A man had to know. He had to know these things, once and for all. During the past week he and Janice had drawn closer together. Nothing had been said, but there seemed to be an understanding between them. Healy crossed the street and pushed open the door of the saloon. King Mabry was standing at the bar, his hat shoved back on his head, a glass in his hand. He looked bigger and tougher than ever. Four men played cards nearby. Two men stood at the bar. Healy stepped up to the bar near Mabry. “A little o’ the Irish,” he said.
Mabry glanced at him as Healy took the bottle and filled his glass. Then Healy shoved the bottle along the bar. “Has the smell o’ the bogs,” he said. “Try it.” “Thanks.” Mabry filled his glass. “Luck,” he said, lifting it. Healy hesitated, then smiled slightly. “Why, yes.
Luck to you I” They drank and Healy put his glass carefully on the bar. “She’s across the street, King. She’ll be coming out any minute.” Mabry turned toward him. “You love her, don’t you?” “I’d be a liar if I said no.” “Then why tell me?” “You’re a good man, King. A mighty good man. Maybe your luck is better than mine.
But a man has to know, doesn’t he, now?” “He does.” The door across the street opened and Janice carne out, looking up and down the street.
“She’s looking for you, Tom.” “But maybe she hopes to see you.” “No,” King Mabry said, “it’s you, Tom. It’s you she’s looking for.” Tom Healy stood very still and straight, looking at Mabry. Then he held out his hand.
“Good-by, King.” “Adids.” They shook hands and Tom Healy went out the door and across the street.
Janice’s hands went out to him. “Toml” She kissed him lightly. “I was afraid you had run off with some other girl.” “In this town?” He tucked her hand under his arm. “Wait until we get to San Francisco.” “Can we get some soup?
I’m hungry!” “Sure.” Behind them a door closed. Healy heard boot heels on the boardwalk. Then he heard the sound of saddle leather creaking as a stirrup took weight, and a horse turning in the muddy street. He opened the door of the cafe and Janice went in ahead of him. Healy glanced back up the street. The big man on the black horse, vaguely outlined in the shadowed street, was watching them. As they stepped inside, Healy thought the horse started forward. They sat down, Janice’s back to the window. As Tom seated himself, he saw a rider pass the window, walking his horse. For an instant the light caught him, showing only a bit of the saddle, a man’s leg with a gun tied down, and the glistening black flank of a horse. Then he heard the horse break into a trot and he sat holding the menu, his heart beating heavily as he listened to the retreating sound. He glanced at the grease-stained menu. And then the door opened. Healy felt his stomach go hollow and he looked up. It was Dodie. She glanced quickly around the cafe. “Which of you owns that sorrel outside?” A cow hand looked up. “I do, ma’am.” “What’s your price?” He hesitated, then grinned. “For you, only thirty dollars.” Swiftly she counted out the money. Then she turned to Healy. She glanced from Janice back to him. “Tom, I-was “I know,” he said. She turned quickly and went out the door, and a mo. ment later a second rider passed the window, and the horse broke into a run, a dead run from a standing start. Light showed on the saddle and a shapely leg, the horse’s flank glistened, and then the sound of pounding hoofs faded gradually away.
“Heyl” The cowpuncher turned a startled face.
“She took my saddle!” “It’s all right,” Healy said. “I’ll buy you a new one.” Then Tom Healy looked down at the menu.
“It’s onion soup,” he said. “They only have one kind.”
The End