Who Wants to Live Forever? Read online

  Frawley dealt. He gave Cash the king of spades and himself the nine spot of the same suit. With a curse he flung the deck on the table, sending half the cards slithering to the floor. The scar on his face stood out livid and ragged.

  Cash wiped the tiny sweat beads from his forehead. He was tremendously relieved at having escaped.

  'It's a nice bonus, Jim,' he tittered, 'for doing only what you've been bragging you meant to do anyhow.'

  Frawley's big fist crashed into the man's face and flung him against the wall. 'You'll laugh at me, will you?' he roared. 'God damn you all to hell!'

  'No use getting so goosey, Jim,' Fenwick chided. 'It might have been one of us, and anyhow it's only a dirty chore soon finished.'

  'There's another dirty chore,' Hanford reminded them. 'What about the kid — Frank?'

  They had forgotten Frank. The name came to them with a little shock. Something had to be done about him. In one way he was more dangerous than Stevens. They were not sure how much he knew, but it was plenty. Since he was now under the influence of the M K owner, it was sure that he would tell enough to bring trouble knocking at their doors.

  Cash groaned. He dabbed with a handkerchief tenderly at his bruised cheek. 'I hate to have the kid hurt. Still and all—'

  'He's nothing but a spoiled brat,' Frawley said, with reminiscent venom. 'Several times I've come near beating his fool head in.'

  'That wouldn't be enough now,' Brick said, puffing at the cigarette he was lighting. His shallow eyes were cold and hard, quite without anger or pity. The mouth was a thin, cruel slit in a face that evil long ago had furrowed. 'He'll have to be rubbed out. Long as he is alive, we'll not feel safe.'

  The beady eyes of Cash slid slyly over his confederates. 'He's going to be inducted into the army soon. Maybe if Jim was to talk to him—'

  The hooded, dead-cod gaze of Hanford rested on Polk. 'You voting to turn the kid loose, Cash?' he sneered.

  'Why, no — no. We dassent do that.'

  'What then?'

  'I wouldn't exactly know. It's a tough proposition.'

  'Well, I know.' There was an ugly malicious grin on the mouth of Hanford. 'You know he has to be rubbed out, just like the rest of us do. But you think, if you hint around about going easy on him, you could claim later, in case you get yore tail in a crack, that you stood up to us and tried to save him.'

  'Nothing like that, Cad,' protested Cash. 'You hadn't ought to talk to me thataway.'

  'Too bad you can't have yore bread buttered on both sides, Cash.' Brick let the ghost of a tormenting smile rest on his immobile face. 'Might be a good idea for us to have Cash take over this little task of sending Frank west. We would have the dead wood on him then.'

  'No. No.' The voice of Cash was shrill with fright. 'I never killed a man in my life. I couldn't do it.'

  'You'll find it easy.' Brick's voice was smoothly ironic. 'All you have to do is get him where you want him and cut loose the blast. Boys, what say we let Cash have this experience? He'll learn there is no sport like man-hunting. It's tops.'

  Cash was voluble, but so excited by fear that his speech lacked coherence. 'Now see here, Brick. I ain't — I ain't — I'm peaceful. No gun-fighter. I wouldn't have any idea how — I just couldn't do it.'

  Fenwick borrowed his revolver. 'I'll show you how, Cash. Watch how I do this, and you'll never need another lesson.'

  He turned the gun on the little man, pressing the end of the barrel against his belly. The unwavering eyes that bored into those of Polk were filled with a strange, vicious excitement. The lust to kill burned up in them like evil lights.

  'Don't, Brick, don't!' the victim screamed. 'For God's sake—'

  Fenwick laughed, but the sound of his mirth was brittle. There had been one uncertain moment when death had been very near. He gave the revolver back to the shaking hand of its owner. 'You see how easy it is, Cash. The other fellow is the one who has to worry.'

  'If you fellows are going to draw straws, get at it,' the foreman said impatiently.

  'What do you mean us fellows?' Brick demanded. 'You're in it, too. We took our chance with Stevens. You take yours now.'

  'Not on your life,' Frawley flung back at him. 'I'm out of it. And don't think you can scare me. I'm not Cash.'

  They faced each other for a moment, the big red-faced arrogant bully and the slim neat deadly killer.

  Hanford interposed. 'Go easy, Brick. I think Jim is right. One of the rest of us can take care of the boy.'

  Brick shrugged his shoulders. The point was not worth fighting about. Except for the principle of the thing, he would just as soon take on the killing as not.

  They let the cards decide a second time. Hanford drew the high spade the first round. The ace of that suit fell to Fenwick on the next try. Cash stood looking down at the ace of hearts which lay in front of him, his face and lips ashen pale. There was no pity in his heart for the doomed boy. He was thinking wholly of his own safety.

  CHAPTER 7

  Polite Allies

  WHEN FRANK AND HAL walked into the living-room before breakfast, they found Dale reading the market quotations for cattle in the Tucson Star. She was dressed in short-leg boots, levis, and a gray flannel shirt. A feeder from Greeley, Colorado, had telephoned her that he would be out soon after breakfast, and she expected to inspect some of the ranch beef stuff with him with the view to a sale. Frawley would go along and give his advice, but the final decision would be hers.

  At sight of Hal Stevens, her face set. He smiled at her with the cheerful impudence she so much disliked.

  'Sorry, Miss Lovell,' he said. 'The bad penny has turned up again.'

  She held the newspaper in her hands resting on the thighs encased in the levis, looked Stevens over resentfully, and turned to her brother.

  'Listen, Dale,' Frank broke out. 'This is important. You won't like it, but you've got to hear it. Hal and I are in a jam, and it concerns you.'

  'What do you mean that you are in a jam with him?' Dale asked coldly.

  'I mean he got me out of it, far as I am out of it, and that's not saying much.'

  'Maybe you had better tell me what the trouble is.'

  'Part of it is that Frawley is in cahoots with Black's gang to rob us of our stock.'

  'Did Mr. Stevens tell you that?' Dale asked bitingly.

  'No. I told him.'

  'And when did you find it out?'

  Her brother told her the whole story — his gambling losses and suspicions, the fear they had drilled into him, his inability to escape from the strangle-hold they had on him, and the chance of deliverance Hal Stevens had unexpectedly offered.

  'Very interesting,' the girl commented bitterly. 'Mr. Stevens is the hero of your ignoble adventure. And you — you are not even the villain, but the poor fool the thieves led by the nose.'

  The boy flushed. 'Go ahead,' he said, with sullen anger. 'Say anything you like. I reckon I deserve it.'

  Hal took part in the discussion for the first time. 'Frank isn't the only boy who has sowed a few wild oats. When he knew what he had got into and wanted to pull up, it was too late. He was in trouble up to his neck. Black's killers would not have let him break away alive. The first chance he had — and that was last night when I put it up to him to declare himself on one side or the other — he came through clean as a whistle, backed my play at once, disarmed them, and started my car so that I could get out of there alive. If you have the sense I think you have, Miss Lovell, you won't let your silly pride play any part in this. You'll start with us here from scratch. First off, get this. Frank is marked for death by these scoundrels, and it's your job to see that they don't find a chance to get him. If we're going to smash this thieving gang, we all have to stand together. That's point number two. We don't need to like each other to be allies until the enemy is licked.'

  Color flooded the girl's face. As usual, he had managed to put himself in the right and her in the wrong. She had not been just to Frank. It had taken courage for him to stand up
to Black's gang and walk out on them. For months she had been worried about him, and now he had cut loose from the associates who were ruining him. He was safe, if he could be protected from their vengeance. As for Hal Stevens, though she was prejudiced against him, she had to admit that he had behaved splendidly.

  'All right, Mr. Stevens. We'll be polite allies for the duration, as friendly as Italy is to Germany, with all rights to subsequent hostilities reserved.' An inner urge swept the mocking smile from her face and showed it for a moment young and warm. 'I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help to Frank. We both thank you.'

  He waved a hand airily. 'Think nothing of it, Miss Lovell. I'm not a noble character. The idea came to me that I would enjoy stirring up the animals. So I used Frank as a prod.'

  As she looked at this lean brown man with the compelling devil-may-care charm, a strange heat ran through her. For years she had hated him. Even now resentment boiled up in her that they should be under so great an obligation to their traditional enemy. She detested his cool, poised assurance, though she felt certain that back of the reckless confidence was the stark courage to justify it. He lived by no settled principle, and his wild youth had been a scandal in the valley. Yet some magnetized current reached out from him and drew her with a force that washed away the barriers her strong young will had built. He was intensely masculine. She felt it in his thick crisp reddish hair, in the bone conformation of his face, in the smooth rhythmic co-ordination of his muscular system.

  Dale beat down the wave of emotion sweeping over her. She spoke with light sarcasm. 'I must thank you, too, for telling me off so candidly. I'm fortunate to have such a model character here to point out to me my duty. I'll pocket my silly pride, as you suggest, and start from scratch.'

  Frank was delighted not to be put in the doghouse. He raised a question. 'What about the seventeen hundred I owe?'

  'We'll have to pay it,' Dale said. 'You can't welsh.'

  'Don't be silly,' Hal told them bluntly. 'They have been stealing your stock. The poker games were fixed for Frank to lose. He would be a chump to pay.' He passed to another point. 'It's not my business, maybe. But what are you going to do about Frawley?'

  'He's in the raids as deep as any of them,' Frank said.

  'We'll fire him, of course,' Dale replied. 'By the way, where is he? He should have been here before this. We were going to look over some beef stuff a Greeley man wants to buy.'

  'Maybe he has ducked out,' Frank hazarded.

  'No,' Hal differed. 'He'll try to bull it through. Jobs like his aren't a dime a dozen. If he loses out here, he will never get a chance to be foreman of another big outfit. But if you fire him, remember this. He's a vindictive fellow. No doubt he has been tipping off Black's gang where and when to raid your pastures. Yet, if you give him his time, he will become a bitter enemy.'

  'Better that than a false friend who is selling us out.'

  A heavy step sounded on the porch. Frawley's big form appeared in the doorway. At sight of Stevens there jumped to the light blue eyes in the beefy face a look so startled that it was akin to fear. The man he had been lying on the ridge to kill since before dawn was here to confront him.

  Although Frawley must have known there was likely to be a blow-up between him and Dale, he took a bold, domineering line.

  'What's that man doing in this house?' he demanded.

  'Frank and I decide who comes here,' she answered. 'And you are one we won't have on the place any longer. You're through working for the Seven Up. Get your time and pack up your roll.'

  'Why am I through?' he asked stormily.

  'Because we no longer want you on the place.'

  'That's no answer. I'm asking you why.'

  'I'll tell you why.' Her face lost its soft contours. The eyes grew hard and bright with anger. 'You don't know what loyalty is. You have done your best to lead Frank astray — to ruin him with drink and gambling, in order to make money out of it. You are one of a gang of thieves, the lowest one of the lot, since you are selling out the employers who promoted you from a forty-dollar-a-month job to a responsible position.'

  'It's a lie,' Frawley blustered. 'You can't prove it.' . 'If I could prove it, I would send you to the penitentiary. Maybe it will come to that yet. But at least I can have you kicked off the ranch as a lowdown scoundrel the decent boys in the bunkhouse won't want to associate with. You are leaving the Seven Up, and I'll tell you that it will be my business to see that you are never foreman again on any Arizona ranch.'

  'You think you are God Almighty, don't you?' the ex-foreman sneered. 'I'll be tickled to leave an outfit bossed by a shrew who hasn't cow sense enough to tell a heifer from a steer.'

  'I want you off the place as soon as you can pack,' she told the discharged man sharply.

  'I'll go when I get good and ready,' he retorted. 'And that will be after your brother pays me five hundred dollars he owes.'

  'I don't have to pay money lost in a crooked game,' Frank interposed.

  'Who says the game was crooked? You'll pay. Or I'll take it out of your hide.'

  Hal spoke, mildly. 'I say it was crooked. The rest of you had been taking Frank for a ride all spring.'

  Frawley swung round on him. 'You're a hell of a fine witness, a fellow with a reputation like yours.' The ex-foreman turned back to the mistress of the ranch. 'Last night he barged in on our poker game, and after he had lost held us up with a gun. He and your fine brother robbed our bank. They both belong in the penitentiary, and that's where we aim to send them.'

  'I'm not interested,' Dale said curtly. 'Clear out.'

  'You claim for years that you hate this fellow. His father shot and 'most killed your dad. All your riders know how unfriendly you've been to the M K. Now all of a sudden you are as thick with him as three in a bed. You know what a bad egg he is, but when he cooks up these lies against me you side with him.' Frawley broke off from his harsh scolding to laugh raucously. 'I reckon the settlers in this valley will think there is a reason.'

  Frank stepped forward, his face white with anger. 'Get out of here, you scoundrel, or I'll have you whipped from the ranch.'

  'You will, eh?'

  The bully had lost control of his temper completely. His heavy fist lifted to the point of Frank's jaw. The boy staggered back and went down to the carpet in a huddled heap.

  Dale flew to help her unconscious brother.

  In a quiet, cool voice Hal made a proposition to Frawley. 'Yesterday you wanted to tear me in two. How would you like to step outside and try it now?'

  The infuriated ruffian sized up his opponent, a lithe, graceful man who weighed fifty pounds less than he, with smooth muscles that did not bulge. He had the reputation of being a good fighter for his weight, but Frawley did not believe there was a man alive who could give him fifty pounds and stand up against him. The foreman was a notorious brawler, and he was strong as an ox.

  'You're on,' he said exultantly. 'Let's go.'

  Three men were standing outside the bunkhouse waiting for orders. Frawley called to them. 'Come and see the show, boys. Somebody is going to get the licking of his life.'

  He threw his coat to one of them and doubled his fists.

  'Just a moment,' Hal said. 'We're both armed. Before we start this argument we'll give our guns to the boys.'

  His big foe hesitated an instant before he said,' Suits me.' He handed his revolver to one of the men. 'Here, take this, Casey. I can knock the living daylights out of this buttinski with nothing but my fists.'

  Hal turned over his weapon to the cowboy. He said, chuckling, 'You can get my last words later.'

  Beside his huge opponent Hal seemed slight. There was not an ounce of unnecessary weight on him anywhere. Feet, hips, and hands were in perfect co-ordination, but the massive shoulders and body of Frawley looked overpowering. They packed tremendous force.

  'Bet you a buck Stevens doesn't last five minutes, Bill,' Casey said to one of the other cowboys.

  Bill shook his head. 'No dice
. Stevens is a good man, but he hasn't the weight to beat Jim.'

  Frawley came in flatfooted and heavy, swinging hard, with a piledriving force that might have felled a steer. Hal's head moved a few inches. As the big fist scraped over his shoulder his left pumped into the belly of the foreman. That first blow told Hal something he wanted to know. The bully had been a heavy drinker for years, and the midriff that had once been a tight band of steel was now paunchy and soft. The big man's grunt was evidence of its vulnerability.

  Hal danced away, his footwork worth seeing as he circled his foe. The motions of arms, shoulders, and long slim body were as rhythmic as the pistons of well-oiled machinery. He had been the middleweight champion of his college, and since then had learned how to adapt his technique to a rough-and-tumble fight. One first principle he had discovered — to hurt his opponent as hard and as often as he could early in a fray without allowing his own power to be sapped. Now he slammed first one fist and then the other into the soft tire of fat circling his enemy's waist.

  Frawley began to blow like a porpoise. He plunged at Stevens, disregarding defense, eager to knock out the smaller man quickly. Hal smothered one fist by clever arm work, ducked the other, and drove a right once more into the belly. The foreman glared, breast heaving. Savagely he charged once more. It was the only way of fighting he knew — to slog and hammer his foe to a pulp, if necessary crushing his ribs in by sheer strength. Some of his blows got home. Hal's face was badly cut. One of his eyes was swelling, and there was a bad bruise on his cheek. As yet there was not a mark on Frawley's face. But he was breathing hard. Sharp clean-cut blows had rammed into his kidneys and stomach. Already the fellow was in distress.

  Hal began to pay attention to the face. He stepped warily around the man, feinted for the body, and landed hard on the mouth. Before he broke ground, he pounded right and left at the kidneys and slashed another right at the nose that drew blood freely. Frawley gasped. He was being punished cruelly. Surges of nausea swept over him. It came to him that he had to carry the battle or be beaten. He shuffled forward, trying to close with his light-stepping, elusive antagonist. Hal stopped him with two straight smashes to the chin that rocked his head back.