The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1924-12-05

"Said, call him up, real pronto." re-
piled Carson cheerfully. Say. Bud,
where in heck did you get that outfit?
BY crlpes, If had regalla like hat
I'd be riding herd In 'em ev'ry Sun
day! On the square now"
But Lee wasn't listening to him and
| Carson knew 1t. He had gone quickly
to the telephone. had rung the one
bell for Central" and a moment later
was speaking with Sandy Weaver of
the Golden Spur saloon. Carson
sucked at his pipe and kept his eyes
on Lees face.
The ensuing conversation, only one
side of which came to Carson, was
brief. Most of the talking was done
by Sandy Weaver. Lee asked three
questions; the third simple:
"Sure of 1t, Sandy?"
Then he jammed the receiver back
upon its hook. and with no remark
continued his hurried dressing. When
| he had come in, his face had been
! flushed; now 1t was suddenly red, the
hot red of rage. His eyes, when they
met Carson's once, were stern, bright
with the same quick anger. When he
had drawn on his working garb and
stuffed his trousers into his boots, he
went to his bunk and tossed back the
blanket. From the straw mattress he
took heavy, old-styie Colt revolver.
Carson, still watching him, saw him
! spin the cylinder, slip box Of fresh
| cartridges into his pocket and turn
to the door.
Riding, Bud?" He got to his feet,
stuffed his pipe into his pocket and
reached for his hat. Scare If i
mosey alongT"
what for?" asked Lee CURLY.
ooh, HI, what's the use being a
hawg" Carson grumbled deep down
in his brown throat eff you're on
your way to little OF Rocky hunting
trouble, If they's going to be shooting
fun. why can't you let me in on it?'
Lee stood moment framed in the
doorway, frowning down at Carson.
Then he turned on his heel and went
out, saying coolly over his shoulder:
Come on If you want to. Quin-
MONS In town."
AS their horses hoofs hammered
the winding road for the forty miles
into Rocky Bend the two riders were
for the most part silent. All of the
explanation which Lee had to give, or
cared to give, was summed up in the
brief words: "Quinnion's In town"
To Judith, Lee had said that night
they fought together at the Upper
End that he had recognized Quinnion's
voice 81 played poker with that voice
not four months ago." That he had
had ample reason to remember the
man as well, he had not gone on to
mention. But Carson knew.
Carson had sat at Lees left hand
that night, across the table from Chris
Quinnion, and had seen the look of
naked hatred in two pairs of eyes
when Lee had risen to his feet and
coolly branded Quinnion as crook
and a card sharp. For little the two
men had glared at each other, their
muscles corded and ready, their eyes
alert and suspicious. their hands close
to their pockets. Then Quinnion had
sneered in that evil voice of his: 'You
got the drop on me this time. Look
out for the next" He, too, had risen
and with Lees eyes hard upon him
had gone out of the room. And Car
son had been disappointed in fight.
But now-now that Bud Lee in this
mood was going straight to Rocky
Bend and Quinnion, Carson filled his
deep lungs with sigh of satisfaction.
Life had grown dull here of late:
there wasn't fresh scar on his bat
tered body.
Though the railroad had at last
slipped through it, Rocky Bend was
still a bad little town and proud of
its badness. To the northeast lay the
big timber tracts into which the West
ern Lumber company was tearing its
destructive way; only nine miles due
west were the Rock Creek mines, run
ming full blast; on the other sides 1t
was surrounded by cattle ranges,
where lusty brood of young unframed
devils were constrained to give them
selves soberly to their work during
the long, dusty days. But at night
always on a Saturday evening, there
came into Rocky Bend from lumber
camps, mines and cow outfits crowd
Of men whose blood ran red and tur-
bulent, seeking game of cards, a
.'whirl at the wheel" night VI drink
ing or any other amusement which
fate might vouchsafe them. Good men
and bad, they were all hard men and
quick. otherwise they would not
have come into Rocky Bend at all.
Lee and Carson riding out Of the
darkness into the dim light of the first
struggling street-lamps, passed swiftly
between the rows of weather-boarded
shacks and headed toward the Golden
Spur saloon.
Though the hour was late there
were many saddle-ponies standing
with dropping heads here and there
along the board sidewalks; from more
than one barroom came the gay rag
time of an automatic piano or the
scrape and scream OF a fiddle. Men
lounged up and down the street, smok-
ing, calling to one another, turning In