Blue Kingdom (11 page)

“How old are you, sonny?”

“I'm old enough to shoot a buck,” said the boy.

“And skin him?” asked Tankerton.

“Aye, and skin him, and cut him up. No butcher could do it better!”

“Are you sure?”

“Ain't Bill the butcher at Harpersville?”

Suddenly Tankerton remembered the humped shoulders and the long, bestial face of Bill, the butcher at Harpersville.

“That's Bill Ogden. He taught me how to cut meat. He always sets in the sun and swaps lies with Chuck Harper.”

“Your name is Ogden, then?”

“Me? I hope it ain't! My name is James McVey Alderwood Larren.”

“It's a good long name.”

“My pop was a good man, and he figgered it that the Larrens oughta have at least one name for every couple of foot of 'em!”

“And Bill Ogden was related and took you in. . . .”

“He took me in proper, he did! He ain't hardly done a stroke since I arrived.”

A big mountain partridge, hiding beneath a bush, thought that it had crawled far enough from the sound of the voices and now rose on whirring wings. Instantly James McVey Alderwood Larren wheeled and discharged his shotgun. It was a quick shot, but it went home, for the partridge staggered in its flight, thumped against a tree trunk, and then fell to the ground.

The boy marked the spot and then let the bird lie. He turned back to Tankerton again, and assumed a careless air.

“That was a bully good shot,” said Tankerton. “You'd better pick it up.”

“I guess I'd better,” said the boy. “A good thing for me that I slammed that feller on the nose,” he resumed,
as he came back with his burden. “I'd've got a whanging from Cousin Bill, otherwise.”

“Does he whang you when you come in without any game?”

“Sure he does. He knows how, too. He's been a tanner.” The boy laughed carelessly. “It don't do me no harm,” he said. “Along about last year I learned not to holler, and that takes a lot of the pleasure away from Bill, when he don't hear me yap.”

“It toughens you up, I suppose,” said Tankerton, rather wonder-stricken by the philosophy of this lad.

“Don't it, though?” said James Larren brightly. “When I get into a fight with some of the other kids, don't seem like I can feel it when they punch me. They can wear 'emselves out punchin' me, but I knock their teeth down their throats in the finish, darn 'em.” He grinned, and his white teeth flashed.

“Bill isn't your uncle, then?” said Tankerton.

“Him? He ain't much more related to me than a swaller is to a bald eagle, though both of them is birds. There was never but one Ogden that went out and got himself famous by bustin' in and marryin' with a Larren. And there ain't never gonna be another. But girls is funny, Mister Tan . . . Timberline, as maybe you've noticed once or twice yourself. They go a lot more by faces than by fun.”

“Ah, but I'll wager that you have your share of 'em, Jimmy? They know a man, even in the making.”

“Thanks,” said Jimmy, flushing with pleasure. “But I don't have nothin' to do with 'em. A lot o' gabbin', gabberin', squealin', wo'thless things that keep a boy mindin' that his shoes is wore out at the toes, and keep
a man from readin' his paper peaceful of an evenin'.” He looked down and wiggled his toes thoughtfully as he said this. They were visible through great ragged gaps at the end of each shoe.

Tankerton laughed again. “You don't have much fun in Harpersville, I take it,” he said.

“Aw, things is all right, because you can get shut of the town so quick and have this for your main street,” said the boy. He waved to the great chasm of the cañon, and smiled at it with an air of possession. “But lately,” he said, “things has been lookin' up, since the new man come.”

“Who is that?”

“Carrick Dunmore. He is a man,” said the boy, his voice softening with awed admiration. “You'd oughta see the stone he lifted. He's got Chuck Harper lookin' like he'd just been licked. And by Missus Harper's face, you'd think that she was just from seein' a ghost.”

“A hard sort of a fellow, is he?” asked Tankerton with interest.

“Him? He ain't hard at all. He's soft. He's so soft you can't break him with a hammer, and he's so hard you can't cut him with a knife. That's him.”

Tankerton drew out a dollar, and tossed it. It winged high in the air, but was caught by the unerring hand of the boy. “Will you do something for me?”

“I'll do a dollar's worth, and that'd be about five years' pay, according to the lights of what Bill Ogden pays me.”

“Go to Harper. Tell him that I'll meet him on this trail. No one else needs to hear what you have to say.”

The keen eyes of the boy flashed. He nodded, and
was instantly off up the path at a run. Tankerton watched the sturdy legs flying, and thanked the providence that had furnished his kingdom with such man material as this.

Tankerton dismounted now, but, even so, he did not relax his precautions, but rather redoubled them. He left the horse in the center of the thicket, where the perfectly trained animal stood without attempting to crop grass, or the succulent ends of the twigs about him; he hardly so much as swung his tail at the flies, or shook his bridled head. Tankerton, for his part, went two trees back from the trail and sat down to smoke. At this distance from the path, the smoke would not be seen, and yet he could view the way through gaps between the trunks. He did not need to use these precautions. He was able to ride where he pleased among the mountains, and he knew it. On occasion he enjoyed showing himself boldly, but his instinct was that of a hunted man, and in time of peace he constantly prepared for war.

The noises of the forest closed around him—the drip and murmur of a small stream nearby, and the whisper or rush of wind that carried with it bird noises, the
squeak
of squirrels, the deep voice of the waterfall
in the cañon, and these sounds delicately intermingled with the fragrance of wildflowers, and the pure, sweet smell of the pines. In the distance, all the mountains had turned blue.

Presently he saw big Chuck Harper coming down the trail in huge lumbering strides, and he stepped out under the shadow of the first tree. Harper halted at sight of him, and then came on, half eagerly and half diffidently.

All the nature of Tankerton revolted at this man. He was himself fastidiously, beautifully made, lightly and slenderly, and the gross and shapeless bulk of Chuck Harper repulsed him. However, he was not one to allow such qualms to affect his attitude toward one of his most valuable tools. The hotel of Chuck Harper was of peculiar value. There were few like it, and no other hostelries within a full day's ride. Therefore, it was sure to be used by people of every kind who traveled light, and for that reason he had to have Chuck Harper heartily in his service.

He went straight to the big fellow, and gripped his hand. “I'm glad to see you, Chuck,” he said. “I'm sorry that Lynn and the doctor were not able to take care of this business for you . . . so you see I've come myself. He's a remarkable fellow, from all that I hear . . . too soft to break and too hard to cut, eh?”

Chuck balled his huge fist, and then the fingers loosely relaxed. “I dunno. He's one of these here hypnotists, I guess,” he said.

“Do you think he'll be able under any circumstances to hypnotize my gun, Chuck?”

Harper looked earnestly at his chief, and he seemed
to be making a comparison that could not be decided in one glance, but rather he had to sum up many details in order to get at the crux of the matter. Finally he said: “You know your own business, chief. Nobody ever has downed you, but if I was you, I'd never tackle this here gent alone.”

“Is he as dangerous as all that?” asked Tankerton lightly. Although there was lightness in his tone, there was sinister care in his heart. The rumor of the greatness and the power of this stranger bulked larger in his mind for the very reason that the man was unknown to him.

“I've seen him do things,” said Chuck, unwilling to admit that his chief could be surpassed by any human creature. He stared at the lean, handsome face of Tankerton. That of Carrick Dunmore was handsome likewise, but much fuller, with rather a sleek look. Both of them were smiling faces, but the smile of Tankerton was that of superior intelligence, or assured mastery of men, whereas that of Dunmore was the smile of one engaged in a pleasant game, who knows some secret that may presently make all that an enemy does appear absurd. Each had a wonderfully steady eye, but the steadiness of Tankerton was the steadiness of a vast and self-conscious will, whereas the strength of Dunmore's glance was that of one who reads a very entertaining page. Finally the regard of the hotelkeeper rested upon the towering, swelling forehead of his master, and that convinced him.

“Somehow you'll be able to handle him,” he said doggedly. “I guess you'll be able to do that. But I've seen Tucker and Legges turned into pulp by him. He ain't no common man . . . that's sure.”

That bitter conclusion the chief was willing to agree with. “Doctor Legges,” said Tankerton, “also advised me to bring down some of my best men and attack our friend Dunmore.”

“Doctor Legges is a gent with good sense,” said Chuck.

“But,” said Tankerton, “I want you to understand, Chuck, that I never have avoided single men who cross my way, and I don't want to form the habit of an old man, while I still can walk without the aid of a crutch.”

Chuck blinked and nodded.

“This fellow is a lazy sort of a chap, as I understand it, who can lie in the sun and be perfectly happy.”

“He can. For a whole half day,” said Chuck.

“Also, he can go out and walk fifty miles across this sort of country?” inquired Tankerton.

“He started out the other morning and come back by evenin' light, and he brung with him some twigs of red willow, and, if that there grows any nearer than Center Creek, I'm a liar, chief. That's all I know about it.”

“He carries his guns with him, too, and shoots small game with a revolver?”

“Aye, he do.”

“What else has he been doing lately that's of interest?” asked Tankerton.

“Why, nothin'. I don't think they's anything in his head, except he wants to sit yonder in my hotel and get you, when you come for him. He's too lazy to start a regular hunt for you, but he wants the blood money that's on you. That's my way of writin' this here story.”

“Ah, well,” said Tankerton, “a good many men might
be tempted by ten thousand dollars, and a great reputation along with it. You must admit that, Chuck.”

The little pig eyes of Chuck gleamed. But then he looked into the face of his master again, and his glance was abased.

“Now, then,” said Tankerton, “I want to know the details of the last few days. Tucker has come in at last, and he and Legges together have told me the first part of the tale.”

“He's been as usual. Lie around one day. Go off trampin' the next. Then fiddle around a good deal. Go and set and yap with some of the folks up and down the street. Went to the blacksmith shop and got an old plowshare, for instance, and brung it home.”

“What did he want with that?”

“That's what I asked him.”

“What did he say?”

“He says that it makes the boss mud scraper of the world. That's what he says. What does he want with a mud scraper?”

“Did he put it up?”

“No. No sign of him doin' that.”

“That's rather strange, then.”

“I dunno that it is,” said Chuck. “Ma thinks it's strange, too. I dunno why. He's jus' one of them lazy, shiftless kind. Gets an idea, and then goes to sleep and forgets about it. But what for would he want to make a mud scraper for my hotel? He ain't showed any signs of doin' anything else for me. He sure ain't paid his bill yet. But when the first of the month comes, I'm gonna have it, if I gotta take it out of his hide by
burnin' down the hotel to scorch him till he melts . . . the skunk!” He roared with his anger, and then caught his breath as he saw the slight frown upon the face of his leader.

“A dangerous man, Chuck, but you don't think that there's any great mystery about him?” asked Tankerton.

Chuck hesitated, his lips twitching as he controlled the angry words that came. Finally he said: “It's like this, chief. You take that kind of a gent . . . I dunno how to put it. But they's been two men in the world that have give me a kind of a chill . . . he's one of 'em.”

“That's interesting, Chuck,” said Tankerton. “And who may the other have been?”

“You!” blurted out Chuck.

Tankerton smiled again. “No chills, Chuck. No chills. I'm your friend, I trust.”

“I hope so,” said Chuck with devout emotion. “But if you'd tie up with a couple more of your best . . . if you and Lynn Tucker and maybe that new young feller that you got . . . Furneaux . . . was to join up together. . . .”

“And add you to the party, Chuck?”

Chuck rubbed his knuckles across his fleshy forehead. Then he said, while he turned a dull red: “I wouldn't be no good, I guess. He . . . he's got me hypnotized, all right.” Then he broke out: “And if I was you, I wouldn't waste no time. I'd go and break right in on him and not give his eyes no chance to work on you. That's the best way.”

“Of course, it is,” said the other. “And I'll do it alone.”

“Are you dead set, chief?”

Tankerton waved his hand toward the mountains, as though on their hard faces could be seen the answer to
that question. Then he said simply: “A fellow like that will be a pleasure to meet. And if I have to die, it's best not to be dropped by the chance bullet that some fool in a posse fires.”