Silvertip's Roundup by Max Brand Read Free Book Online

Charlie Larue.
    â€œI am,” said Taxi. “You bumped off Joe Feeley and crowded a gun into his fist afterward to make it look like a square fight. But you can’t do that with me. It’s no good, Larue.”
    â€œWho told you that we pushed a gun into his fist afterward? Did Arizona Jim tell you that?” asked Larue.
    â€œWho’s Arizona Jim?” asked Taxi.
    Pudge laughed very briefly. His eyes were so busy wavering from side to side, taking in every detail, that he had no time to laugh his fill.
    â€œYou don’t know who Jim Silver is, eh?” asked Larue. “You never met him, even?” He was sneering.
    â€œI met him once,” said Taxi. “He told me nothing. I simply know that Joe Feeley would eat a whole pack of the sort of cards you boys are.”
    â€œWould he?” said Babe, and chuckled in a profound bass. “This guy is askin’ for something,” he added, more softly.
    â€œI’ll tell you, brother,” said Larue, smiling. “Feeley was good. He made a good try. But he was slow. Matter of fact, he got his hand on his gun, but his wishbone was split before he had it out in the open. There was a fair start in that match, too; and there’s goin’ to be a fair start in this one. I’m going to show you what kind of chance a dirty gunman out of the Big Noise has when he’s up agin’ real work. Are you ready?”
    â€œReady,” said Taxi.
    He made a gesture with his left hand.
    â€œGet over on the same side of the room, will you? I don’t want you all around me.”
    Deliberately Babe crossed the room with his waddling stride and stood beside Scotty.
    â€œStand up alongside the bar,” suggested Pudge. “Then you boys’ll both have the same kind of light.”
    There was a powerful oil lamp hanging from the ceiling just above the bar. The inside of its green shade was a highly polished reflector that threw a dazzling image on the varnish of the bar.
    Charlie Larue moved backward gradually.
    â€œCome on up,” he invited.
    Taxi came up.
    â€œLook at him,” said Pudge. “This hombre has been there before, and he likes it. He’s a laughin’ fool, and he likes it!”
    â€œI like it,” said Taxi, with that silent laughter still on his lips. “Somebody give a sign.”
    â€œI’ll say ‘Scat,’ “ said Pudge.
    â€œThat’s all right,” said Taxi.
    â€œThat’ll do,” agreed Larue.
    A genial warmth spread through the very heart of Taxi. He had heard about such things in the West. Men made a point, sometimes, of fighting fair. It was not the same process of hunt, find in the dark, shoot that he had been accustomed to. In the Big Noise it was useful to kill a man; it was rarely an honor. Out here — why, a man might build a reputation with his guns!
    No wonder he laughed. A sudden glory came over him. He wondered why he had never been west of the Mississippi before.
    The light from above was very strong. He bent his head a little to give shadow to his eyes. Charlie Larue had bent his head, also, but the prominence of his eyes seemed to make them catch an extra portion of light.
    The seconds fell on the soul now like drops of acid. Pudge must have known it because he started to talk and kept on talking.
    â€œTake it nice and easy, boys,” he said. “When I say the word, you can make your guns jump. Shoot straight, and remember that old Pudge ain’t far out of the line of fire. I’m close enough to be hit by the splash of the blood, maybe. A head shot is the best trick in a game like this. Between the eyes ain’t bad. A man socked through the body may still keep on shooting, if he’s got the real poison in him.”
    Pudge was enjoying this scene. He kept turning his head from one of them to the other.
    And Taxi stood there under the light, laughing. Sometimes that laughter was an audible whisper.
    â€œHe