Civil engineers -- Fiction; Ethics -- Fiction; Love stories; West (U.S.) -- Fiction
David unbuckled his uncomfortable weapon and tossed it aside. “I can’t
think of any other grouch that you might have,” he said, with the
nearest approach to his former good-natured smile that he had been able
to achieve since the moon of Virginia Grillage’s favor had gone into
eclipse for him. Then he dug into Plegg’s locker and brought out the
first assistant’s cherished box of “perfectos.” “Your smoke is about
used up; have another,” he offered.
Dargin helped himself, and took the lighted match that David held out
to him. Then the flitting shadow that passed for a smile began at the
corners of the hard-bitted mouth and crept slowly up to the murderous
eyes.
“I’m stuck on your nerve, Dave Vallory--damned if I ain’t!” he grated.
“If you could only draw a fraction quicker and shoot as plumb straight
as you can talk, you’d be some man. Now I’ll spill what I mogged over
here to spill: ever hear of a duck named Backus?--Simmy Backus?”
“Yes,” said David.
“Well, he used to pipe off the easy marks for me--same time he was
working for you-all.”
“I know.”
“You lose him, and you’ve been lookin’ for him, ain’t you?”
“Right, again.”
“Uh-huh; I thought so. Know why you couldn’t find him?”
“No.”
“Well, I can tell you, I reckon. I had him hid out.”
“Hid out? locked up, you mean? Why did you do that?”
“Because he’s a worm. He was aimin’ to give you the double-cross: tried
to sell me a chance on it. I didn’t hate you-all bad enough to let him
run loose; see?”
“Is that straight, Dargin?”
“Straight as a string.”
“But they tell me that you and Lushing have a stand-in together; and
Lushing hates us heartily enough.”
“Maybe so; and maybe we have got a stand-in. But that ain’t no skin
off’m this other thing. Backus is a worm.”
“I’m glad you don’t like worms. I have a feeling that way, myself.”
The master gambler got up and pushed his soft hat back to allow the
forelock of Indian-black hair to fall over his brow. As he was moving
to the door, he said, “Reckon that’s about all I had to spill--all but
one little thing: that damn’ worm’s done dug him a hole and crawled
out. Thought maybe you’d like to know. So long,” and he was gone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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