The No-Gun Man

 

My dear fellow,” said O’Leary, “this is the tenth time you’ve alluded to this. I am afraid I don’t understand. Calhoun seems a very nice fellow. I couldn’t possibly connect him with murder.”

 

Old Darby laughed gleefully. “Maybe not, Captain. Maybe not. But you just wait until we get to Superstition; you’ll whistle another tune. They up and done what they done and now they got to take their consequences. Yessirree. Take their consequences and get buried.”

 

“Who?” demanded O’Leary.

 

“Why, old Spiegel and his condemned boys, that’s who!”

 

O’Leary sighed. “And what does this Spiegel have to do with Monte Calhoun?”

 

“Why, they just killed his father, that’s all. Oh, you wait! There’ll be powder smoke until you can’t breathe for it! You just wait!”

 

“You mean somebody is going to try to kill Calhoun?”

 

“No, no! T’other way around. Monte, he’s a sly one. He ain’t lettin’ on.” And Darby slapped the captain’s back, did another dance step and jumped up to the box.

 

O’Leary got in and looked wonderingly at Monte. That person had now consigned himself to slumber and in sleep he looked very angelic and not at all murderous. The starting of the coach wakened him and he sat up so that O’Leary could sit down.

 

The captain was silent for some miles and then, in consideration of his official position, decided to brave it. He had taken a fancy to young Monte.

 

“Did you ever hear,” said O’Leary, “of a man named Spiegel?”

 

Monte looked at him, pushed back his hat with his thumb and cocked his head over on one side, questioningly. “He owns the Diamond Queen. Sure.”

 

The captain felt that he was on delicate ground. “Did you . . . er . . . have you . . . well, that is to say . . . Are you planning to kill him?”

 

Monte blinked. “Kill Spiegel?”

 

The captain shrugged. “Well, if you don’t want to confide in me . . .” He was disappointed. During this long ride from the East he had decided that Monte Calhoun was a friend he would like to have and keep. The young man’s unfailing humor, his calm presence and his good sense loomed large in the captain’s mind.

 

Monte pulled his hat back down. He was frowning in thought. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “So that’s what Old Darby has been caterwauling about! Oh, my gosh!” He looked for a moment as if he would crawl out and up to the box and give Darby a piece of his mind and then relaxed. “So that’s what they’ve figured!”

 

O’Leary respected the pause, for he knew Monte would go on.

 

The young man settled himself and looked at the captain. “Terence, I’d forgotten that the territorial government had asked you to go to Superstition and declare war on the lawless. You’re interested and you’ve got an explanation coming, but if you think I am going to kill anybody, you’re wrong.”

 

The captain looked relieved but still a trifle doubtful.

 

“Terence, four years ago this might have been the case. But I hope that the time I spent studying mining engineering also taught me some sense. Last year my father was murdered by a person or persons unknown. I am afraid that this did not make a very deep impression on me.

 

“When I was very small, my mother and I were dragged West and hauled through various gold rushes and stampedes, one boomtown and then another, living on canned beans and drinking alkali water. The old man was a pretty tough fellow. He took what he wanted and he never showed anybody much mercy. Particularly my mother. He knew she was sick and yet he dragged her around with him until she finally died. I was just a little kid but I remember it well enough.

 

“He struck it rich the following year. Found the Deserter Lode on the east side of that range up ahead and sat himself down to gouge every nickel out of it that he could. Peón labor and bullets for anybody who would contest his desires. He was a tough man.

 

“I went to school and got out of it, learned to eat with a fork and travel a hundred yards without forking a horse. I found out there was something in life besides hating and grabbing.

 

“Last year my father was ambushed and murdered. Nobody ever identified the bushwhackers. The thing came to trial before Judge Talbot of the territorial government, and this man Spiegel and his three sons were freed of any suspicion. Nobody ever found who killed my father.

 

“I’ve got a kid brother, Dick, about sixteen or seventeen now. He’s been out here all this time, growing up like sagebrush. I’ve come out to sell the mine and take Dick back to civilization before he’s past salvaging.”

 

He fell silent and then, after a little, said, “So they think that’s why I’m coming back.”

 

“You must have enjoyed a reputation out here once for them to think that,” said O’Leary.

 

“Perhaps. Oh, sure. When I was a little younger I thought the thing to do was drink hard and shoot straight and beat yourself on the chest to the men who drank your whiskey. But you can forget about any trouble you might have with me, Terence. I’ve got no intention of opening the play on a man the law has already absolved from guilt.”

 

O’Leary sat silent, thinking about this. And then he muttered, “Maybe not now, my boy. But they’ve got their codes out here. It isn’t so much what you’ll do. What are they going to do?”

 

“What?” said Monte.

 

“Nothing,” said O’Leary. “Just looking at that range of hills over there. Pretty, huh? Like a row of tombstones!”