Eatin Crow; and The Best Man In Garotte | Page 4

some six months, he and his
stories constituted the chief humanizing influence in the camp.
Deputations were often despatched from Doolan's to bring Rablay to
the bar. The miners got up "cases" in order to give him work. More
than once both parties in a dispute, real or imaginary, engaged him,
despite his protestations, as attorney, and afterwards the boys insisted

that, being advocate for both sides, he was well fitted to decide the
issue as judge. He had not been a month in Garotte before he was
christened Judge, and every question, whether of claim-boundaries, the
suitability of a nickname, or the value of "dust," was submitted for his
decision. It cannot be asserted that his enviable position was due either
to perfect impartiality or to infallible wisdom. But every one knew that
his judgments would be informed by shrewd sense and good-humour,
and would be followed by a story, and woe betide the disputant whose
perversity deferred that pleasure. So Garotte became a sort of theocracy,
with Judge Rablay as ruler. And yet he was, perhaps, the only man in
the community whose courage had never been tested or even
considered.
One afternoon a man came to Garotte, who had a widespread reputation.
His name was Bill Hitchcock. A marvellous shot, a first-rate
poker-player, a good rider--these virtues were outweighed by his
desperate temper. Though not more than five-and-twenty years of age
his courage and ferocity had made him a marked man. He was said to
have killed half-a-dozen men; and it was known that he had generally
provoked his victims. No one could imagine why he had come to
Garotte, but he had not been half an hour in the place before he was
recognized. It was difficult to forget him, once seen. He was tall and
broad-shouldered; his face long, with well-cut features; a brown
moustache drooped negligently over his mouth; his heavy eyelids were
usually half-closed, but when in moments of excitement they were
suddenly updrawn, one was startled by a naked hardness of grey-green
eyes.
Hitchcock spent the whole afternoon in Doolan's, scarcely speaking a
word. As night drew down, the throng of miners increased. Luck had
been bad for weeks; the camp was in a state of savage ill-humour. Not a
few came to the saloon that night intending to show, if an opportunity
offered, that neither Hitchcock nor any one else on earth could scare
them. As minute after minute passed the tension increased. Yet
Hitchcock stood in the midst of them, drinking and smoking in silence,
seemingly unconcerned.

Presently the Judge came in with a smile on his round face and shot off
a merry remark. But the quip didn't take as it should have done. He was
received with quiet nods and not with smiles and loud greetings as
usual. Nothing daunted, he made his way to the bar, and, standing next
to Hitchcock, called for a drink.
"Come, Doolan, a Bourbon; our only monarch!"
Beyond a smile from Doolan the remark elicited no applause.
Astonished, the Judge looked about him; never in his experience had
the camp been in that temper. But still he had conquered too often to
doubt his powers now. Again and again he tried to break the spell--in
vain. As a last resort he resolved to use his infallible receipt against
ill-temper.
"Boys! I've just come in to tell you one little story; then I'll have to go."
From force of habit the crowd drew towards him, and faces relaxed.
Cheered by this he picked up his glass from the bar and turned towards
his audience. Unluckily, as he moved, his right arm brushed against
Hitchcock, who was looking at him with half-opened eyes. The next
moment Hitchcock had picked up his glass and dashed it in the Judge's
face. Startled, confounded by the unexpected suddenness of the attack,
Rablay backed two or three paces, and, blinded by the rush of blood
from his forehead, drew out his handkerchief. No one stirred. It was
part of the unwritten law in Garotte to let every man in such
circumstances play his game as he pleased. For a moment or two the
Judge mopped his face, and then he started towards his assailant with
his round face puckered up and out-thrust hands. He had scarcely
moved, however, when Hitchcock levelled a long Navy Colt against his
breast:
"Git back, you -------- ------"
The Judge stopped. He was unarmed but not cowed. All of a sudden
those wary, long eyes of Hitchcock took in the fact that a score of
revolvers covered him.

With lazy deliberation Dave Crocker moved out of the throng towards
the combatants, and standing between them, with his revolver pointing
to the ground, said sympathetically:
"Jedge, we're sorry you've been jumped, here in Garotte. Now, what
would