Part 4 (1/2)

'Ole Man' Terrill was of the watch-dog breed. Whether warned by the instinct of his kind or wakened by the scent of McKee's bear-grease, he suddenly opened his eyes. Like all men accustomed to emergencies, he was instantly in full possession of his wits, yet he pretended to be slightly confused in order to get a grasp upon the situation before greeting his visitor.

”Howdy, Buck,” he said, adjusting his revolver as he swung half-round in his chair, that he might reach his weapon more readily in an emergency. ”Bustin' or busted?”

”Well, I'm about even with the game,” replied McKee, pulling from his pocket a bag of tobacco and papers, and deftly rolling a b.u.t.terfly cigarette. ”Goin' to shake it before I lose my pile. It's me for the Lazy K. Dropped in to say good-by.”

Terrill, who had recently had an expensive seance with McKee at poker, remonstrated:

”Yuh ought 'o give me another chanct at yuh, Buck. Yo're goin' away with too much of my money.”

”Well, 'Ole Man,' I'm likely to rob yuh of a lot more ef you ain't keerful,” answered McKee.

”Yuh can't jet yeta while,” said Terrill. ”Dead broke.”

”Aw, come off! everybody knows ye're a walkin' bank. Bet yuh got three thousan' in that inside pocket o' your'n this minute.”

Terrill started at McKee's naming the exact amount he was carrying. He forgot his customary caution in his surprise. ”Well, you did just hit it, sh.o.r.e enough. I believe ye're half-gipsy instid o' half-Injun.

Jus' like yer knowin' I stood pat on four uv a kind when you had aces full, and throwin' down yer cyards 'fore I c'u'd git even with yuh.

How do yuh do it, Buck?”

McKee gave a smile of cunning, inscrutable superiority. ”Oh, it's jes'

a power I has. 'Keen sabby,' as the Greasers say--I'm keen on the know-how. Why, I kin tell yuh more about the money. It's fer Jack Payson--”

”Now, there's whur ye're way off as a cleervoyant, Buck,” said Terrill triumphantly. ”Yuh guessed oncet too often, as yer old pard on the Lazy K said to the druggist. 'Peruna?' ast the druggist. 'Yep,' said yer pard. 'Beginnin' mild on a new jag?' ast the druggist a second time. 'h.e.l.l, no!' said yer pard they calls Peruna now from the in-sih-dent, 'ending up strong on an old one.' Nope, the three thousan' is county money, consigned to Sheriff Hoover. Jack Payson has jes' lef' with a package from K. C., but it wasn't money. It was a purty, gilt chair--a weddin'-present fer the gal he's go'n' to marry.”

At that moment the sounder of the telegraph began clicking the call of the station. Terrill whirled about in his swivel-chair and faced the table.

McKee stood close behind him. His lips twitched nervously. His eyes narrowed as he watched every movement of the agent's big shoulders as he operated the key. At the same time the half-breed drew his revolver and covered the back of Terrill's head.

The agent completed his message and turned to continue his interrupted conversation. He found himself gazing into the muzzle of a .44, big, it seemed, as a thirteen-inch gun. ”Why--what?” he stammered.

”I'm actin' jes' now as Slim's deppity,” said McKee. ”Unb.u.t.ton an'

han' that money over.”

Once having his victim in his power, all the innate cruelty of the Indian blood of his maternal ancestors flashed to the surface. Terrill was at his mercy. For one desperate moment he would play with him; even torture him as his forefathers had once made miserable the last moments of a captive. He knew that unless he silenced Terrill his life must pay the forfeit. Death was the penalty of detection. The arm of the express company was long. Ultimate capture was certain. Pursued out of Arizona by the sheriff, he would be trailed through every camp and town in the far West.

With an oath, Terrill tried to rise and face his antagonist, reaching for his revolver as he did so. The b.u.t.t of his weapon had caught in the arm of the chair hampering his movements.

McKee threw him roughly back into the chair.

”Throw up your han's,” he cried. ”Don't try that.”

Up went Terrill's hands high over his head. He faced the open window.

Not a sign of help was in sight.

Quickly the agent turned over in his mind various schemes to foil McKee, who now stood behind him with the muzzle of his revolver pressing into the middle of his back. Each was rejected before half-conceived.

McKee laughed sneeringly, saying: ”You oughtn't to be so keerless to show where you cache your roll. Worse than a senorita with a stocking.

She never keeps a whole pair when Manuel is playing faro.”