NAKE MARTIN lounged on the ground apart from his men, his beady eyes glowing evilly as he stared at Everick, who was stretched on blankets some dozen paces from the cabin door. The leader's gaze became speculative as it shifted to Old Misery and Gilbert, seated under a ragged pine. The young man was reading from a book, and Old Misery appeared to be deeply interested, for he had allowed his pipe to go out.
“Good men for me if the old one wasn't brash,” mused Martin. “I could cut his comb, but I'd have to cut his throat first.”
He rose to his feet, strolled over to the pine and remarked:
“I'll share the shade with you.”
Old Misery glanced up impatiently and replied:
“Then squat and keep shet. This is a winter count of the four worst-acting devils you ever heard tell 'bout. Making love and fighting their bigness all over a place called France. Git along, younker. Break the trail to the next scrimmage.”
Although much agitated by the presence of the terrible little man Gilbert managed to control his voice and resume the adventures of “D'Artagnan” and his three friends. Martin listened appreciatively and soon got the atmosphere of the story. He sat with head cocked to one side, his fingers idly snapping dead twigs and methodically arranging them in little piles between his legs. At first Gilbert was ill at ease; then the narrative gripped him and he forgot his peril in following the bold deeds of the irrepressible quartet.
As he finished a chapter and paused to rest his throat Old Misery cried:
“If they wasn't he-hellions then I never swapped lead with a Blackfoot! And I'd 'lowed this was the only place left where they'd fetch you a good fight! If it wa'n't for the ocean I'd like to go over there and watch the fun. Four humdingers, and always hungry for a fuss!”
“What do you think of it, what little you've heard, Mr. Martin?” Gilbert politely inquired.
“I like it,” readily answered Martin, his small eyes snapping. “Mighty clever the way the young fellow read the signs left by the horses. I wouldn't want him to be tracking me. I must tell the men to save all books after this.”
Old Misery filled his pipe and informed Martin:
“The younker can't read all the time. Not 'nough book and not 'nough throat. We're feeling rather cramped. We want to be walking 'bout a bit.”
Martin pulled Gilbert's pocket-knife from his pocket and shaved a dead branch to a needle point and stared thoughtfully at the mountain man. Finally he said:
“You're free to move around in this valley. You have no weapons, no food. You'd be fools to try and run away. If you act the fool you'll be caught and shot in your tracks. If you're not back here two hours before sundown my men start after you with orders to bury you where they find you.”
“You blood-thirsty little cuss" Old Misery cried admiringly. “You'd do just as you say. And that's the worst of it. But folks' idees about time don't always hitch. S'pose you fire two shots when it's time for us to be showing in the open? The younker here believes things happen in the East hours before they happen here, and yet happen just the same time. Only weak spot in him.”
“Difference in time? I supposed every one understood that. Very well; when you hear two shots, close together, you show yourselves in the opening.”
“How's the big ox gitting along?” inquired Misery as he rose to his feet and glanced at Everick.
“José did a good job setting the bones. When he's able to travel he leaves us.”
“Too bad. Best fighting man you've got at that. Sort of hard on him,” remarked the mountain man.
“I told him to get you, and he didn't obey orders,” whined Martin; then, with a shrill laugh, added: “But he's keen to go. He's always been rough with the men. Too many of them holding grudges against him for him to stay on with us. They know his spirit's been broken, and there's half a dozen knives all sharpened for him. I shall have to scheme a little to give him a fair start.”
“That's a fine spirit for a fighting crowd!” heartily endorsed Old Misery. “You've got a mighty good outfit. Man to man they'll stack up better'n Joaquin's. Take him away and Three-Fingered Jack, and the rest are so many rabbits. More I see of this outfit the more I know I'm going to like it. Nothing like a little roughness to sweeten life. Do they ever settle a argument with knives, left arms tied together? A good way, as there's never no doubt 'bout the winner. And some mighty funny things always happen when two men git to whirling round, each trying to get behind t'other.”