The Two-Gun Man | Page 8

said, addressing the silence. "You
might think I was plum tenderfoot an' didn't know how to ride a horse
proper."
He urged the pony onward again, and for some little time rode with
bowed head, trying to keep himself steady by watching the trail. He
rode through a little clearing, where the grass was matted and some
naked rocks reared aloft. Near a clump of sage-brush he saw a sudden
movement--a rattler trying to slip away unnoticed. But the snake slid
into Ferguson's vision and with a sneer of hate he drew one of his
weapons and whipped it over his head, its roar awakening echoes in the
wood. Twice, three times, the crashing report sounded. But the rattler
whisked away and disappeared into the grass--apparently uninjured.
For an instant Ferguson scowled. Then a grin of mockery reached his
flushed face.
"I reckon I'm done," he said. "Can't even hit a rattler no more, an' him a
brother or sister of that other one." A delirious light flashed suddenly in
his eyes, and he seemed on the point of dismounting. "I'll cert'nly
smash you some!" he said, speaking to the snake--which he could no
longer see. "I ain't goin' to let no snake bite me an' get away with it!"
But he now smiled guiltily, embarrassment shining in his eyes. "I
reckon that wasn't the snake that bit you, Ferguson," he said. "The one
that bit you is back on the trail. He ain't goin' to die till sundown. Not
till sundown," he repeated mechanically, grimly; "Ferguson ain't goin'
to die till sundown."
He rode on, giving no attention to the pony whatever, but letting the
reins fall and holding to the pommel of the saddle. His face was
burning now, his hands were twitching, and an unnatural gleam had
come into his eyes.

"Ferguson got hooked by a rattler!" he suddenly exclaimed, hilarity in
his voice. "He run plum into that reptile; tried to walk on him with a
bare foot." The laugh was checked as suddenly as it had come, and a
grim quality entered his voice. "But Ferguson wasn't no tenderfoot--he
didn't scare none. He went right on, not sayin' anything. You see, he
was reckonin' to be man's size."
He rode on a little way, and as he entered another clearing a rational
gleam came into his eyes. "I'm still a-goin' it," he muttered.
A shadow darkened the trail; he heard Mustard whinny. He became
aware of a cabin in front of him; heard an exclamation; saw dimly the
slight figure of a woman, sitting on a small porch; as through a mist, he
saw her rise and approach him, standing on the edge of the porch,
looking at him.
He smiled, bowing low to her over his pony's mane.
"I shot him, ma'am," he said gravely, "but he ain't goin' to die till
sundown."
As from some great distance a voice seemed to come to him. "Mercy!"
it said. "What is wrong? Who is shot?"
"Why, the snake, ma'am," he returned thickly. He slid down from his
pony and staggered to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the
slender posts and hanging dizzily on. "You see, ma'am, that damned
rattler got Ferguson. But Ferguson ain't reckonin' on dyin' till sundown.
He couldn't let no snake get the best of him."
He saw the woman start toward him, felt her hands on his arms, helping
him upon the porch. Then he felt her hands on his shoulders, felt them
pressing him down. He felt dimly that there was a chair under him, and
he sank into it, leaning back and stretching himself out full length. A
figure flitted before him and presently there was a sharp pain in his foot.
He started out of the chair, and was abruptly shoved back into it, Then
the figure leaned over him, prying his jaws apart with some metal like
object and pouring something down his throat. He clicked as he

swallowed, vainly trying to brush away the object.
"You're a hell of a snake," he said savagely. Then the world blurred
dizzily, and he drifted into oblivion.

CHAPTER IV
A "DIFFERENT GIRL"
Ferguson had no means of knowing how long he was unconscious, but
when he awoke the sun had gone down and the darkening shadows had
stolen into the clearing near the cabin. He still sat in the chair on the
porch. He tried to lift his injured foot and found to his surprise that
some weight seemed to be on it. He struggled to an erect position,
looking down. His foot had been bandaged, and the weight that he had
thought was upon it was not a weight at all, but the hands of a young
woman.
She sat on the porch floor, the