“Reckon ye aint far off. Now, so long as I aint bothered, I aint troublin’ nobody. My motter is never to bother a rattler what’s a gent and sounds his rattles—but if he acts like a sidewinder, then bash his head, and do it pronto! Yestiddy you asks if I’ll help keep this yere female from gettin’ skun, and I says no. I still aint int’rested nohow. But two of that danged crowd have set in on me with a cold deck this mornin’, and I’m plumb riled. Yessir, I’m riled!”
Sagebrush stood up. His bent figure straightened a trifle, and a sudden savage expression showed in his eyes, half masked behind the hairy growth of whiskers. In a flash all his dirt and squalor, all his unkempt and sun-bleached appearance, was gone in the eyes of Tompkins; he saw there a desert man who cared nothing for externals, but who could cope daily with the bitterest and most fearful forces of nature—and who was now ready to turn his inward strength against men. The drab and plodding desert rat suddenly showed, for one flashing moment, what unsuspected depths of character lay within him; and a rush of anger unbarred the floodgates of his reticence.
“Yessir, I’m riled! I’ve seen them goin’s-on and said nothin’. I’ve seen them outlaws rulin’ the roost around yere and said nothin’. ’Twan’t no skin off’m my nose. I hadn’t no call to butt in. I’ve seen folks come in yere right happy, and seen ’em go out skun and mis’able and busted. I’ve seen one feller after another come in yere with the law two jumps behind him, and he goes over to Hourglass Cañon and lives happy. No law reaches in yere; nobody dast to interfere; and nobody knows about it anyhow. Stovepipe Springs, dad blame it, is jest a blind! If any law-off’cer comes pirootin’ around, he gits steered plumb careful and goes away ’thout learnin’ nothin’. But now, by gosh, I’m riled! Yessir. Perfesser, I’m with ye six ways from Sunday. Them skunks have sold us chips in this yere game, and by gosh I’ll play them chips till hell freezes over! Name your ante, Perfesser, and let’s go.”
Sagebrush relaxed. He stuck his pipe in his pocket, brought out his plug and bit off a large section. Tompkins, taking the cigarette case and pocketing it, nodded.
“Good. I’m going to get a rifle in town and come back tomorrow morning without anyone suspecting what I have in mind. Then I’ll be Pat Ramsay once more. Want to go to town with me?”
“Reckon not,” said Sagebrush reflectively. “Mesquite was headin’ for town, and him and me would sure collide. That might spoil your hand. And say! I remember that brother o’ yours. I seen him with Mesquite one time. He looked a heap like you do ’thout them spec’s and all.” Tompkins produced his pocket flask, opened it and held it out.
“Here’s to our luck, Sagebrush! Good hunting!”
With a grunt of delight, Sagebrush lifted the flask and absorbed his share of the contents; Tompkins finished it off, undisturbed by any thought of rock scorpions, eyed the empty glass container, and with a laugh tossed it into the clump of trees.
“Then I’m off. I’ll be back in the morning. Have to send that deed to be recorded. Anything you want from town?”
Sagebrush wiped his lips and nodded.