Bat Wing Bowles

"Aw, what do you know about it?" he growled. "You wasn't there. Who told you he crowded her out of the trail?"

"Well, he says so himse'f!" protested Atkins, pointing an accusing finger at Bowles. "Didn't he come into camp and tell all about it? I believe that he was tryin' to do it so he could git a chance to – "

"Mr. Atkins," said Bowles, rising to his feet and speaking tremulously, "I shall have to ask – "

But that was as far as he got. With a tiger-like spring the ex-twister was upon him, and before he could raise his hands he struck him full in the face.

"You will talk about my gal, will ye?" he shouted, as Bowles went down at the blow. "Stand up hyer, you white-livered Hinglishman; I'll learn you to butt in on my game!"

"Here! What're you tryin' to do?" demanded Brigham, leaping up hastily and confronting his old-time enemy. "You touch that boy again, and I'll slap yore dirty face off!"

"Well, he's been gittin' too important around hyer!" cried Atkins noisily. "And he's been talkin' about my gal – I won't take that from no man!"

"Huh!" sneered Brigham, drawing closer and clenching his hands. "You're mighty quick to hit a man when he ain't lookin' – why don't you take a man of yore size now and hit me?"

"I ain't got no quarrel with you!" raved Hardy Atkins. "That's the feller I'm after – he's been talkin' about my gal!"

"He has not!" replied Brigham deliberately. "He never talked about no gal, and I'll whip the man that says so – are you bad hurt, pardner?"

He knelt by the side of the prostrate Bowles, who opened his eyes and stared. Then he looked about him and raised one hand to his cheek, which was bruised and beginning to swell.

"I'll learn you to cut me out!" taunted Hardy Atkins, shaking his fist and doing a war-dance. "I'll make you hard to ketch if you try to butt in on me!"

"Aw, shut up!" snarled Brigham, lifting his partner up. "You're brave when a man ain't lookin', ain't ye? Here, ketch hold of me, pardner, and I'll take you to yore bed."

Bowles dropped down on his blankets, still nursing his aching head; but in the morning he rose up with a purposeful look in his eye. He was a long way from New York and the higher life now, and that one treacherous blow had roused his fighting blood. For the courage which prompts a man to strike in the dark, he had little if any respect, and he went straight over to Hardy Atkins the moment he saw him alone.

"Mr. Atkins," he said, "you hit me when I wasn't looking last night. Next time you won't find me so easy – but be so good as to leave Miss Lee's name out of this."

"Oho!" taunted the cow-puncher, straightening up and regarding him with a grin. "So you want some more, hey? That crack on the jaw didn't satisfy you. What's the matter with yore face this mawnin'?"

"Never you mind about my face," returned Bowles warmly. "If you are so low as to be proud of a trick like that, you are a coward, and no gentleman, and – put up your hands!"

He squared off as he spoke, falling back upon his right foot and presenting a long, menacing left; but Hardy Atkins only laughed and loosened his pistol.

"Aw, go on away," he said. "D'ye think I want to box with you? No, if you git into a fight with me you're liable to stop 'most anythin' – I'll hit you over the coco with this!"

He laid his hand on the heavy Colt's which he always wore in his shaps, and gazed upon Bowles insolently.

"You can't run no blazer over me, Mr. Willie-boy," he went on, as Bowles put down his hands. "You're out West now, where everythin' goes. If you'd happen to whip me in a fist-fight I'd git my gun and shoot you, so keep yore mouth shut unless you want to go the limit. And while we're talkin'," he drawled, "I think you might as well drift – it's goin' to be mighty onhealthy around hyer if I ketch you with Dixie again."

"I asked you to leave her name out of this," suggested Bowles, trying bravely to keep his voice from getting thin. "If you've got a quarrel with me, well and good, but certainly no gentleman – "

"Aw, go on away from me," sneered Hardy Atkins, waving him wearily aside. "You seem to think you're the only gentleman in the outfit! Go chase yoreself – you make me tired!"

The sight of grinning faces about the corral recalled Bowles to the presence of an audience and, choking with anger and chagrin, he went off to saddle his horse. Ever since his arrival Hardy Atkins had ignored him, glancing at him furtively or gazing past him with supercilious scorn. Now for the first time they had met as man to man, and in that brief minute the ex-twister had shown his true colors. He was a man of treachery and violence, and proud of it. He did not pretend to fair play nor subscribe to the rules of the game. He did not even claim to be a gentleman! There was the crux, and Bowles labored in his mind to find the key. How could he compete – in either love or war – with a man who was not a gentleman?

It was Brigham who gave the answer, and to him it was perfectly simple.

"Well," he said, as they rode back together from the circle, "he's warned you out of camp – what ye goin' to do about it?"

"Why, what can I do?" faltered Bowles, whose soul was darkened with troubles.

"Fight or git out," replied Brigham briefly.

"But he won't fight fair!" cried Bowles. "He hits me when I'm not looking; then when I offer to fight him with my hands he threatens me with a pistol. What can a man do?"

"Threaten 'im with yourn!" returned Brigham. "He won't shoot – he's one of the worst four-flushers in Arizona! He's jest runnin' it over you because he thinks you're a tenderfoot."

"How do you know he won't shoot?" inquired Bowles, to whom the whole proposition was in the nature of an enigma. "What does he carry that pistol for, then?"

"Jest to look ba-ad," sneered Brigham, "and throw a big scare into strangers. I ain't got no six-shooter, and he don't run it over me, does he? He's afraid to shoot, that's what's the matter – he knows very well the Rangers would be on his neck before he could cross the line. Don't you let these Texicans buffalo you, boy – the only time they're dangerous is when they're on a drunk."

"Then you mean," began Bowles hopefully, "if I'd struck him this morning he wouldn't have used his gun?"

"Well," admitted Brig, "he might've drawed it – and if you'd whipped him he might've taken a shot at you. But you got a gun too, ain't you?"

"Ye-es," acknowledged Bowles; "but I don't want to kill a man. I wouldn't like to shoot him with it."

"Well, then, for Gawd's sake, take it off!" roared Brigham. "If he'd shot you this mornin' he could a got off fer self-defense! Turn it over to the boss and tell him you don't want no trouble – then if Hardy shoots you he'll swing fer it!"

"But how about me?" queried Bowles.

"You're twice as likely to git shot anyway," persisted Brig, "with a gun on you. If you got to pack a gun, leave it in yore bed, where you can git it if you want it; but if the other feller sees you're heeled, and he's got a gun, it makes him nervous, and if you make a sudden move he plugs you. But if you ain't armed he don't dare to – they're awful strict out here, and these Rangers are the limit. Hardy won't shoot – you ain't afraid of 'im, are you?"

"No-o," said Bowles; "not if he'd fight fair."

"D'ye think you could whip 'im?" demanded Brigham eagerly.

"I can try," responded Bowles grimly.

"That's the talk!" cheered Brigham, leaning over to whack him on the back. "Stand up to 'im! He's nothin' but a big bluff!"

"I don't know about that," grumbled Bowles, with the affair of the morning still fresh in mind; "I'm afraid he'll hit me with his gun."

"Well, here, we'll fix that," said Brig, hastily stripping the heavy quirt from his wrist. "You turn yore pistol over to the boss and take this loaded quirt – then if Hardy offers to club you with his gun you knock his eye out with this!"

He made a vicious pass into the air with the bludgeon-like handle, holding the quirt by the lash, and passed it over to Bowles.

"Now you're heeled!" he said approvingly. "That's worse'n a gun, any time, and you kin hit 'im as hard as you please. Jest hang that on yore wrist, where it'll be handy, and turn that cussed six-shooter in."

The matter was still a little mixed in Bowles' mind, and he felt that he was treading upon new and dangerous ground, but his evil passions were still afoot and he longed gloomily for his revenge. So when they got into camp that evening he went over to Henry Lee's tent, with Brigham to act as his witness.

"Mr. Lee," he said, speaking according to instructions, "I've had a little difficulty with one of the boys, and I'd like to turn in my gun. I don't want to have any trouble."

"All right, Mr. Bowles," answered the boss very quietly. "Just throw it on my bed. What's the matter, Brig?"

"Oh, nothin' much," replied Brigham. "You saw it yorese'f – last night."