Evening star., 1935-02-20
CHAPTER vi.
MONTANA RIDES.


up, the similarity was even
greater. They saw the de-
i vouring hunger in the eyes
of Montana. They saw him
crouching, gripping the top rail OF the
fence with both hands.
The next moment he was plunging
through the dust that smoked across
the face of the coral. They saw him
lodging through it while the wild
mare tried to flee from him-as
though she feared tooth and claw.
He caught her like that, too. As
she swerved out of corner he leaped
at her with hands and feet. She
scared. He appeared gripping the
pommel with one hand, the rest of
him streaming upward. But a mo-
ment later he was in the saddle.
The watchers were frozen in place,
because it was not riding contest.
There was death in the air Tomb
stone Joe leaned on the fence, with
his face dripping blood and black,
clotted dust.
The yelling had ended.
Each cowpuncher retained his past
position. One was on one knee.
Another, on tiptoe; gripped the top
of a post and seemed to be yelling,
though no sound came. Another held
his hat rigidly above his head, but
forgot to wave it.
And from the veranda it could be
seen that the head of Montana, at
every impact, wavered crafty up and
down. His chin was beating on his
breast. At every lurch of the mare
he seemed about to shoot from the
faddle, but something stuck him in
place. Luck, men might have called
it. But it was not luck.
The man or the mare would fall
dead, surely.
Then she staggered and stood still,
her legs braced wide apart.
After q time Montana got slowly
from the saddle He slid down. His
face was crimson. Blood from his
mouth, his ears, his nose had covered
his face with a red mask. He felt
his way to the head of the mare. He
put his arm around her neck. He be-
gan to stroke her face.
And she, with half-closed eyes OF
exhaustion, leaned slowly against him
He pulled out his bandana. Instead
of drying his own frightful face, he
began to wipe the slobber and the
froth from the muzZle of Sally.
It was only a few days after this
that Mateo Rubriz sat in cantina
in Greaser Town. the Mexican ad-
junct of Bentonville, near the Lavery
ranch. Good Brother Pascual had
left the table as soon as he had fin
tshed his dish of hot frijoles. There
remained only Mateo Rubriz and a
sallow-faced man with high. squared
shoulders such as one expects to see
only in a soldier.
He looked like an army of1cer-and
q consumptive. He wore the garb OF
a prosperous Mexican charro, all yel-
low leather and a starring Of silver
that frightened and waned as he
turned in his chair or lifted his glass
to drink the green-white tequila.
He was Jack I.ascar. Every one
south of the border knew him, and
every one north of the river knew him
but no one knew his nationality
Some people said that he was, in fact
a Lascar. They looked at the yellow
whites of his eyes and said that.
He carried with him an air OF
amused superiority. He retained this
air as he said, IF walk into the
street and tell people that Mateo
Rubriz is In here-if I tell the gringoS
that-what'1l they do to you, Rubriz?
Mateo Rubriz grinned. A stiff wave
of flesh rose up from his cheeks and
almost obscured his eyes. He leaned
forward.
"Your father" he began.
After that his voice was so soft that
Jack LaScar had to bend his head to
hear the words. A dreamy expression
came over the face of Lascar.
That's what I always wanted to
know" said Lascar. IT always wanted
to know who cut him down. 1t was
you2"
Who else would have dared?" asked
Rubriz, leaning back, with a two
handed gesture of triumph.
Jack LaScar grunted. Then what
do you want?" he asked.
Wnut yOu w dSSSPe q Ao'oAS o"AN
the Mexican.
"Humph!" gr1nted Lascar again.
"Wen?"
"You hate one man a good deal"
"Do II"
'"The Montana Kid?"
Jack Lascar turned little in his
chair quickly. He glanced over his
shoulder at the door. He looked at
the window also. Then he finished
the white fire of his tequila and stared
at RubriZ.
Damn him!" said Jack LaScar.
"Once, in Nevada, in Carson City, in
the Imperial Saloon" began Rubriz,
ION Tuesday morning.
Damn you'll" said Lascar.
Rubriz leaned back in his chair. He
looked at that moment like a fat,
rather soft man of middle age, pulpy
creature half rotted by time. But
Jack Lascar knew otherwise.
This Montana Kid" said Rubriz,
sis a man who would come to chal-
lenge like a dog to raw meat. Now,
if you write out a challenge in Eng
ush-can you write English?"
II write five languages" said Las
car, slowly, bitterly.
IF you wrote out a challenge and
nailed 1t on the post Office notice