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M'Ginnis's heavy hand descended on his shrinking shoulder and next moment he was out on the sidewalk where Soapy lounged, a smouldering cigarette pendent from his thin, pallid lips as usual. And Soapy's eyes, so bright between their narrowed, puffy lids, so old-seeming in the youthful oval of his pale face, were like his cigarette, in that they smouldered also.
On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers, distributed beneath his coat, about his ankles and over his lap, had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his bench near the spurting fountain in the ancient square. So the Island loomed big and timely in Soapy's mind. He scorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city's dependents.
It would be worth doing just to catch sight of Soapy's face when he took the mask off after the robbers had been captured. "What's the use?" Davis protested. "It's an unnecessary risk. They might shoot you in place of Sam." "I'll look out for myself. Don't worry about that. Before the time for getting rid of Sam comes Mr. Soapy and his bunch will be prisoners."
Soapy had succeeded in getting clear of the great body of steers, but there were a few still running ahead of him, and he was riding desperately to pass them. Just as Sanderson looked back he saw Soapy's horse stumble. He recovered, ran a few steps and stumbled again. This time he went to one knee. He tried desperately to rise, fell again, and went down, neighing shrilly in terror.
Viewing this, Soapy's glittering eyes blinked, and the pendulous cigarette quivered faintly again. "Now by " began M'Ginnis, lifting menacing fist; then his arm sank, and he shook his big, handsome head. "Oh, pshaw!" he exclaimed, "I guess you're all worked up, Kid, so I ain't takin' no notice.
"There's something doing I don't savez, some big deal on foot that's not on the level. Sam is in it up to the hocks. To throw me off the scent they fixed up a quarrel among them. Sam is supposed to be quitting Soapy's outfit for good. But I know better." White to the lips, she faced him bravely. "What sort of trouble is he leading Sam into?" "I've got a kind of a notion.
"'N' say, Bud, take that hand away from y'r gun an' keep it away see?" And the lamplight glittered on the long barrel that rested on Soapy's knee. "So this is th' game hey?" demanded M'Ginnis hoarsely, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Soapy unwinkingly. "'S right, Bud. Y' see, I been takin' a peek int' that little tin safe o' yours say, it looks like you'd had a bit of a rough house, Bud!"
They parted with a casual "So-long; see you later." Curly was striking for the headwaters of Dead Cow Creek, where Soapy Stone had a horse ranch. He put up that night at the place of a nester in the foothills. His host looked at him curiously when he mentioned his destination, but he did not say anything. It was none of his business how many young fellows rode to Soapy's ranch.
Whereupon "Bill" started to shake his head, but, catching the scowl of disapproval on "Soapy's" brow, hastily changed his reply to a vigorous nod. "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Shay. "That completely clears my conscience. So long, Bill." And half a minute later he presented himself at Ruth Clinton's cabin. "Goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Spofford, as she opened the door.
Between the mountains he pictured the wind-racked cañon where Skagway grew from one tent to hundreds in a day, from hundreds to thousands in a week; he visioned for her the old days of romance, adventure, and death; he told her of Soapy Smith and his gang of outlaws, and side by side they stood over Soapy's sunken grave as the first somber shadows of the mountains grew upon them.
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