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Page 19
The point was an isolated one, and the station a deserted spot
between trains.
Eastward and westward the single track of railroad drifted to
shimmering points on the horizon. To the south dreary wastes of
sand, glistening white under the burnished sun and crowned with
clumps of grayish green sage-brush, stretched to an encircling
rim of hills. Cacti and yucca palms broke the monotony of the
roll of the plains to the uplands.
Sahuaroes towered over the low station, which was built in the
style of the old Spanish missions. Its red roof flared above the
purple shadows cast by its walls. In the fathomless blue above a
buzzard sailed majestically down an air current, and hovered
motionless over the lonely outpost of civilization.
Within the station a telegraph-sounder chattered and chirruped.
'Ole Man' Terrill was at the instrument. His duties were over
for the forenoon, the east-bound express, which, with the
west-bound, composed the only trains that traversed that section
of the road each day, having arrived and departed a half-hour
before, and he had cut in on the line to regale himself with the
news of the world. But there was a dearth of thrilling events,
such as his rude soul delighted in. The Apache uprising, that
was feared, had not taken place. Colonel Hardie, of Fort Grant,
had the situation well in hand. The Nihilists were giving their
latest czar a breathing-spell. No new prize-fighter had arisen
to wrest the championship of the world from John Sullivan, who
had put all his old rivals 'to sleep.' 'Ole Man' Terrill
proceeded to follow their example. He had been up late the night
before at a poker game. His head fell forward with a jerk.
Aroused by the shock, he glanced drowsily about him. Heat-waves
danced before the open window. Deep silence hung over his little
world. Again his eyelids closed; his head dropped, and slowly he
slipped into sleep.
Tragedy was approaching him now, but not along the wire. Down an
arroyo, or "draw" (the dry bed of a watercourse), that wound in a
detour around the town of Florence, and debauched into the open
plain near the station, crept two men in single file, each
leading a horse. They were Buck McKee and Bud Lane, who had
ridden north from the town that morning with the declared purpose
of going to Buck's old ranch, the Lazy K. They had circled about
the town, timing their arrival at the station a little after the
departure of the train which was expected to bring Dick Lane's
money.
McKee emerged first from the mouth of the draw. He wore a coarse
flannel shirt, loosened at the throat. About his neck was a
handkerchief. His riding-overalls were tucked into high boots
with Spanish heels and long spurs. A Mexican hat with a bead
band topped a head covered with coarse black hair, which he
inherited from his Cherokee mother.
Save for the vulture floating high in air not a living thing was
in sight. With the caution of a coyote, McKee crept to the
station door and peered blinkingly through the open door into the
room. The change from the dazzling light without to the shaded
interior blinded him for a moment. He heard the heavy breathing
of the sleeper before he saw him.
Returning to the mouth of the arroyo, McKee motioned to his
companion to bring out the horses. When this was done, the two
men cinched the saddles and made every preparation for sudden
flight. Lane and the horses remained outside the station behind
a freight-car on a siding, while McKee stole softly through the
open door to 'Ole Man' Terrill's side.
Now, the agent used as a safe-deposit vault his inside waistcoat
pocket, the lock upon which was a huge safety-pin. For further
defense he carried a revolver loosely hung at his hip, and easily
reached. His quickness on the draw in the hour of need, and his
accuracy of aim made him a formidable antagonist.
Some men are born into the world to become its watch-dogs; others
to become its wolves. The presence of a human wolf is, as it
were, scented by the human watch-dog, even when the dog is
asleep. McKee was known instinctively as a man-wolf to the born
guardians of society; Slim Hoover, himself a high type of the
man-mastiff, used to say of the half-breed: "I can smell that
b'ar-grease he slicks his hair with agin' the wind. He may be
out o' sight an' out of mind, when somethin' tells me 'McKee's
around'; then I smell b'ar-grease, and the next thing, Bucky
shows up, with his ingrasheatin' grin. It's alluz 'grease before
meet, as the Sky Pilot would say."
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