In Hays City he downed two men in a gunfight, neither of whom died, but the fight served to class him, in the minds of many with that fast shooting Texas crowd made up of such names as Clay Allison, Manning Clements and Wes Hardin.
Idling about Abilene he was suspected of two cold blooded murders for robbery, but there was no proof. He left town and rode north with a trail herd for the Gallatin Valley in Montana, but his stay with the herd was short lived. In a minor argument at breakfast he drew and killed one of the hands riding the trail with him, and left the outfit hotly pursued by a dozen of the dead man’s friends. He escaped, then rode back after dark and emptied his rifle into the men gathered around the fire, killing one and injuring two.
He killed his fourth man in Spearfish and then came on over to Deadwood.
Massey understood the nature of the man well enough. He had seen that killing in Spearfish and knew that Johns had lightning speed with a gun. If he killed Bardoul, and he was sure to, no one would blame anyone but Johns. If both men were killed, that would be best of all, and if the Spinner outlived the fight, then was dry gulched, there would be no more than a hearty sigh of relief around Deadwood.
First things came first, and Massey drew some money from his pocket and casually counted out two hundred dollars, then he looked up at Spinner.
With a sweeping gesture, Johns raked in the money with his left hand. “If anybody hears of this,” the gunman’s eyes pinned Hammer and Lyon to their seats as a collector pins an insect, “I’ll kill more than one man!”
Hammer touched his tongue to his lips and swallowed. Lyon shifted in his seat and stole a look at Clive Massey. Tate Lyon was learning things himself, he was learning that he had failed to estimate Massey properly, and the knowledge frightened him. Massey was not just a money hungry and crooked tenderfoot as he had believed, but fully as cold blooded and a lot smarter than Spinner Johns.
For an instant, Johns let the cards run through his ringers to the table top, looking from one to the other of the three men. Then, he walked through the crowd, which parted before him, and stepped out on the boardwalk in front of the IXL. He had no idea where Matt Bardoul would be, but that he would be somewhere along this street was probable.
He stepped down into the dust and mingled with the moving crowd, his guns loose in their holsters, his yellow eyes roving from side to side like those of a caged beast. Even those who did not know him avoided his path after one glance at the guns and the restless irritation so visible in the man.
The Spinner’s eyes shifted, already ugly at not seeing Bardoul. He was going to earn this money quickly. It wasn’t much but all he needed was a glimpse of Matt Bardoul, then he would kill him.
CHAPTER III
Jacquine arose from the table to see her brother push his way into the room. He waved at her over the heads of the crowd, then shouldered his way to her side.
His eyes were bright with excitement. The rough, masculine good nature, the shouts and yells, the cracking bull whips and jingling spurs seemed to have done something to him. Nineteen now, Barney Coyle had moved suddenly from a settled society and a regulated existence to frontier life, and for the first tune he realized he was at home. This was his life, this was for him.
“Let’s go see the town, Sis! There’s no use you being cooped up in that crummy hotel room all day! The chances are you’ll never see Deadwood again, so you might as well make the most of it.”
“I’m not sure,” her father’s voice was dubious. This daughter of his worried him. Barney was falling into frontier life as though born to it, and Brian Coyle was enormously proud of his son, but Jacquine defeated him. He knew the frontier was no place for a girl, especially one as delicately nurtured as Jacquine had been. Yet there was a sparkle in her eyes and a lift to her chin that made him uneasy. What he had failed to understand was that she possessed just as much of the frontier spirit and his own blood as did Barney. “I’m not sure whether it would be a good idea,” he continued, “this is a rough town, and some of these men would do anything!”
“I’ll take care of her!” Barney loved his sister and was immensely proud of her. “Anyway,” he grinned at her, “if anybody got hold of her they’d wish they hadn’t. Believe me, Dad, this daughter of yours is bred back to a wildcat!”
“Barney!” she exclaimed reprovingly, but secretly the remark pleased her. She disliked the timid females who were all ruffles and flutters. She liked to be considered and treated as if she were self sufficient, and she knew that compared to most women, she was surprisingly so.
It had been one of the things she liked about Matt Bardoul. He looked at her as if she were a woman, and not as if the thought of sex would shock her to the roots of her being. He looked at her and treated her as an equal, without the usual soft talk or flattery men were always directing her way. She had grown to dislike the immediate change that came into their voices when they started talking to her.
She was beautiful and perfectly aware of the fact. Her common sense told her that few girls ever seemed as attractive to men as she, yet the thought did not impress her. While aware of her beauty, it had become for her one of the accepted facts of the life she lived, like the sun coming up and the stars appearing. The compliments it drew she received politely, but a little impatiently, for she was much more eager to be accepted and liked as a person.
It pleased her that Barney wanted her along, that he thought of her now, for she could see how the place had excited him, and how quickly he was fitting into the life around him.
The street was crowded with men. A huge, bearded man, even larger than Buffalo Murphy, turned to stare at her, his bold eyes sweeping her up and down in mingled admiration and astonishment. Half nettled and half amused, she stopped abruptly, put her hands on her hips and demanded, “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a lady before?”
The big man blushed magnificently, but through his embarrassment crowded some of his almost forgotten gallantry. He swept his hat from his head and bowed low. “Ma’am,” he said sincerely, “now that I’ve seen you I doubt that I ever did see one before! And none half so beautiful!”
Jacquine blushed then, but her eyes laughed with him. “Thank you, sir!” she said, then turned and took Barney’s arm.
He grinned at her. “Sis, if you start that out here you’ll have the whole town fighting over you in no time!”
The street was scarcely more than a narrow alleyway of dust between the two rows of frame or log buildings, some of them false fronted, a few possessing boardwalks and awnings, but most fronting right on the dust, or occasionally hard packed earth of the roadway. Farther up the street near the tailor shop, a placer mine still occupied the center of the street, and traffic curved around it.
A six mule team was plodding down the street, the canvas cover removed from the high wheeled, heavily constructed wagon. Two men with broad hats and sleeves rolled up sat atop the load of logs. A bright new axe was struck into the log near one of them.
The signs were all of a pattern, long rectangles in shape each one extending out over the walks to catch the eye of all who glanced down the street. Deadwood Gulch was wide open, to the world and all its races and peoples, Indians, Chinese and Negroes mingled on an equal footing, ate together, drank together, and worked together. Already Deadwood was in a fair way to acquire the largest Chinatown ever acquired by any town of its size this side of China.
Suddenly a knot of men exploded out of a doorway and two of them hit the street in a lump. The first one up rushed at the other and aimed a kick at his head, but the fellow rolled out of the way and charged from a crouching position, his head butting the first man in the stomach and knocking him into the dust.
The fellow came up and as the redhead closed in, he swung a ponderous fist that missed, and then the two stood there, slugging furiously with no advantage either way. Suddenly the redhead stepped back and drew the back of his hand over his bleeding lips. “Oh, the hell with it!” he said. “Let’s have a drink!”