Lahoma | Page 6

entreat for his life. In the full light
of the dazzling moon, his face showed all the pallor, all the contortions
of a coward who, though believing himself lost, has not the resolution
to mask his fear. He poured forth incoherent promises of secrecy,
ejaculations of despair and frenzied assurances of innocence.
"Hold on, Kansas!" interposed Red. "There's not a one of the bunch
believes that story about the last wagon getting away, and the dying
wife. We know this Gledware is a spy, whatever he says, and that he
brought the kid along for protection. He knew if we got back to
No-Man's Land we couldn't be touched, not being under no jurisdiction,
and he wanted to find us with our paint and feathers off. He's a
sneaking dog, and a bullet's too good for him. But --"with an
oath--"blessed if he don't hate to die worse than any man ever I saw! I
don't mind to spare him a few minutes if he's agreeable. I put it to
him--would he rather the kid be put out of the way first, and him
afterwards, or does he want the first call?"
"For God's sake, put it off as long as you will!" quavered the prisoner.
"I swear I'm no spy. I swear--"
"This is unpleasant," the captain of the highwaymen interposed. "Just
you say another word, and I'll put daylight into you with my own hand.
Stand there and keep mum, and I'll give you a little breathing space."
Kansas, not without a sigh of relief, lowered his weapon and looked
questioningly at his brother. The shadow of the log cabin was upon him,
making more sinister his uncouth attire, and his lean vindictive face
under the huge Mexican hat. Gledware, not daring to move, kept his
eyes fixed on that deep gloom out of which at any moment might spurt
forth the red flash of death. From within the cabin came loud oaths
inspired by cards or drink, as if the inmates would drown any calls for
mercy or sounds of execution that might be abroad in the night.
"Now, Brick Willock," the leader spoke grimly, "take your turn first.
That kid's got to die, and you are to do the trick, and do it without any
foolishness."
"I can't," Willock declared doggedly.
"Oh, yes; yes, you can, Brick. You see, we can't 'tend to no infant class,
and I ain't hard-hearted enough to leave a five-year-old girl to die of

hunger on the prairie; nor do I mean to take her to no town or
stage-station as a card for to be tracked by. Oh, yes, you can, Brick, and
now's the time."
"Red," exclaimed Willock desperately, "I tell you fair, and I tell you
foul, that this little one lives as long as I do."
"And what do you aim to do with her, eh, Brick?"
Willock made no reply. He had formed no plans for his future, or for
that of the child; but his left arm closed more tightly about her.
"Now, Brick," said Red slowly, "this ain't the first time you have
proved yourself no man for our business, and I call Kansas to witness
you've brought this on yourself--"
Without finishing his sentence, Red swiftly raised his arm and fired
pointblank at Willock's head as it was defined above the sleeping form.
Though famed as an orator, Red understood very well that, at times,
action is everything, and there is death in long speaking. He was noted
as a man who never missed his mark; and in the Cimarron country,
which belonged to no state and therefore to no court, extensive and
deadly had been his practise, without fear of retribution.
Now, however, his bullet had gone astray. The few words to which he
had treated himself as an introduction to the intended deed had proved
his undoing. They had been enough to warn Willock of what was
coming; and just before Kansas had been called on "to witness," that is
an instant before Red fired, Willock had sent a bullet through the
threatening wrist. The two detonations were almost simultaneous, and
Red's roar of pain, as he dropped his weapon, rang out as an
accompaniment to the crash of firearms.
The next instant, Willock, with a second shot from his six-shooter,
stretched Kansas on the ground; then, rushing forward with reversed
weapon, he brought the butt down on Red's head with such force as to
deprive him of consciousness. So swift and deadly were his movements,
so wild his appearance as, with long locks streaming in the wind and
huge black whiskers hiding all but glittering eyes, aquiline nose and a
brief space of tough red skin--so much more like a demon than a man,
it was no wonder that the child,