“Take one on the house,” suggested the proprietor to him, amiably. “Your news will be fresher.” And he pushed him the bottle. The fool felt less important.
“This talk had went the rounds before it got to us,” said Scipio, “or we’d have headed it off. He has got friends in town.”
Perplexity knotted the Virginian’s brows. This community knew that a man had implied he was a thief and a murderer; it also knew that he knew it. But the case was one of peculiar circumstances, assuredly. Could he avoid meeting the man? Soon the stage would be starting south for the railroad. He had already to-day proposed to his sweetheart that they should take it. Could he for her sake leave unanswered a talking enemy upon the field? His own ears had not heard the enemy.
Into these reflections the fool stepped once more. “Of course this country don’t believe Trampas,” said he. “This country--”
But he contributed no further thoughts. From somewhere in the rear of the building, where it opened upon the tin cans and the hinder purlieus of the town, came a movement, and Trampas was among them, courageous with whiskey.
All the fools now made themselves conspicuous. One lay on the floor, knocked there by the Virginian, whose arm he had attempted to hold. Others struggled with Trampas, and his bullet smashed the ceiling before they could drag the pistol from him. “There now! there now!” they interposed; “you don’t want to talk like that,” for he was pouring out a tide of hate and vilification. Yet the Virginian stood quiet by the bar, and many an eye of astonishment was turned upon him. “I’d not stand half that language,” some muttered to each other. Still the Virginian waited quietly, while the fools reasoned with Trampas. But no earthly foot can step between a man and his destiny. Trampas broke suddenly free.
“Your friends have saved your life,” he rang out, with obscene epithets. “I’ll give you till sundown to leave town.”
There was total silence instantly.
“Trampas,” spoke the Virginian, “I don’t want trouble with you.”
“He never has wanted it,” Trampas sneered to the bystanders. “He has been dodging it five years. But I’ve got him coralled.”
Some of the Trampas faction smiled
“Trampas,” said the Virginian again, “are yu’ sure yu’ really mean that?”
The whiskey bottle flew through the air, hurled by Trampas, and crashed through the saloon window behind the Virginian.
“That was surplusage, Trampas,” said he, “if yu mean the other.
“Get out by sundown, that’s all,” said Trampas. And wheeling, he went out of the saloon by the rear, as he had entered.
“Gentlemen,” said the Virginian, “I know you will all oblige me.”
“Sure!” exclaimed the proprietor, heartily, “We’ll see that everybody lets this thing alone.”
The Virginian gave a general nod to the company, and walked out into the street.
“It’s a turruble shame,” sighed Scipio, “that he couldn’t have postponed it.”