The Killer Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  After a time I went to bed, but not to sleep. I placed my gun under mypillow, locked and bolted the door, and arranged a string cunninglyacross the open window so that an intruder--unless he had extraordinaryluck--could not have failed to kick up a devil of a clatter. I wasyoung, bold, without nerves; so that I think I can truthfully say I wasnot in the least frightened. But I cannot deny I was nervous--or ratherthe whole situation was on my nerves. I lay on my back staring straightat the ceiling. I caught myself gripping the sheets and listening. Onlythere was nothing to listen to. The night was absolutely still. Therewere no frogs, no owls, no crickets even. The firm old adobe walls gaveoff no creak nor snap of timbers. The world was muffled--I almost saidsmothered. The psychological effect was that of blank darkness, theblack darkness of far underground, although the moon was sailing theheavens.

  How long that lasted I could not tell you. But at last the silence wasbroken by the cheerful chirp of a frog. Never was sound more grateful tothe ear! I lay drinking it in as thirstily as water after a day on thedesert. It seemed that the world breathed again, was coming alive aftersyncope. And then beneath that loud and cheerful singing I became awareof duller half-heard movements; and a moment or so later yellow lightsbegan to flicker through the transom high at the blank wall of theroom, and to reflect in wavering patches on the ceiling. Evidentlysomebody was afoot outside with a lantern.

  I crept from the bed, moved the table beneath the transom, and climbedatop. The opening was still a foot or so above my head. Being young,strong, and active, I drew myself up by the strength of my arms so Icould look--until my muscles gave out!

  I saw four men with lanterns moving here and there among some willowsthat bordered what seemed to be an irrigating ditch with water. Theywere armed with long clubs. Old Man Hooper, in an overcoat, stood in acommanding position. They seemed to be searching. Suddenly from a clumpof bushes one of the men uttered an exclamation of triumph. I saw hislong club rise and fall. At that instant my tired fingers slipped fromthe ledge and I had to let myself drop to the table. When a moment laterI regained my vantage point, I found that the whole crew haddisappeared.

  Nothing more happened that night. At times I dozed in a broken sort offashion, but never actually fell into sound sleep. The nearest I came toslumber was just at dawn. I really lost all consciousness of mysurroundings and circumstances, and was only slowly brought to myself bythe sweet singing of innumerable birds in the willows outside the blankwall. I lay in a half stupor enjoying them. Abruptly their music ceased.I heard the soft, flat _spat_ of a miniature rifle. The sound wasrepeated. I climbed back on my table and drew myself again to a positionof observation.

  Old Man Hooper, armed with a .22 calibre rifle, was prowling along thewillows in which fluttered a small band of migratory birds. He was justdrawing bead on a robin. At the report the bird fell. The old man dartedforward with the impetuosity of a boy, although the bird was dead. Animpulse of contempt curled my lips. The old man was childish! Why shouldhe find pleasure in hunting such harmless creatures? and why should hetake on triumph over retrieving such petty game? But when he reached thefallen bird he did not pick it up for a possible pot-pie as I thought hewould do. He ground it into the soft earth with the heel of his boot,stamping on the poor thing again and again. And never have I seen onhuman countenance such an expression of satisfied malignity!

  I went to my door and looked out. You may be sure that the message I hadreceived from the unfortunate young lady had not been forgotten; but OldMan Hooper's cynical delivery of the second paper had rendered me toocautious to undertake anything without proper reconnaissance. The leftwing about the courtyard seemed to contain two apartments--at leastthere were two doors, each with its accompanying window. The windowfarthest out was heavily barred. My thrill at this discovery was,however, slightly dashed by the further observation that also all theother windows into the courtyard were barred. Still, that was peculiarin itself, and not attributable--as were the walls and remarkabletransoms--to former necessities of defence. My first thought was tostroll idly around the courtyard, thus obtaining a closer inspection.But the moment I stepped into the open a Mexican sauntered into viewand began to water the flowers. I can say no more than that in his handsthat watering pot looked fairly silly. So I turned to the right andpassed through the wicket gate and into the stable yard. It was naturalenough that I should go to look after my own horse.

  The stable yard was for the moment empty; but as I walked across it oneof its doors opened and a very little, wizened old man emerged leading ahorse. He tied the animal to a ring in the wall and proceeded at once tocurrying.

  I had been in Arizona for ten years. During that time I had seen a greatmany very fine native horses, for the stock of that country is directlydescended from the barbs of the _conquistadores_. But, though often wellformed and as tough and useful as horseflesh is made, they were small.And no man thought of refinements in caring for any one of his numerousmounts. They went shaggy or smooth according to the season; and not oneof them could have called a curry comb or brush out of its name.

  The beast from which the wizened old man stripped a _bona fide_ horseblanket was none of these. He stood a good sixteen hands; his head wassmall and clean cut with large, intelligent eyes and little, well-setears; his long, muscular shoulders sloped forward as shoulders should;his barrel was long and deep and well ribbed up; his back was flat andstraight; his legs were clean and--what was rarely seen in the cowcountry--well proportioned--the cannon bone shorter than the leg bone,the ankle sloping and long and elastic--in short, a magnificent creaturewhose points of excellence appeared one by one under close scrutiny.And the high lights of his glossy coat flashed in the sun like water.

  I walked from one side to the other of him marvelling. Not a defect, noteven a blemish could I discover. The animal was fairly a perfectspecimen of horseflesh. And I could not help speculating as to its use.Old Man Hooper had certainly never appeared with it in public; the fameof such a beast would have spread the breadth of the country.

  During my inspection the wizened little man continued his work withouteven a glance in my direction. He had on riding breeches and leathergaiters, a plaid waistcoat and a peaked cap; which, when you think ofit, was to Arizona about as incongruous as the horse. I made severalconventional remarks of admiration, to which he paid not the slightestattention. But I know a bait.

  "I suppose you claim him as a Morgan," said I.

  "Claim, is it!" grunted the little man, contemptuously.

  "Well, the Morgan is not a real breed, anyway," I persisted. "Asixty-fourth blood will get one registered. What does that amount to?"

  The little man grunted again.

  "Besides, though your animal is a good one, he is too short and straightin the pasterns," said I, uttering sheer, rank, wild heresy.

  After that we talked; at first heatedly, then argumentatively, then withentire, enthusiastic agreement. I saw to that. Allowing yourself to beconverted from an absurd opinion is always a sure way to favour. Weended with antiphonies of praise for this descendant of Justin Morgan.

  "You're the only man in all this God-forsaken country that has thesense of a Shanghai rooster!" cried the little man in a glow. "They ridehorses and they know naught of them; and they laugh at a horseman! Yourhand, sir!" He shook it. "And is that your horse in number four? Iwondered! He's the first animal I've seen here properly shod. They usethe rasp, sir, on the outside the hoof, and on the clinches, sir; andthey burn a seat for the shoe; and they pare out the sole and trim thefrog--bah! You shoe your own horse, I take it. That's right and proper!Your hand again, sir. Your horse has been fed this hour agone."

  "I'll water him, then," said I.

  But when I led him forth I could find no trough or other facilitiesuntil the little man led me to a corner of the corral and showed me acontraption with a close-fitting lid to be lifted.

  "It's along of the flies," he explained to me. "They must drink, and westarve them for water here,
and they go greedy for their poison yonder."He indicated flat dishes full of liquid set on shelves here and about."We keep them pretty clear."

  I walked over, curiously, to examine. About and in the dishes wereliterally quarts of dead insects, not only flies, but bees, hornets, andother sorts as well. I now understood the deadly silence that had soimpressed me the evening before. This was certainly most ingenious; andI said so.

  But at my first remark the old man became obstinately silent, and fellagain to grooming the Morgan horse. Then I became aware that he wasaddressing me in low tones out of the corner of his mouth.

  "Go on; look at the horse; say something," he muttered, busilypolishing down the animal's hind legs. "You're a man who _saveys_ ahorse--the only man I've seen here who does. _Get out_! Don't ask why.You're safe now. You're not safe here another day. Water your horse; eatyour breakfast; then _get out_!"

  And not another word did I extract. I watered my horse at the coveredtrough, and rather thoughtfully returned to the courtyard.

  I found there Old Man Hooper waiting. He looked as bland and innocentand harmless as the sunlight on his own flagstones--until he gazed up atme, and then I was as usual disconcerted by the blank, veiled, unwinkingstare of his eyes.

  "Remarkably fine Morgan stallion you have, sir," I greeted him. "Ididn't know such a creature existed in this part of the world."

  But the little man displayed no gratification.

  "He's well enough. I have him more to keep Tim happy than anything else.We'll go in to breakfast."

  I cast a cautious eye at the barred window in the left wing. Thecurtains were still down. At the table I ventured to ask after MissHooper. The old man stared at me up to the point of embarrassment, thenreplied drily that she always breakfasted in her room. The rest of ourconversation was on general topics. I am bound to say it wasunexpectedly easy. The old man was a good talker, and possessed socialease and a certain charm, which he seemed to be trying to exert. Amongother things, I remember, he told me of the Indian councils he used tohold in the old days.

  "They were held on the willow flat, outside the east wall," he said. "Inever allowed any of them inside the walls." The suavity of his mannerbroke fiercely and suddenly. "Everything inside the walls is mine!" hedeclared with heat. "Mine! mine! mine! Understand? I will not toleratein here anything that is not mine; that does not obey my will; that doesnot come when I say come; go when I say go; and fall silent when I saybe still!"

  A wild and fantastic idea suddenly illuminated my understanding.

  "Even the crickets, the flies, the frogs, the birds," I said,audaciously.

  He fixed his wildcat eyes upon me without answering.

  "And," I went on, deliberately, "who could deny your perfect right to dowhat you will with your own? And if they did deny that right what morenatural than that they should be made to perish--or take theirbreakfasts in their rooms?"

  I was never more aware of the absolute stillness of the house than whenI uttered these foolish words. My hand was on the gun in mytrouser-band; but even as I spoke a sickening realization came over methat if the old man opposite so willed, I would have no slightest chanceto use it. The air behind me seemed full of menace, and the hair crawledon the back of my neck. Hooper stared at me without sign for tenseconds; his right hand hovered above the polished table. Then he let itfall without giving what I am convinced would have been a signal.

  "Will you have more coffee--my guest?" he inquired. And he stressedsubtly the last word in a manner that somehow made me just a trifleashamed.

  At the close of the meal the Mexican familiar glided into the room.Hooper seemed to understand the man's presence, for he arose at once.

  "Your horse is saddled and ready," he told me, briskly. "You will bewishing to start before the heat of the day. Your _cantinas_ are readyon the saddle."

  He clapped on his hat and we walked together to the corral. Thereawaited us not only my own horse, but another. The equipment of thelatter was magnificently reminiscent of the old Californiadays--gaily-coloured braided hair bridle and reins; silver _conchas_;stock saddle of carved leather with silver horn and cantle; silvered bitbars; gay Navajo blanket as corona; silver corners to skirts, silver_conchas_ on the long _tapaderos_. Old Man Hooper, strangely incongruousin his wrinkled "store clothes," swung aboard.

  "I will ride with you for a distance," he said.

  We jogged forth side by side at the slow Spanish trot. Hooper called myattention to the buildings of Fort Shafter glimmering part way up theslopes of the distant mountains, and talked entertainingly of the Indiandays, and how the young officers used to ride down to his ranch formusic.

  After a half hour thus we came to the long string of wire and the huge,awkward gate that marked the limit of Hooper's "pasture." Of course theopen range was his real pasture; but every ranch enclosed a thousandacres or so somewhere near the home station to be used for horses inactive service. Before I could anticipate him, he had sidled his horseskillfully alongside the gate and was holding it open for me to pass. Irode through the opening murmuring thanks and an apology. The old manfollowed me through, and halted me by placing his horse square acrossthe path of mine.

  "You are now, sir, outside my land and therefore no longer my guest," hesaid, and the snap in his voice was like the crackling of electricity."Don't let me ever see you here again. You are keen and intelligent. Youspoke the truth a short time since. You were right. I tolerate nothingin my place that is not my own--no man, no animal, no bird, no insectnor reptile even--that will not obey my lightest order. And thesecreatures, great or small, who will not--_or even cannot_--obey myorders must go--or die. Understand me clearly?

  "You have come here, actuated, I believe, by idle curiosity, but withoutknowledge. You made yourself--ignorantly--my guest; and a guest issacred. But now you know my customs and ideas. I am telling you. Neveragain can you come here in ignorance; therefore never again can you comehere as a guest; and never again will you pass freely."

  He delivered this drily, precisely, with frost in his tones, staringbalefully into my eyes. So taken aback was I by this unleashed hostilitythat for a moment I had nothing to say.

  "Now, if you please, I will take both notes from that poor idiot: theone I handed you and the one she handed you."

  I realized suddenly that the two lay together in the breast pocket of myshirt; that though alike in tenor, they differed in phrasing; and that Ihad no means of telling one from the other.

  "The paper you gave me I read and threw away," I stated, boldly. "Itmeant nothing to me. As to any other, I do not know what you are talkingabout."

  "You are lying," he said, calmly, as merely stating a fact. "It does notmatter. It is my fancy to collect them. I should have liked to addyours. Now get out of this, and don't let me see your face again!"

  "Mr. Hooper," said I, "I thank you for your hospitality, which has beencomplete and generous. You have pointed out the fact that I am no longeryour guest. I can, therefore, with propriety, tell you that your ideasand prejudices are noted with interest; your wishes are placed on filefor future reference; I don't give a damn for your orders; and you cango to hell!"

  "Fine flow of language. Educated cowpuncher," said the old man, drily."You are warned. Keep off. Don't meddle with what does not concern you.And if the rumour gets back to me that you've been speculating ortalking or criticizing----"

  "Well?" I challenged.

  "I'll have you killed," he said, simply; so simply that I knew he meantit.

  "You are foolish to make threats," I rejoined. "Two can play at thatgame. You drive much alone."

  "I do not work alone," he hinted, darkly. "The day my body is found deadof violence, that day marks the doom of a long list of men whom Iconsider inimical to me--like, perhaps, yourself." He stared me downwith his unwinking gaze.