The Two-Gun Man Read online

  Produced by Al Haines

  THE TWO-GUN MAN

  BY CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER

  Author of "The Range Riders," "The Coming of the Law," etc.

  A. L. BURT COMPANY

  PUBLISHERS -------- NEW YORK

  COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY

  OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

  ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON, ENGLAND

  All rights reserved

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. THE STRANGER AT DRY BOTTOM II. THE STRANGER SHOOTS III. THE CABIN IN THE FLAT IV. A "DIFFERENT GIRL" V. THE MAN OF DRY BOTTOM VI. AT THE TWO DIAMOND VII. THE MEASURE OF A MAN VIII. THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN IX. WOULD YOU BE A "CHARACTER"? X. DISAPPEARANCE OF THE ORPHAN XI. A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOR XII. THE STORY BEGINS XIII. "DO YOU SMOKE?" XIV. ON THE EDGE OF THE PLATEAU XV. A FREE HAND XVI. LEVIATT TAKES A STEP XVII. A BREAK IN THE STORY XVIII. THE DIM TRAIL XIX. THE SHOT IN THE DARK XX. LOVE AND A RIFLE XXI. THE PROMISE XXII. KEEPING A PROMISE XXIII. AT THE EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD XXIV. THE END OF THE STORY

  THE TWO-GUN MAN

  CHAPTER I

  THE STRANGER AT DRY BOTTOM

  From the crest of Three Mile Slope the man on the pony could see thetown of Dry Bottom straggling across the gray floor of the flat, itslow, squat buildings looking like so many old boxes blown there by anidle wind, or unceremoniously dumped there by a careless fate and left,regardless, to carry out the scheme of desolation.

  Apparently the rider was in no hurry, for, as the pony topped the riseand the town burst suddenly into view, the little animal pricked up itsears and quickened its pace, only to feel the reins suddenly tightenand to hear the rider's voice gruffly discouraging haste. Therefore,the pony pranced gingerly, alert, champing the bit impatiently, pickingits way over the lumpy hills of stone and cactus, but holding closelyto the trail.

  The man lounged in the saddle, his strong, well-knit body swayinggracefully, his eyes, shaded by the brim of his hat, narrowed withslight mockery and interest as he gazed steadily at the town that laybefore him.

  "I reckon that must be Dry Bottom," he said finally, mentally taking inits dimensions. "If that's so, I've only got twenty miles to go."

  Half way down the slope, and still a mile and a half from the town, therider drew the pony to a halt. He dropped the reins over the highpommel of the saddle, drew out his two guns, one after the other,rolled the cylinders, and returned the guns to their holsters. He hadheard something of Dry Bottom's reputation and in examining his pistolshe was merely preparing himself for an emergency. For a moment afterhe had replaced the weapons he sat quietly in the saddle. Then heshook out the reins, spoke to the pony, and the little animal setforward at a slow lope.

  An ironic traveler, passing through Dry Bottom in its younger days,before civic spirit had definitely centered its efforts upon thingsnomenclatural, had hinted that the town should be known as "dry"because of the fact that while it boasted seven buildings, four weresaloons; and that "bottom" might well be used as a suffix, because, inthe nature of things, a town of seven buildings, four of which weresaloons, might reasonably expect to descend to the very depths of moraliniquity.

  The ironic traveler had spoken with prophetic wisdom. Dry Bottom wastrying as best it knew how to wallow in the depths of sin. Unlovely,soiled, desolate of verdure, dumped down upon a flat of sand in atreeless waste, amid cactus, crabbed yucca, scorpions, horned toads,and rattlesnakes. Dry Bottom had forgotten its morals, subverted itsprinciples, and neglected its God.

  As the rider approached to within a few hundred yards of the edge oftown he became aware of a sudden commotion. He reined in his pony,allowing it to advance at a walk, while with alert eyes he endeavoredto search out the cause of the excitement. He did not have long towatch for the explanation.

  A man had stepped out of the door of one of the saloons, slowly walkingtwenty feet away from it toward the center of the street. Immediatelyother men had followed. But these came only to a point just outsidethe door. For some reason which was not apparent to the rider, theywere giving the first man plenty of room.

  The rider was now able to distinguish the faces of the men in thegroup, and he gazed with interested eyes at the man who had firstissued from the door of the saloon.

  The man was tall--nearly as tall as the rider--and in his everymovement seemed sure of himself. He was young, seemingly aboutthirty-five, with shifty, insolent eyes and a hard mouth whose lipswere just now curved into a self-conscious smile.

  The rider had now approached to within fifty feet of the man, haltinghis pony at the extreme end of the hitching rail that skirted the frontof the saloon. He sat carelessly in the saddle, his gaze fixed on theman.

  The men who had followed the first man out, to the number of a dozen,were apparently deeply interested, though plainly skeptical. A short,fat man, who was standing near the saloon door, looked on with ahalf-sneer. Several others were smiling blandly. A tall man on theextreme edge of the crowd, near the rider, was watching the man in thestreet gravely. Other men had allowed various expressions to creepinto their faces. But all were silent.

  Not so the man in the street. Plainly, here was conceit personified,and yet a conceit mingled with a maddening insolence. His expressiontold all that this thing which he was about to do was worthy of theclosest attention. He was the axis upon which the interest of theuniverse revolved.

  Certainly he knew of the attention he was attracting. Men wereapproaching from the other end of the street, joining the group infront of the saloon--which the rider now noticed was called the "SilverDollar." The newcomers were inquisitive; they spoke in low tones tothe men who had arrived before them, gravely inquiring the cause.

  But the man in the street seemed not disturbed by his rapidly swellingaudience. He stood in the place he had selected, his insolent eyesroving over the assembled company, his thin, expressive lips opening avery little to allow words to filter through them.

  "Gents," he said, "you're goin' to see some shootin'! I told you inthe Silver Dollar that I could keep a can in the air while I put fiveholes in it. There's some of you gassed about bein' showed, notbelievin'. An' now I'm goin' to show you!"

  He reached down and took up a can that had lain at his feet, removingthe red lithographed label, which had a picture of a large tomato inthe center of it. The can was revealed, naked and shining in the whitesunlight. The man placed the can in his left hand and drew his pistolwith the right.

  Then he tossed the can into the air. While it still rose his weaponexploded, the can shook spasmodically and turned clear over. Then inrapid succession followed four other explosions, the last occurringjust before the can reached the ground. The man smiled, still holdingthe smoking weapon in his hand.

  The tall man on the extreme edge of the group now stepped forward andexamined the can, while several other men crowded about to look. Therewere exclamations of surprise. It was curious to see how quicklyenthusiasm and awe succeeded skepticism.

  "He's done it, boys!" cried the tall man, holding the can aloft."Bored it in five places!" He stood erect, facing the crowd. "Ireckon that's some shootin'!" He now threw a glance of challenge anddefiance about him. "I've got a hundred dollars to say that thereain't another man in this here town can do it!"

  Several men tried, but none equaled the first man's performance. Manyof the men could not hit the can at all. The first man watched theirefforts, sneers twitching his lips as man after man failed.

  Presently all had tried. Watching closely, the rider caught anexpression of slight disappointment on the tall man's face. The riderwas the only man who had not yet tried his skill with the pistol, andthe man in the street now looked up at h
im, his eyes glittering with aninsolent challenge. As it happened, the rider glanced at the shooterat the instant the latter had turned to look up at him. Their eyes metfairly, the shooter's conveying a silent taunt. The rider smiled,slight mockery glinting his eyes.

  Apparently the stranger did not care to try his skill. He still satlazily in the saddle, his gaze wandering languidly over the crowd. Thelatter plainly expected him to take part in the shooting match and wasimpatient over his inaction.

  "Two-gun," sneered a man who stood near the saloon door. "I wonderwhat he totes them two guns for?"

  The shooter heard and turned toward the man who had spoken, his lipswreathed satirically.

  "I reckon he wouldn't shoot nothin' with them," he said, addressing theman who had spoken.

  Several men laughed. The tall man who had revealed interest before nowraised a hand, checking further comment.

  "That offer of a hundred to the man who can beat that shootin' stillgoes," he declared. "An' I'm taking off the condition. The man thattries don't have to belong to Dry Bottom. No stranger is barred!"

  The stranger's glance again met the shooter's. The latter grinnedfelinely. Then the rider spoke. The crowd gave him its politeattention.

  "I reckon you-all think you've seen some shootin'," he said in asteady, even voice, singularly free from boast. "But I reckon youain't seen any real shootin'." He turned to the tall, grave-faced man."I ain't got no hundred," he said, "but I'm goin' to show you."

  He still sat in the saddle. But now with an easy motion he swung downand hitched his pony to the rail.