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Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West

<h2 id="id02073">CHAPTER XXXIV</h2><h5 id="id02074">A PLEASANT EVENING</h5> Brad Steelman sat hunched before a fire of piñon knots, head drooped low between his high, narrow shoulders. The restless black eyes in the dark hatchet face were sunk deeper now than in the old days. In them was beginning to come the hunted look of the gray wolf he resembled. His nerves were not what they had been, and even in his youth they were not of the best. He had a way of looking back furtively over his shoulder, as though some sinister shadow were creeping toward him out of the darkness. Three taps on the window brought his head up with a jerk. His lax fingers crept to the butt of a Colt's revolver. He waited, listening. The taps were repeated. Steelman sidled to the door and opened it cautiously. A man pushed in and closed the door. He looked at the sheepman and he laughed shortly in an ugly, jeering way. "Scared, Brad?" The host moistened his lips. "What of, Dug?" "Don't ask me," said the big man scornfully. "You always had about as much sand in yore craw as a rabbit." "Did you come here to make trouble, Dug?" "No, I came to collect a bill." "So? Didn't know I owed you any money right now. How much is it?" Steelman, as the leader of his gang, was used to levies upon his purse when his followers had gone broke. He judged that he would have to let Doble have about twenty-five dollars now. "A thousand dollars." Brad shot a quick, sidelong look at him. "Wha's wrong now, Dug?" The ex-foreman of the D Bar Lazy R took his time to answer. He enjoyed the suspense under which his ally was held. "Why, I reckon nothin' a-tall. Only that this mo'nin' I put a match to about a coupla hundred thousand dollars belongin' to Crawford, Sanders, and Hart." Eagerly Steelman clutched his arm. "You did it, then?" "Didn't I say I'd do it?" snapped Doble irritably. "D'ya ever know me rue back on a bargain?" "Never." "Wha's more, you never will. I fired the chaparral above Bear Cañon. The wind was right. Inside of twenty-four hours the Jackpot locations will go up in smoke. Derricks, pumps, shacks, an' oil; the whole caboodle's doomed sure as I'm a foot high." The face of the older man looked more wolfish than ever. He rubbed his hands together, washing one over the other so that each in turn was massaged. "Hell's bells! I'm sure glad to hear it. Fire got a good start, you say?" "I tell you the whole country'll go up like powder." If Steelman had not just reached Malapi from a visit to one of his sheep camps he would have known, what everybody else in town knew by this time, that the range for fifty miles was in danger and that hundreds of volunteers were out fighting the menace. His eyes glistened. "I'll not wear mournin' none if it does just that." "I'm tellin' you what it'll do," Doble insisted dogmatically. "Shorty with you?" "He was, an' he wasn't. I did it while he wasn't lookin'. He was saddlin' his horse in the brush. Don't make any breaks to him. Shorty's got a soft spot in him. Game enough, but with queer notions. Some time I'm liable to have to—" Doble left his sentence suspended in air, but Steelman, looking into his bleak eyes, knew what the man meant. "What's wrong with him now, Dug?" "Well, he's been wrong ever since I had to bump off Tim Harrigan. Talks about a fair break. As if I had a chance to let the old man get to a gun. No, I'm not so awful sure of Shorty." "Better watch him. If you see him make any false moves—" Doble watched him with a taunting, scornful eye. "What'll I do?" The other man's gaze fell. "Why, you got to protect yoreself, Dug, ain't you?" "How?" The narrow shoulders lifted. For a moment the small black eyes met those of the big man. "Whatever way seems best to you, Dug," murmured Steelman evasively. Doble slapped his dusty hat against his thigh. He laughed, without mirth or geniality. "If you don't beat Old Nick, Brad. I wonder was you ever out an' out straightforward in yore life. Just once?" "I don't reckon you sure enough feel that way, Dug," whined the older man ingratiatingly. "Far as that goes, I'm not making any claims that I love my enemies. But you can't say I throw off on my friends. You always know where I'm at." "Sure I know," retorted Doble bluntly. "You're on the inside of a heap of rotten deals. So am I. But I admit it and you won't." "Well, I don't look at it that way, but there's no use arguin'. What about that fire? Sure it got a good start?" "I looked back from across the valley. It was travelin' good." "If the wind don't change, it will sure do a lot of damage to the Jackpot. Liable to spoil some of Crawford's range too." "I'll take that thousand in cash, Brad," the big man said, letting himself down into the easiest chair he could find and rolling a cigarette. "Soon as I know it did the work, Dug." "I'm here tellin' you it will make a clean-up." "We'll know by mornin'. I haven't got the money with me anyhow. It's in the bank." "Get it soon as you can. I expect to light out again pronto. This town's onhealthy for me." "Where will you stay?" asked Brad. "With my friend Steelman," jeered Doble. "His invitation is so hearty I just can't refuse him." "You'd be safer somewhere else," said the owner of the house after a pause. "We'll risk that, me 'n' you both, for if I'm taken it's liable to be bad luck for you too…. Gimme something to eat and drink." Steelman found a bottle of whiskey and a glass, then foraged for food in the kitchen. He returned with the shank of a ham and a loaf of bread. His fear was ill-disguised. The presence of the outlaw, if discovered, would bring him trouble; and Doble was so unruly he might out of sheer ennui or bravado let it be known he was there. "I'll get you the money first thing in the mornin'," promised Steelman. Doble poured himself a large drink and took it at a swallow. "I would, Brad." "No use you puttin' yoreself in unnecessary danger." "Or you. Don't hand me my hat, Brad. I'll go when I'm ready." Doble drank steadily throughout the night. He was the kind of drinker that can take an incredible amount of liquor without becoming helpless. He remained steady on his feet, growing uglier and more reckless every hour. Tied to Doble because he dared not break away from him, Steelman's busy brain began to plot a way to take advantage of this man's weakness for liquor. He sat across the table from him and adroitly stirred up his hatred of Crawford and Sanders. He raked up every grudge his guest had against the two men, calling to his mind how they had beaten him at every turn. "O' course I know, Dug, you're a better man than Sanders or Crawford either, but Malapi don't know it—yet. Down at the Gusher I hear they laugh about that trick he played on you blowin' up the dam. Luck, I call it, but—" "Laugh, do they?" growled the big man savagely. "I'd like to hear some o' that laughin'." "Say this Sanders is a wonder; that nobody's got a chance against him. That's the talk goin' round. I said any day in the week you had him beat a mile, and they gave me the laugh." "I'll show 'em!" cried the enraged bully with a furious oath. "I'll bet you do. No man livin' can make a fool outa Dug Doble, rustle the evidence to send him to the pen, snap his fingers at him, and on top o' that steal his girl. That's what I told—" Doble leaned across the table and caught in his great fist the wrist of Steelman. His bloodshot eyes glared into those of the man opposite. "What girl?" he demanded hoarsely. Steelman looked blandly innocent. "Didn't you know, Dug? Maybe I ought n't to 'a' mentioned it." Fingers like ropes of steel tightened on the wrist, Brad screamed. "Don't do that, Dug! You're killin' me! Ouch! Em Crawford's girl." "What about her and Sanders?" "Why, he's courtin' her—treatin' her to ice-cream, goin' walkin' with her. Didn't you know?" "When did he begin?" Doble slammed a hamlike fist on the table. "Spit it out, or I'll tear yore arm off." Steelman told all he knew and a good deal more. He invented details calculated to infuriate his confederate, to inflame his jealousy. The big man sat with jaw clamped, the muscles knotted like ropes on his leathery face. He was a volcano of outraged vanity and furious hate, seething with fires ready to erupt. "Some folks say it's Hart she's engaged to," purred the hatchet-faced tempter. "Maybeso. Looks to me like she's throwin' down Hart for this convict. Expect she sees he's gonna be a big man some day." "Big man! Who says so?" exploded Doble. "That's the word, Dug. I reckon you've heard how the Governor of Colorado pardoned him. This town's crazy about Sanders. Claims he was framed for the penitentiary. Right now he could be elected to any office he went after." Steelman's restless black eyes watched furtively the effect of his taunting on this man, a victim of wild and uncurbed passions. He was egging him on to a rage that would throw away all caution and all scruples. "He'll never live to run for office!" the cattleman cried hoarsely. "They talk him for sheriff. Say Applegate's no good—too easy-going. Say Sanders'll round up you an' Shorty pronto when he's given authority." Doble ripped out a wild and explosive oath. He knew this man was playing on his vanity, jealousy, and hatred for some purpose not yet apparent, but he found it impossible to close his mind to the whisperings of the plotter. He welcomed the spur of Steelman's two-edged tongue because he wanted to have his purpose of vengeance fed. "Sanders never saw the day he could take me, dead or alive. I'll meet him any time, any way, an' when I turn my back on him he'll be ready for the coroner." "I believe you, Dug. No need to tell me you're not afraid of him, for—" "Afraid of him!" bellowed Doble, eyes like live coals. "Say that again an' I'll twist yore head off." Steelman did not say it again. He pushed the bottle toward his guest and said other things. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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