And then he patted Aunt Martha’s shoulders and started for the back door. Ruth heard him open it; he must have been standing on the threshold when he spoke again. And this time he spoke in a drawl—slow, gentle:
“I reckon I’ll go wash. It was mighty dusty ridin’ today. I passed Calamity, aunty. There ain’t no mud there any more; Willard wouldn’t get mussed up, now. The suck-hole ain’t a foot deep any more.”
“You’re a scapegrace,” said Aunt Martha severely. Ruth felt that she was shaking a deprecatory finger at him. “Your manners have been neglected.” But Aunt Martha’s voice gave the words an exactly opposite meaning, and Ruth blushed.
There had been a dread fear in Ruth’s heart. For she had seen warning of impending tragedy in Randerson’s face when she had looked at him. It seemed to have passed. His, “I reckon I’ll be seein’ Pickett,” meant, perhaps, that he would discharge the man. Relieved, she went upstairs again and sat in a chair, looking out of a window.
A little later she saw several of the cowboys come in. She saw Pickett standing near a corner of the bunkhouse. She watched him closely, for there was something strange in his actions. He seemed to be waiting for something, or somebody. Occasionally he leaned against the corner of the bunkhouse, but she noted that he kept turning his head, keeping a lookout in all directions. Again a premonition of imminent trouble oppressed her.
And then she saw Randerson going from the ranchhouse toward the men who were congregated in front of the bunkhouse; saw Pickett’s right hand fall to his side as though it rested on a holster, and she started out of her chair, for illumination now came to her.
Half way to the bunkhouse, Randerson was met by Uncle Jepson. She saw Randerson stop, observed that Uncle Jepson seemed to say something to him. She could not, of course, hear the words, “Look out, Randerson; Pickett’s layin’ for you,” but she saw Randerson lay a hand on Uncle Jepson’s shoulder.
And then he continued on his way.
She saw Randerson go close to Pickett, noted that the other men had all turned and were watching the two. Randerson seemed to be speaking, to Pickett; the latter had faced him. Then, as she breathlessly watched, she saw Pickett reach for his gun. Randerson leaped. Pickett’s gun did not come out, Randerson’s hand had closed on Pickett’s wrist.
There was a brief, fierce struggle, blows were struck, and then the men sprang apart. Ruth saw Randerson’s right arm describe a rapid half-circle; she seemed to hear a thud as his fist landed, and Pickett reeled and fell sideways to the ground, close to the wall of the bunkhouse. She heard him curse; saw him reach again for the gun at his hip. The toe of Randerson’s right boot struck Pickett’s hand, driving it away from the holster; the hand was ground into the dust by Randerson’s boot. And then, so quickly that she could not follow the movement, Randerson’s gun was out, and Pickett lay still where he had fallen.