It caused an astonishing change in the face of the Other. Dreer saw a desperate thought balancing in the eyes of Boone, but then the glitter died away.
It was a slow death, and for a time either fought the other with his eyes. Just as two men try grips until the hand of one weakens—crumbles. In such a manner the nerve of Jud Boone, keyed up to the point of fighting, broke and weakened. In the first moment, had Jess Dreer made the slightest motion toward a weapon, gun play would have resulted. And Dreer knew it perfectly well. His hands did not stir, but the faint sneer was stamped upon his face, and his eyes never wavered until the mouth of Jud Boone sagged open a little and his glance grew dull.
“You're Dreer?” he said huskily.
Jud Boone raised an uncertain hand and wiped his dry lips. Then he shrugged his shoulders and managed to chuckle.
“I might of known you,” he said with an attempt at cheeriness. “As a matter of fact, I've heard old Tom Le Sand talk a pile about you. Put her there!”
He crossed the room with a swagger and extended a hand which Dreer instantly took. But on the part of Boone it was unconditional surrender, and both men knew it. Just as some promising prize fighter, who would beat an ordinary man to a pulp, is suddenly frozen to helplessness when he is placed in the ring with a champion in his class, so Boone collapsed under the eye of his companion. And he hated Dreer for his superiority.
“What I don't figure,” he said, “is why you didn't tell me your name the minute you come in?”
“I knew I could trust you, Jud,” the other lied smoothly, “but I've sort of formed a habit of keeping my name in the dark. Mostly, it don't do no good but a lot of harm. You know how it is?”
“I'm keeping clear of the booze. Thanks.”
Jud Boone flushed and then sat down in turn. During the rest of the talk his eyes were mostly lowered, only flashing up for instants at the face of Dreer when the latter spoke.
“Now we'll talk turkey. Let's go back to the matter of the coin, Jud. I know how it is. A gent will get in a hole so that he needs a bit of coin, and—”
“Money ain't got nothing to do with it,” cried Jud Boone. He writhed in his chair. “I'll tell you the straight of it. I'm busting loose from the old game, Dreer. You know me. You know I ain't been any little tin angel. But you don't have anything on me—nothing cold. They ain't a man living that could put me behind the bars!”
How many of the dead could have given that evidence, was the thought of Jess Dreer.
“And now I've found some blood kin of mine. These Normans. They want me to settle down with 'em. They need me. And if I'm to go straight, I need them. It ain't easy to go straight. A gent's past is apt to come up and turn him wrong any time. Besides—”
“They's a girl, Jud?” suggested Jess Dreer with singular emotion;
“Maybe,” admitted the other, flushing. “Here's my point: This Charlie Valentine is a bad one. He's got the makings of a gunman. He'd ought to be stopped before he gets going real good. You see?”
He was arguing desperately; and Jess Dreer sat back with a vague pity beginning to work in his heart—pity and contempt. This hardened rascal to talk of stopping the career of a gun fighter! But he saw that there was a grain of sincerity buried in the talk of Jud Boone. The man meant it. He wanted to go straight, to break away from his past. The whole story came out as he talked.
He had been passing through that section of the country. He had stopped in at the house of Joel Norman, a distant cousin. He had fallen desperately in love with Joel's daughter May. The girl had liked him, she had shown it, and he had tried to play the game straight by going to Joel and asking his consent to the marriage. But Joel put him away with horror.
And Jud Boone left the country with hatred for his whole clan in his heart. Then they sent after him, and Joel put up the proposition to him. He was to right the affair of Valentine and avenge the shooting of Joe Norman. That done, no cash would change hands but Jud—if May was still willing—could marry her and settle down on a piece of land which Joel would stock for him. His past would be forgotten. The family power of the Normans would be used to the utmost to restore Jud's standing as a law-abiding citizen.
Not that this tale flowed smoothly from the lips of Jud. It came brokenly. Illuminating phrases told whole episodes in a second.
“That's how I'm fixed,” he concluded. “I don't aim to kill Valentine, I just want to—”
“Wait a minute,” said Jess Dreer. “If Charlie was a common cowhand, you wouldn't need to kill him. You could drill him through an arm, or a leg, and let him go. But he ain't that kind. He's a fast boy, Jud, and you know what that means just as well as I know it. If you meet him, you'll have to shoot to kill. So would I, if I met him. Just the same as we'd have to shoot to kill if we got tangled up with each other.”
Once more Jud Boone met the eye of Dreer and quailed.
“Put it short,” he said at length. “How far'll you go for this Valentine?”
“They must of paid you high,” said Jud bitterly. “They's no other way out?”
“They ain't a single way. We got to give way, one off us, Jud. And that one ain't going to be me!”
A gray color invaded the face of Jud Boone. He rose slowly from his chair with his arms hanging stiffly at his sides.
“Dreer, I can't step out. I've give my word. I—I'd rather go to hell than to face her—after running out on my promise.”
He swayed himself a little back and forth and set his teeth. With every scruple of energy in his soul and body he was striving to call up the fighting passion, but the result was only a dull glare, and the mouth of the gun fighter was twitching loosely.
“If you're going to stop me, Dreer, you got to stop me now!”
The sneer deepened on the thin lips of Dreer.
“You poor fool,” he said contemptuously. “Look down at your hand! A Chinaman could beat you to your gun, Boone, and shoot you full of holes.”
As one fascinated by a superior power, Boone looked down, saw the quaking fingers of his hands, and dropped back in his chair. His face was buried and he groaned. Jess Dreer walked to him and touched the trembling, massive shoulders. The gun fighter dared not look up.
“Listen to me. Jud, I'm sorry for you. I ain't your confessor, but I tell you I've heard some awful things about you. About what you done to your pardner that found that claim for you back of Angelville. About a pile of other things I've heard, too. But I'll say now that I don't believe them.
“I'm going to do my part by you. How do I know that this Charlie Valentine is enough of a man to be worth all this trouble and pain saving? Maybe in a pinch he'd show yeller. I've seen it done. He's done nothing but clean up on a bunch of kids. How'd he act facing a real fighting gent like you? That's the question! Well, Jud, we'll try him out.
“You go to that saloon tomorrow and you hang around until Charlie Valentine comes in. Then give him a try. Walk up to him and see if he's got the nerve to meet you. Laugh at him, mock him, tell him what you're going to do in the line of filling him full of lead, and when you're done with that, just tell him to get out of the saloon; and then stand still and look him in the eye.
“They ain't one chance in ten that he'll come through. Most likely he'll try to grin and then back out. And if he does that, you're through. You've done your part better than the Normans could of asked, because you'll have shamed the boy.
“Aye, it would be worse than shooting him, in a way. But I'll stand by and give you the chance. And I tell you straight it costs me more'n you guess to do it. But you go ahead. Try his nerve.
“But if he don't buckle and quit—if he don't walk out of the saloon—if he stands ready for a fight—then, Jud, you won't be fighting him. You'll be fighting me. Because I'll be standing by, and the minute the test comes, I'm going to call your name out, and you and me'll finish what you and him begun.”
“D'you mean it?” cried Jud Boone, leaping to his feet, exultant.
“But how can you stand around in Carrol's place? What if you're seen?”
“I won't be seen, but I'll be seeing.”
“Then, pardner, you'll see this Charlie Valentine crumple up like wet paper when I get my eye on him. And—I know how to work it!”
His face went savage. Indeed, he had had a practical demonstration that night of the power which one eye may exert upon another.
“They's one thing more,” said Jess Dreer slowly. “You know my name. You know I'm wanted. If you was to spread the news around that I was in town, it might be kind of bad for me. I'll leave it to your honor, Jud.”
“Gimme your hand,” cried Jud. “You've met me halfway, and you can trust me to go square with you, pardner!”
And the outlaw backed to the door, waved his hand, and was gone.
