Free Blue Kingdom by Max Brand Page B

key out of the lock?”
    â€œHe’s gone and made himself a master key that fits every door in the house! He opens the pantry door and goes in and comes out with a saddle of venison. ‘Leave that be!’ sings out the wife. He shakes his finger at her. ‘You’re gonna surprise me with this beautiful venison on Sunday, Missus Harper,’ says he, ‘but right here it’s a pleasant enough surprise. What with walkin’ over the hills and all, I’ve worked up a pretty fair appetite.’And then he slices off some steaks a couple of inches thick and fries them himself, or broils ’em over the stove.”
    â€œAnd while he’s got both hands full, you wear a gun, old son.”
    â€œI’ve seen him keep five things in the air.”
    â€œJuggler, eh?”
    â€œHe is. Knives, and such, is his specialty. Knives sharp as a razor and. . . .”
    A gun barked in the distance, and the long echoes rebounded dimly along the forested slopes. Lynn Tucker lifted his head.
    â€œWho’s that?” he said.
    â€œThat’s him, of course. Goes out every day andcomes back with a batch of squirrels. Says that he’s fond of squirrel meat, and he orders up a stew of rabbit and squirrel. Eats about ten pounds of it at every set down.”
    Lynn Tucker looked through a gap in the trees across the depth of the gorge, soft with blues in the hollow, and at the white mountains in the distance, gently veiled with blue, also. He nodded. “I begin to get a sort of an idea of this here gent,” he said in his quiet way.
    â€œMaybe it’d give you a mite clearer idea,” said the landlord, “if you was to know that the way that he kills those squirrels is with a Colt.”
    â€œA forty-five?”
    â€œA forty-five is what he uses, son.”
    The other clucked, as though to encourage a tired horse. “We’ll have to see to this here,” he said. “I’d better keep out of sight till evenin’, maybe.”
    That, accordingly, was what he did, and remained hidden, in fact, in the cellar of the hotel until the dark came, and then until a tap came at the door at the head of the stairs. He stole up, soundlessly as a shadow, and Chuck Harper opened the door for him. Chuck carried a lantern, and, above it, his face was pale and his little eyes staring.
    â€œAre you ready?” asked Chuck excitedly.
    â€œI’m ready. How long ago did he go to bed?”
    â€œAbout an hour.”
    â€œIs he asleep?”
    â€œAsleep, and snorin’ like a pig.”
    â€œI like a man that sleeps as hard as that. It’s sort ofhonest,” said Lynn Tucker, and he smiled in such a way that his host smiled in answer.
    They went into the kitchen, and there Mrs. Harper, looking grim and hard as an image of stone, poured out a cup of black coffee for the gunman. He thanked her pleasantly, and sipped it, warming his hands alternately above the stove in order to get the chill of the cellar from his bones.
    Presently he said: “I’d better be steppin’ on. So long for a minute or two, folks.”
    The others looked fixedly at him, but said not a word in reply as little Lynn Tucker slipped through the doorway and went very softly up the stairs.
    He moved very slowly, but with infinite care, walking always close to the wall where there is less chance of a footfall making the boarding creak. So he came to the door of the sleeper. Here he paused, and listened contentedly to deep, regular snoring. After that he tried the door and was delighted when he found that it had not been locked. This reduced everything to the utmost simplicity. Already he knew every detail of the room. He had paced it off, also, and his accurate brain knew how many steps and a half to the foot or the head of the bed from the door, and the exact direction, and how many steps to the window opposite, and where the chairs generally stood. A blind man hardly could have been