‘I think it’s very likely,’ said Ben drily, and his tone again caused the quick, dangerous look to come on Rube’s face. The latter had by this time approached almost to where Ben stood, and he turned to look, as it seemed, across the pool and out over the deserted diggings, to the rising moon; but as he did so, with an almost imperceptible movement he brought his revolver further to the front. To any but a practised eye, the movement would have been entirely concealed; but Ben saw it, and knew its meaning.
‘Air you going to Fandango Gulch, Ben?’ asked Rube, turning again to his ex-partner. ‘I reckon Peter will be considerably riled if you don’t.’
‘As you say, there’s a sight of useful things lying about here,’ returned Ben, stooping, and looking at some of the broken implements; ‘and I had no idea we had left so much. Indian Peter won’t miss me.’
‘Ain’t you going to meet him, then, and why?’ demanded Rube, with another sinister glance upward, and another slight hitch forward of his scabbard—as revolver holsters are usually termed in the west.
‘Because Indian Peter is in the hands of the Vigilantes by this time, you traitor and hound!’ burst forth Ben, his smothered passion appearing to overcome him. ‘So is Bill Dobell; and so’——
His sentence was never finished, for both men dashed savagely at each other at the same moment. Rube, when he heard the words which told him that his plot was discovered and defeated, with a bitter oath jerked his pistol from its scabbard, cocked, and fired; but though he did it almost instantaneously, the hawk-eye of Ben was too quick for him, and the aim, which must have been deadly, so close were they together, was balked by a powerful stroke with the handle of a pick, which Ben had secured under the feint of examining the refuse implements. As Rube levelled his pistol, Ben dealt him a desperate blow on the back of the head. The weapon exploded harmlessly in the air; and Rube, with a single groan, stumbled forward and fell senseless and motionless on his face.
He lay on the margin or beach described as being between the elevated ledge and the pool; and there was something in the helpless, inanimate figure which convinced Ben that his stroke had taken deadly effect.
‘I believe he is dead,’ he said, after a pause, during which he grasped his club in readiness for another blow. ‘I was sorry I had left my six-shooter behind, when I saw what he was after; but this has done as well. Let me make sure.’
He lifted up the prostrate man’s arm; and when he released it, it fell heavily and clod-like, just as it was dropped. He turned the body half round and placed his hand over the heart, but could feel no pulsation.
‘The Vigilantes have been saved some trouble, either now or at another time, anyhow,’ he continued. ‘I hope they have caught Indian Peter and Bill Dobell, and then the camp has got quit of the three worst characters in it. I shall say nothing about this before I clear out. I have so many dollars in my satchels, that a very little would serve as an excuse to Rube’s friends for lynching me.’