■I
M
M--'
DEVIL’5 HALF
WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT
OI»yilK*HT OIP
)'
‘ ♦
■>* '
1^1
l1
h ’il ■
^ M .
i* »■/
t:
.f
I
■nv
'f.‘.>.-
Ml
('courreJ t‘> n;e
to Cr'll this .1
l)ii,i^t*v 1 ocds
" 'T a 111!V ill affil-
'II. I r niviy 1 e’'!Olh.
• all events, it be.ean
’he Flint tv;in to
. whfi'e v.'e ' au and
:v t''rej;ntluTC' !.
p. rtie. e\en to io«>k
11 v.a I'lose to the Mexi-
vhere I’ve always noted
. t'> sieken. Then there
Ui^h \v')!nen about to keep
^’il nuieh nose-
diri) gra\ , !ik.'vlu>t-uiiumed glass. ‘‘Steve's
nc\ cr I his wnv ''vlu'ii he's himself."
Tin
!C)\A 'V.
refiiinj; of an unlovely yel-
. inasmuch as Steve didn't
w ith any of the rest of us.
■ ’•'.c f'ndurauce lay. The
- od when Steve awoke the
Martin camc- in from the
to ;^L‘C ii liir: brother r'.'Ctled
s- ‘ft
■ule h.tir-dyt'.
PvntiT's field 1'
Disconi
>r human
Irv
I'ht ts eaine t.> t.»\vn in a
'•■'rt I'.ai'.d-in iiar. I fashion,
ust a few days after Mar\’ Clive
i-\vn to make buns. pies.
^’’i2:er-:''rea>l and coffee-cake. She
'• '-1^'^. delev^tnble as her cookies,
a!i i ♦r*‘'.i';urel b.er from the
i-t S':e eovd 1 have made a livins;
• I :".i: ’ p'.o>. . . . The Flints were
n'odiurn - si?:ed men, quick, small-
sl '>pe - slKXildere.i and low
's '•f'd. They seemed conditioned
an 1 s -ip’-iisticated.but my.good friend,
Di'isey Leeds, remarked:
■ I’vo always been dead-set against
splittin’ hnman packages into twins.
Th^ annuals of mankind prove that
there ain't more than enough virtues
shelled out per nativity. Look at
.\h(^ Lincoln now! There's my style
■'" .1 m in m all respects, but suppose
1 had divvy the cristnin’ facilita-
'.v'th an Ike'”
takf '■
He ki.'
day wax ,.. :
next morning,
riaim frciiuont
help.
“^’ou routined me a good deal last night,
Steve." he said.
“Did L-T ilidn't know?” was the satis
faction he drew, a> the other started off for
Biltong's.
\ow in this v, i>man matter, I intend to go
light and keep in my own shadow. . . .
Mary Clive was one with Discord in hates
and hopes: of the center and import in our
midst, it might be said, of the moon in our
hot night skies. I looked from afar at the
soft-skinned, yellow-haired young woman,
and the light rich t'lgure of her—all unhurt
by toil. She was as far from me as the
moon. It was sober Martin Flint w’ho
seemed to mal-.e the headway to her heart.
I have said that he was by nature a
marrying man a reckonable state-builder,
not a maverick. Didsey and I blessed his
progress. Steve spent his nights at Bil
tong’s and his days in watching h- inother
work. Their claim was a very good one, as
the river went; and the town tigured, as
months drew on and the romance prospered,
that Martin must have quite a leather stock
ing cached somewhere for the bride. We all
hoped so, and were glad for all the good that
could come to Mart, because he was show
ing whiter and braver every month in the
little ways that count—the patience with
sin, the soft hand with a mount, the quick
hand with a gun in time of stress, and the
voice that wins the child. Finally, when
Steve appeared to realize that he was enter
ing into a three-sided arrangement, instead
much along his route that he forgets he's a
public servant. Didsey and I cleared oitr
voices to depart—when Martin called. He
was shaking, and very white in the candle
light of the cabin; his face shone with
sweat, but hLs voice w'as con trolled:
‘‘You two have been powerful good to
me,’’ he began .sim|dy, handing over.the
letter. ‘‘It's hard for me to work this out
alone. I’ve never had to do all the think
ing before.’’ ^
*' Martin ; I don't ask you to forgive me, but
you’ve got to believe I didn’t know until just now,
Steve stole your money- I mean when he took me
away. It just came out row—the awful truth. I
made a big mistake, and I’m doing the suffering,
but I didn’t know I was 'marrying a thief, and I
won’t live with one. I think Steve will kill me, be
cause I don’t let him in ”
The letter got a bit incoherent here for a
space, as it had a license to be, but finished
“ He w^as so like you when he came ; and yet so
different in just the ways I thought I wanted you a
little different. I was blind and wicked, but oh, I
am paying the cost. ... I write to pray you
to come here before someone is killed. .Steve's
awful. Mary Clive.”
I liked the woman from that letter. . . .
“He was so like you when he came; and yet
so different in just the ways I thought I want
ed you to be a little different!'’ This rang
true to me. I could imagine Steve’s magic
after the silent adoring style of the heavier
brother.
The more I think of it, too, there’s some
thing penetrating in Didsey’s later com
ment, “The Flints bein’ so much alike con
fused her morals.”
I’ve never had a woman— never done a
part to shut your ears to that call. Then,
lookin’ at it solely from Steve’s point of
\dew^: He’ll swing easier—for some last
words wnth you.' ’
“But you couldn’t understand,” Martin
replied mildly.
Anyway, w'e three w’ent over to Mariposa.
I w'on’t soon forget the night we struck
that town. Rio Rt)jo was sloping by,
mudi^y, feverish and still. Night was com
ing on, but the sand w^as a griddle, still hot
Which remark nettled Didsey, who likes
to feel he’s carrying the crowd when on the
floor. “Oh, I don’t know, enough truth
ought to seep into even Mariposa over night
to spoil that.”
An ominous jeer went up from the crowd.
“Twin brother” had a shop-worn sound to
me. I spoke to the big fellow whom they
called Ping Delor.
“If you hit Discord, being sent for, we
wouldn’t keep you standing out here all even-
the shadow's, lights ahead and endless moun
tains around all. ... A naked baby on the
road before us was suddenly snatched away
by a mad-faced w^oman, who ran from us to
her door as if we were wild beasts; then stood
there screaming crazily. Her man ap
peared from behind the hut wdth a shot-gun,
and presently began to yell for his neighbor.
“What is this—some mountaineous mad
house?” Didsey mumbled.
There were now’a pair of Mariposers trail
ing us, a couple ahead and another skirting
around to get into to-wn before us. Really
it wasn’t like a village of \vhite men at all,
but stuffy as a dream. When the poor de\dls
caught up the sirength of a mob, they closed
in and we three looked into enough guns to
stop a stampede of steers.
“Do you-all alw’^ays welcome strangers
to Mariposa this elaborate?” Didsey in
quired.
“Whar did’ge pick up yer fren’s, Lat-
trice?” a long cool individual drawded,
looking Martin in the eye. Of course, the
trouble was now plain. Our companion
w^as taken for Steve, who w^as Lattrice in
]Mariposa. I thought of the woman snatch-
man’s share'for them—good or bad. Any- ing her babe away. Steve had been busy
from noon-day burning. . . . Huts dim in ing, pickled in sweat on the edge of nothing.
way, it struck me solid as proper medicine
to get busy in the case of Mary Clive. Put
ting everything else aside, she wanted to do
the right thing now. She wanted a home.
It may be because I haven’t a wife, that I
with something more than clean man-killing
from that. Martin saw it now also, but
did not answer. He was thinking too
hard.
The only thing botherin’ us is yer fren’s,
We generally listen to people w e don’t know
—at least, let em’ buy a drink.”
“All to the good for nerve,” said Delor.
“Come on, men, we can’t do nothin’ ’till we
hear from the French Drip Cave delegation
—an’ you say you want to drag the woman
into this dirty mess?”
“Only on the grounds that it ain’t,” re
marked Didsey.
“What do you do with w’oman-beaters
over’n your white man's town? ”
I felt the shock of the words as they
passed through poor Martin.
“We don't feature ’em so’s to make ’em
popular,” said Didsey, “bein’ what you
might call not strong on women-folks over
home.”
Big Ping stepped into the doorway of the
bar-room, and faced the crowd outside.
Only for a second or two at a time did his
eyes leave Martin, but he appeared to ad
dress Didsey:
“Supposin’ you’d shut up shop of an trailed into silence. The smell of earth
evenin’ over’n your home-hamlet, w:hen you came out of the cave, but it w^as warm and
sudden hears the screams of a wWpped wo- pent like a long-shut room. I heard the
man—hears the voice and the blow's of the snapping of roots in the fire; then a sudden
man w'ho broke into her house^’ Supposin’, gust of men’s whispering behind, but I
when you an’ others ran to help, you got couldn’t turn to see. My eyes were lost in
shot at by this man—so’s your townsmen the inner dark. I felt the shirt sticking to
“What d9 you say?” the twin asked
quick and low.
Delor answered evasively, “You finish
him, an’ we won’t have to.”
Martin studied a moment. It was plain
to me that Steve Flint’s room in hell was to
be used that night. The brother saw it, too.
“Show^ me the w’ay,” he said, dully.
The mouth of the cave was in the hilis a
mile from town. We all set out.
“Martin, don’t play the ferret here!'’ I
w'hispered, on the way. “Steve's amuck
He’ll kill you.”
There \vas something akin to madness in
the eyes w'hich mutely implored me to say
no more.
A big fire was burning at the mouth of the
cave. Two men of the running guard re
ported that nothing had been heard of the
prisoner, since the messenger had ridden
back to town. They stood with repeating
rifles just out of range from within.
rabbit couldn’t have scurried out and lived.
Martin looked slowdy about the firelit faces,
pressed my hand and started toward the en
trance. Really, it was now' for the first
time, that I realized how fond I was of
Martin Flint. Didsey cursed softly tftider
his breath. The drowd was silent now.
We heard Martin's call—a tomb-like rum
bling:
“Halloo-oo, Steve! . . . I’m cornin’ in.
It’s me—Martin!”
There was no answer. Martin’s steDS
X-'-w vou take them twins. Steve of losing a partner, and began a moral clean- can t see w'hy a woman isn’t allow'ed to get Lattrice,” the big fellow drawled on. I
1 M.ir'in." Didsey went on, “roll
t-'ire’lur and bile ’em down to a
!’ ';.*\vev-ht licrure, and you'd have one
j ’T t t \ -'.1 j^Tnt ,not a world-whipper,
V-.r i c:ood average male mammal.”
■■ what’^ the matter with ’em
n > v. I iivjuired. “Thev’re
d: t;:r, crracelul with tlieir
hk': ] .-arry -;ame genial—as be-
. >trani;fr'=; -
“There you are- that’s just it!” Didsey
rx' [aimed with \irtorious spirit.
‘What"”
■ \ou dori t say ‘he.’ You don’t sav
■ r hi« here Mart or ‘TTiis here J'teve stacks
up int-) a pretty good gent.' but ’they'!"
Didsey ha> a con\incing wav. . . . Xot
: -r mf'nrh -r so were any of u- able to tell
I he t wins apart, and thry didn't help a great
df^al in the maltexof distinguishing garments.
I hey weren’t alike inside, however. I pres
ently began to develop the case this way: if
fjt’ner of the Flints said anything with point
i.’jd delicacy, it was Steve; if either tarried
at Biltong’s bar during working hours,
:t Steve; if only one was working the
fia’m at any time, it wasn’t Steve; if either
f'ounLcnance lit up like a dance-hall—it
■•'■asn t Martin’s. Close familiarity with a
;>uir of tru^'diatched honey-bees will finally
•naHle you to tell them apart; so it was with
’ he brother'*. Say, four month?, and every-
')-)dy in the s-ttlement understood that Steve
‘va.i th'‘ luxury and Martin the substance.
Of the laiter'.s love for his weaker, flashier
half - well, opinion is still di\nded in Dis-
' >i>., ->ome lu)lding it godly and some insane.
ear;y show'ed town-spirit, pre-
. nng a conicdine«!s about his cabin and an
unobtrusive l^ut seemingly sincere inteuest
n the luck of ull men. As natural a family
.nan as T ever knew, he was—even habits, a
hard worker, a man who loved the cabin
up, it really seemed as if the decent brother
had come into his high noon of happiness.
For true, there never was a serener face on
a man than the night when Martin took his
brother over to the bakery to meet the bride.
It was well that he did this, though the
music of his life v;as broken. It was better
so. than after he had married the woman.
As for Mary Clive’s part, I haven't a word
to say in comment. The naked fact is that
her heart turned from Martin to the more
imperious attraction of the other. Steve
was the sort that could make a woman's
heart beat -at least the kind of women we
know. There is no use expatiating on the
ugly event. Months of gentle and tender
wooing were forgotten in a night. Within
a fortnight after he had first looked into the
eyes of his brother's chosen, Steve and
Mary Clive fled together. Also was taken,
the gold which brother Martin had bitten
out of the Canon. Thus w’as the latter
looted in a day— heart and cache.
There were no words for us. We couldn’t
tell him that a woman who w’ould do this on
the eve of her marriage, might have been
tempted afterward. I never pitied a man
so. He seemed suddenly depleted of health,
muscle and heart. We used to go and sit
with him for a while in the evenings—a sort
of running guard of us—clumsy but eager to
do any good we could. Martin wouldn’t
talk, seldom came down to the hc;>rt of
town, but worked like a fiend and sat in his
doorway, unwashed from the terrificdaysin
the Cafi(m. More than once I caught
him thus, staring into the red-plumed west
with eyes of a man whose brain is runnini?
down.
Xeatest of all about his cabin before, the
place began to take on the look of a boar's
nest. I don’t believe he would have taken
trouble to rej>lenish his food stock, if we
hadn t started in to bring him stuff. That
up when she falls down once. Many choice
male spirits develop a chronic crouch from
practice in falling gracefully. True, Mar
tin Flint w'as too w’hite a man to be made a
monkey of a second time, but I couldn’t see
Mary Clive trying it. A look in the cool
gray eye of Didsey Leeds told me he was
thinking my way.
“Martin,” said I, “this wortian needs you
now’ more than ever she did. Steve’s gone
liked him. Leadership sat well on him.
“We’ve got to kill you good and quick, but
how far and how deep in are these stran
gers? Dam’ these compljications!”
“What has this Lattrice done?!.’ Martin
asked jerkily.
The crowd pressed in savagely for answ^er.
Didsey who never stays long out of the talk-
pot, now raised his voice: “Look a-here,
strangers! You-all are ’w’ay off tne mainline
mm-'
To^d rdoice .hVffart of I How he worked! Often
half a centuj-v. . . ' "oman for i heard the ring of his pick at that gray hour
A L. • r. . . when the blanket is a soft seduction, and
. Biltong s, SIX months after more than once he was still at it, fifteen hours
^ n • • • "’>ht drove him up to the
been packmg Biltong s hell-seepage in two- twilight of the Canon’s rim. Full ten
the staring day broke over weeks passed before the crisis lifted. One
the eastern iunge. Moreover, he had been Sunday morning Didsey and I strolled over
-aimng moroeritum m this sort of thing for to find him bath-bricking the cabin floor.
Everything washable was breezing in the
.hat now he earned a burden hke a house sun outside. Martin was sw’eating over the
orally sloshing suds, but we rejoiced to find the
wonM f ‘melody. It eyes straight in his head again, and lively,
would have made the reputaUon of a villain “
on tiii' ■ ■ -
laugh
thumping dow.i steel stairs
• as a look in his eye, too, of a man whose
"»ul has been fumed out for the nonce, and
■vhose body doesn’t care. Steve had shown
quite formidable class for treatments at Bil
tong’s, but nothing like this, heretofore.
Martin entered in mid-evening, stepped up
to his brother and talked low', rather sug
gesting than pleading.
The ajnswer silenc^ the bar-room—a pen
Z ^ “ My Gawd, neighbor,” Didsey remarked,
the boards hard as a pa^ot s tone, that “ I m sure afraid you’re goin’ to live.”
gh. ^ It made me think of disks of metal Martin smiled. It ?vas the first. . . .
mm
y/-
: -'ri' ■' ^
(
and neighbors are perforated and on sick
report onprecedented, an’ your pore old
Doc is buzzin’perturbed from sore to sore—”
“And you-all let this female-punisher—
this shootin’ gent get aw’ay?” Didsey in
quired.
“Not aig-sactly,” drawled Delor, cooling,
his eye on Martin, “that is, we did have him
herded up solitaire in French Drip Cave
awhile ago. Returns from thar’ll be in
shortlj’. . . , Only Lattrice wasn’t dressed
like this here—when w*e drove him into the
dark yonder; in fact, he wasn’t dressed
much to speak of.”
^ “Why don’t you go in the cave and get
him?” Didsey asked.
‘There hain’t no one died from the
shootin’ incidents yit,” Delor replied con
cisely. “Deekin Deevy is hoverin’, so t’
speak. If Deekin dies, w-e go in an’ get
him at any pric;p, alius providin’ he’s there
—an’ not here, W’hich would simplify con
siderable. This here town is slow’t’ anger,
an’ doesn’t care to rush through a zone of
light in the range of a man in the dark v;ith
two guns. And then, Lattrice has made
some promises about usin’ up all his am
munition. All in all, we’ve been content to
starve him for a day or two.”
Nails were driven into Martin Flint this
hour. Literally he _ withered under the
words of Big Ping.
“What of the w’oman?” I asked.
“She’s changin’ back to proper color as
well as could be expected.”
The thought was queer to me, queer and
unpalatable—that Mary Clive's soft, white
skin should be blackened by a man’s hand.
“You say this Lattrice broke into the
woman's house?” I went on, after a min
ute.
“That’s the idea,” Delor replied, making
clear that she had not lied in tke letter.
“ Night came, when she wouldn’t let him in.
Maybe we’re soft an’ ol’-fashioned here in
Mariposie, but w’e ’low’ fur a w’oman's natu
ral institution of jedgment. We told Lat
trice to sleep out that night, offerin’ him
accommodations various, suggestin’ he turn
up next mornin’ with a shave an’ shine an’
try agin. Stid o’ that, he goes on drinkin’.
my skin; the need for a drink. Hate for
the seconds, as they passed, sunk li^e-deep
into memory. . . . It seemed an hour. . . .
Then a voice from far within—tired, hoarse,
hopeless.
“It s all over, men! . , . Poor Steve—*
saved nle—from the dirty work! ”
Into the light he came, walking jerkil}*,
like a wooden figure pushed from behind.
It was the face of jMariin grow'n old, it
seemed to me, haggard, horrible with suffer
ing. My thought was that only the beating
of Mary Clive had steeled him to go in.
Out into the firelight, he came, mumbling
throatily the repetition—that all was over!
Then I was conscious of a woman beside me
—Mary Clive—heard a catch in her throat
and her scream:
“That isn’t Martin! That’s Steve I—
He’s left his brother in there I ”
For a second, the twin looked at the
bruised beautiful face in the firelight—then
burst into laughter. It was all plain with
that laugh—hard as a parrot's tone—disks
of metal thumping down steel stairs—the
laugh of a man whose spul has fied and
whose body doesn't care. . . . The hideous
shock of a pistol—his own—and Steve was
dow’n.
We caught up brands from the fire, and
rushed into the cave. Pear was savage in
every brain that murder had been done
within, but this was wrong. At a quick
turn of the passage, fifty feet from the
mouth, Martin stood at bay, squinting at the
flares. He w^as half-dressed and had been
getting into the rags Steve had worn. The
word that he lived w’as shouted back—so
that I knew the woman heard. ... In all
but spirit, this w'as the man w’hom the Mari
posers had hunted. They inclined at first
to be rough on account of the trick. Mar
tin had heard the shot, and the voices had
told him w'hat Steve had done.
“I ve got no favors to ask,’’ he said dullv.
“I never intended to kill him. I couldn't
let him starve! I meant him to take the
long chance—of running for it in my
clothes!”
Didsey patted his shouldei; I wrung the
limp cold hand of the man w’ho was making
Finally, two nights ago, he gives us the slip, me think so fast. I was glad that he lived,
breaks m, an aforesaid screams starts the Big Ping Delor rebuked his men, as one
towm. . . . Oh, he am t pretty nor respect- hav’ing authority.
able inside, this Lattrice. Yet, I’ve seen “Quit yer grumblin’, fellers!” he ccm-
tum look just as innercent and ready-to- manded. “Tliis here’s a family matter.
burst-into-tears as this a-ledged twin o’
his’n.” ‘4-
It was now that Martin spoke up. His
face W’as gray-white in the broken light from
the saloon, and there was something in his
voice I hadn’t heard for long.
There tour or five nights later we w’ere sitting as
...1 usual in his doorway, discussing bugs,
tobacco and the sundown, when Gil Reeks hco over in Mariposa where they hang for
training-but.
brought a letter. Martin took it in a swift,
nervous way, and disiippeared. We heard
him fumbling w’ith matches inside. Gil
Reeks w^as disposed to w'hisper a reflection
upon the courtesy of the twin.
I C.\rOHT HIM THUS, STARING INTO THE RED-PLUMED WEST WITH EYES OF A
MAN WHOSE BRAIN IS RUNNING DOWN
take it from me, that letter’s from a woman
w’ho’s bigger and finer for it.’
and the block shows red. We came down
here at the call of a woman, and entered this
settlement proper. We’re three days on the
trail from Discord, and accounted for day
All we’ve got to know’ is that Mariposie s
dead lies yonder at the mouth of the cave. ’
Kindness broke dow’n the strange fellow,
as hostility never could have done.
“I didn’t want to betray you-all,” he said
r 1-' -j , . unsteadily, “but I couldn’t lead him out to
Men of Mariposa, he said, clumsily, be strung up. Oh, Gawd, you never could
i understand! He—he w’as like the other
half o’ me!”
“ The devil’s half, Martin!’^
The words startled, silenced all. The
tone was soft, thrilling. Mary Clive had
followed us in. The men stepped back, so
that the way was clear betw’een her and her
old love. There seemed to be some bis;
tratmK poison in words It burned and “That’s all right,” said Didsey, briefly, thought of'or no't'lSt'” DidsVsidln
•n . ,1 ,„en s mmds, without destroying “He’ll thanh you soon enough. He’s had his ^h-ha’nded w ’ ^ ?ka^ ClL needs
some mortial troubles.” help. Think w^hat it cost her to turn to you
for it—an’ yet her heart turned to you.
That show^ what’s in it. It ain’t no man’s
He looked at us in his white terrified way, and night before that—all of w^hich is a
shaking his head. “I hadn’t thought of negotiable fac’ . . . If the lady’s here, she’ll
seem’her again,” he mumbled. - i
“We weren’t discussing what you had
Don t mind w’hat he says now, fellers,” Gil went back to town grumbling. He’s
*M.irtin ^M gged, turning to us. His fare was getting old and crabbed—been a guest so
prove W’hat we say. She left Discord w’ith
this man’s twin brother, who appears to be
‘Lattrice’ in this section. He was Steve
Flint over our w’ay—and this here’s Martin
by rights. He run off with the woman I
was going to marr>’, and took the money I
had saved. His life belongs to me.”
“Go and get it!” voices cried. “Go to
the cave an’ get your man!”
“That’s what I’m askin’,” Martin said,
looking straight at Delor. *
Didsey and I in, but a quick, im- meaning in that unconscious clearing of the
men between them. Tall, slender, the blue
eyes shining but pitiful—she stood w^aiting
for Martin to speak—in the smoky flare of
the torches.
There was so much in what she had
I have been thinking about it
ploring look froni Martin’s eyes made us
silent. Delor, w'ho seemed so slow in all
things, missed nothing.
“Do you mean to kill him in there—or
bring him out?”
Flint yesterday, to-day'andtV-morr'ow^; out?® MXXt‘^, ,• r t,- H
M?;"” the crowd that rw«e bor“"Ld the
™ signifying the a£5nnative. half slain, outright and for all.
Ii
(I
ry ofl
has rj
enlarl
book]
tains
ing t|
knovvf
ThJ
squar
I brof
wq'pr
five
line
incluc
Bay
pnd
and
zone,
riehti
thop
Khnoll
Lnir^
Of
territJ
large/
the :
beinj
Undf
T’nitel
quire f
cf thj
bulMif
propel
for tl
eratic
ihe c
fore
^•ithii
now
The
deep
aterl
Its
line j
throuj
clfic, 1
ehannl
a bott
fo Ga
miles.
loc
level
Fioanal
Jhe cl
feet
24 mi]
enter
pass G
about
u-il]
feet
of B4
thrt.'uj