A municipal feud
“You got an equity in a damsite hotter place, too,” jeered Indigo, and
forthwith ran from the hostelry. He had feared he was too late, but a
glance dispelled the notion. Down in front of the Geyser, men and
horses were jammed in a whirlpool of conflict. Jets of light traced
across the darkness; voices shrilled defiance and counter defiance.
And from sundry rending, smashing sounds, it was plain that the Geyser
was being competently wrecked. Half of the invading party was inside,
the other half standing guard along the street, while the outraged
citizenry of Jingle Bell sniped at them from all angles. Indigo added
his falsetto crow to the confusion and looked about him with the air
of a tactician. “Why stand in the street an’ get a lead irrigation?”
he wanted to know. “These boys must be green.”
* * * * *
He came against four Jingle Bell men huddled in a patch of shadows,
firing alternately. “Foller me,” said Indigo. “We’ll blast ’em. Come
on.” He ducked along the street until he reached a rickety four-by-four
pillar supporting one end of a second-story porch. Up this he shinned,
with the Jingle Bell cohorts behind. “Now,” breathed Indigo, “fly at
it.”
The entrance to the Geyser was across the street and a few doors
westward. From the porch Indigo and his volunteers commanded a clear
sweep of the indistinct horsemen. Methodically they went to work. This
concentration of fire quite immediately disturbed the invaders; it
likewise warned them that Jingle Bell was organizing its resistance. A
yell called the wrecking party out of the saloon; they milled, throwing
lead in all directions, and galloped into darkness. A last shot echoed
from the open prairie and a last ribald yell ricocheted back. The men
of Jingle Bell ventured into the Geyser. Indigo dropped from the porch
and followed suit.
Indigo was not a hand much given to bothering about property values;
he had broken many a plate mirror himself and scarred many a mahogany
bar top. Nevertheless, the utter devastation wrought within the
saloon absolutely shocked him. And while the crowd took nourishment,
he stood gloomily aside and listened to the dictates of his
conscience. It wasn’t his fight, it wasn’t his saloon--and it wasn’t
his town. Still---- At that point Indigo’s guardian angel turned a
fresh page and reached for the red ink. He heard someone calling.
Already his dash for the second-story porch had been heralded and the
townsmen were regarding him as if he had established himself as a
definite personage. He moved up, drank, and continued to brood as the
talk eddied over his head. There was a scuffle at the saloon door; in
came a brace of men bearing a fellow somewhat wounded, yet still
fighting back. The invading party had left at least one hostage.
“Throw him in the cooler,” said Indigo. Meanwhile, he had something else
on his mind. “Where was those gents from, anyhow?”
“Oh, it’s the Big Elk bunch again. It’s allus the Big Elk bunch.”
“Well, I’ll be singed,” grunted Indigo. “How long’s this been goin’ on?”
“Blamed if I know. It was a habit when I come here ten years ago.”
“Think of that! An’ when was the last time you returned the visit?”
The crowd had closed around him. Someone else took up the story. “Well,
Indigo, Big Elk’s sorter outgrown us. Las’ time we sashayed over there
was two years back, an’ we like to got all killed. They’re twice our
number.”
“Think of that!”
* * * * *
At this point there was a diversion. Through the door galloped Gabe
Wales, bellowing like a bull. The guns still dangled in his fists, his
gimlet eyes were aflame with mighty wrath. “Come on, boys, le’s go get
’im! Le’s wipe Big Elk offen the map!”
The proper response was lacking. The assembled force of Jingle Bell
looked toward Indigo. Indigo twitched his nose at sight of Wales and
spoke soothingly. “If here ain’t little Albert again.”
Wales turned on him furiously. “I’ll bet you know somethin’ about that
bunch!”
“Listen, Albert, you got an awful habit of comin’ into the picture a
little late. You was pickin’ yore teeth last I saw, and not very anxious
to find trouble, either.”
“A dam’ spy!”
“Hush,” said Indigo. And, unaccountably, Gabe Wales hushed. Indigo’s
eyes were a bright green and wrinkles splayed across his face. Thus
for a moment he surveyed the gentleman, then swung and ignored him.
He addressed the crowd. “One thing’s certain. They’ll be back after
the partner they left behind.”
“Then,” spoke up a bystander, “let’s get busy to meet ’em.”
“They won’t come tonight,” said Indigo. And the deliberateness of each
word gave him immeasurable authority. “They’ve had ample for one night.
Prob’ly they’ll come tomorra.”
“Then le’s be ready to watch ’em arrive.”
“There you go again,” grunted Indigo. “The habit o’ receivin’ trouble
has sorter grown on you. Look what they did! Why, it bruises a man’s
instincks. It shore does. It makes me so mad I could fry aigs on my
bald spot! If they’s got to be a lot of furniture busted, why not
mosey over an’ bust some o’ their furniture for a change?”
Silence. Indigo shook his head. “Yore thinkin’ they’re too many.
Shucks. I stood off that daggone town by myself once. Don’t tell me
you can’t pulverize Big Elk.” He waited for this to penetrate, seeing
here and there a glimmer of heat. Of a sudden he struck the bar with
his fist. “Tomorra I’d like fifteen men to ride out a ways with me.
We’ll set a deadline. When they try to cross it we’ll give ’em an
education in manners. I’m drinkin’ with those fifteen. Who are the
said gents?”
A yell went to the roof. Collectively, Jingle Bell moved toward the
mahogany. Indigo nodded, noting from the corner of his eye that Gabe
Wales alone stood back. He beckoned the man. “You--come here. Yore
goin’. Oh, yes you are!”
* * * * *
Beyond noon of the following day, Jingle Bell men rode across the
prairie; the distance to Big Elk was approximately twelve miles, the
riding a piece of hot and sultry business. For part of the way it was a
rolling land, then it fell into a series of pot holes and broken arroyos
scattered with ancient rubble. To left and right were miniature bluffs!
Indigo’s attention was immediately drawn to them and he turned to a near
man. “Henry, you strike off there an’ see what’s to be seen.”
“It’s all dum foolishness,” grunted Gabe Wales. “They won’t be comin’.
And we can’t go into Big Elk by daylight.”
“Don’t worry none, Albert,” murmured Indigo. “I’ll satisfy yore cravin’
for lead candy.”
“My name,” snapped Gabe Wales, “ain’t Albert.”
“What an awful mistake yore mammy made.”
Henry, the flanker, was about five hundred yards removed when he wheeled
and came racing back. Indigo stood in his saddle, to find dust kicking
up along the western horizon; a compact body of horsemen advanced at the
trot. Indigo pointed to a small depression directly ahead that would
serve as a line of defense. “There’s our deadline. Now we’ll give these
boys lessons in geography.”
The men of Jingle Bell raced for shelter, dropped to the ground and,
at Indigo’s order, spread out. Big Elk’s partisans came forward at
redoubled speed and Indigo’s green eyes flickered with a rare joy.
“Now, take it easy. Aim low--we ain’t awful mad. Not yet. Let ’em see
the dust kickin’ up. That provokes mature reflection.”
* * * * *
A burst of shots shattered the sultry silence of the prairie. Streamers
of sand flicked across the earth, considerably short of the charging
party. It didn’t hurt anybody, but Indigo saw them flinch. He warned his
men a second time. “Keep it low. We don’t want blood, we want to educate
’em. Now--let ’em eat more gravel!”
The sputter of gunfire spread along the arroyo’s rim. This time the
sand sprayed beneath the traveling hoofs; and then the Big Elk party
swept down into a depression less than fifty yards removed. Dust
billowed high, as if from ponies stopping on their haunches. Nor did
Big Elk’s cavalry rise and come on. They had taken shelter. Stetsons
bobbed up and down.
Indigo nodded to his companions. “Petey an’ Ort, snuggle up to yore
rifles. Lay a little dirt down their necks.”
The two gentlemen designated went to work with pleasure and alacrity.
Indigo saw a riffle of dust rise beside an exposed Stetson; saw that
Stetson drop like a plummet. “Not too close, Ort. Just sorter close.”
Indigo, however, forgot that he was as plain as any bull’s eye target.
In a moment he toppled backward into the arroyo with his eyes full of
sand and a weird string of words in his mouth. The Big Elk contingent
had returned compliments. Gabe Wales grinned surreptitiously, at which
Indigo asked the man why he didn’t go live in Big Elk if he liked those
folks so well. Gabe muttered something that Indigo didn’t hear. For the
military chieftain of Jingle Bell saw a figure rise and drop away over
to the south of both lines. It looked as if a flanking move was in
progress. Crouching, Indigo raced along the arroyo, past his men, and a
good hundred yards farther. The arroyo made a gradual turn, approaching
nearer the depression in which the Big Elk party was stationed. Now and
then Indigo hooked his chin over the parapet, at intervals catching
sight of the Stetson still going south. Each time he ducked back and ran
parallel, until the sound of firing grew fainter and he lost sight of
his men. Coming to a shallow stretch, he discovered a convenient boulder
ten yards removed and made for it on his stomach. The Stetson bobbed up
again; Indigo put a shot over there and reached the rock’s substantial
shelter. A bullet promptly came back to him, as close as any bullet
could reach without turning corners. Indigo swore mellifluously. “The
gent means business. Oh well----”
He stuck out his hat, and immediately lost a piece of the brim. “I give
him credit for good shootin’,” was Indigo’s wrathful observation. “But
if he’s pickin’ on me----”
He was diverted by the sight of the Big Elk cavalcade spurring out of
their stronghold, in full retreat. A few shots burst across the still
air--then they were gone, with Indigo trying to count them and thus
reassure himself no trickery was in the air. “I guess they got the
lesson. Well, by golly!”
* * * * *
For no sooner had the representatives of Big Elk abandoned the scene,
than the Jingle Bell party followed suit, riding with equal rapidity in
the opposite direction. It looked to Indigo almost as if his companions
had developed a chill. Such haste was unseemly, and he expressed himself
to that effect. “Now it’s a private argument. That gent is a persistent
cuss. Why don’t he go home?” Almost immediately Indigo conceived the
idea of taking a roundabout pasear and catching his man by surprise. He
retreated from the rock, crawled along the depression and traveled some
fifty yards before sighting a cluster of rocks ahead. With commendable
alacrity he made for this shelter. But when not quite ten yards away,
the hungry aperture of a gun barrel popped into his face, grasped by a
set of lean fingers. A Stetson rose up, and Joe Breedlove’s familiar
features confronted him. “Well--uh----” wheezed Indigo.
Joe’s face was coated with dust, it was Joe’s fighting face, grim and
flinty. But that expression remained but a moment. A light sparkled
deep in the blue eyes and of a sudden Indigo felt extremely guilty.
Joe always made him feel guilty in a situation like this.
“Picture of a man keepin’ out of trouble,” murmured Joe gravely.
Indigo defended himself hotly. “Don’t look like yore doin’ needlework,
either. Did you happen to ventilate my sky piece?”