefore him!"
If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin manifested itself in Knell's scornful, fiery address, in the shaking hand he thrust before Poggin's face. In the ensuing silent pause Knell's panting could be plainly heard. The other men were pale, watchful, cautiously edging either way to the wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the center of the room.
"Spring his name, then, you--" said Poggin, violently, with a curse.
Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to denounce. He leaned toward Poggin, his hands, his body, his long head all somewhat expressive of what his face disguised.
"BUCK DUANE!" he yelled, suddenly.
The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But Knell's passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that the name ought to bring Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that Knell's manner, the import of his denunciation the meaning back of all his passion held Poggin bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw certainly was surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin, had been about to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated and feared by all outlaws.
Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility in an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He had hounded the great Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.
"BUCK DUANE! Yes," he broke out, hotly. "The Nueces gunman!
That two-shot, ace-of-spades lone wolf! You an' I--we've heard a thousand times of him--talked about him often. An' here he INFRONT of you! Poggin, you were backin' Fletcher's new pard, Buck Duane. An' he'd fooled you both but for me. But _I_ know him. An' I know why he drifted in here. To flash a gun on Cheseldine--on you--on me! Bah! Don't tell me he wanted to join the gang. You know a gunman, for you're one yourself. Don't you always want to kill another man? An' don't you always want to meet a real man, not a four-flush? It's the madness of the gunman, an' I know it. Well, Duane faced you--called you! An' when I sprung his name, what ought you have done? What would the boss--anybody--have expected of Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you froze. An' why?
Because here's a man with the kind of nerve you'd love to have.
Because he's great--meetin' us here alone. Because you know he's a wonder with a gun an' you love life. Because you an' Ian' every damned man here had to take his front, each to himself. If we all drew we'd kill him. Sure! But who's goin' to lead? Who was goin' to be first? Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a lesser man--me--who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm glad! Here's once I show you up!"The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.
"Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?" he asked, in scarcely audible voice.
"Yes," replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's attitude.
"You met him--forced him to draw--killed him?""Yes."
"Hardin was the best pard I ever had."
His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line.
The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words had passed. In that long moment of suspense Knell's body gradually stiffened, and at last the quivering ceased. He crouched. His eyes had a soul-piercing fire.
Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thought--the breaking of Knell's muscle-bound rigidity. Then he drew.
Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame.
Knell's bullets thudded into the ceiling. He fell with a scream like a wild thing in agony.
Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. And Poggin, like a stricken and astounded man, looked down upon his prostrate comrade.
Fletcher ran at Duane with hands aloft.
"Hit the trail, you liar, or you'll hev to kill me!" he yelled.
With hands still up, he shouldered and bodied Duane out of the room.
Duane leaped on his horse, spurred, and plunged away.
