Eatin Crow; and The Best Man In Garotte | Page 5

you like?"
"A fair fight," replied Rablay, beginning again to use his handkerchief.
"Wall," Crocker went on, after a pause for thought. "A square fight's
good but hard to get. This man," and his head made a motion towards
Hitchcock as he spoke, "is one of the best shots there is, and I reckon
you're not as good at shootin' as at--other things." Again he paused to
think, and then continued with the same deliberate air of careful
reflection, "We all cotton to you, Jedge; you know that. Suppose you
pick a man who kin shoot, and leave it to him. That'd be fair, an' you
kin jes' choose any of us, or one after the other. We're all willin'."
"No," replied the Judge, taking away the handkerchief, and showing a
jagged, red line on his forehead. "No! he struck me. I don't want any
one to help me, or take my place."
"That's right," said Crocker, approvingly; "that's right, Jedge, we all
like that, but 'tain't square, and this camp means to hev it square. You
bet!" And, in the difficult circumstances, he looked round for the
approval which was manifest on every one of the serious faces. Again
he began: "I guess, Jedge, you'd better take my plan, 'twould be surer.
No! Wall, suppose I take two six-shooters, one loaded, the other empty,
and put them under a capote on the table in the next room. You could
both go in and draw for weapons; that'd be square, I reckon?" and he
waited for the Judge's reply.
"Yes," replied Rablay, "that'd be fair. I agree to that."
"Hell!" exclaimed Hitchcock, "I don't. If he wants to fight, I'm here; but
I ain't goin' to take a hand in no sich derned game--with the cards
stocked agen me."

"Ain't you?" retorted Crocker, facing him, and beginning slowly. "I
reckon you'll play any game we say. See! any damned game we like.
D'ye understand?"
As no response was forthcoming to this defiance, he went into the other
room to arrange the preliminaries of the duel. A few moments passed in
silence, and then he came back through the lane of men to the two
combatants.
"Jedge," he began, "the six-shooters are there, all ready. Would you
like to hev first draw, or throw for it with him?" contemptuously
indicating Hitchcock with a movement of his head as he concluded.
"Let us throw," replied Rablay, quietly.
In silence the three dice and the box were placed by Doolan on the bar.
In response to Crocker's gesture the Judge took up the box and rolled
out two fives and a three--thirteen. Every one felt that he had lost the
draw, but his face did not change any more than that of his adversary.
In silence Hitchcock replaced the dice in the box and threw a three, a
four, and a two--nine; he put down the box emphatically.
"Wall," Crocker decided impassively, "I guess that gives you the draw,
Jedge; we throw fer high in Garotte--sometimes," he went on, turning
as if to explain to Hitchcock, but with insult in his voice, and then,
"After you, Jedge!"
Rablay passed through the crowd into the next room. There, on a table,
was a small heap covered with a cloak. Silently the men pressed round,
leaving Crocker between the two adversaries in the full light of the
swinging lamp.
"Now, Jedge," said Crocker, with a motion towards the table.
"No!" returned the Judge, with white, fixed face, "he won; let him draw
first. I only want a square deal."
A low hum of surprise went round the room. Garotte was more than

satisfied with its champion. Crocker looked at Hitchcock, and said:
"It's your draw, then." The words were careless, but the tone and face
spoke clearly enough.
A quick glance round the room and Hitchcock saw that he was trapped.
These men would show him no mercy. At once the wild beast in him
appeared. He stepped to the table, put his hand under the cloak, drew
out a revolver, dropped it, pointing towards Rablay's face, and pulled
the trigger. A sharp click. That revolver, at any rate, was unloaded.
Quick as thought Crocker stepped between Hitchcock and the table.
Then he said:
"It's your turn now, Jedge!"
As he spoke a sound, half of relief and half of content came from the
throats of the onlookers. The Judge did not move. He had not quivered
when the revolver was levelled within a foot of his head; he did not
appear to have seen it. With set eyes and pale face, and the jagged
wound on his forehead whence the blood still trickled, he had waited,
and now he did not seem to hear. Again Crocker spoke:
"Come, Jedge, it's your turn."
The sharp, loud words