Larry and Stretch 13, стр. 18
“It will be better if we parley out here,Chief. My words are for all your people.”
Gayatero resumed his squatting posture, eyedhis son enquiringly.
“Only two,” said Mochita. “They come fromthe big camp of the Long Knives.”
“Fort Gale,” offered Larry. “The Ordnanceheadquarters.” He stood with the wrapped repeater under his leftarm, and accorded the chief a respectful salute. “I have told yourson we come in peace, Gayatero, and this is true. My chiefs havefaith in your word. They know you honor the treaty, and that noApaches rode with those who stole many long guns from theArmy.”
“I have heard of these new guns,” mutteredGayatero. “It is said they fire many times.”
“Repeaters, they’re called,” drawled Larry.“Many were stolen. The guns—and the bullets for them.”
“This is nothing to Gayatero,” counteredthe chief. “My braves do not steal, do not kill white-eyesoldiers.”
“Chief,” frowned Larry, “we don’t know whostole those guns, but one thing we do know. These are guns whichmust not be used. Devil-guns is what we call them.”
Seven
Bad Medicine
“Gayatero knows nothing of thesedevil-guns,” mumbled the chief, “or of those who steal them.”
“The great white father,” Larry solemnlyintoned, “knows Gayatero speaks with straight tongue.”
“Gayatero,” said the chief, with unblushinghypocrisy, “never lies.”
Just as shamelessly, Larry replied,
“We believe you, Chief. All white men trustGayatero.”
“Uh,” grunted Gayatero.
“But,” said Larry, “there are evilones—dishonest palefaces—who would deceive the Apaches.”
“No paleface can deceive my father,”muttered Mochita. “He is too wise.”
“He is wise,” Larry agreed. “But the whitethieves are men of great cunning, and my chiefs have sent me towarn him.”
“About devil-guns?” Gayatero’s unwashedvisage showed a flicker of expression at last.
“Yes,” nodded Larry. “All the long gunsstolen from the army.” He had wearied of mincing words and waseager to make his point. Well aware that many Apaches savviedSpanish he resorted to that tongue. Rightaway, a large proportionof his listeners—Gayatero and Mochita included—showed increasedinterest. “Those guns were being sent to Colonel Stone, a greatfriend of the Apaches. The Colonel had orders to send them back toFort Gale, but he did not receive this order until after theshipment was on its way. The guns could not be used, Gayatero. Themakers discovered a defect in the whole batch. Here—I show you oneof these long guns—of the same kind that were stolen.”
He unwrapped the repeater, offered it forthe chiefs inspection. The braves drew closer, eyeing the weaponwith a kind of hunger. Gayatero’s brown hands trembled slightly, ashe tested its balance. In Spanish almost as fluent as Larry’s, heopined, “Such a fine weapon could have no defect.”
“I don’t lie to you, Gayatero,” said Larry.“My chiefs fear that the thieves may try to give, sell or tradethese guns to your braves. You must not permit this. To hunt withsuch a weapon means death—for sure.”
“Death?” prodded Gayatero.
“For the man behind the gun,” stressedLarry.
“Go ahead—Sergeant Appletree,” drawledStretch. “Show ’em.”
“Appleyard,” Larry sourly corrected. “You’vebeen my corporal many a long year—Peachtree. By now, you ought toknow my name.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Sarge,” saidStretch, poker-faced.
Larry retrieved the repeater. Gayaterosurrendered it reluctantly and watched with great interest, asLarry set about rigging his demonstration. In response to hisurgent warnings, the Apaches retreated to a respectful distance.Stretch fetched a couple of sizeable rocks. Between the rocks,Larry wedged the repeater with its muzzle pointed skyward. Then,with a great show of caution, he rammed a cartridge into the breechand knotted one end of a long length of string to the trigger.
Gingerly, Larry cocked the rifle. Thestring, paid out to its full length, stretched to almost twelvefeet. He crouched, coiling it around his index finger. To Gayateroand the lynx-eyed braves, he announced.
“Three soldiers died this way. There must beno more death from the devil-gun. If white men bring such weaponsto you, Gayatero, do not be deceived.”
“Gayatero is never ...” began thechief.
And, before he could mouth the Spanishword for ‘deceived,’ Larry jerked on the string, which tugged thetrigger back. The hammer slammed down. The repeater didn’t merelydischarge. It exploded, and the blast was loud, harsh, a morefrightening sound than a regular gunshot. The barrel became atwisted caricature of its former symmetry. The center sectionshowed a jagged hole, the stock was splintered.
After the echo of the blast had died, astunned silence followed. Larry broke it with a sobering querydirected at the chief.
“Would you wish your braves to use such agun?” Mochita gesticulated and began jabbering in his own tongue.The braves joined in, not arguing with the chief’s son—agreeingwith him, and vehemently. Gayatero’s guard was down. Inscrutable?He was far from inscrutable at this moment. He rallied quickly, butnot before Larry had noted the bared teeth, the flared nostrils,the dark eyes dilated, red-rimmed with rage. The impassive maskagain shielded his emotion, and Larry had seen enough, had beengiven food for thought. When it came to covering up, he, likeGayatero. was a past-master. He grinned easily, andexplained,
“My chiefs wanted to be sure you’dunderstand.”
“Gayatero,” grunted the chief,“gives thanks to the great white father. Tell your chiefs I havenot broken the treaty. I know nothing of the devil-guns stolen fromthe Long Knives, but I will remember this warning.”
Mochita was still cursing. Apache-style. Hisfather silenced him with an impatient gesture, then nodded to theTexans.
“Go in peace.”
Unhurriedly, the bogus N.C.O.’s turnedwalked back to where their horses awaited. They swung astrideraised hands in a last farewell gesture and nudged their mounts tomovement. To the rim of the mesa they rode, and down to the narrowtrack, maintaining a cautious silence until they were well out ofearshot. Then, while building himself a smoke, Stretchasserted,
“I knew what’d happen to that shooter whenyou set it off. I was expectin’ it—but it was still a gosh-awfulsight.”
“It ain't purty,” Larry drylyremarked, “to think of what could happen to a man—firin’ a riggedgun. When I was only knee-high, I recall I saw