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Page 95
"Well, good luck and good-by to you." Polly held out her hand in
her most friendly fashion.
Buck arose and took off his hat. As he stepped toward her, he
cried: "Same to you. Good-by." Grasping her by the hand, he
added warmly: "An'--happiness."
"I'll tell Bud you're here," cried Polly over her shoulder.
Buck looked after the girl as she swung across the prairie to
find Bud.
"She's a darned fine leetle gal, she is," mused Buck. "Seein'
Bud so happy, kinder makes me homesick. Things is gettin' too
warm for me here, anyway. If Payson gets back, he'll be able to
clear himself about that Terrill business, an' things is likely
to p'int pretty straight at me an' Bud. I'm sorry I dragged Bud
into that. I could have done it alone just as well--an' kep' all
the money."
McKee sat down to wait for Bud. His mind was filled with
pleasant thoughts. Having assumed a chivalrous role in the
Peruna incident, he was tasting something of the sweet sensations
and experiences that follow a sincerely generous action. Smiles
and pleasant greetings from Polly, who had heretofore met him
with venomous looks and stinging words, were balm to his soul.
He felt well-satisfied with himself and kindly toward the whole
world. The fiendish torturer of helpless men and harmless
beasts, the cold-blooded murderer, the devilish intriguer to
incriminate an innocent man, thought that he was a very good
fellow, after all; much better than, say, such a man as Jack
Payson. He had at least always treated women white, and had
never gone back on a friend. When he thought how Payson had
drawn his pistol on trusting, unsuspecting Dick Lane in the
garden, he was filled with the same pharisaic self-righteousness
that inflated Bud when comparing himself with McKee.
His enjoyment in contemplating his own virtues was overclouded,
however, by a vague presentiment of impending danger, the
"premonition" he had of to Polly--a word he had picked up from
fortune-tellers, whom he often consulted, being very
superstitious, as are most gamblers.
And Nemesis in the person of Peruna was indeed approaching. The
outlaw crept up out of the draw behind the contemplative
half-breed, and, leaping upon his back, plunged his knife in
McKee's neck, with a fierce thrust, into which he concentrated
all his hatred for the humiliation he had endured.
With a stifled cry Buck struggled to his feet to face his
assailant, drawing his gun instinctively. The knife had bitten
too deeply, however. With a groan he fell; weakly he tried to
level his gun, his finger twitching convulsively at the trigger.
Peruna waited to see if he had strength enough to fire. A
sneering smile added to the evil appearance of his face. Seeing
Buck helpless, he snatched the gun from his hand. Then he turned
his victim over so he could reach the pocket of his waistcoat.
With the blood-stained knife he ripped open the cloth and
extracted a roll of paper and money. Peruna was kneeling beside
the body of his former friend, when a voice drawled:
"Drop that knife!"
Peruna jumped up with a grunt of dismay to see Slim Hoover
sitting on horseback, with his revolver held upright, ready for
use.
Peruna hesitated: "Drop it!" ordered Slim sharply, slightly
lowering the gun.
Peruna tossed away the knife with a snarl.
"I'll take care of your friend's bundle, and the papers and money
you took from his pocket. Drop them. I didn't figure on gettin'
back to business as soon as I got home, but you never can tell.
Can you?"
The last remark was addressed to his deputy, Timber Wiggins, who
had joined him.
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