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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95383c9 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66981 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66981) diff --git a/old/66981-0.txt b/old/66981-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1bb224a..0000000 --- a/old/66981-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2284 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Law Rustlers, by W. C. Tuttle - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Law Rustlers - -Author: W. C. Tuttle - -Release Date: December 20, 2021 [eBook #66981] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAW RUSTLERS *** - - - - - -Law Rustlers - -by W. C. Tuttle - -Author of “The Devil’s Dooryard,” “Sun-Dog Trails,” etc. - - -Me and “Hashknife” Hartley sets there on our broncs and spells out -the old sign, just like it was the first time we ever seen it. The -good Lord only knows why we’re back at the old sign. Willer Crick -don’t mean nothing to us. Glory Sillman lives, or did live, on -Willer Crick, but her name ain’t never figured in any of our -conversations since the day we fogged away from Willer Crick. - -We kinda left that part of the range in a hurry that day; left a -surprised bunch of folks watching our dust, while a couple of -enterprising bad-men went home to get patched up and another bunch -throwing lead at the wrong parties, just because said parties had a -gray and a roan horse. - -No, Willer Crick has been a closed incident to us. Not that we’re -silent folks, ’cause we ain’t. I can talk the bark off a greasewood, -and Hashknife Hartley—man, he’s a conversationalist. It’s kinda -funny that we never talked about the Willer Crick folks, ’cause they -sure are worth talking about. Sol Vane, who does the lawin’ for the -Crick, Jim Sillman, one of the Council of Three, old Ebenezer -Godfrey—they’re one goshawful layout. - -Of course Ebenezer Godfrey is dead. Jim Albright and Pete Godfrey, -his illegal heirs, are dead, we think, but there’s a plenty of that -misguided tribe left. Ebenezer was killed by Pete and Jim, ’cause -the old man wouldn’t die soon enough for one of them to get visible -means of support, in order to marry Glory. The old man was -hard-boiled enough to hang on to life until he could will everything -he owned to me and Hashknife. Willer Crick, being a closed -corporation, didn’t accept me and Hashknife to any great extent. - -They stole old Godfrey’s body in order to establish what Sol Vane -called “corpus delectable,” but we got it back, or rather hid it -again. We buried some dynamite in the front yard and Sol, Pete and -Jim dug into it, thinking we had planted the old man there. Sol lost -all his hair and all we could find of Jim and Pete was a hat with -the crown gone. - -Me and Hashknife weathered considerable storm, but there wasn’t no -use in defying the lightning too much, so we got out by the skin of -our teeth, with a Winchester rifle and a vest-pocket derringer. - -Me and Hashknife cut cards to see which of us would marry Glory -Sillman, accept five hundred dollars in place of a wife and then -leave the country. This was to save Jim Sillman from the law of the -Crick, and would also allow Glory to go outside and get educated -like a human being. Willer Crick had a peculiar law. It seems that -they rules that a girl has to stay on the crick until she gets -married. After she’s hooked up she can leave. Of course, they means -to make her marry one of their own bunch, but their law don’t -specify that. It also seems that the sins of one of the family is -visited upon all the rest of that family. - -Jim Sillman explains that everything he owns is on the crick, and -that if Glory breaks the law they’re liable to take away his -property as punishment. Kind of a weak way of looking at things, but -we can’t all think alike thataway. He offers us five hundred dollars -cash if one of us will marry her. This gives her the right to pull -her freight out of there and also saves him from their locoed law. - -Glory don’t want a regular husband, and it’s a cinch that me and -Hashknife ain’t noways hankering for a wife, but it’s a sporting -chance and we takes it. We never collected that five hundred for the -simple reason that the “uncle,” who was financing the law-breaking -scheme, turned out to be the sheriff of Yolo, who had been trailing -me and Hashknife for six months. - -Sometimes I’m kinda sorry we didn’t smoke up that bunch and take -Glory along with us. I spoke to Hashknife about it the day we left -there. - -“Easy enough,” says he. “I could ’a’ downed her uncle and her -pa—easy. Any girl would whoop with joy to see her uncle and paw -full of lead. Maybe she’d ’a’ married you, Sleepy, dang your homely -face. Maybe she’d ’a’ married me—me bein’ handsome; but any old way -yuh take it, we’d ’a’ busted up—me and you. Yuh can’t keep a wife -and a bunkie.” - -“Hashknife,” says I, “would yuh rather have me than a wife?” - -“You danged porkypine, I don’t have to support you.” - -It’s been quite a while since me and Hashknife hit for the open -trails. We stayed at the Circle Dot a lot longer than we ever stayed -any one place before, but when the snow fades off the hills and the -grass shows green on the slopes and you can smell the -sunshine—we’re traveling. - -“Where?” I asks. - -“Anywhere,” says Hashknife, jingling three months’ pay. “We’re -follerin’ our noses, cowboy. Maybe we’ll get to Alaska this time.” - -I reckon that mostly all human beings have some outlook in life. -Some of ’em looks forward to the day when they can set down by the -fire and let a hired man herd the sheep, while some looks forward to -the day when they can hunt a warm climate in the Winter and know -that somebody is at home to do the chores. - -Me and Hashknife looks forward to Alaska. What in —— we are going -to do up there has nothing to do with it. It’s something to look -forward to, as the horse-thief said to the posse when they comes in -sight of a limbless tree. - - * * * * * - -Three days after we leaves the Circle Dot, we cuts a wagon-road and -there is that same old sign, sagging a little more and maybe a -little more faded, but still showing: - - THERE IS A CLICK ON WILLER CRICK - THE WORST IN ALL THIS NASHUN. - THE HITE OF THEIR AMBISHUN - IS TO BEAT THEIR OWN RELASHUN. - -“Still advertisin’, I see,” grins Hashknife. “Them folks sure are a -caution to ——, Sleepy. I wonder if Sol Vane’s hair ever growed on -his head again. Wonder if Glory—say, Sleepy, there was a reg’lar -girl. ’Member how she used to fill the magazine of her rifle after -shootin’ once or twice? Reg’lar little he-woman. If I wanted to git -married——” - -“Which you don’t.” - -“No-o-o, but if I did I’d—” - -Hashknife squints down the road. - -“By the antlers on a desert toad!” he gasps. “Here comes the joker.” - -Remember the old playing-cards that had a joker which was a picture -of a long-legged old pelican riding a little mule? The feller’s legs -are so long he has to spread himself to keep from dragging his feet -on the ground, and he’s got kind of a funny old face. - -He rides up, insists on shaking hands with us and then reads the old -sign. - -“I have found it,” says he proud-like. - -“You’ve found somethin’,” agrees Hashknife. “You goin’ to visit -Willer Crick?” - -“Name’s Cobb, Reverend Cobb, and I am God’s pardner. Yes, I am going -to visit the place, brother.” - -“I’m Hashknife Hartley, and I ain’t got no brother. I’ll say to you -that Willer Crick ain’t the healthiest place on this earth, no -matter who your pardner is.” - -“I’ve come a long ways,” says he, “a long ways on a mule. I’ve heard -that it’s kinda ungodly.” - -“Ungodly!” snorts Hashknife, “lemme tell yuh somethin’ about -that—uh—no, I won’t either. You’ve come a long ways on a mule.” - -“Are they as bad as folks has told me?” - -“Man,” says Hashknife, “man, there ain’t never been a liar foaled -yet that could do that place justice. That there sign is a -compliment to that community.” - -“Well, I’m glad to hear the worst. _Adios_, brothers.” - -We watches him jog out of sight and then we pilgrims on. Some time -in the dim and distant past a colony of men and women and dogs and -mules and kids pilgrimed from the South and settled in the Willer -Crick hills. Seems that they was kinda anti-everything, and wanted -to form a little empire of their own. - -[Illustration: Map for “Law Rustlers”] - -They picks out this spot, took up their farms and drew sort of a -dead-line against the rest of creation. They didn’t want -schools—not believing in education, and they made their own queer -laws. They intermarried until it took ’em a month to figure out a -legal heir in case one of the land owners shuffled off. A few of -’em, called the Council of Three, assisted by Sol Vane, who does the -lawin’ for the Crick, had enough education to see that the rest of -the colony didn’t get anything that the council and one didn’t want -’em to get. Glory explained the system to us. - -“My ——!” snorts Hashknife. “I could shoot once and kill your -uncle, a cousin, a half-brother, a brother-in-law and a nephew.” - -Which wasn’t true in Glory’s case, being as her dad had busted the -law by marrying outside the colony. - -This close relationship has bred a fine bunch of chinless -horse-thieves, gun-men and hard drinkers. Seems like the men with -the least chins always carries the most guns. There had never been a -Willer Cricker arrested for anything else. Willer Crick dealt with -’em in their own way, and kept its mouth shut, except when it came -to lying about their own innocence. - -Me and Hashknife rides along for a while and then Hashknife pulls up -his horse and looks back. I looks back too, but there ain’t nothing -to see except the hills. - -“Sleepy,” says Hashknife, kinda like he was thinking, “what do yuh -reckon they’ll do to the Reverend Cobb up there?” - -“Well, if Gospel was something they could steal, I’d say they’d -entertain him over night.” - -“That’s what I was thinkin’, Sleepy. In the words of the immortal -George Washington: turn, boys, turn, we’re goin’ back.” - -“George never said that,” says I. “It was Bryan.” - -“All right, all right; have it your own way. What I don’t know about -geography would make a set of hymn books, but I know somebody said -it.” - -“Why go back, Hashknife? Willer Crick wouldn’t hurt a preacher.” - -“Not while he’s preachin’; but he can’t sermonize all the time. -Willer Crick needs reformin’, Sleepy, but it’s got to be done in a -language they understand.” - -“It’s a fool idea,” I argues, “Willer Crick ain’t forgot us. They -may be ignorant, but their memory ain’t weak. They may be shy on -literature and art, Hashknife, but they sure as —— can shoot, and -they’ll just about put the kibosh on us ever getting to Alaska.” - -“You sure do get morbid, Sleepy. If Willer Crick had brains I’d pass -’em by. They can’t think beyond next drink-time. - -“If they recognize us they’ll think like this: there’s them two -crazy cowpunchers who depleted our community. Wonder who they’ll -smoke up this time? That’s the way they’ll think.” - -“And then start to shoot in self-defense. A preacher don’t mean -nothin’ to me, Hashknife. What do you want to foller him in there -for?” - -“I dunno, Sleepy. I ain’t been to church since Sittin’ Bull first -sat down, but there’s somethin’ kinda helpless about a preacher—and -Willer Crick is so —— ornery.” - -“Was your folks religious?” - -“I don’t reckon they was. Paw and maw split up when I was knee-high -to a tall Injun, and paw took me with him. Paw thought he was a -two-gun man and I becomes a orphing at a tender age.” - -“You helpin’ out folks thataway is goin’ to stop me and you from -ever seeing Alaska, Hashknife.” - -He turns in his saddle and smiles at me. Hashknife ain’t no -beautiful critter. He’s one of them hard-eyed, thin nosed and -thin-lipped _hombres_. His cheek-bones are kinda high and his ears -kinda bat out and his hair is roan. He’ll fight at the drop of the -hat; fight with a foolish grin on his face, and he ain’t afraid. - -That’s why I like Hashknife. I’m kinda scary, myself, and I need -moral support as I trail through life. When Hashknife smiles, every -dog within half a mile begins to wag its tail. Hashknife calls me -and him, “cowpunchers of disaster.” - -He turns and smiles at me. - -“Sleepy, I see by the almanac that she’s goin’ to be awful cold in -Alaska this Winter. Mebbe we better pick out one of their warm -Winters.” - -“I think,” says I, kinda mean-like, “I think you’re going into -Willer Crick to see somebody—and she ain’t no preacher.” - -“No-o-o, Sleepy. ’Course I’d like to see her and apologize for not -marryin’ her that time. Girl kinda expects a apology in a case like -that. Mebbe her uncle told her why, but he’d sure paint us black so -that she’d be glad I left her at the altar.” - - * * * * * - -Them Willer Crick hills sure do look natural. We rides past the old -Godfrey ranch, which me and Hashknife owned for a few days. The old -ranch-house is still squeegeed from the force of the dynamite, when -the “heirs apparently,” as Sol Vane called ’em, dug into the alleged -grave of poor old Godfrey. It looks like nobody had ever lived in it -since we left. - -We rides on past the Sillman ranch, where Hashknife came danged near -being a bridegroom and a cash-widower. We don’t see anybody around -there, but Willer Crick is a great place for folks to not be in -evidence. About a mile farther on we comes to the town. - -It sure is some town. There’s a saloon, a store and a blacksmith -shop on one side of the street and on the other side is an old shed, -a long tie-rack and a pile of old lumber. The saloon is two-stories -high, and the upper half has a sign which proclaims it to be the -Town Hall. - -There’s several saddle horses tied to the rack. The town hall has an -outside stairway and around the bottom of this is grouped four men. -When we get off our broncs one of the men strolls over to us. It’s -Al Bassett. Al was one of those who was very active in seeking our -demise when we were in Willer Crick before, but me and Hashknife -never figured him much of anything but a talker. He squints at us. - -“Howdy, Bassett,” grins Hashknife. “Remember us?” - -“Well,” says Bassett, drawing a deep breath, “well, ye-e-s, I do.” - -He stares at us like he was kinda wondering why we came back there -again. His mouth kinda gaps as he stares. - -“Better look out or you’ll get your tonsils sunburned,” says -Hashknife. - -Them other three fellers moves over closer to us. We never seen them -before. Bassett turns and starts to speak to ’em, but just then we -hears loud voices, and out of the the door of the store backs a man. - -In one hand he’s got a six-gun and in the other is a package. He -turns his head away from the open door and just then comes the thump -of a pistol-shot. The feller kinda jerks around, drops his gun and -package and falls against the side of the building, where he slides -to the sidewalk. - -He ain’t no more than went flat when out of the store come a man, -bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, with a gun in his hand. He -stoops over, picks up the package and then looks down at the man. -Bassett steps in past us and says: - -“What was the matter, Cale?” - -“Well—” the man licks his lips and then wipes the back of his hand -across his mouth—“well, I tol’ him I wasn’t ’lowed to sell him -nothin’. He gits kinda uppity and drags his gun. Then he he’ps -himself to a bottle of medicine, flings the money on the counter and -backs out. Yuh notice he didn’t git away with it, don’t yuh?” - -Bassett nods and turns the man over. He’s been drilled dead-center. -The storekeeper is staring at me and Hashknife. - -“Mind tellin’ why yuh killed him?” asks Hashknife soft-like. “Where -I came from, buyin’ medicine is a necessity—not a killin’ matter.” - -“None o’ yore—” begins the feller, but Bassett stops him. - -“Hol’ on, Cale. Lemme tell him.” - -“I can run my own——” - -“You shut up!” snaps Bassett. “This feller askin’ questions is the -feller who inherited the Godfrey ranch that time. This other feller -is his pardner.” - -The storekeeper stares at us, and kinda grumbles to himself, but -goes back inside. Them other three hombres gawps at us considerable -but don’t say nothing. - -Bassett leads us to the end of the little board sidewalk, and we all -sets down. - -“What are you fellers doin’ here?” asks Bassett. - -“Waitin’ for you to think up a lie to tell us about that killin’,” -says Hashknife. “Yuh might as well tell us the truth. Who was the -feller what got hit?” - -“Eph Sillman.” - -“Jim Sillman’s son?” - -“Uh-huh—Glory’s brother. He done busted all our laws. Yuh see, he -married an outlander about seven year ago.” - -“You’re doin’ most of the talkin,” reminds Hashknife. - -“Eph brought that woman here, but nobody’s ever had anything’ to do -with her. They got a kid about seven year old. On ’count of Jim -Sillman we had suffered ’em to live here and trade the same as the -rest of us, but not havin’ much truck with him and his. He gets -drunk the other day and he talks too much. The council takes action -on him and decides to outlaw him. They says he can’t buy nor sell -here. He knowed he couldn’t buy that medicine, but he was -hard-headed.” - -“His woman couldn’t associate with other women?” asks Hashknife. - -“Nope. Yuh see, she’s a ——” - -“His little kid can’t play with other kids?” - -“No. The other——” - -“Kinda tough, don’t yuh think, Bassett?” - -“When a feller makes his bed he’s got to lay on it.” - -Hashknife nods and looks at his toes. - -“Bassett, did yuh ever read the Bible?” - -“Nope.” - -“Yuh ought to, Bassett. It tells yuh how to pray.” - -“Pray?” says Bassett, kinda queer-like. “Whatcha mean?” - -“You could learn some prayers,” says Hashknife soft-like, “and then -yuh could teach ’em to the rest of the Crick, ’cause they’re goin’ -to need ’em—bad. Who will tell his widder about this?” - -“The council, I reckon. Jim Sillman, Sim Sellers and Black -Albright.” - -“Goin’ to be a nice chore for Jim Sillman—tell her that his own son -is dead. Didn’t Glory have nothing’ to do with Eph’s wife?” - -“Glory—I dunno,” says Bassett, scratching his head. “Some says she -has. There’s been several quarrels about it in the last year. She -has been watched close, but nothin’ comes of it, except that ‘Tug’ -Williams got a rifle bullet into his shoulder one night.” - -“Where does Eph Sillman live?” - -Bassett points down the road. - -“About two mile down there. Second ranch to the left. House sets -back in the cottonwoods. You ain’t goin’ down there.” - -“You’ve been misinformed,” says Hashknife. “We’re goin’ down there, -I reckon.” - -“Better keep away, Hartley. Willer Crick ain’t askin’ yore help. My -advice to you would be——” - -“Ignored,” finishes Hashknife. “Absolutely, Bassett. You ought to -know us better than to give us advice. You ain’t forgot how we acts, -has yuh?” - -“Willer Crick remember you two.” - -“If anybody cares,” grins Hashknife. “Come on, Sleepy.” - -We swung back on to our broncs and points off down the road. Bassett -joins them other three fellers and they watches us ride away. -Outside of the body on the sidewalk, Willer Crick is just the same -as when we rode in. - -“I hope to see buzzards circlin’ that place,” says Hashknife. “I’d -like to be called upon to say a prayer over the whole works.” - -“What would you say?” I asks. - -“I’d say, ‘The rest of you ordinary sinners stand back, ’cause -there’s goin’ to be one awful fire in ——.’” - -We found the place, and tied to the front gate is the Reverend -Cobb’s mule. - -“Whatcha know about that?” grunts Hashknife. “Leave it to a preacher -to smell out things like this.” - - * * * * * - -We walks around to the back door. Standing in the doorway is Glory -Sillman. She’s kinda leaning against the side of the door, looking -away from us. Then she turns. - -“Howdy,” says Hashknife, taking off his hat. “Nice day.” Glory kinda -jerks back when she first sees us, but after the first look she -kinda takes a deep breath and stares at us. I reckon she thought we -was Willer Crickers at first. - -Then she says kinda soft— - -“You two!” - -“Yes’m,” says I. “Same old two of us ma’am.” - -Just then a little kid comes out beside Glory. He’s a little, -round-eyed shaver, and he’s been crying dirty tears or has been -crying tears on a dirty face, ’cause he sure is streaked. - -“That’s his kid,” says Hashknife, kinda whispering. - -“Whose kid?” asks Glory, but before Hashknife can answer her the old -man comes out. - -He brushes his hand across his eyes and stares at us. - -“Yuh beat us up here, grampaw,” smiles Hashknife. - -“Yes,” says he. “I—I reckon I did.” - -Then he puts his hand on Glory’s arm and says to her: - -“Girl, I want to thank yuh for your kindness to her. She tol’ me -some of it. Yuh see, she never wrote to me and I never knew how -things was. I decided to come, yuh see.” - -“You’re welcome,” says Glory thoughtful-like. - -“Seven year and a few months,” says the old man, like he was talking -to himself. “Me wonderin’ why she don’t write, and—and it’s a long -ways to Arizony—on a mule.” - -“Woman sick?” asks Hashknife. - -“Not now,” says Glory sad-like. “Maybe she’s better off, I don’t -know. Anything is better than livin’ here like she had to live.” - -“Where’s her husband?” asks Hashknife, like he didn’t know. - -“Gone to town,” says Glory. “He—he was going to try and get some -medicine.” - -“Ain’t yuh got no doctor?” I asks. - -“Yes, but——” - -“He wouldn’t come?” asks Hashknife, and Glory shakes her head. - -“She was my daughter,” says the old man, and then he says to Glory, -“Will yuh come in with me and he’p me a little?” - -The little kid looks at us and then follers them inside. Me and -Hashknife looks at each other. We’re kinda hard-boiled, but it’s -getting under our hides a little. - -Then we hears voices out by the gate, and here comes a lot of men. -We figures it’s the council coming to notify Eph’s wife. It ain’t -right to feel thataway, but I’m kinda glad she wasn’t able to hear -what they has to say. Hashknife touches me and I steps around the -corner with him. - -This gang trails around to the back door and we hears one of ’em -speak to Glory. The old man must ’a’ come to the door, ’cause we -hears somebody ask Glory who the old man is. The old man starts to -talk, but one of the gang says: - -“We jist wants to say that Eph got killed today.” - -We hears Glory say: - -“Eph Sillman?” kinda strained-like. - -“Uh-huh.” - -“Dad, is this true?” asks Glory, but we don’t hear Jim Sillman -answer. - -“What or who killed him?” asks Glory. - -“Nobody seems to know,” says a voice. “He’s layin’ up there in front -of the store. Bassett heard the shot and so did several more folks. -Bassett says that two fellers rode through town today, and he’s dead -certain that they’re them same two cowboys what tried to steal the -Godfrey place. Them two is likely the ones what done it.” - -“They better not show up around this country,” states a voice. “I’m -lookin’ fer them two, y’betcha.” - -Hashknife pinches me on the arm. - -“That’s one of the fellers what tried to hold me up for the five -hundred dollars I never got. I reckon I shot high.” - -“Eph went to see if he could get a little medicine,” says Glory, and -her voice is high pitched. Then she adds, “But it wouldn’t ’a’ done -any good.” - -“Did—did she die?” asks Jim Sillman. - -“She was my daughter,” says the old man. “My daughter.” - -“This here e-state will need considerin’,” says a voice. - -“My gosh, there’s Sol Vane!” gasps Hashknife. - -“How about the kid?” asks some one. - -“He don’t count,” declares another. “He’s the brat of a outlander. -Mebbe we better look around fer them two gun-fighters.” - -“I’m lookin’ fer ’em, y’betcha,” states the feller who has promised -to dance our hair. “All I needs is one look.” - -Hashknife steps away from the side of the building and around the -corner, with me on his heels. The folks are grouped in kind of a -half-circle around the doorway. Glory and the old man are on the -steps, with the kid between ’em. On the left side of the doorway is -Jim Sillman. Standing at the rear of the half-circle, looking like a -turkey gobbler in a flock of turkeys, stands Sol Vane, craning his -long, dirty neck and chewing a mouthful of tobacco that stretches -his face all out of shape. They turns and looks at us. - -“Yuh might use up that one look right now,” says Hashknife. - -The bunch kinda sway away from each other. One cinch, there’s never -any chance for pot-shooting on Willer Crick. I sees Sol Vane swaller -real hard and the bulge is gone from his skinny cheeks. The rest of -the bunch just seem to stare at us. - -Hashknife has got his eyes on that big-talker, who is just about in -the center of the crowd. He’s sort of round-shouldered, fish-eyed -and looks like he ain’t been curried for a year. His eyes are flat, -if you know what I mean. They’re like the eyes they put in mounted -animals. He’s got a big gun hanging on his hip, but he ain’t made a -move toward it yet. - -“You, I’m talkin’ to,” says Hashknife. “You dirty centipede. Set -your eyes on me, feller. I’m the hombre you spoke about. Reach for -your gun, you cross between a polecat and buzzard. Make good, can’t -yuh?” - -I never seen Hashknife like that before. This is once that he ain’t -laughing. Maybe he knows that one shot will spill the whole works, -and the odds are all against us. - - * * * * * - -The feller licks his lips but don’t speak. His face looks kinda -funny—like he was scared to breathe. Hashknife walks up to him, -slow, but this feller don’t move. The rest of the crowd seems -hypnotized, but I wasn’t taking no chances. I sets the butt of my -.45 against my hip and waits for the break to come. - -Hashknife takes this feller’s gun out of its holster and tries to -make him take it in his hand, but all this feller does is look like -a dog that has been caught doing wrong. Hashknife takes the feller’s -belt off, takes him by the shoulder and turns him around. - -“Go home,” says Hashknife kinda hoarse-like. “Go home and be glad -you’re alive.” I never seen anything like it. That feller walked -away, kinda slouching, and Hashknife turned back to face the bunch. - -It was Hashknife’s face and eyes that froze that bad _hombre_. He -was hypnotized, but the minute Hashknife turned his back this feller -came to. He swung sideways, grabbed his vest and flashed another -gun. - -I was looking for just that. He was about fifty feet from me, but I -took a chance and shot twice. - -Man, I was just in time. His bullet cut the dirt at Hashknife’s -feet. He looks down at his pistol and then kinda tosses it away from -him, like he was all through with it, and then turned as though he -was going away—but he didn’t. I glances at the bunch and then at -Hashknife, who was facing them with a gun in his hand. - -“Hashknife,” says I, “you do take the worst chances. These Willer -Crick rattlers has more than one set of fangs. Little more and that -Alaska trip would ’a’ been all off.” - -“You’re the little snake-hunter, Sleepy,” he grins. “Much obliged.” - -Then he faces the bunch and they’re sure one uneasy crowd. Me -downin’ that feller don’t mean nothin’ to them—much. Hashknife -glances from face to face, and finally looks straight at Sillman. - -“Eph Sillman was your son, wasn’t he?” - -Sillman don’t speak: just shifts his feet. - -“That dead woman in there was your daughter-in-law, Sillman. You -folks denied her a doctor and then yuh killed her husband when he -was man enough to try and get medicine for her. We seen that -killin’. Bassett and three other men saw it; now yuh tried to throw -the deadwood on me and Stevens.” - -“You fellers try your dangdest to stir up trouble, don’t yuh?” wails -Sol Vane. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back here, I didn’t.” - -“I came back to see if your hair growed out, Sol,” says Hashknife. -“If yuh want another hair cut, I’ll bury the dynamite.” - -Nobody had a word to say, but finally Sol Vane spoke—“The feller -you gunned up over there is Lem Sellers. He’s a brother to Sim -Sellers.” - -“I don’t care if he’s his own uncle and brother-in-law,” says -Hashknife. “Who is Sim Sellers?” - -“Head of the council,” says Sol, like he’d sprung something on us. -“Sim’s the head man of Willer Crick.” - -“I hope he’s got more guts than Lem,” says Hashknife. “I like to do -my own killin’.” - -Just then that little kid kinda sneaks up beside Hashknife and -Hashknife looks down at him. The little feller looks up at Hashknife -with them big eyes, and then he just slips in closer, like a pup -does when he likes yuh. - -“Come here, Buddy,” says Glory, but Buddy’s hanging on to a rosette -on Hashknife’s chaps and don’t even look at her. - -“Buddy kinda inherits this ranch, don’t he?” I asks. - -“That’s a question,” says Sol Vane. “A question for the council to -decide.” - -“And they’ve already decided,” says Glory. - -Hashknife looks down at Buddy and then at the bunch of men. - -“The kid’s goin’ to get a square deal, ain’t he, Sillman? He’s your -grandson.” - -The men all looked at Sillman, but Sillman don’t speak. - -“Your grandpaw’s goin’ to see that you gets a square deal, Buddy,” -says Hashknife, patting the kid on the head. - -One of the men kinda snickers and then turns away. - -“Who’s goin’ to keep the kid now?” I asks. “His family ain’t in no -shape to take care of him.” - -Sol Vane clears his throat. The son-of-a-gun looks like a gobbler -with something stuck in his neck. - -“Well that’s a question. He ain’t a Sillman and he ain’t nothin’ -else—much. It’s a question, I reckon. Nobody on the Crick is -beholdin’ to his folks that I knows on.” - -Sol Vane swallers hard and begins to chaw again. - -“He’s your kid, Sillman,” says Hashknife soft-like. - -“I’d like to—” begins Glory, but Sillman stops her. - -Then he says to Hashknife: - -“Hartley, you ain’t got no business hornin’ in like this. Willer -Crick can handle its own affairs, and Willer Crick will decide what -is to become of the kid.” - -“And you’re his gran’paw,” says Hashknife, “gran’paw to a nice -little harmless kid like this. And you say that Willer Crick will -tend to him. Why—” Hashknife teeters on his toes and hooks his -thumb over the belt above his gun—“why, you herd of mangy curs! You -pack of gutter pups! Go ahead, you chinless maverick—reach for your -gun! No? Then listen to me, you lousy cowards! You, Sillman! I -thought you was an inch or two above this carrion, but you ain’t. -You’re all alike. You’ve married your own relations until your -brains are warped and shrunk so badly that you ain’t above eatin’ -your own kind. The cannibal will protect its own blood, but you -coyotes won’t.” - -Them Willer Crickers never made a false move. Maybe they’d ’a’ -nailed us, bein’ about five to one and all armed, but we’d ’a’ sure -give the buzzards a feed, and them men knowed we would. - -“I wish,” says Hashknife, “I wish I had education enough to tell -folks what I think of yuh. There’s a lot of words I don’t know, dang -the luck.” - -The old man steps down from the doorway and moves in beside -Hashknife. - -“Brother,” says he, “you’ve done well. If I can help yuh out in any -way, I’d be plumb willin’. I’m a preacher of the gospel, but there -is times when a good cuss word does come in handy.” - -“Are yuh through?” asks Sillman meek-like. - -“No, I ain’t!” snaps Hashknife. “I’ve got to think of somethin’ new -to call yuh. Ain’t there nothin’ I can say that will make yuh mad? -Ain’t yuh got enough decency left to accept a insult?” - -“Mebbe,” says Sol Vane, “mebbe you’ll find out—later.” - -“Thanks,” says Hashknife dry-like. “I’m glad to have somethin’ to -look forward to. I had a open, runnin’ shot at you once, Sol, and I -was fool enough to shoot low. Next time I’m goin’ to cut you off -above the collar.” - -“You cain’t threaten me, Hartley!” - -“I ain’t threatenin’ yuh. No, you buzzard, I’m statin’ a fact.” - -“There’s fifty men on Willer Crick,” states another one of the -bunch. - -“Pass the word,” says Hashknife. “There’s just that much difference -between us and you. Me and Sleepy are square shooters and we’d love -to have yuh come and bring all your friends. Only twenty-five -apiece. Sleepy, there don’t seem to be much chance for us to get -action here.” - -“Who’s goin’ to take the kid?” I asks. - -“I am,” says Hashknife. “He’s too good to live with Willer -Crickers.” - -“He, he, he,” cackles Sol Vane. “He, he, he.” - -“Sol Vane, you’re goin’ to choke to death some day,” states -Hashknife. “Right in the middle of one of them laughs you’re goin’ -to quit seein’ the funny side of serious things. Now, you -snake-hunters, pick up that would-be assassin and drift. I don’t -want him clutterin’ up the scenery. Tell your friends that we’re -receivin’ company at any time.” - -They files past us and picks up Lem Seller. I don’t reckon Lem’s -plumb dead, but he ain’t in no shape to help himself much. They -loads him up and drifts, while me and Hashknife and the little kid -stands there and watches ’em go. - - * * * * * - -Glory is inside the house. After they drifts out of sight I steps up -to the door and peers inside. I see Glory standing by the front -window. Then she turns and leans a Winchester rifle against the -wall. Hashknife looks over my shoulder and sees her place the gun, -and then he looks at me kinda queer-like. - -Glory wasn’t takin’ no chances on Willer Crick smoking us up. The -little kid hangs on to Hashknife. - -“I like you,” says the little jigger, looking up at Hashknife. - -“Well, for gosh sakes!” gasps Hashknife. “Whatcha know about that. -Buddy, me and you are goin’ to bunk together for quite a spell.” - -“You play wit’ me?” he asks. - -“Well, my gosh!” says Hashknife foolish-like. “Well, whatcha know -about that?” - -“Brother,” says the old man, “was you serious about takin’ Buddy?” - -“You’re a preacher,” says Hashknife, “and I admire preachers a heap, -but just you try takin’ him away from me. Ain’t nobody sayin’ I -can’t take him, is there?” - -Glory looks at Hashknife and then down at the kid. - -“I’m glad for Buddy,” says she. - -“Buddy glad,” says the kid. - -“Well, my gosh!” gasps Hashknife. “Don’t this beat —— and high -water?” - -Willer Crick never made no foolish breaks when we went up with Eph -Sillman’s old wagon and team and brought Eph’s body back with us. Me -and Hashknife went up there and took it—that’s all. They’d moved -him off behind the sidewalk and put a old blanket over him. The -store was closed and there wasn’t man, woman nor child in sight. - -Glory said they wouldn’t bury him, and I reckon she was right. Me -and Hashknife dug two graves and Hashknife built two boxes. It’s -awful to have to plant folks thataway, but we done our dangdest to -make it look right. - -The old man kind a broke down over the sermon, which was natural, -and Hashknife finished it up. Glory was there. It was her brother, -and I reckon she thought a lot of him. Buddy didn’t know what it -meant, but he bawled anyway, which made a real pleasant party all -the way around. I reckon the old man was kinda loco over it all, -’cause he went out, got on his mule and pulled his freight. - -Glory didn’t have much to say after it was over. She kissed the kid, -and then got on her horse. - -“I ain’t had much chance to talk to you two,” says she, “but I want -you both to know I’m obliged to you. Maybe they won’t let me see you -again, but I hope you’ll take Buddy and get away—which I know you -won’t do.” - -“Glory Sillman,” says Hashknife, “you’re welcome—and we won’t.” - -She smiled at us and rode away, and we stood there with our hats in -our hands, like a pair of fools until she’s out of sight. - -“Well,” says I, “we’ve met Willer Crick.” - -“Not all, Sleepy; there’s forty more, so they say. Glory left her -rifle. It’s standin’ in there, and hangin’ to it is a belt plumb -full of shells. She likely didn’t know we had a pair of rifles.” - -“She did,” says I, “but she wanted to have an extra one here when -she showed up.” - -We cooks supper, but neither of us has any appetite. Buddy wants to -get on Hashknife’s knee all the time, and Hashknife ain’t got no -conversation in his system, except, “My gosh!” They’ve got the house -fixed up kinda nice inside. There ain’t much furniture, but it’s -clean, which is something in Willer Crick. - -“Don’t yuh never have no little boys to play with?” I asks. - -“Li’l boys?” says Buddy, “I’m li’l boy.” - -“This country ain’t human, Sleepy,” says Hashknife. “This here -family must ’a’ been ignored complete, the same of which would drive -anybody loco. Honest, I thought Jim Sillman was half-human, but he -ain’t. Glory’s a humdinger, but she’s sure handicapped. Think of -these _hombres_ spyin’ on her to see if she ever comes to see her -sister-in-law. Ain’t they the meanest, sneakinest bunch of pariah -dogs yuh ever seen? It ain’t hard to see who slammed that bullet -into Tug Wilson. Too bad she shot high.” - -I’m leaning against one of the front windows, looking down the road, -and I sees a man coming. It’s almost dark, but I _sabe_ that -pelican. - -“Here comes Sol Vane,” says I. - -He rides up to the front gate, gets off his horse, takes out a white -rag. I opens the front door. - -“Can yuh see me?” he asks, waving the rag. - -“Come ahead,” I yells back at him, and he shuffles up to the door. - -“I packed a flag,” says he, masticating real fast and looking at -Hashknife with the kid on his lap, “I ain’t got no gun on me.” - -“Yuh didn’t need to deprive yourself of a gun,” says Hashknife. - -“I ain’t comin’ to talk mean,” explains Sol. “We held a council -uptown, and I just comes down here to let yuh know some of the -things we argued out. - -“Some was in favor of bustin’ down here and puttin’ yuh on the run, -but I’m plumb in favor of goin’ kinda soft.” - -Sol grins and takes a fresh chew. - -“They wasn’t hard to convince that your way was the best, was they?” -I asks. - -“I does the lawin’ fer Willer Crick, and they accepts my -judgment—mostly. I comes to talk to yuh about th’ brat.” - -“Boy, yuh mean,” says Hashknife. “In speakin’ of this offspring, -Sol, use the boy’s name or just speak of him as ‘the boy.’” - -The little jigger knows that Hashknife is sticking up for him, I can -see that, and he kinda leans back against Hashknife. - -“This here ranch,” says Sol, “belongs to—well, I reckon it’s a -question. Jim Sillman owns part of it and the rest of it’s to be -settled by the council.” - -“Meanin’ that Buddy gets gipped out of his ranch, eh?” asks -Hashknife. - -“Under the circumstances, the br—Buddy don’t own nothin’. His folks -was just suffered to kinda live here.” - -“Suffered,” nods Hashknife. “Go ahead.” - -“I reckon that’s all.” - -“All for you,” amends Hashknife, “but I ain’t started yet. For one -thing, Sol Vane, I’m goin’ to do this: I’m goin’ to the county seat, -find a regular lawyer and make Willer Crick jump over the moon. I’m -goin’ to see that this here baby gets a square deal and I’m goin’ -to——” - -“Now, now,” grunts Sol Vane. “Don’t git excited. Willer Crick ain’t -goin’ to beat nobody out of nothin’—not if they owns anythin’, -y’understand.” - -“This here Buddy is exhibit A,” says Hashknife. “Willer Crick took -away his folks but they don’t take away nothin’ more. This ranch -ain’t much, but it’ll be somethin’ for him to live on.” - -Hashknife gets up and steps over beside Sol Vane. - -“You tell your —— council that Buddy owns this ranch, will yuh?” - -“’Pears to me,” says Sol, “that you’re kinda anxious to—the kid -bein’ a minor and you grabbin’ him thataway, it kinda looks like you -was sort of——” - -Sol Vane made one awful mistake when he hinted that Hashknife was -trying to feather his own nest. I seen Hashknife swing his body -sideways, and Sol Vane landed flat on his face on the little dirt -walk. It was a beautiful smash. We stands there and watches him -twitch back to life, like one of them animated toy things. He -managed to get to his feet and start for the gate, but ran into a -tree and fell down again. - -Then he got up and found his horse, but he didn’t take time to -mount; just went staggering down the road, leading the horse. - -“Good!” says Buddy, and his eyes were like saucers. “Sol Vane bad -mans, my daddy says.” - -“My gosh!” gasps Hashknife. “Did yuh hear that? He said it was good. -This feller ain’t no Willer Cricker, y’betcha.” - - * * * * * - -Not bein’ wishful to take any chances of a night attack, the three -of us slept in the open. We took bedding from the house and rolled -up under the trees. Buddy thought it was a picnic. The next morning -we finds a notice on the front door, which reads: - - GIT OUT THIS IS THE LAST WARNIN - -“Well,” observes Hashknife, “we’ll just about take that advice. Not -that Willer Crick is runnin’ any whizzer on us, Sleepy, but we’ve -got to kinda look out for this little Buddy, eh, Bud?” - -“Betcha,” nods Buddy. “But we ain’t scared, are we?” - -“It’s a wonder to me that this here kid ain’t cleaned up on that -bunch before this, Sleepy. He’s got plenty of nerve. Did yuh ever -shoot a gun, Buddy?” - -“No, but I betcha I could.” - -“He’s got it, Sleepy,” grins Hashknife. “Natcheral born terrier. -Let’s pack up.” - -We saddled our broncs and packed up all the clothes we can for the -kid, which ain’t much. We took a little grub and then pulled out, -with the kid riding in front of Hashknife. We took Glory’s rifle and -belt with us, figuring on going past Sillman’s place and leaving it -there. - -There’s another road angling off the one to town, and the kid tells -us that it goes past Glory’s place. We ain’t got nothin’ to take us -through town; so we swings off onto this road. About a mile farther -on Hashknife pulls up his horse and squints off down into a brushy -coulee. - -“Sleepy, there’s the old’ man’s mule there, ain’t it?” - -“It’s the mule all right; feeding around in the brush.” - -We swings our horses around and rides along the edge of the coulee, -which leads down a deeper ravine. - -“Anybody live around here—close, Buddy?” asks Hashknife. - -“Mitch Ames lives down there,” says Buddy, pointing down the ravine. - -“Fine!” grins Hashknife. “I dunno Mitch, but we’ll go down and see -him.” - -“You seen him yesterday,” says Buddy. “He was to my house with them -men.” - -“Oh, is that a fact? Well, he called on us, Buddy, and it ain’t no -more than fair that we calls on him. Sleepy, did yuh notice that the -mule was wearin’ a piece of pocket-rope. Likely broke loose.” - -Mitch Ames’ cabin was cached away in that ravine, like he was scared -somebody would find it, but Buddy knowed right where it was. We -swung down the hill above it. Setting beside the cabin, tilted back -in a chair, is two men. One of the horses steps on a round rock and -sends it bumping down the hill and it hops into the bushes right -near ’em. - -Jump? Man I’d say they jumped! One of ’em had a rifle across his -knee, and when he seen us he started to throw it to his shoulder, -but the other feller grabbed him and yanked him around the corner. - -Me and Hashknife drops out of our saddles and slips our rifles -loose. We didn’t come there hunting for trouble, but if it showed up -we’d be ready. - -“Buddy, you get down in the brush,” orders Hashknife, pointing to a -thick clump. “You get down low and wait for us.” - -“Betcha,” says Buddy. “Me wait.” - -The little jigger dives down into the brush like a rabbit and then -me and Hashknife separates a few feet apart and slips down to the -cabin—or rather toward the cabin, ’cause just about the time we hit -the flat ground a hunk of lead whispers so close to my head that I -heard what it said. We flops down and waits awhile. - -The brush is kinda thick and we can only see one side of the cabin. -We lay there quite a while, but there ain’t no more shots. We kinda -snakes along until we works up beside the cabin, where we listens -for a while, but can’t hear a thing. Hashknife gets to his feet, -takes out his six-shooter for close work and walks to the door end -of the cabin, with me on his heels. The door is shut. Hashknife -gives it a kick and it swings open. Inside it is dark, being as -there’s only one window, and that dirty. - -We steps inside, and looks around, and as soon as our eyes gets used -to the dusk we sees that there’s a man laying on the bed. - -It’s the old preacher that rode the mule, and he’s sure hog-tied to -a fare-thee-well, and has a rag shoved between his teeth. - -Hashknife takes out his knife and starts to cut the ropes, but stops -and listens. Then he jumps for the door, with me behind him. - -“The horses!” gasps Hashknife. “I heard them rollin’ rocks. There -they go!” - -Up over the peak of a hogback goes our two horses, with a man in -each saddle, and one of ’em is packing Buddy. Hashknife throws up -his .45-70 Winchester. - -“Buddy’s on that bay!” I yelps. “Look out, Hashknife!” - - * * * * * - -The rifle cracked and the gray horse swung sideways as the bullet -fanned past its ear and the rider throws himself kinda sideways. -It’s only a jump more to get out of sight and the range is about two -hundred yards. I glances at Hashknife just as he shoots again. - -I seen the rider of the gray horse slump sideways and go down on the -left side of the gray. I reckon he must ’a’ tangled in the reins, -’cause it swung the gray plumb around on the hogback and it stops -with its head down. - -We went up there as fast as we could, but the bay horse and its two -riders were out in the breaks. That bay horse could outrun anything -in the cow-country, even packing weight; so we know it ain’t going -to do us any good to try and run him down with that hammer-headed -gray. - -This feller has got one foot twisted in the stirrup and has the -reins twisted around his hand and elbow. That big bullet had lifted -part of his scalp and the top of his right ear, but he wasn’t dead. - -“Worst shootin’ I’ve done in a age,” complains Hashknife. “Kinda had -buck-fever, I reckon. Shame to waste two shots thataway.” - -We hung the feller over the saddle and went back down to the cabin, -where we cut the old man loose. It took him quite a while to -recognize us and also to get his vocal cords to working again. - -“How did yuh happen to be in this shape, old-timer?” asks Hashknife. - -He shakes his head. - -“I don’t know, brother. I went to the town, after I left you, and -I—I asked a man where I could find the sheriff. He wanted to know -what I wanted him for and I said I wanted to talk to him on -business. I left there, and in a few minutes some men overtook me -and brought me here. They tied me up and left two men to guard me. -One of the men told me that if I ever seen the sheriff it would be -after the sheriff had died and joined me.” - -We led the old man outside and showed him the wounded man. - -“He’s the one what told me that,” says he. “What happened to him?” - -“He stayed too long,” grins Hashknife. “We’ll tie him up in your -place.” - -This hombre has commenced to talk to himself, so we ties him to the -bunk, where he won’t get loose for a while. - -“You take the horse and round up the mule, Sleepy,” says Hashknife. - -That wasn’t no job, being as the mule had sore feet. I took it back -to the cabin and turned it over to the old man. Me and Hashknife -doubles up on the bay horse and the three of us cut back to the main -road again. - -About a mile or so farther on we comes to the Sillman ranch. -Hashknife points down the road and says to the old man: - -“Keep on this road, pardner, until yuh come to the sign where we -first met yuh, then yuh turn to the left. Silverton is about twenty -miles.” - -“I wants to thank yuh, son,” says he. “Wants to thank both of yuh -for what yuh done fer me. I’m gettin’ kinda old and so -forth—but——” - -“A man ain’t no older than he feels,” says I. - -“Then I’m a million. Got rheumatics and them ropes didn’t he’p it -none. _Adios._” - -“Now,” says Hashknife, “I hope he gets out free of charge, ’cause I -ain’t got no more time to monkey with him.” - -We swung into Sillman’s gate and rode up to the house. I reckon -Glory seen us ride into the place, ’cause she comes out the front -door to meet us and the first thing she says is— - -“Where’s Buddy?” - -It don’t take Hashknife long to tell her what happened to Buddy and -how we found the old preacher. - -“Where’s your pa?” I asks. - -“In town, I reckon. Council meeting called, I think. They met here -last night, but I didn’t get any chance to hear what was said. -They’re all suspicious of me. Sim Sellers wants me to be punished -for assisting Eph’s wife, and him and dad had a run-in over it. Sim -growled at me when they came and I told him that Lem was a growler -and look what he got. - -“Sim ain’t no better than a savage, and he said he’d eat your heart -out if he got a chance. I told him he better get some extra teeth -’cause he might lose what he’s got. I thought that dad would give me -—— for sayin’ it, but he didn’t. He asked me where I left my -rifle, and I told him I left it in a good cause.” - -“Glory,” says Hashknife, “do yuh know why I didn’t marry yuh that -time?” - -“No, I—I don’t,” says Glory, turning red, “but it wouldn’t ’a’ -worked any way, ’cause Willer Crick showed up in force. Me and Dad -and uncle Luke thought you seen ’em coming.” - -“Your Uncle Luke was the sheriff of Yolo, wasn’t he, Glory?” - -“He was once—yes.” - -“When he was here?” - -“No-o-o—not hardly. He got in bad with the Vigilantes down there.” - -Hashknife looked at me and I looks at him, but neither of us says a -word. Then Glory says: - -“What do you reckon they’ll do with poor Buddy? What did they steal -him for? Nobody wanted the little feller.” - -“They want to get him away from me so there won’t be no heir to that -ranch,” says Hashknife. “They’re goin’ to hoodie that poor little -kid out of the way, Glory.” - -Hashknife eases himself in his saddle and looks off across the -hills. “I never had nothin’ like him—nothin’ in my life. The little -jigger liked me, and kinda depended on me, I reckon. I said I was -goin’ to keep him, didn’t I?” - -Hashknife turns and looks at us. - -“I said that, didn’t I? Well, that goes as she lays. Somebody on -Willer Crick has got Buddy, and I’m goin’ to start in at the foot -and work my way up, and I’m goin’ to git that kid if I have to fill -—— with Willer Crickers.” - -Glory nods like she knowed Hashknife meant it. - -“Loan me a horse and saddle?” I asks. - -“No,” says Glory, “I won’t loan you a horse, but there’s several out -in the corral and there’s a couple of saddles hanging in the shed. I -can’t stop you from taking what you want, can I?” - -Me and Hashknife starts for the corral. - -“That roan out there can run all day,” yells Glory. “He don’t look -it, but he’s the best bronc in this country.” - -“I hate to take things like this by force,” says Hashknife -serious-like. “It ain’t right to intimidate a lady thataway.” - -“You’re a pair of brutes,” says Glory. “Pick on somebody your own -size.” - - * * * * * - -I don’t know whether Glory was kidding about that bronc or not. It -bucked over the corral fence with me, bucked for half a mile faster -than Hashknife’s animal could run. After that it was a pretty good -animal. We headed straight for town. - -“Willer Crick will be looking for us, Hashknife,” says I. - -“I hope so, Sleepy. I hopes they forms a holler square and hauls out -their cannon.” - -“Mebbe,” says I, “mebbe we ought to let Willer Crick dispose of -their own business. They ain’t got no sense, but maybe they’ll give -the kid a square deal, if we give ’em a chance.” - -“Maybe the devil could skate—if he had ice—but we know he ain’t.” - -There’s at least twenty-five saddled horses in town, but not a -person in sight as we swung down the street, but as we swung past -the store a man came out. He gave us one look and then started for -the outside stairs of the town hall. He showed speed, but not -enough. Hashknife jumped his bronc across the sidewalk and into that -feller, just short of the bottom step. - -The bronc’s shoulder hit that feller, and he went spinning away like -a tumble-weed in a wind; then Hashknife’s bronc hit the flimsy -railing of the stairs and went down. Out of the tangle comes -Hashknife and he’s got his Winchester. The bronc gets to its feet -and limps away, while Hashknife runs along the side of the building -and around to the front. - -“Get off and under cover, you danged fool!” he yelps at me. “Willer -Crick is all upstairs!” - -I jumps my horse out of line with the windows and gets off. I hears -somebody yelp a question, and then I follers Hashknife across the -street, where we ducks in behind that old shed. I reckon that Willer -Crick was too excited to take a shot at us when we went across the -street. - -Extending out from the side of the shed is a pile of old lumber, -which we proceeds to get behind. It’s about three feet high and ten -feet long. Between us and the other side of the street is the -tie-rack, full of saddle-horses. - -The feller who got knocked down is crawling out of sight behind the -saloon, and Hashknife’s bronc is just wandering around between the -saloon and the store. - -“There’s our bay horse,” says I, pointing at the tie-rack. - -Then a bullet dusted the top of the lumber pile and sent some -splinters into my face. - -“Keep low,” advises Hashknife. “They’re a-shooting from the windows. -We’ve got to be careful that we don’t hit Buddy.” - - * * * * * - -Then Willer Crick starts in to make a lead mine out of our lumber -pile, but them old boards sure do stop bullets. One feller gets -cocky and looks out of the door. I lifts his hat and I think a part -of his scalp, cause he yelps like a bee had stung him. - -“Don’t shoot until you’re sure,” grins Hashknife. “We can’t take any -chances of hittin’ our little jigger.” - -“Think a lot of that kid, don’t yuh,” says I. - -“’Thout a doubt in the world, Sleepy.” - -“It ain’t noways reasonable for you to adopt him,” says I. - -Hashknife recovers his hat, with a hole in the crown, and nudges in -closer to the lumber pile, while Willer Crick sifted lead across the -street. - -“Nobody wants him but me, Sleepy, and I ain’t goin’ to let the -little jigger go to no orphing home, y’betcha. Maybe I ain’t no -fittin’ person to bring up a kid, but—oh, oh-h-h!” - -Hashknife slips his rifle-barrel into a slot between two boards and -then twists over almost on his shoulder, in order to look down the -sights. A feller has slipped out of the doorway, thinking that we -didn’t dare to expose ourselves enough to shoot. - -Hashknife’s rifle cracked, and the feller’s feet slipped and he sat -down hard. I don’t know where it hit him, but it made him either -brave or sick, ’cause he just sets there, until a arm sticks out of -the door and hauls him back inside. Then the shooting seemed to ease -up. - -“What do you fellers want?” yells a voice. - -“This is a —— of a time to ask questions!” yells Hashknife. “Don’t -stop shootin’ on our account.” - -Just then a bullet nicked a piece of meat off the point of my jaw, -and splatted into the wood beside my head. Before we can move, -another bullet hit Hashknife’s hat. - -“Behind us!” I yelps. “Look out!” - -Hashknife flips off his hat and yanks his gun out of the slot. - -“Look out yourself! That son-of-a-gun I knocked down has circled -us.” - -Willer Crick woke up to the fact that something is wrong, and they -sure hammered our fort. - -Zowie! A bullet spinged off my rifle-barrel and almost knocked it -out of my hands. - -“Watch the hall,” says I. “I’ll tend to our neighbor before he -spoils our Alaska trip for good.” - -I crawls in behind the old shed. Behind us is nothing but mesquite -brush, which don’t make very good cover, especially for the first -fifty yards. - -Willer Crick is still trying to annihilate that pile of lumber, so I -takes a chance and crawls like a snake. None of ’em seen me and I -reached the heavy brush in safety. I hears this feller shoot again, -and all to once I see him. He ain’t over fifty feet from me. There’s -kind of a high piece of ground, with some rocks on it and a lot of -mesquite clumps. - -He’s having quite a nice time all by his lonesome and ain’t -expecting visitors. He has to lift up real high to send his lead -anywhere near Hashknife. He’s shooting one of them old 1876 models -of Winchester, the kind we calls “grasshopper” action. - -He rises up on his toes, squints down the sights, but seems to kinda -get dissatisfied and relaxes. I could almost throw my gun and hit -him, and shooting him thataway would be murder; so I waits until he -lines up his sights again and then I slams a bullet into the -loading-gate of his rifle. - -I reckon a .45-70 hits kinda hard, cause it knocked him loose from -that gun and he sat down hard. Some of the busted mechanism must ’a’ -dented the primer of one of the shells in the magazine, ’cause that -rifle sure raised —— for a few seconds. The owner of the gun -wagged his head and looks down at the barrel of my rifle, which was -poking into his belt. - -“Get up!” says I. - -He got up kinda slow-like, shaking his head and then he grabbed for -his six-gun. I’m too close to him to shoot with the rifle, so I -uppercuts him under the chin with the barrel, and he lost interest -in everything. - -I took his belt and six-gun back with me. Willer Crick seen me as I -came back, but they must ’a’ hurried their aim. I got back to the -shed, with my eyes, ears and nose full of dirt and a hole in my -sleeve. Hashknife is doubled up, covering the doorway from that slot -in the lumber pile. - -“You’re a fine friend,” says I. “You let ’em all come to the window -and shoot at me.” - -“They had Buddy with ’em, Sleepy. Dang it, I was afraid to shoot.” - -Somebody yells at Hashknife, but I don’t hear what he said. - -“No yuh don’t,” answers Hashknife. “You let us have Buddy and we’ll -call it square.” - -Hashknife motions for me to stay behind the shed. I seen him settle -down and line up his rifle again. He lifts his head and says: - -“Sleepy, for ——’s sake, look! He’s usin’ Buddy for a shield. The -rotten coward!” - -I jumps to the corner of the building and looks. There’s a big -feller coming down the stairs, with Buddy held in front of him. He’s -got his arms wrapped around the kid, and there ain’t a chance in the -world for us to shoot him. - -“Take that bay hoss, Sim,” yells a voice from the hall. “He can -outrun anythin’ around here.” - -“He, he, he!” cackles Sol Vane. “He, he, he!” - -Hashknife empties his rifle through the windows of the hall and Sol -quit laughing. - -“Yuh can’t git the best of Sim Sellers,” whoops a voice. - -Sim comes on to the horses, which are plumb nervous. One of ’em -ripped its bridle loose and went down the street and another threw -itself, trying to get loose. Sellers is kinda between us and the -windows, which stops their shooting. - -“Don’t get scared, Buddy,” says Hashknife. - -“I ain’t,” shrills Buddy. “Betcha I ain’t.” - -“Sim,” says Hashknife, “you better think up a prayer, ’cause you’re -goin’ to need one —— bad.” - - * * * * * - -Sellers cursed us and carried Buddy in close to that bay horse, -which has anchored itself with its left side against the tie-rack -and refuses to budge. It’s easy enough to use a kid for a shield -against bullets, but it’s another thing to get on to a scared bronc -with the kid in your arms and still keep covered. - -Willer Crick are liable to hit Sellers if they shoot at us, so we -takes things easy. - -“You’re in a hole, Sim,” says Hashknife. “One bad move and you’re a -goner.” - -“You’ll have to get on Injun side,” says I, “and that bronc will -sure love you for that.” - -Sim Sellers sure is up against it. I reckon he seen what he was up -against—seen that he had to take a chance; so he threw Buddy into -the saddle, intending, I reckon, to throw himself sideways on that -bronc and make a getaway like an Injun, but Hashknife was looking -for that move. - -As Buddy went into the saddle it left Sim’s legs exposed under the -bronc’s belly. Hashknife shot twice with his six-shooter and Sim -went down, like something had cut his legs out from under him. The -horse plunged against the rack, throwing Buddy between us and the -hitch-rack, but he lit on his hands and knees. - -“Come a-runnin’, Buddy!” yells Hashknife, and if you ever seen a -rabbit, that kid sure imitated one. - -He dived around the corner of that lumber pile and landed between -us, where he sets and puffs the wind back into his lungs. - -“Hurt yuh any?” asks Hashknife. - -“Na-a-a-w! Sim Sellers like to busted my ribs, though. Did yuh kill -him?” - -“Cut him loose from the ground,” says Hashknife, watching the -windows. - -“Set still, Sim. Don’t forget that both ends of yuh are exposed -now.” - -Sim Sellers is setting there in the dust, with a pair of legs that -don’t seem to work. - -“They stole me,” says Buddy. “After you left me with the horses, -Mitch Ames and ‘Poky’ Vane swiped me. I kicked Mitch in the knee and -he swore he’d kill me. He brought me here. Say, they’re goin’ to -kill you—honest. They ain’t goin’ to let you tell the sheriff on -Cale Ames. They sent men to get the old man.” - -“Where were they goin’ to take you, Buddy?” asks Hashknife. - -“Me dunno,” Buddy shakes his head. “Sim Sellers says he’s takin’ me -where you fellers never will find me.” - -“Hey!” yells a voice from the hall, which we recognizes as belonging -to Sol Vane. “Can yuh hear me?” - -“If yuh don’t yell too loud,” answers Hashknife. - -“Now listen; that shed beside you is containin’ about five hundred -pounds of dinnamite, caps and fuses. Come out and hold up your hands -or we’ll shoot into it until we blows yuh up. Do yuh hear that?” - -Me and Hashknife looks at each other. It’s a good bluff. I don’t -care a whoop who says nay, I’m here to state that dynamite might go -off under them conditions. Some of them hombres are shooting .50-110 -rifles, which carries a explosive bullet, and that might make things -plumb audible around us. - -“Talk to ’em, Sleepy,” grunts Hashknife. “Keep talking, for ——’s -sake!” - -“You mean, you’d blow us up, Sol?” I asks, as Hashknife slides past -me and gets against the building. - -“He, he, he! Think we’d let ye off after what you’ve done? Naw, sir, -your goin’ to git all that’s comin’ to yuh. When I give the word we -start shootin’.” - -Of course they never thought that we had a chance to sneak away into -the mesquite, and if they did they knew we’d never leave on foot as -long as there’s a chance to get horses. - -“We’re willin’ to go now,” says I. Hashknife rips one of the boards -loose and crawls inside. - -“Ready to go, are yuh?” chuckles Sol Vane. “Jist try startin’, will -yuh. There’s twenty rifles ready to give yuh a sendoff.” - -“Think I ought to put Sim Sellers out of his misery?” I asks. - -Sim Sellers quits crawling and looks back at me. He thought we had -forgot him. - -“Throw away your gun!” I yells at him, and he threw it away. - -“Well, what have yuh got to say?” yells Sol Vane. - -“Give me a chance to think it over.” - -“Two minutes,” says Sol. “Two minutes will be all.” - -“That’s enough,” grunts Hashknife, forcing his way out past the -loose board. - -He’s got a fifty-pound box of dynamite in his arms, a box of -blasting caps and a coil of fuse. - -“Whatcha goin’ to do?” I asks. - -“Give ’em a taste of their own medicine, Sleepy. When I get around -the corner here start shooting. Empty your rifle and then empty -mine. _Sabe?_ Fan them windows to a fare-thee-well, and I’ll do the -rest. Buddy, keep down low. Ready?” - - * * * * * - -I takes both rifles, nods to him and starts throwing lead. I sure -did send hot hunks of sudden death into that place. I emptied both -rifles and then sent six shots from the .45 I borrowed out in the -mesquite. - -Two or three shots was all that answered, but they never came -towards me. - -“Good work, Sleepy,” yells Hashknife. - -I slammed shells into the loading-gates of them two rifles and then -took a look. Hashknife is flat up against the front of that -building, and is fussing with a fuse. - -I hears a bunch of argument in the hall, and I takes a snap-shot at -somebody who got too close at the window. - -“Keep ’em back, Sleepy,” yells Hashknife, cheerful-like, reeling out -fuse from the box of dynamite. - -“Sol Vane!” he yells. - -“That’s me,” squeaks Sol. - -“I’ve got fifty pounds of dynamite against the front of your -building, Sol. There’s a two-minute fuse on a loaded stick, and the -box of powder is settin’ on a box of primers. I can either fire the -fuse or shoot the primers. If you fire a shot toward that shed I’ll -upset Willer Crick. Do you _sabe_?” - -There ain’t a word said for a while, and then Sol says— - -“You—what do yuh want us to do?” - -“I want you to bring down every gun up there, Sol. Load up and bring -’em all down here and lay ’em in the street.” - -“Like —— he will!” roars a voice. - -“You’ll never get my guns!” - -“Nor mine!” howls another. - -“Better do it,” advises Sellers. “He’s got just what he says he -has.” - -“I’m countin’ to ten,” states Hashknife. “Countin’ in my own rapid -way, Sol.” - -“I’m comin’,” says Sol. “For gosh sakes give me a little time.” - -Sol Vane looked like a hardware store when he made that first trip. -I never seen so many guns outside the army. He lays ’em in the -street and then goes back for more. It took him four trips to bring -’em. - -“Now what?” he whines. - -“Have ’em all come down, one at a time,” says Hashknife, and then he -yells over at me: “Watch ’em, Sleepy. If they look like they’re -holdin’ out on us, don’t give ’em a chance.” - -“I’m particular,” I yells back. “Send ’em down, Mr. Lawyer.” - -Then they begins to file out and down the stairs. Sol lines ’em up -in the street, and they sure are a sore crowd. Finally they quit -coming. - -“Is that all?” asks Hashknife. - -“That’s all of ’em,” says Sol. - -I starts to get up, but Buddy grabs me by the belt and yanks so hard -that we both went over backwards. With his heels in the air, Buddy -yelps— - -“Mitch Ames and Cale Ames ain’t out yet!” - -That’s all that saved us, I reckon. I rolled over, shoved my rifle -across the lumber pile and took a snap-shot at Cale Ames, as he -threw down on Hashknife from one of the windows. I seen Cale’s gun -fall outside and he fell down past the window-sill. Hashknife jumps -back around the corner and covers the crowd with his six-shooter. - -I reckon that Mitch Ames figured that Hashknife would explode that -dynamite, and he also figured that we wouldn’t let him surrender; so -he ran out of the door, and vaulted over the top of the railing. I -ain’t no wing shot with a rifle, but Mitch Ames didn’t get up after -he hit the ground. - -“Got him!” I yells at Hashknife. - -Buddy follers me out into the street and we meets Hashknife near the -crowd. - -“Sol,” says Hashknife, “I ought to kill you for lyin’. If it hadn’t -been for Buddy your scheme would ’a’ worked. I reckon them Ameses -are your best shots, eh?” - -Sol masticates real fast for a while, and then says— - -“What do yuh want now?” - -“Watch ’em, Sleepy,” grins Hashknife. - -Hashknife takes a sheet of paper and a pencil from his pocket and -holds the paper against the side of the building, while he writes. -He finally finishes and goes over to Sol Vane and hands him the -paper. - -“Have your council sign that, Sol; and then you put your name at the -bottom.” - -“What is it?” asks Sillman. - -“To whom it may concern,” reads Sol Vane kinda slow-like. “The -undersigned hereby declares that Buddy Sillman is sole owner of the -ranch where his folks lived and he owns everything on that ranch. -His dad’s name was Eph Sillman and he was killed by Cale Ames on -June 3, when Eph was trying to get medicine for his sick wife. - -“We also admits that the folks of Willer Crick wouldn’t let Eph -Sillman have a doctor for his wife and that they ain’t no better -than murderers, ’cause she died. We hereby agree to see that the -ranch is run right and the money turned over to Buddy. We hereby -agree to abolish all our old laws and live like the rest of the -world. We hereby sign our names.” - -“You’re crazy!” wails Sim Sellers from where he sets in the street. -“We’ll never sign that.” - -The rest of ’em shake their heads. - -“Yuh can’t get away with nothin’ like that,” says Sol. “We aims to -live as we please. Yuh can’t set there and keep us rounded up -forever.” - -“Sleepy,” says Hashknife, “go up into the hall and see if yuh can’t -find some Willer Crick records.” - - * * * * * - -They has that room fixed up like a court-room, with kind of a place -for the judges and all that kind of thing. Cale Ames is setting on -the floor near a window, holding onto the side of his head. I looked -him over for weapons, but he’s harmless. - -On the judge’s desk is a pile of books and papers. I takes a look at -the biggest book, and it’s labeled— - - THE LAW - -I takes all the books and papers, and then I makes Cale get to his -feet and go down ahead of me. Our bullets sure have carved our -trade-marks in their furniture and walls. Willer Crick wails when -they see me with their books. - -“Good stuff!” grunts Hashknife. “Now, maybe they’ll sign my little -paper.” - -I never seen folks so anxious to sign anything. Hashknife held the -paper on the brim of his hat so that Sim Sellers can sign. I unloads -all them guns and then throws the whole works under the sidewalk, -where nobody can get one quick. - -“Rope the books together so we can carry ’em, Sleepy,” says -Hashknife. - -“Them is our records!” wails Sol. - -“That’s why we need ’em,” grins Hashknife. “You and your council are -the only ones what can read and write, and I’m thinkin’ that your -law and records will make hy-iu readin’ for the county attorney.” - -Willer Crick is stuck. They shuffles their feet and swallers hard. - -“Your home-made law is a thing of the past,” observes Hashknife. -“I’ll send the sheriff in here after Cale Ames, and mebbe Cale won’t -be the only one he rounds up.” - -I got the horses, while Hashknife holds the crowd. Hashknife takes -Buddy with him, while I take the law of Willer Crick. We starts -away, with the crowd watching us, but all to once they makes a dive -across the street toward the hitch-rack. I thinks they’re going to -try to foller us, but it comes to me in a flash that I seen two or -three rifles hanging to those saddles. - -I seen a feller drop flat and slide under the sidewalk, and I know -it won’t take ’em long to get their guns loaded. - -We ain’t over a hundred yards from the crowd, and I can see that we -can’t scatter ’em much with two guns. I yells at Hashknife to look -out. He turned in his saddle, keeping himself between Buddy and the -crowd. I saw him throw up his rifle and take deliberate aim. I was -trying to shift them books on to the horn of my saddle, so I could -shoot. A bullet splatted into the books, but before I could lift my -gun, Hashknife’s shot was echoed by a crash that shook up the whole -country. - -I seen the front of that building jump off the ground and dissolve -into smoke. - -“Come on, you law rustler!” yelps Hashknife. - -I ducked a piece of two-by-four and set my spurs into that -hammer-headed gray. Hashknife had been lucky enough to send a bullet -into that box of giant caps under the fifty pounds of dynamite. - -I looks back as we hammers down the road, but there ain’t a soul on -our trail. We swings across a high bridge over Willer Crick, and -Hashknife stops. - -“Get a couple of heavy rocks, Sleepy,” says he. “Rope one on each -side of that bunch of books, and drop the whole works over the -side.” - -“Ain’t yuh going to turn these over to the law?” I asks. - -“No-o-o, I reckon not. I don’t believe in rubbin’ anybody raw. -They’ll never know but what we did, and we’ve sure amended the -constitution of Sol Vane and his bunch.” - -We sunk their law in six feet of swift water and then rode on. About -half a mile from the forks of the road we swings around a curve and -almost runs over Al Bassett and another man. Bassett’s right arm is -out of commission and the other feller is kinda sick from too much -lead. - -“They were sent after that old man,” says Buddy. - -“It’s been a hard day for Willer Crick,” observes Hashknife. - -Bassett can’t hang onto himself any longer. Hashknife takes off his -hat and holds it in his hand until Bassett stops. - -“Sleepy,” says Hashknife, “did yuh ever hear the like. I wish I -could cuss like that. Bassett, you’re one of the fellers who was -sent down here to stop the old man, ain’t yuh? Did the mule kick yuh -or did the old man bite yuh?” - -Bassett refuses to talk, and the other feller is too sick to -remember. - -“A feller by the name of Poky Vane is tied up in Mitch Ames’ cabin,” -says Hashknife. “I reckon you’ll see that he gets loose.” - -“Willer Crick will git you yet!” snarls Bassett. - -“I refuse to argue,” grins Hashknife. - -“Home won’t never seem the same to you fellers. _Adios._” - -We left ’em there in the road. - -“Why didn’t we take Cale Ames out with us, Hashknife?” I asks. -“Mebbe the sheriff won’t be able to find him.” - -“It would be our word against a hundred, Sleepy. Me and you ain’t so -danged lily-white that a jury’d take our word against a hundred; and -besides, hangin’ ain’t half as bad as thinkin’ about it.” - -At the forks of the road, where the old sign-board hangs, we found -the old preacher and Glory Sillman with a rifle. - -“I had a escort,” says the old man, nodding at Glory. “She—she saw -that I got out safe.” - -“She did,” nods Hashknife. “I seen that a mile or so ago.” - -Glory starts to swing her horse around. - -“I—I reckon I better be going back,” says she. - -“You come wit’ us,” says Buddy. “We licked ’em.” Glory looks at -Buddy and then at Hashknife. - -“I’m goin’ to adopt him,” says Hashknife. “Yuh might come with us, -Glory. There ain’t no more Willer Crick law to stop yuh now. The -trail’s wide open.” - -Glory and Hashknife sets there and looks at each other. I looks at -the old man and he looks at me. I turns and points down the valley -and says to the old man: - -“Do yuh see that peak ’way down there, old-timer?” - -“I do. What about it, son?” - -“I never climbed it in my life.” - -“Well, well!” says he. “Ain’t that queer?” - -We sets there like a pair of danged fools and admires that peak, -which don’t mean a thing to either of us. - -“You comin’?” shrills Buddy, and we turns to see Hashknife and Glory -riding down the road side by side, while Buddy leans out past -Hashknife and yells at us. - -The old man looks at me and says— - -“Son, if you’ll ride slow, mebbe I can make my mule keep up.” - -I turns in my saddle, grabs that old sign and tears it off the tree, -after which I throws it into the brush. Then I turns back to the old -man. - -“I ain’t in no hurry, ’cause I know I’ll never get there anyway,” -says I. - -“Where?” he asks. - -“Alaska.” - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 3, 1921 -issue of Adventure magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAW RUSTLERS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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C. Tuttle—A Project Gutenberg eBook</title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:8%; } - p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; - text-align:justify; } - h1 { font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em; text-align: center; } - #heading { margin-bottom: 2em; } - #heading p { text-align:center; text-indent:0; } - hr.tb { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; width:50%} - .wi001 { margin-left:10%; width:80% } - .x-ebookmaker .wi001 { margin-left:5%; width:90% } - .wi002 { margin-left:25%; width:50% } - .x-ebookmaker .wi002 { margin-left:10%; width:80% } - .tn { font-size:0.9em; border:1px solid silver; - margin-top:1.8em; margin-left:8%; width:80%; - padding:0.4em 2%; background-color:#FFFFDD; } - .tn p { text-indent:0 } - </style> -</head> - -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Law Rustlers, by W. C. Tuttle</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Law Rustlers</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: W. C. Tuttle</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 20, 2021 [eBook #66981]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAW RUSTLERS ***</div> - -<div style='margin:1em auto;' class='wi001'> - <img src='images/illus-001.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%' /> -</div> - -<div id='heading'> - <h1>Law Rustlers</h1> - <p>by W. C. Tuttle</p> - <p>Author of “The Devil’s Dooryard,” “Sun-Dog Trails,” etc.</p> -</div> - -<p>Me and “Hashknife” Hartley sets there on our broncs and spells out -the old sign, just like it was the first time we ever seen it. The good -Lord only knows why we’re back at the old sign. Willer Crick don’t mean -nothing to us. Glory Sillman lives, or did live, on Willer Crick, but -her name ain’t never figured in any of our conversations since the day -we fogged away from Willer Crick.</p> - -<p>We kinda left that part of the range in a hurry that day; left a -surprised bunch of folks watching our dust, while a couple of -enterprising bad-men went home to get patched up and another bunch -throwing lead at the wrong parties, just because said parties had a gray -and a roan horse.</p> - -<p>No, Willer Crick has been a closed incident to us. Not that we’re -silent folks, ’cause we ain’t. I can talk the bark off a greasewood, and -Hashknife Hartley—man, he’s a conversationalist. It’s kinda funny that -we never talked about the Willer Crick folks, ’cause they sure are worth -talking about. Sol Vane, who does the lawin’ for the Crick, Jim Sillman, -one of the Council of Three, old Ebenezer Godfrey—they’re one -goshawful layout.</p> - -<p>Of course Ebenezer Godfrey is dead. Jim Albright and Pete Godfrey, -his illegal heirs, are dead, we think, but there’s a plenty of that -misguided tribe left. Ebenezer was killed by Pete and Jim, ’cause the -old man wouldn’t die soon enough for one of them to get visible means of -support, in order to marry Glory. The old man was hard-boiled enough to -hang on to life until he could will everything he owned to me and -Hashknife. Willer Crick, being a closed corporation, didn’t accept me -and Hashknife to any great extent.</p> - -<p>They stole old Godfrey’s body in order to establish what Sol Vane -called “corpus delectable,” but we got it back, or rather hid it again. -We buried some dynamite in the front yard and Sol, Pete and Jim dug into -it, thinking we had planted the old man there. Sol lost all his hair and -all we could find of Jim and Pete was a hat with the crown gone.</p> - -<p>Me and Hashknife weathered considerable storm, but there wasn’t no -use in defying the lightning too much, so we got out by the skin of our -teeth, with a Winchester rifle and a vest-pocket derringer.</p> - -<p>Me and Hashknife cut cards to see which of us would marry Glory -Sillman, accept five hundred dollars in place of a wife and then leave -the country. This was to save Jim Sillman from the law of the Crick, and -would also allow Glory to go outside and get educated like a human -being. Willer Crick had a peculiar law. It seems that they rules that a -girl has to stay on the crick until she gets married. After she’s hooked -up she can leave. Of course, they means to make her marry one of their -own bunch, but their law don’t specify that. It also seems that the sins -of one of the family is visited upon all the rest of that family.</p> - -<p>Jim Sillman explains that everything he owns is on the crick, and -that if Glory breaks the law they’re liable to take away his property as -punishment. Kind of a weak way of looking at things, but we can’t all -think alike thataway. He offers us five hundred dollars cash if one of -us will marry her. This gives her the right to pull her freight out of -there and also saves him from their locoed law.</p> - -<p>Glory don’t want a regular husband, and it’s a cinch that me and -Hashknife ain’t noways hankering for a wife, but it’s a sporting chance -and we takes it. We never collected that five hundred for the simple -reason that the “uncle,” who was financing the law-breaking scheme, -turned out to be the sheriff of Yolo, who had been trailing me and -Hashknife for six months.</p> - -<p>Sometimes I’m kinda sorry we didn’t smoke up that bunch and take -Glory along with us. I spoke to Hashknife about it the day we left -there.</p> - -<p>“Easy enough,” says he. “I could ’a’ downed her uncle and her -pa—easy. Any girl would whoop with joy to see her uncle and paw full of -lead. Maybe she’d ’a’ married you, Sleepy, dang your homely face. Maybe -she’d ’a’ married me—me bein’ handsome; but any old way yuh take it, -we’d ’a’ busted up—me and you. Yuh can’t keep a wife and a bunkie.”</p> - -<p>“Hashknife,” says I, “would yuh rather have me than a wife?”</p> - -<p>“You danged porkypine, I don’t have to support you.”</p> - -<p>It’s been quite a while since me and Hashknife hit for the open -trails. We stayed at the Circle Dot a lot longer than we ever stayed any -one place before, but when the snow fades off the hills and the grass -shows green on the slopes and you can smell the sunshine—we’re -traveling.</p> - -<p>“Where?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“Anywhere,” says Hashknife, jingling three months’ pay. “We’re -follerin’ our noses, cowboy. Maybe we’ll get to Alaska this time.”</p> - -<p>I reckon that mostly all human beings have some outlook in life. Some -of ’em looks forward to the day when they can set down by the fire and -let a hired man herd the sheep, while some looks forward to the day when -they can hunt a warm climate in the Winter and know that somebody is at -home to do the chores.</p> - -<p>Me and Hashknife looks forward to Alaska. What in —— we are going -to do up there has nothing to do with it. It’s something to look forward -to, as the horse-thief said to the posse when they comes in sight of a -limbless tree.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Three days after we leaves the Circle Dot, we cuts a wagon-road and -there is that same old sign, sagging a little more and maybe a little -more faded, but still showing:</p> - -<div style='margin-left:2em; margin-top:0.7em; margin-bottom:0.7em; font-size:0.9em;'> -THERE IS A CLICK ON WILLER CRICK<br /> -THE WORST IN ALL THIS NASHUN.<br /> -THE HITE OF THEIR AMBISHUN<br /> -IS TO BEAT THEIR OWN RELASHUN. -</div> - -<p>“Still advertisin’, I see,” grins Hashknife. “Them folks sure are a -caution to ——, Sleepy. I wonder if Sol Vane’s hair ever growed on his -head again. Wonder if Glory—say, Sleepy, there was a reg’lar girl. -’Member how she used to fill the magazine of her rifle after shootin’ -once or twice? Reg’lar little he-woman. If I wanted to git -married——”</p> - -<p>“Which you don’t.”</p> - -<p>“No-o-o, but if I did I’d—”</p> - -<p>Hashknife squints down the road.</p> - -<p>“By the antlers on a desert toad!” he gasps. “Here comes the -joker.”</p> - -<p>Remember the old playing-cards that had a joker which was a picture -of a long-legged old pelican riding a little mule? The feller’s legs are -so long he has to spread himself to keep from dragging his feet on the -ground, and he’s got kind of a funny old face.</p> - -<p>He rides up, insists on shaking hands with us and then reads the old -sign.</p> - -<p>“I have found it,” says he proud-like.</p> - -<p>“You’ve found somethin’,” agrees Hashknife. “You goin’ to visit -Willer Crick?”</p> - -<p>“Name’s Cobb, Reverend Cobb, and I am God’s pardner. Yes, I am going -to visit the place, brother.”</p> - -<p>“I’m Hashknife Hartley, and I ain’t got no brother. I’ll say to you -that Willer Crick ain’t the healthiest place on this earth, no matter -who your pardner is.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve come a long ways,” says he, “a long ways on a mule. I’ve heard -that it’s kinda ungodly.”</p> - -<p>“Ungodly!” snorts Hashknife, “lemme tell yuh somethin’ about -that—uh—no, I won’t either. You’ve come a long ways on a mule.”</p> - -<p>“Are they as bad as folks has told me?”</p> - -<p>“Man,” says Hashknife, “man, there ain’t never been a liar foaled yet -that could do that place justice. That there sign is a compliment to -that community.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m glad to hear the worst. <i>Adios</i>, brothers.”</p> - -<p>We watches him jog out of sight and then we pilgrims on. Some time in -the dim and distant past a colony of men and women and dogs and mules -and kids pilgrimed from the South and settled in the Willer Crick hills. -Seems that they was kinda anti-everything, and wanted to form a little -empire of their own.</p> - -<figure style='margin:1em auto;' class='wi002'> - <img src='images/illus-002.png' - alt='Map for "Law Rustlers"' - style='width:100%' /> - <figcaption style='text-align:center;'>Map for “Law Rustlers”</figcaption> -</figure> - -<p>They picks out this spot, took up their farms and drew sort of a -dead-line against the rest of creation. They didn’t want schools—not -believing in education, and they made their own queer laws. They -intermarried until it took ’em a month to figure out a legal heir in -case one of the land owners shuffled off. A few of ’em, called the -Council of Three, assisted by Sol Vane, who does the lawin’ for the -Crick, had enough education to see that the rest of the colony didn’t -get anything that the council and one didn’t want ’em to get. Glory -explained the system to us.</p> - -<p>“My ——!” snorts Hashknife. “I could shoot once and kill your uncle, -a cousin, a half-brother, a brother-in-law and a nephew.”</p> - -<p>Which wasn’t true in Glory’s case, being as her dad had busted the -law by marrying outside the colony.</p> - -<p>This close relationship has bred a fine bunch of chinless -horse-thieves, gun-men and hard drinkers. Seems like the men with the -least chins always carries the most guns. There had never been a Willer -Cricker arrested for anything else. Willer Crick dealt with ’em in their -own way, and kept its mouth shut, except when it came to lying about -their own innocence.</p> - -<p>Me and Hashknife rides along for a while and then Hashknife pulls up -his horse and looks back. I looks back too, but there ain’t nothing to -see except the hills.</p> - -<p>“Sleepy,” says Hashknife, kinda like he was thinking, “what do yuh -reckon they’ll do to the Reverend Cobb up there?”</p> - -<p>“Well, if Gospel was something they could steal, I’d say they’d -entertain him over night.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I was thinkin’, Sleepy. In the words of the immortal -George Washington: turn, boys, turn, we’re goin’ back.”</p> - -<p>“George never said that,” says I. “It was Bryan.”</p> - -<p>“All right, all right; have it your own way. What I don’t know about -geography would make a set of hymn books, but I know somebody said -it.”</p> - -<p>“Why go back, Hashknife? Willer Crick wouldn’t hurt a preacher.”</p> - -<p>“Not while he’s preachin’; but he can’t sermonize all the time. -Willer Crick needs reformin’, Sleepy, but it’s got to be done in a -language they understand.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a fool idea,” I argues, “Willer Crick ain’t forgot us. They may -be ignorant, but their memory ain’t weak. They may be shy on literature -and art, Hashknife, but they sure as —— can shoot, and they’ll just -about put the kibosh on us ever getting to Alaska.”</p> - -<p>“You sure do get morbid, Sleepy. If Willer Crick had brains I’d pass -’em by. They can’t think beyond next drink-time.</p> - -<p>“If they recognize us they’ll think like this: there’s them two crazy -cowpunchers who depleted our community. Wonder who they’ll smoke up this -time? That’s the way they’ll think.”</p> - -<p>“And then start to shoot in self-defense. A preacher don’t mean -nothin’ to me, Hashknife. What do you want to foller him in there -for?”</p> - -<p>“I dunno, Sleepy. I ain’t been to church since Sittin’ Bull first sat -down, but there’s somethin’ kinda helpless about a preacher—and Willer -Crick is so —— ornery.”</p> - -<p>“Was your folks religious?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t reckon they was. Paw and maw split up when I was knee-high -to a tall Injun, and paw took me with him. Paw thought he was a two-gun -man and I becomes a orphing at a tender age.”</p> - -<p>“You helpin’ out folks thataway is goin’ to stop me and you from ever -seeing Alaska, Hashknife.”</p> - -<p>He turns in his saddle and smiles at me. Hashknife ain’t no beautiful -critter. He’s one of them hard-eyed, thin nosed and thin-lipped -<i>hombres</i>. His cheek-bones are kinda high and his ears kinda bat out and -his hair is roan. He’ll fight at the drop of the hat; fight with a -foolish grin on his face, and he ain’t afraid.</p> - -<p>That’s why I like Hashknife. I’m kinda scary, myself, and I need -moral support as I trail through life. When Hashknife smiles, every dog -within half a mile begins to wag its tail. Hashknife calls me and him, -“cowpunchers of disaster.”</p> - -<p>He turns and smiles at me.</p> - -<p>“Sleepy, I see by the almanac that she’s goin’ to be awful cold in -Alaska this Winter. Mebbe we better pick out one of their warm -Winters.”</p> - -<p>“I think,” says I, kinda mean-like, “I think you’re going into Willer -Crick to see somebody—and she ain’t no preacher.”</p> - -<p>“No-o-o, Sleepy. ’Course I’d like to see her and apologize for not -marryin’ her that time. Girl kinda expects a apology in a case like -that. Mebbe her uncle told her why, but he’d sure paint us black so that -she’d be glad I left her at the altar.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Them Willer Crick hills sure do look natural. We rides past the old -Godfrey ranch, which me and Hashknife owned for a few days. The old -ranch-house is still squeegeed from the force of the dynamite, when the -“heirs apparently,” as Sol Vane called ’em, dug into the alleged grave -of poor old Godfrey. It looks like nobody had ever lived in it since we -left.</p> - -<p>We rides on past the Sillman ranch, where Hashknife came danged near -being a bridegroom and a cash-widower. We don’t see anybody around -there, but Willer Crick is a great place for folks to not be in -evidence. About a mile farther on we comes to the town.</p> - -<p>It sure is some town. There’s a saloon, a store and a blacksmith shop -on one side of the street and on the other side is an old shed, a long -tie-rack and a pile of old lumber. The saloon is two-stories high, and -the upper half has a sign which proclaims it to be the Town Hall.</p> - -<p>There’s several saddle horses tied to the rack. The town hall has an -outside stairway and around the bottom of this is grouped four men. When -we get off our broncs one of the men strolls over to us. It’s Al -Bassett. Al was one of those who was very active in seeking our demise -when we were in Willer Crick before, but me and Hashknife never figured -him much of anything but a talker. He squints at us.</p> - -<p>“Howdy, Bassett,” grins Hashknife. “Remember us?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” says Bassett, drawing a deep breath, “well, ye-e-s, I -do.”</p> - -<p>He stares at us like he was kinda wondering why we came back there -again. His mouth kinda gaps as he stares.</p> - -<p>“Better look out or you’ll get your tonsils sunburned,” says -Hashknife.</p> - -<p>Them other three fellers moves over closer to us. We never seen them -before. Bassett turns and starts to speak to ’em, but just then we hears -loud voices, and out of the the door of the store backs a man.</p> - -<p>In one hand he’s got a six-gun and in the other is a package. He -turns his head away from the open door and just then comes the thump of -a pistol-shot. The feller kinda jerks around, drops his gun and package -and falls against the side of the building, where he slides to the -sidewalk.</p> - -<p>He ain’t no more than went flat when out of the store come a man, -bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, with a gun in his hand. He stoops -over, picks up the package and then looks down at the man. Bassett steps -in past us and says:</p> - -<p>“What was the matter, Cale?”</p> - -<p>“Well—” the man licks his lips and then wipes the back of his hand -across his mouth—“well, I tol’ him I wasn’t ’lowed to sell him nothin’. -He gits kinda uppity and drags his gun. Then he he’ps himself to a -bottle of medicine, flings the money on the counter and backs out. Yuh -notice he didn’t git away with it, don’t yuh?”</p> - -<p>Bassett nods and turns the man over. He’s been drilled dead-center. -The storekeeper is staring at me and Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Mind tellin’ why yuh killed him?” asks Hashknife soft-like. -“Where I came from, buyin’ medicine is a necessity—not a killin’ -matter.”</p> - -<p>“None o’ yore—” begins the feller, but Bassett stops him.</p> - -<p>“Hol’ on, Cale. Lemme tell him.”</p> - -<p>“I can run my own——”</p> - -<p>“You shut up!” snaps Bassett. “This feller askin’ questions is the -feller who inherited the Godfrey ranch that time. This other feller is -his pardner.”</p> - -<p>The storekeeper stares at us, and kinda grumbles to himself, but goes -back inside. Them other three hombres gawps at us considerable but don’t -say nothing.</p> - -<p>Bassett leads us to the end of the little board sidewalk, and we all -sets down.</p> - -<p>“What are you fellers doin’ here?” asks Bassett.</p> - -<p>“Waitin’ for you to think up a lie to tell us about that killin’,” -says Hashknife. “Yuh might as well tell us the truth. Who was the feller -what got hit?”</p> - -<p>“Eph Sillman.”</p> - -<p>“Jim Sillman’s son?”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh—Glory’s brother. He done busted all our laws. Yuh see, he -married an outlander about seven year ago.”</p> - -<p>“You’re doin’ most of the talkin,” reminds Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Eph brought that woman here, but nobody’s ever had anything’ to do -with her. They got a kid about seven year old. On ’count of Jim Sillman -we had suffered ’em to live here and trade the same as the rest of us, -but not havin’ much truck with him and his. He gets drunk the other day -and he talks too much. The council takes action on him and decides to -outlaw him. They says he can’t buy nor sell here. He knowed he couldn’t -buy that medicine, but he was hard-headed.”</p> - -<p>“His woman couldn’t associate with other women?” asks Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Nope. Yuh see, she’s a ——”</p> - -<p>“His little kid can’t play with other kids?”</p> - -<p>“No. The other——”</p> - -<p>“Kinda tough, don’t yuh think, Bassett?”</p> - -<p>“When a feller makes his bed he’s got to lay on it.”</p> - -<p>Hashknife nods and looks at his toes.</p> - -<p>“Bassett, did yuh ever read the Bible?”</p> - -<p>“Nope.”</p> - -<p>“Yuh ought to, Bassett. It tells yuh how to pray.”</p> - -<p>“Pray?” says Bassett, kinda queer-like. “Whatcha mean?”</p> - -<p>“You could learn some prayers,” says Hashknife soft-like, “and then -yuh could teach ’em to the rest of the Crick, ’cause they’re goin’ to -need ’em—bad. Who will tell his widder about this?”</p> - -<p>“The council, I reckon. Jim Sillman, Sim Sellers and Black -Albright.”</p> - -<p>“Goin’ to be a nice chore for Jim Sillman—tell her that his own son -is dead. Didn’t Glory have nothing’ to do with Eph’s wife?”</p> - -<p>“Glory—I dunno,” says Bassett, scratching his head. “Some says she -has. There’s been several quarrels about it in the last year. She has -been watched close, but nothin’ comes of it, except that ‘Tug’ Williams -got a rifle bullet into his shoulder one night.”</p> - -<p>“Where does Eph Sillman live?”</p> - -<p>Bassett points down the road.</p> - -<p>“About two mile down there. Second ranch to the left. House sets back -in the cottonwoods. You ain’t goin’ down there.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve been misinformed,” says Hashknife. “We’re goin’ down there, I -reckon.”</p> - -<p>“Better keep away, Hartley. Willer Crick ain’t askin’ yore help. My -advice to you would be——”</p> - -<p>“Ignored,” finishes Hashknife. “Absolutely, Bassett. You ought to -know us better than to give us advice. You ain’t forgot how we acts, has -yuh?”</p> - -<p>“Willer Crick remember you two.”</p> - -<p>“If anybody cares,” grins Hashknife. “Come on, Sleepy.”</p> - -<p>We swung back on to our broncs and points off down the road. Bassett -joins them other three fellers and they watches us ride away. Outside of -the body on the sidewalk, Willer Crick is just the same as when we rode -in.</p> - -<p>“I hope to see buzzards circlin’ that place,” says Hashknife. “I’d -like to be called upon to say a prayer over the whole works.”</p> - -<p>“What would you say?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“I’d say, ‘The rest of you ordinary sinners stand back, ’cause -there’s goin’ to be one awful fire in ——.’”</p> - -<p>We found the place, and tied to the front gate is the Reverend Cobb’s -mule.</p> - -<p>“Whatcha know about that?” grunts Hashknife. “Leave it to a preacher -to smell out things like this.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>We walks around to the back door. Standing in the doorway is Glory -Sillman. She’s kinda leaning against the side of the door, looking away -from us. Then she turns.</p> - -<p>“Howdy,” says Hashknife, taking off his hat. “Nice day.” Glory kinda -jerks back when she first sees us, but after the first look she kinda -takes a deep breath and stares at us. I reckon she thought we was Willer -Crickers at first.</p> - -<p>Then she says kinda soft—</p> - -<p>“You two!”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m,” says I. “Same old two of us ma’am.”</p> - -<p>Just then a little kid comes out beside Glory. He’s a little, -round-eyed shaver, and he’s been crying dirty tears or has been crying -tears on a dirty face, ’cause he sure is streaked.</p> - -<p>“That’s his kid,” says Hashknife, kinda whispering.</p> - -<p>“Whose kid?” asks Glory, but before Hashknife can answer her the old -man comes out.</p> - -<p>He brushes his hand across his eyes and stares at us.</p> - -<p>“Yuh beat us up here, grampaw,” smiles Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” says he. “I—I reckon I did.”</p> - -<p>Then he puts his hand on Glory’s arm and says to her:</p> - -<p>“Girl, I want to thank yuh for your kindness to her. She tol’ me some -of it. Yuh see, she never wrote to me and I never knew how things was. I -decided to come, yuh see.”</p> - -<p>“You’re welcome,” says Glory thoughtful-like.</p> - -<p>“Seven year and a few months,” says the old man, like he was talking -to himself. “Me wonderin’ why she don’t write, and—and it’s a long ways -to Arizony—on a mule.”</p> - -<p>“Woman sick?” asks Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Not now,” says Glory sad-like. “Maybe she’s better off, I don’t -know. Anything is better than livin’ here like she had to live.”</p> - -<p>“Where’s her husband?” asks Hashknife, like he didn’t know.</p> - -<p>“Gone to town,” says Glory. “He—he was going to try and get some -medicine.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t yuh got no doctor?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but——”</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t come?” asks Hashknife, and Glory shakes her head.</p> - -<p>“She was my daughter,” says the old man, and then he says to Glory, -“Will yuh come in with me and he’p me a little?”</p> - -<p>The little kid looks at us and then follers them inside. Me and -Hashknife looks at each other. We’re kinda hard-boiled, but it’s getting -under our hides a little.</p> - -<p>Then we hears voices out by the gate, and here comes a lot of men. We -figures it’s the council coming to notify Eph’s wife. It ain’t right to -feel thataway, but I’m kinda glad she wasn’t able to hear what they has -to say. Hashknife touches me and I steps around the corner with him.</p> - -<p>This gang trails around to the back door and we hears one of ’em -speak to Glory. The old man must ’a’ come to the door, ’cause we hears -somebody ask Glory who the old man is. The old man starts to talk, but -one of the gang says:</p> - -<p>“We jist wants to say that Eph got killed today.”</p> - -<p>We hears Glory say:</p> - -<p>“Eph Sillman?” kinda strained-like.</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh.”</p> - -<p>“Dad, is this true?” asks Glory, but we don’t hear Jim Sillman -answer.</p> - -<p>“What or who killed him?” asks Glory.</p> - -<p>“Nobody seems to know,” says a voice. “He’s layin’ up there in front -of the store. Bassett heard the shot and so did several more folks. -Bassett says that two fellers rode through town today, and he’s dead -certain that they’re them same two cowboys what tried to steal the -Godfrey place. Them two is likely the ones what done it.”</p> - -<p>“They better not show up around this country,” states a voice. “I’m -lookin’ fer them two, y’betcha.”</p> - -<p>Hashknife pinches me on the arm.</p> - -<p>“That’s one of the fellers what tried to hold me up for the five -hundred dollars I never got. I reckon I shot high.”</p> - -<p>“Eph went to see if he could get a little medicine,” says Glory, and -her voice is high pitched. Then she adds, “But it wouldn’t ’a’ done any -good.”</p> - -<p>“Did—did she die?” asks Jim Sillman.</p> - -<p>“She was my daughter,” says the old man. “My daughter.”</p> - -<p>“This here e-state will need considerin’,” says a voice.</p> - -<p>“My gosh, there’s Sol Vane!” gasps Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“How about the kid?” asks some one.</p> - -<p>“He don’t count,” declares another. “He’s the brat of a outlander. -Mebbe we better look around fer them two gun-fighters.”</p> - -<p>“I’m lookin’ fer ’em, y’betcha,” states the feller who has promised -to dance our hair. “All I needs is one look.”</p> - -<p>Hashknife steps away from the side of the building and around the -corner, with me on his heels. The folks are grouped in kind of a -half-circle around the doorway. Glory and the old man are on the steps, -with the kid between ’em. On the left side of the doorway is Jim -Sillman. Standing at the rear of the half-circle, looking like a turkey -gobbler in a flock of turkeys, stands Sol Vane, craning his long, dirty -neck and chewing a mouthful of tobacco that stretches his face all out -of shape. They turns and looks at us.</p> - -<p>“Yuh might use up that one look right now,” says Hashknife.</p> - -<p>The bunch kinda sway away from each other. One cinch, there’s never -any chance for pot-shooting on Willer Crick. I sees Sol Vane swaller -real hard and the bulge is gone from his skinny cheeks. The rest of the -bunch just seem to stare at us.</p> - -<p>Hashknife has got his eyes on that big-talker, who is just about in -the center of the crowd. He’s sort of round-shouldered, fish-eyed and -looks like he ain’t been curried for a year. His eyes are flat, if you -know what I mean. They’re like the eyes they put in mounted animals. -He’s got a big gun hanging on his hip, but he ain’t made a move toward -it yet.</p> - -<p>“You, I’m talkin’ to,” says Hashknife. “You dirty centipede. Set your -eyes on me, feller. I’m the hombre you spoke about. Reach for your gun, -you cross between a polecat and buzzard. Make good, can’t yuh?”</p> - -<p>I never seen Hashknife like that before. This is once that he ain’t -laughing. Maybe he knows that one shot will spill the whole works, and -the odds are all against us.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>The feller licks his lips but don’t speak. His face looks kinda -funny—like he was scared to breathe. Hashknife walks up to him, slow, -but this feller don’t move. The rest of the crowd seems hypnotized, but -I wasn’t taking no chances. I sets the butt of my .45 against my hip and -waits for the break to come.</p> - -<p>Hashknife takes this feller’s gun out of its holster and tries to -make him take it in his hand, but all this feller does is look like a -dog that has been caught doing wrong. Hashknife takes the feller’s belt -off, takes him by the shoulder and turns him around.</p> - -<p>“Go home,” says Hashknife kinda hoarse-like. “Go home and be glad -you’re alive.” I never seen anything like it. That feller walked away, -kinda slouching, and Hashknife turned back to face the bunch.</p> - -<p>It was Hashknife’s face and eyes that froze that bad <i>hombre</i>. He was -hypnotized, but the minute Hashknife turned his back this feller came -to. He swung sideways, grabbed his vest and flashed another gun.</p> - -<p>I was looking for just that. He was about fifty feet from me, but I -took a chance and shot twice.</p> - -<p>Man, I was just in time. His bullet cut the dirt at Hashknife’s feet. -He looks down at his pistol and then kinda tosses it away from him, like -he was all through with it, and then turned as though he was going -away—but he didn’t. I glances at the bunch and then at Hashknife, who -was facing them with a gun in his hand.</p> - -<p>“Hashknife,” says I, “you do take the worst chances. These Willer -Crick rattlers has more than one set of fangs. Little more and that -Alaska trip would ’a’ been all off.”</p> - -<p>“You’re the little snake-hunter, Sleepy,” he grins. “Much -obliged.”</p> - -<p>Then he faces the bunch and they’re sure one uneasy crowd. Me downin’ -that feller don’t mean nothin’ to them—much. Hashknife glances from -face to face, and finally looks straight at Sillman.</p> - -<p>“Eph Sillman was your son, wasn’t he?”</p> - -<p>Sillman don’t speak: just shifts his feet.</p> - -<p>“That dead woman in there was your daughter-in-law, Sillman. You -folks denied her a doctor and then yuh killed her husband when he was -man enough to try and get medicine for her. We seen that killin’. -Bassett and three other men saw it; now yuh tried to throw the deadwood -on me and Stevens.”</p> - -<p>“You fellers try your dangdest to stir up trouble, don’t yuh?” wails -Sol Vane. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back here, I didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“I came back to see if your hair growed out, Sol,” says Hashknife. -“If yuh want another hair cut, I’ll bury the dynamite.”</p> - -<p>Nobody had a word to say, but finally Sol Vane spoke—“The feller you -gunned up over there is Lem Sellers. He’s a brother to Sim Sellers.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care if he’s his own uncle and brother-in-law,” says -Hashknife. “Who is Sim Sellers?”</p> - -<p>“Head of the council,” says Sol, like he’d sprung something on us. -“Sim’s the head man of Willer Crick.”</p> - -<p>“I hope he’s got more guts than Lem,” says Hashknife. “I like to do -my own killin’.”</p> - -<p>Just then that little kid kinda sneaks up beside Hashknife and -Hashknife looks down at him. The little feller looks up at Hashknife -with them big eyes, and then he just slips in closer, like a pup does -when he likes yuh.</p> - -<p>“Come here, Buddy,” says Glory, but Buddy’s hanging on to a rosette -on Hashknife’s chaps and don’t even look at her.</p> - -<p>“Buddy kinda inherits this ranch, don’t he?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“That’s a question,” says Sol Vane. “A question for the council to -decide.”</p> - -<p>“And they’ve already decided,” says Glory.</p> - -<p>Hashknife looks down at Buddy and then at the bunch of men.</p> - -<p>“The kid’s goin’ to get a square deal, ain’t he, Sillman? He’s your -grandson.”</p> - -<p>The men all looked at Sillman, but Sillman don’t speak.</p> - -<p>“Your grandpaw’s goin’ to see that you gets a square deal, Buddy,” -says Hashknife, patting the kid on the head.</p> - -<p>One of the men kinda snickers and then turns away.</p> - -<p>“Who’s goin’ to keep the kid now?” I asks. “His family ain’t in no -shape to take care of him.”</p> - -<p>Sol Vane clears his throat. The son-of-a-gun looks like a gobbler -with something stuck in his neck.</p> - -<p>“Well that’s a question. He ain’t a Sillman and he ain’t nothin’ -else—much. It’s a question, I reckon. Nobody on the Crick is beholdin’ -to his folks that I knows on.”</p> - -<p>Sol Vane swallers hard and begins to chaw again.</p> - -<p>“He’s your kid, Sillman,” says Hashknife soft-like.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to—” begins Glory, but Sillman stops her.</p> - -<p>Then he says to Hashknife:</p> - -<p>“Hartley, you ain’t got no business hornin’ in like this. Willer -Crick can handle its own affairs, and Willer Crick will decide what is -to become of the kid.”</p> - -<p>“And you’re his gran’paw,” says Hashknife, “gran’paw to a nice little -harmless kid like this. And you say that Willer Crick will tend to him. -Why—” Hashknife teeters on his toes and hooks his thumb over the belt -above his gun—“why, you herd of mangy curs! You pack of gutter pups! Go -ahead, you chinless maverick—reach for your gun! No? Then listen to me, -you lousy cowards! You, Sillman! I thought you was an inch or two above -this carrion, but you ain’t. You’re all alike. You’ve married your own -relations until your brains are warped and shrunk so badly that you -ain’t above eatin’ your own kind. The cannibal will protect its own -blood, but you coyotes won’t.”</p> - -<p>Them Willer Crickers never made a false move. Maybe they’d ’a’ nailed -us, bein’ about five to one and all armed, but we’d ’a’ sure give the -buzzards a feed, and them men knowed we would.</p> - -<p>“I wish,” says Hashknife, “I wish I had education enough to tell -folks what I think of yuh. There’s a lot of words I don’t know, dang the -luck.”</p> - -<p>The old man steps down from the doorway and moves in beside -Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Brother,” says he, “you’ve done well. If I can help yuh out in any -way, I’d be plumb willin’. I’m a preacher of the gospel, but there is -times when a good cuss word does come in handy.”</p> - -<p>“Are yuh through?” asks Sillman meek-like.</p> - -<p>“No, I ain’t!” snaps Hashknife. “I’ve got to think of somethin’ new -to call yuh. Ain’t there nothin’ I can say that will make yuh mad? Ain’t -yuh got enough decency left to accept a insult?”</p> - -<p>“Mebbe,” says Sol Vane, “mebbe you’ll find out—later.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” says Hashknife dry-like. “I’m glad to have somethin’ to -look forward to. I had a open, runnin’ shot at you once, Sol, and I was -fool enough to shoot low. Next time I’m goin’ to cut you off above the -collar.”</p> - -<p>“You cain’t threaten me, Hartley!”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t threatenin’ yuh. No, you buzzard, I’m statin’ a fact.”</p> - -<p>“There’s fifty men on Willer Crick,” states another one of the -bunch.</p> - -<p>“Pass the word,” says Hashknife. “There’s just that much difference -between us and you. Me and Sleepy are square shooters and we’d love to -have yuh come and bring all your friends. Only twenty-five apiece. -Sleepy, there don’t seem to be much chance for us to get action -here.”</p> - -<p>“Who’s goin’ to take the kid?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“I am,” says Hashknife. “He’s too good to live with Willer -Crickers.”</p> - -<p>“He, he, he,” cackles Sol Vane. “He, he, he.”</p> - -<p>“Sol Vane, you’re goin’ to choke to death some day,” states -Hashknife. “Right in the middle of one of them laughs you’re goin’ to -quit seein’ the funny side of serious things. Now, you snake-hunters, -pick up that would-be assassin and drift. I don’t want him clutterin’ up -the scenery. Tell your friends that we’re receivin’ company at any -time.”</p> - -<p>They files past us and picks up Lem Seller. I don’t reckon Lem’s -plumb dead, but he ain’t in no shape to help himself much. They loads -him up and drifts, while me and Hashknife and the little kid stands -there and watches ’em go.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Glory is inside the house. After they drifts out of sight I steps up -to the door and peers inside. I see Glory standing by the front window. -Then she turns and leans a Winchester rifle against the wall. Hashknife -looks over my shoulder and sees her place the gun, and then he looks at -me kinda queer-like.</p> - -<p>Glory wasn’t takin’ no chances on Willer Crick smoking us up. The -little kid hangs on to Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“I like you,” says the little jigger, looking up at Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Well, for gosh sakes!” gasps Hashknife. “Whatcha know about that. -Buddy, me and you are goin’ to bunk together for quite a spell.”</p> - -<p>“You play wit’ me?” he asks.</p> - -<p>“Well, my gosh!” says Hashknife foolish-like. “Well, whatcha know -about that?”</p> - -<p>“Brother,” says the old man, “was you serious about takin’ -Buddy?”</p> - -<p>“You’re a preacher,” says Hashknife, “and I admire preachers a heap, -but just you try takin’ him away from me. Ain’t nobody sayin’ I can’t -take him, is there?”</p> - -<p>Glory looks at Hashknife and then down at the kid.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad for Buddy,” says she.</p> - -<p>“Buddy glad,” says the kid.</p> - -<p>“Well, my gosh!” gasps Hashknife. “Don’t this beat —— and high -water?”</p> - -<p>Willer Crick never made no foolish breaks when we went up with Eph -Sillman’s old wagon and team and brought Eph’s body back with us. Me and -Hashknife went up there and took it—that’s all. They’d moved him off -behind the sidewalk and put a old blanket over him. The store was closed -and there wasn’t man, woman nor child in sight.</p> - -<p>Glory said they wouldn’t bury him, and I reckon she was right. Me and -Hashknife dug two graves and Hashknife built two boxes. It’s awful to -have to plant folks thataway, but we done our dangdest to make it look -right.</p> - -<p>The old man kind a broke down over the sermon, which was natural, and -Hashknife finished it up. Glory was there. It was her brother, and I -reckon she thought a lot of him. Buddy didn’t know what it meant, but he -bawled anyway, which made a real pleasant party all the way around. I -reckon the old man was kinda loco over it all, ’cause he went out, got -on his mule and pulled his freight.</p> - -<p>Glory didn’t have much to say after it was over. She kissed the kid, -and then got on her horse.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t had much chance to talk to you two,” says she, “but I want -you both to know I’m obliged to you. Maybe they won’t let me see you -again, but I hope you’ll take Buddy and get away—which I know you won’t -do.”</p> - -<p>“Glory Sillman,” says Hashknife, “you’re welcome—and we won’t.”</p> - -<p>She smiled at us and rode away, and we stood there with our hats in -our hands, like a pair of fools until she’s out of sight.</p> - -<p>“Well,” says I, “we’ve met Willer Crick.”</p> - -<p>“Not all, Sleepy; there’s forty more, so they say. Glory left her -rifle. It’s standin’ in there, and hangin’ to it is a belt plumb full of -shells. She likely didn’t know we had a pair of rifles.”</p> - -<p>“She did,” says I, “but she wanted to have an extra one here when she -showed up.”</p> - -<p>We cooks supper, but neither of us has any appetite. Buddy wants to -get on Hashknife’s knee all the time, and Hashknife ain’t got no -conversation in his system, except, “My gosh!” They’ve got the house -fixed up kinda nice inside. There ain’t much furniture, but it’s clean, -which is something in Willer Crick.</p> - -<p>“Don’t yuh never have no little boys to play with?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“Li’l boys?” says Buddy, “I’m li’l boy.”</p> - -<p>“This country ain’t human, Sleepy,” says Hashknife. “This here family -must ’a’ been ignored complete, the same of which would drive anybody -loco. Honest, I thought Jim Sillman was half-human, but he ain’t. -Glory’s a humdinger, but she’s sure handicapped. Think of these -<i>hombres</i> spyin’ on her to see if she ever comes to see her -sister-in-law. Ain’t they the meanest, sneakinest bunch of pariah dogs -yuh ever seen? It ain’t hard to see who slammed that bullet into Tug -Wilson. Too bad she shot high.”</p> - -<p>I’m leaning against one of the front windows, looking down the road, -and I sees a man coming. It’s almost dark, but I <i>sabe</i> that -pelican.</p> - -<p>“Here comes Sol Vane,” says I.</p> - -<p>He rides up to the front gate, gets off his horse, takes out a white -rag. I opens the front door.</p> - -<p>“Can yuh see me?” he asks, waving the rag.</p> - -<p>“Come ahead,” I yells back at him, and he shuffles up to the -door.</p> - -<p>“I packed a flag,” says he, masticating real fast and looking at -Hashknife with the kid on his lap, “I ain’t got no gun on me.”</p> - -<p>“Yuh didn’t need to deprive yourself of a gun,” says Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t comin’ to talk mean,” explains Sol. “We held a council -uptown, and I just comes down here to let yuh know some of the things we -argued out.</p> - -<p>“Some was in favor of bustin’ down here and puttin’ yuh on the run, -but I’m plumb in favor of goin’ kinda soft.”</p> - -<p>Sol grins and takes a fresh chew.</p> - -<p>“They wasn’t hard to convince that your way was the best, was they?” -I asks.</p> - -<p>“I does the lawin’ fer Willer Crick, and they accepts my -judgment—mostly. I comes to talk to yuh about th’ brat.”</p> - -<p>“Boy, yuh mean,” says Hashknife. “In speakin’ of this offspring, Sol, -use the boy’s name or just speak of him as ‘the boy.’”</p> - -<p>The little jigger knows that Hashknife is sticking up for him, I can -see that, and he kinda leans back against Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“This here ranch,” says Sol, “belongs to—well, I reckon it’s a -question. Jim Sillman owns part of it and the rest of it’s to be settled -by the council.”</p> - -<p>“Meanin’ that Buddy gets gipped out of his ranch, eh?” asks -Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Under the circumstances, the br—Buddy don’t own nothin’. His folks -was just suffered to kinda live here.”</p> - -<p>“Suffered,” nods Hashknife. “Go ahead.”</p> - -<p>“I reckon that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“All for you,” amends Hashknife, “but I ain’t started yet. For one -thing, Sol Vane, I’m goin’ to do this: I’m goin’ to the county seat, -find a regular lawyer and make Willer Crick jump over the moon. I’m -goin’ to see that this here baby gets a square deal and I’m goin’ -to——”</p> - -<p>“Now, now,” grunts Sol Vane. “Don’t git excited. Willer Crick ain’t -goin’ to beat nobody out of nothin’—not if they owns anythin’, -y’understand.”</p> - -<p>“This here Buddy is exhibit A,” says Hashknife. “Willer Crick took -away his folks but they don’t take away nothin’ more. This ranch ain’t -much, but it’ll be somethin’ for him to live on.”</p> - -<p>Hashknife gets up and steps over beside Sol Vane.</p> - -<p>“You tell your —— council that Buddy owns this ranch, will -yuh?”</p> - -<p>“’Pears to me,” says Sol, “that you’re kinda anxious to—the kid -bein’ a minor and you grabbin’ him thataway, it kinda looks like you was -sort of——”</p> - -<p>Sol Vane made one awful mistake when he hinted that Hashknife was -trying to feather his own nest. I seen Hashknife swing his body -sideways, and Sol Vane landed flat on his face on the little dirt walk. -It was a beautiful smash. We stands there and watches him twitch back to -life, like one of them animated toy things. He managed to get to his -feet and start for the gate, but ran into a tree and fell down -again.</p> - -<p>Then he got up and found his horse, but he didn’t take time to mount; -just went staggering down the road, leading the horse.</p> - -<p>“Good!” says Buddy, and his eyes were like saucers. “Sol Vane bad -mans, my daddy says.”</p> - -<p>“My gosh!” gasps Hashknife. “Did yuh hear that? He said it was good. -This feller ain’t no Willer Cricker, y’betcha.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Not bein’ wishful to take any chances of a night attack, the three of -us slept in the open. We took bedding from the house and rolled up under -the trees. Buddy thought it was a picnic. The next morning we finds a -notice on the front door, which reads:</p> - -<div style='margin:0.7em; font-size:0.9em; text-align:center'>GIT OUT THIS IS THE LAST WARNIN</div> - -<p>“Well,” observes Hashknife, “we’ll just about take that advice. Not -that Willer Crick is runnin’ any whizzer on us, Sleepy, but we’ve got to -kinda look out for this little Buddy, eh, Bud?”</p> - -<p>“Betcha,” nods Buddy. “But we ain’t scared, are we?”</p> - -<p>“It’s a wonder to me that this here kid ain’t cleaned up on that -bunch before this, Sleepy. He’s got plenty of nerve. Did yuh ever shoot -a gun, Buddy?”</p> - -<p>“No, but I betcha I could.”</p> - -<p>“He’s got it, Sleepy,” grins Hashknife. “Natcheral born terrier. -Let’s pack up.”</p> - -<p>We saddled our broncs and packed up all the clothes we can for the -kid, which ain’t much. We took a little grub and then pulled out, with -the kid riding in front of Hashknife. We took Glory’s rifle and belt -with us, figuring on going past Sillman’s place and leaving it -there.</p> - -<p>There’s another road angling off the one to town, and the kid tells -us that it goes past Glory’s place. We ain’t got nothin’ to take us -through town; so we swings off onto this road. About a mile farther on -Hashknife pulls up his horse and squints off down into a brushy -coulee.</p> - -<p>“Sleepy, there’s the old’ man’s mule there, ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the mule all right; feeding around in the brush.”</p> - -<p>We swings our horses around and rides along the edge of the coulee, -which leads down a deeper ravine.</p> - -<p>“Anybody live around here—close, Buddy?” asks Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Mitch Ames lives down there,” says Buddy, pointing down the -ravine.</p> - -<p>“Fine!” grins Hashknife. “I dunno Mitch, but we’ll go down and see -him.”</p> - -<p>“You seen him yesterday,” says Buddy. “He was to my house with them -men.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, is that a fact? Well, he called on us, Buddy, and it ain’t no -more than fair that we calls on him. Sleepy, did yuh notice that the -mule was wearin’ a piece of pocket-rope. Likely broke loose.”</p> - -<p>Mitch Ames’ cabin was cached away in that ravine, like he was scared -somebody would find it, but Buddy knowed right where it was. We swung -down the hill above it. Setting beside the cabin, tilted back in a -chair, is two men. One of the horses steps on a round rock and sends it -bumping down the hill and it hops into the bushes right near ’em.</p> - -<p>Jump? Man I’d say they jumped! One of ’em had a rifle across his -knee, and when he seen us he started to throw it to his shoulder, but -the other feller grabbed him and yanked him around the corner.</p> - -<p>Me and Hashknife drops out of our saddles and slips our rifles loose. -We didn’t come there hunting for trouble, but if it showed up we’d be -ready.</p> - -<p>“Buddy, you get down in the brush,” orders Hashknife, pointing to a -thick clump. “You get down low and wait for us.”</p> - -<p>“Betcha,” says Buddy. “Me wait.”</p> - -<p>The little jigger dives down into the brush like a rabbit and then me -and Hashknife separates a few feet apart and slips down to the cabin—or -rather toward the cabin, ’cause just about the time we hit the flat -ground a hunk of lead whispers so close to my head that I heard what it -said. We flops down and waits awhile.</p> - -<p>The brush is kinda thick and we can only see one side of the cabin. -We lay there quite a while, but there ain’t no more shots. We kinda -snakes along until we works up beside the cabin, where we listens for a -while, but can’t hear a thing. Hashknife gets to his feet, takes out his -six-shooter for close work and walks to the door end of the cabin, with -me on his heels. The door is shut. Hashknife gives it a kick and it -swings open. Inside it is dark, being as there’s only one window, and -that dirty.</p> - -<p>We steps inside, and looks around, and as soon as our eyes gets used -to the dusk we sees that there’s a man laying on the bed.</p> - -<p>It’s the old preacher that rode the mule, and he’s sure hog-tied to a -fare-thee-well, and has a rag shoved between his teeth.</p> - -<p>Hashknife takes out his knife and starts to cut the ropes, but stops -and listens. Then he jumps for the door, with me behind him.</p> - -<p>“The horses!” gasps Hashknife. “I heard them rollin’ rocks. There -they go!”</p> - -<p>Up over the peak of a hogback goes our two horses, with a man in each -saddle, and one of ’em is packing Buddy. Hashknife throws up his .45-70 -Winchester.</p> - -<p>“Buddy’s on that bay!” I yelps. “Look out, Hashknife!”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>The rifle cracked and the gray horse swung sideways as the bullet -fanned past its ear and the rider throws himself kinda sideways. It’s -only a jump more to get out of sight and the range is about two hundred -yards. I glances at Hashknife just as he shoots again.</p> - -<p>I seen the rider of the gray horse slump sideways and go down on the -left side of the gray. I reckon he must ’a’ tangled in the reins, ’cause -it swung the gray plumb around on the hogback and it stops with its head -down.</p> - -<p>We went up there as fast as we could, but the bay horse and its two -riders were out in the breaks. That bay horse could outrun anything in -the cow-country, even packing weight; so we know it ain’t going to do us -any good to try and run him down with that hammer-headed gray.</p> - -<p>This feller has got one foot twisted in the stirrup and has the reins -twisted around his hand and elbow. That big bullet had lifted part of -his scalp and the top of his right ear, but he wasn’t dead.</p> - -<p>“Worst shootin’ I’ve done in a age,” complains Hashknife. “Kinda had -buck-fever, I reckon. Shame to waste two shots thataway.”</p> - -<p>We hung the feller over the saddle and went back down to the cabin, -where we cut the old man loose. It took him quite a while to recognize -us and also to get his vocal cords to working again.</p> - -<p>“How did yuh happen to be in this shape, old-timer?” asks -Hashknife.</p> - -<p>He shakes his head.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, brother. I went to the town, after I left you, and -I—I asked a man where I could find the sheriff. He wanted to know what -I wanted him for and I said I wanted to talk to him on business. I left -there, and in a few minutes some men overtook me and brought me here. -They tied me up and left two men to guard me. One of the men told me -that if I ever seen the sheriff it would be after the sheriff had died -and joined me.”</p> - -<p>We led the old man outside and showed him the wounded man.</p> - -<p>“He’s the one what told me that,” says he. “What happened to -him?”</p> - -<p>“He stayed too long,” grins Hashknife. “We’ll tie him up in your -place.”</p> - -<p>This hombre has commenced to talk to himself, so we ties him to the -bunk, where he won’t get loose for a while.</p> - -<p>“You take the horse and round up the mule, Sleepy,” says -Hashknife.</p> - -<p>That wasn’t no job, being as the mule had sore feet. I took it back -to the cabin and turned it over to the old man. Me and Hashknife doubles -up on the bay horse and the three of us cut back to the main road -again.</p> - -<p>About a mile or so farther on we comes to the Sillman ranch. -Hashknife points down the road and says to the old man:</p> - -<p>“Keep on this road, pardner, until yuh come to the sign where we -first met yuh, then yuh turn to the left. Silverton is about twenty -miles.”</p> - -<p>“I wants to thank yuh, son,” says he. “Wants to thank both of yuh for -what yuh done fer me. I’m gettin’ kinda old and so forth—but——”</p> - -<p>“A man ain’t no older than he feels,” says I.</p> - -<p>“Then I’m a million. Got rheumatics and them ropes didn’t he’p it -none. <i>Adios.</i>”</p> - -<p>“Now,” says Hashknife, “I hope he gets out free of charge, ’cause I -ain’t got no more time to monkey with him.”</p> - -<p>We swung into Sillman’s gate and rode up to the house. I reckon Glory -seen us ride into the place, ’cause she comes out the front door to meet -us and the first thing she says is—</p> - -<p>“Where’s Buddy?”</p> - -<p>It don’t take Hashknife long to tell her what happened to Buddy and -how we found the old preacher.</p> - -<p>“Where’s your pa?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“In town, I reckon. Council meeting called, I think. They met here -last night, but I didn’t get any chance to hear what was said. They’re -all suspicious of me. Sim Sellers wants me to be punished for assisting -Eph’s wife, and him and dad had a run-in over it. Sim growled at me when -they came and I told him that Lem was a growler and look what he -got.</p> - -<p>“Sim ain’t no better than a savage, and he said he’d eat your heart -out if he got a chance. I told him he better get some extra teeth ’cause -he might lose what he’s got. I thought that dad would give me —— for -sayin’ it, but he didn’t. He asked me where I left my rifle, and I told -him I left it in a good cause.”</p> - -<p>“Glory,” says Hashknife, “do yuh know why I didn’t marry yuh that -time?”</p> - -<p>“No, I—I don’t,” says Glory, turning red, “but it wouldn’t ’a’ -worked any way, ’cause Willer Crick showed up in force. Me and Dad and -uncle Luke thought you seen ’em coming.”</p> - -<p>“Your Uncle Luke was the sheriff of Yolo, wasn’t he, Glory?”</p> - -<p>“He was once—yes.”</p> - -<p>“When he was here?”</p> - -<p>“No-o-o—not hardly. He got in bad with the Vigilantes down -there.”</p> - -<p>Hashknife looked at me and I looks at him, but neither of us says a -word. Then Glory says:</p> - -<p>“What do you reckon they’ll do with poor Buddy? What did they steal -him for? Nobody wanted the little feller.”</p> - -<p>“They want to get him away from me so there won’t be no heir to that -ranch,” says Hashknife. “They’re goin’ to hoodie that poor little kid -out of the way, Glory.”</p> - -<p>Hashknife eases himself in his saddle and looks off across the hills. -“I never had nothin’ like him—nothin’ in my life. The little jigger -liked me, and kinda depended on me, I reckon. I said I was goin’ to keep -him, didn’t I?”</p> - -<p>Hashknife turns and looks at us.</p> - -<p>“I said that, didn’t I? Well, that goes as she lays. Somebody on -Willer Crick has got Buddy, and I’m goin’ to start in at the foot and -work my way up, and I’m goin’ to git that kid if I have to fill —— -with Willer Crickers.”</p> - -<p>Glory nods like she knowed Hashknife meant it.</p> - -<p>“Loan me a horse and saddle?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“No,” says Glory, “I won’t loan you a horse, but there’s several out -in the corral and there’s a couple of saddles hanging in the shed. I -can’t stop you from taking what you want, can I?”</p> - -<p>Me and Hashknife starts for the corral.</p> - -<p>“That roan out there can run all day,” yells Glory. “He don’t look -it, but he’s the best bronc in this country.”</p> - -<p>“I hate to take things like this by force,” says Hashknife -serious-like. “It ain’t right to intimidate a lady thataway.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a pair of brutes,” says Glory. “Pick on somebody your own -size.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>I don’t know whether Glory was kidding about that bronc or not. It -bucked over the corral fence with me, bucked for half a mile faster than -Hashknife’s animal could run. After that it was a pretty good animal. We -headed straight for town.</p> - -<p>“Willer Crick will be looking for us, Hashknife,” says I.</p> - -<p>“I hope so, Sleepy. I hopes they forms a holler square and hauls out -their cannon.”</p> - -<p>“Mebbe,” says I, “mebbe we ought to let Willer Crick dispose of their -own business. They ain’t got no sense, but maybe they’ll give the kid a -square deal, if we give ’em a chance.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe the devil could skate—if he had ice—but we know he -ain’t.”</p> - -<p>There’s at least twenty-five saddled horses in town, but not a person -in sight as we swung down the street, but as we swung past the store a -man came out. He gave us one look and then started for the outside -stairs of the town hall. He showed speed, but not enough. Hashknife -jumped his bronc across the sidewalk and into that feller, just short of -the bottom step.</p> - -<p>The bronc’s shoulder hit that feller, and he went spinning away like -a tumble-weed in a wind; then Hashknife’s bronc hit the flimsy railing -of the stairs and went down. Out of the tangle comes Hashknife and he’s -got his Winchester. The bronc gets to its feet and limps away, while -Hashknife runs along the side of the building and around to the -front.</p> - -<p>“Get off and under cover, you danged fool!” he yelps at me. “Willer -Crick is all upstairs!”</p> - -<p>I jumps my horse out of line with the windows and gets off. I hears -somebody yelp a question, and then I follers Hashknife across the -street, where we ducks in behind that old shed. I reckon that Willer -Crick was too excited to take a shot at us when we went across the -street.</p> - -<p>Extending out from the side of the shed is a pile of old lumber, -which we proceeds to get behind. It’s about three feet high and ten feet -long. Between us and the other side of the street is the tie-rack, full -of saddle-horses.</p> - -<p>The feller who got knocked down is crawling out of sight behind the -saloon, and Hashknife’s bronc is just wandering around between the -saloon and the store.</p> - -<p>“There’s our bay horse,” says I, pointing at the tie-rack.</p> - -<p>Then a bullet dusted the top of the lumber pile and sent some -splinters into my face.</p> - -<p>“Keep low,” advises Hashknife. “They’re a-shooting from the windows. -We’ve got to be careful that we don’t hit Buddy.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Then Willer Crick starts in to make a lead mine out of our lumber -pile, but them old boards sure do stop bullets. One feller gets cocky -and looks out of the door. I lifts his hat and I think a part of his -scalp, cause he yelps like a bee had stung him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t shoot until you’re sure,” grins Hashknife. “We can’t take any -chances of hittin’ our little jigger.”</p> - -<p>“Think a lot of that kid, don’t yuh,” says I.</p> - -<p>“’Thout a doubt in the world, Sleepy.”</p> - -<p>“It ain’t noways reasonable for you to adopt him,” says I.</p> - -<p>Hashknife recovers his hat, with a hole in the crown, and nudges in -closer to the lumber pile, while Willer Crick sifted lead across the -street.</p> - -<p>“Nobody wants him but me, Sleepy, and I ain’t goin’ to let the little -jigger go to no orphing home, y’betcha. Maybe I ain’t no fittin’ person -to bring up a kid, but—oh, oh-h-h!”</p> - -<p>Hashknife slips his rifle-barrel into a slot between two boards and -then twists over almost on his shoulder, in order to look down the -sights. A feller has slipped out of the doorway, thinking that we didn’t -dare to expose ourselves enough to shoot.</p> - -<p>Hashknife’s rifle cracked, and the feller’s feet slipped and he sat -down hard. I don’t know where it hit him, but it made him either brave -or sick, ’cause he just sets there, until a arm sticks out of the door -and hauls him back inside. Then the shooting seemed to ease up.</p> - -<p>“What do you fellers want?” yells a voice.</p> - -<p>“This is a —— of a time to ask questions!” yells Hashknife. “Don’t -stop shootin’ on our account.”</p> - -<p>Just then a bullet nicked a piece of meat off the point of my jaw, -and splatted into the wood beside my head. Before we can move, another -bullet hit Hashknife’s hat.</p> - -<p>“Behind us!” I yelps. “Look out!”</p> - -<p>Hashknife flips off his hat and yanks his gun out of the slot.</p> - -<p>“Look out yourself! That son-of-a-gun I knocked down has circled -us.”</p> - -<p>Willer Crick woke up to the fact that something is wrong, and they -sure hammered our fort.</p> - -<p>Zowie! A bullet spinged off my rifle-barrel and almost knocked it out -of my hands.</p> - -<p>“Watch the hall,” says I. “I’ll tend to our neighbor before he spoils -our Alaska trip for good.”</p> - -<p>I crawls in behind the old shed. Behind us is nothing but mesquite -brush, which don’t make very good cover, especially for the first fifty -yards.</p> - -<p>Willer Crick is still trying to annihilate that pile of lumber, so I -takes a chance and crawls like a snake. None of ’em seen me and I -reached the heavy brush in safety. I hears this feller shoot again, and -all to once I see him. He ain’t over fifty feet from me. There’s kind of -a high piece of ground, with some rocks on it and a lot of mesquite -clumps.</p> - -<p>He’s having quite a nice time all by his lonesome and ain’t expecting -visitors. He has to lift up real high to send his lead anywhere near -Hashknife. He’s shooting one of them old 1876 models of Winchester, the -kind we calls “grasshopper” action.</p> - -<p>He rises up on his toes, squints down the sights, but seems to kinda -get dissatisfied and relaxes. I could almost throw my gun and hit him, -and shooting him thataway would be murder; so I waits until he lines -up his sights again and then I slams a bullet into the loading-gate of -his rifle.</p> - -<p>I reckon a .45-70 hits kinda hard, cause it knocked him loose from -that gun and he sat down hard. Some of the busted mechanism must ’a’ -dented the primer of one of the shells in the magazine, ’cause that -rifle sure raised —— for a few seconds. The owner of the gun wagged -his head and looks down at the barrel of my rifle, which was poking into -his belt.</p> - -<p>“Get up!” says I.</p> - -<p>He got up kinda slow-like, shaking his head and then he grabbed for -his six-gun. I’m too close to him to shoot with the rifle, so I -uppercuts him under the chin with the barrel, and he lost interest in -everything.</p> - -<p>I took his belt and six-gun back with me. Willer Crick seen me as I -came back, but they must ’a’ hurried their aim. I got back to the shed, -with my eyes, ears and nose full of dirt and a hole in my sleeve. -Hashknife is doubled up, covering the doorway from that slot in the -lumber pile.</p> - -<p>“You’re a fine friend,” says I. “You let ’em all come to the window -and shoot at me.”</p> - -<p>“They had Buddy with ’em, Sleepy. Dang it, I was afraid to -shoot.”</p> - -<p>Somebody yells at Hashknife, but I don’t hear what he said.</p> - -<p>“No yuh don’t,” answers Hashknife. “You let us have Buddy and we’ll -call it square.”</p> - -<p>Hashknife motions for me to stay behind the shed. I seen him settle -down and line up his rifle again. He lifts his head and says:</p> - -<p>“Sleepy, for ——’s sake, look! He’s usin’ Buddy for a shield. The -rotten coward!”</p> - -<p>I jumps to the corner of the building and looks. There’s a big feller -coming down the stairs, with Buddy held in front of him. He’s got his -arms wrapped around the kid, and there ain’t a chance in the world for -us to shoot him.</p> - -<p>“Take that bay hoss, Sim,” yells a voice from the hall. “He can -outrun anythin’ around here.”</p> - -<p>“He, he, he!” cackles Sol Vane. “He, he, he!”</p> - -<p>Hashknife empties his rifle through the windows of the hall and Sol -quit laughing.</p> - -<p>“Yuh can’t git the best of Sim Sellers,” whoops a voice.</p> - -<p>Sim comes on to the horses, which are plumb nervous. One of ’em -ripped its bridle loose and went down the street and another threw -itself, trying to get loose. Sellers is kinda between us and the -windows, which stops their shooting.</p> - -<p>“Don’t get scared, Buddy,” says Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t,” shrills Buddy. “Betcha I ain’t.”</p> - -<p>“Sim,” says Hashknife, “you better think up a prayer, ’cause you’re -goin’ to need one —— bad.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Sellers cursed us and carried Buddy in close to that bay horse, -which has anchored itself with its left side against the tie-rack and -refuses to budge. It’s easy enough to use a kid for a shield against -bullets, but it’s another thing to get on to a scared bronc with the kid -in your arms and still keep covered.</p> - -<p>Willer Crick are liable to hit Sellers if they shoot at us, so we -takes things easy.</p> - -<p>“You’re in a hole, Sim,” says Hashknife. “One bad move and you’re a -goner.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to get on Injun side,” says I, “and that bronc will sure -love you for that.”</p> - -<p>Sim Sellers sure is up against it. I reckon he seen what he was up -against—seen that he had to take a chance; so he threw Buddy into the -saddle, intending, I reckon, to throw himself sideways on that bronc and -make a getaway like an Injun, but Hashknife was looking for that -move.</p> - -<p>As Buddy went into the saddle it left Sim’s legs exposed under the -bronc’s belly. Hashknife shot twice with his six-shooter and Sim went -down, like something had cut his legs out from under him. The horse -plunged against the rack, throwing Buddy between us and the hitch-rack, -but he lit on his hands and knees.</p> - -<p>“Come a-runnin’, Buddy!” yells Hashknife, and if you ever seen a -rabbit, that kid sure imitated one.</p> - -<p>He dived around the corner of that lumber pile and landed between us, -where he sets and puffs the wind back into his lungs.</p> - -<p>“Hurt yuh any?” asks Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Na-a-a-w! Sim Sellers like to busted my ribs, though. Did yuh kill -him?”</p> - -<p>“Cut him loose from the ground,” says Hashknife, watching the -windows.</p> - -<p>“Set still, Sim. Don’t forget that both ends of yuh are exposed -now.”</p> - -<p>Sim Sellers is setting there in the dust, with a pair of legs that -don’t seem to work.</p> - -<p>“They stole me,” says Buddy. “After you left me with the horses, -Mitch Ames and ‘Poky’ Vane swiped me. I kicked Mitch in the knee and he -swore he’d kill me. He brought me here. Say, they’re goin’ to kill -you—honest. They ain’t goin’ to let you tell the sheriff on Cale Ames. -They sent men to get the old man.”</p> - -<p>“Where were they goin’ to take you, Buddy?” asks Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Me dunno,” Buddy shakes his head. “Sim Sellers says he’s takin’ me -where you fellers never will find me.”</p> - -<p>“Hey!” yells a voice from the hall, which we recognizes as belonging -to Sol Vane. “Can yuh hear me?”</p> - -<p>“If yuh don’t yell too loud,” answers Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Now listen; that shed beside you is containin’ about five hundred -pounds of dinnamite, caps and fuses. Come out and hold up your hands or -we’ll shoot into it until we blows yuh up. Do yuh hear that?”</p> - -<p>Me and Hashknife looks at each other. It’s a good bluff. I don’t care -a whoop who says nay, I’m here to state that dynamite might go off under -them conditions. Some of them hombres are shooting .50-110 rifles, which -carries a explosive bullet, and that might make things plumb audible -around us.</p> - -<p>“Talk to ’em, Sleepy,” grunts Hashknife. “Keep talking, for ——’s -sake!”</p> - -<p>“You mean, you’d blow us up, Sol?” I asks, as Hashknife slides past -me and gets against the building.</p> - -<p>“He, he, he! Think we’d let ye off after what you’ve done? Naw, sir, -your goin’ to git all that’s comin’ to yuh. When I give the word we -start shootin’.”</p> - -<p>Of course they never thought that we had a chance to sneak away into -the mesquite, and if they did they knew we’d never leave on foot as long -as there’s a chance to get horses.</p> - -<p>“We’re willin’ to go now,” says I. Hashknife rips one of the boards -loose and crawls inside.</p> - -<p>“Ready to go, are yuh?” chuckles Sol Vane. “Jist try startin’, will -yuh. There’s twenty rifles ready to give yuh a sendoff.”</p> - -<p>“Think I ought to put Sim Sellers out of his misery?” I asks.</p> - -<p>Sim Sellers quits crawling and looks back at me. He thought we had -forgot him.</p> - -<p>“Throw away your gun!” I yells at him, and he threw it away.</p> - -<p>“Well, what have yuh got to say?” yells Sol Vane.</p> - -<p>“Give me a chance to think it over.”</p> - -<p>“Two minutes,” says Sol. “Two minutes will be all.”</p> - -<p>“That’s enough,” grunts Hashknife, forcing his way out past the loose -board.</p> - -<p>He’s got a fifty-pound box of dynamite in his arms, a box of blasting -caps and a coil of fuse.</p> - -<p>“Whatcha goin’ to do?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“Give ’em a taste of their own medicine, Sleepy. When I get around -the corner here start shooting. Empty your rifle and then empty mine. -<i>Sabe?</i> Fan them windows to a fare-thee-well, and I’ll do the rest. -Buddy, keep down low. Ready?”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>I takes both rifles, nods to him and starts throwing lead. I sure did -send hot hunks of sudden death into that place. I emptied both rifles -and then sent six shots from the .45 I borrowed out in the mesquite.</p> - -<p>Two or three shots was all that answered, but they never came towards -me.</p> - -<p>“Good work, Sleepy,” yells Hashknife.</p> - -<p>I slammed shells into the loading-gates of them two rifles and then -took a look. Hashknife is flat up against the front of that building, -and is fussing with a fuse.</p> - -<p>I hears a bunch of argument in the hall, and I takes a snap-shot at -somebody who got too close at the window.</p> - -<p>“Keep ’em back, Sleepy,” yells Hashknife, cheerful-like, reeling out -fuse from the box of dynamite.</p> - -<p>“Sol Vane!” he yells.</p> - -<p>“That’s me,” squeaks Sol.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got fifty pounds of dynamite against the front of your -building, Sol. There’s a two-minute fuse on a loaded stick, and the box -of powder is settin’ on a box of primers. I can either fire the fuse or -shoot the primers. If you fire a shot toward that shed I’ll upset Willer -Crick. Do you <i>sabe</i>?”</p> - -<p>There ain’t a word said for a while, and then Sol says—</p> - -<p>“You—what do yuh want us to do?”</p> - -<p>“I want you to bring down every gun up there, Sol. Load up and bring -’em all down here and lay ’em in the street.”</p> - -<p>“Like —— he will!” roars a voice.</p> - -<p>“You’ll never get my guns!”</p> - -<p>“Nor mine!” howls another.</p> - -<p>“Better do it,” advises Sellers. “He’s got just what he says he -has.”</p> - -<p>“I’m countin’ to ten,” states Hashknife. “Countin’ in my own rapid -way, Sol.”</p> - -<p>“I’m comin’,” says Sol. “For gosh sakes give me a little time.”</p> - -<p>Sol Vane looked like a hardware store when he made that first trip. I -never seen so many guns outside the army. He lays ’em in the street and -then goes back for more. It took him four trips to bring ’em.</p> - -<p>“Now what?” he whines.</p> - -<p>“Have ’em all come down, one at a time,” says Hashknife, and then he -yells over at me: “Watch ’em, Sleepy. If they look like they’re holdin’ -out on us, don’t give ’em a chance.”</p> - -<p>“I’m particular,” I yells back. “Send ’em down, Mr. Lawyer.”</p> - -<p>Then they begins to file out and down the stairs. Sol lines ’em up in -the street, and they sure are a sore crowd. Finally they quit -coming.</p> - -<p>“Is that all?” asks Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“That’s all of ’em,” says Sol.</p> - -<p>I starts to get up, but Buddy grabs me by the belt and yanks so hard -that we both went over backwards. With his heels in the air, Buddy -yelps—</p> - -<p>“Mitch Ames and Cale Ames ain’t out yet!”</p> - -<p>That’s all that saved us, I reckon. I rolled over, shoved my rifle -across the lumber pile and took a snap-shot at Cale Ames, as he threw -down on Hashknife from one of the windows. I seen Cale’s gun fall -outside and he fell down past the window-sill. Hashknife jumps back -around the corner and covers the crowd with his six-shooter.</p> - -<p>I reckon that Mitch Ames figured that Hashknife would explode that -dynamite, and he also figured that we wouldn’t let him surrender; so he -ran out of the door, and vaulted over the top of the railing. I ain’t no -wing shot with a rifle, but Mitch Ames didn’t get up after he hit the -ground.</p> - -<p>“Got him!” I yells at Hashknife.</p> - -<p>Buddy follers me out into the street and we meets Hashknife near the -crowd.</p> - -<p>“Sol,” says Hashknife, “I ought to kill you for lyin’. If it hadn’t -been for Buddy your scheme would ’a’ worked. I reckon them Ameses are -your best shots, eh?”</p> - -<p>Sol masticates real fast for a while, and then says—</p> - -<p>“What do yuh want now?”</p> - -<p>“Watch ’em, Sleepy,” grins Hashknife.</p> - -<p>Hashknife takes a sheet of paper and a pencil from his pocket and -holds the paper against the side of the building, while he writes. He -finally finishes and goes over to Sol Vane and hands him the paper.</p> - -<p>“Have your council sign that, Sol; and then you put your name at the -bottom.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” asks Sillman.</p> - -<p>“To whom it may concern,” reads Sol Vane kinda slow-like. “The -undersigned hereby declares that Buddy Sillman is sole owner of the -ranch where his folks lived and he owns everything on that ranch. His -dad’s name was Eph Sillman and he was killed by Cale Ames on June 3, -when Eph was trying to get medicine for his sick wife.</p> - -<p>“We also admits that the folks of Willer Crick wouldn’t let Eph -Sillman have a doctor for his wife and that they ain’t no better than -murderers, ’cause she died. We hereby agree to see that the ranch is run -right and the money turned over to Buddy. We hereby agree to abolish all -our old laws and live like the rest of the world. We hereby sign our -names.”</p> - -<p>“You’re crazy!” wails Sim Sellers from where he sets in the street. -“We’ll never sign that.”</p> - -<p>The rest of ’em shake their heads.</p> - -<p>“Yuh can’t get away with nothin’ like that,” says Sol. “We aims to -live as we please. Yuh can’t set there and keep us rounded up -forever.”</p> - -<p>“Sleepy,” says Hashknife, “go up into the hall and see if yuh can’t -find some Willer Crick records.”</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>They has that room fixed up like a court-room, with kind of a place -for the judges and all that kind of thing. Cale Ames is setting on the floor -near a window, holding onto the side of his head. I looked him over for -weapons, but he’s harmless.</p> - -<p>On the judge’s desk is a pile of books and papers. I takes a look at -the biggest book, and it’s labeled—</p> - -<div style='margin:0.7em; font-size:0.9em; text-align:center'>THE LAW.</div> - -<p>I takes all the books and papers, and then I makes Cale get to his -feet and go down ahead of me. Our bullets sure have carved our -trade-marks in their furniture and walls. Willer Crick wails when they -see me with their books.</p> - -<p>“Good stuff!” grunts Hashknife. “Now, maybe they’ll sign my little -paper.”</p> - -<p>I never seen folks so anxious to sign anything. Hashknife held the -paper on the brim of his hat so that Sim Sellers can sign. I unloads all -them guns and then throws the whole works under the sidewalk, where -nobody can get one quick.</p> - -<p>“Rope the books together so we can carry ’em, Sleepy,” says -Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Them is our records!” wails Sol.</p> - -<p>“That’s why we need ’em,” grins Hashknife. “You and your council are -the only ones what can read and write, and I’m thinkin’ that your law -and records will make hy-iu readin’ for the county attorney.”</p> - -<p>Willer Crick is stuck. They shuffles their feet and swallers -hard.</p> - -<p>“Your home-made law is a thing of the past,” observes Hashknife. -“I’ll send the sheriff in here after Cale Ames, and mebbe Cale won’t be -the only one he rounds up.”</p> - -<p>I got the horses, while Hashknife holds the crowd. Hashknife takes -Buddy with him, while I take the law of Willer Crick. We starts away, -with the crowd watching us, but all to once they makes a dive across the -street toward the hitch-rack. I thinks they’re going to try to foller -us, but it comes to me in a flash that I seen two or three rifles -hanging to those saddles.</p> - -<p>I seen a feller drop flat and slide under the sidewalk, and I know it -won’t take ’em long to get their guns loaded.</p> - -<p>We ain’t over a hundred yards from the crowd, and I can see that we -can’t scatter ’em much with two guns. I yells at Hashknife to look out. -He turned in his saddle, keeping himself between Buddy and the crowd. I -saw him throw up his rifle and take deliberate aim. I was trying to -shift them books on to the horn of my saddle, so I could shoot. A bullet -splatted into the books, but before I could lift my gun, Hashknife’s -shot was echoed by a crash that shook up the whole country.</p> - -<p>I seen the front of that building jump off the ground and dissolve -into smoke.</p> - -<p>“Come on, you law rustler!” yelps Hashknife.</p> - -<p>I ducked a piece of two-by-four and set my spurs into that -hammer-headed gray. Hashknife had been lucky enough to send a bullet -into that box of giant caps under the fifty pounds of dynamite.</p> - -<p>I looks back as we hammers down the road, but there ain’t a soul on -our trail. We swings across a high bridge over Willer Crick, and -Hashknife stops.</p> - -<p>“Get a couple of heavy rocks, Sleepy,” says he. “Rope one on each -side of that bunch of books, and drop the whole works over the -side.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t yuh going to turn these over to the law?” I asks.</p> - -<p>“No-o-o, I reckon not. I don’t believe in rubbin’ anybody raw. -They’ll never know but what we did, and we’ve sure amended the -constitution of Sol Vane and his bunch.”</p> - -<p>We sunk their law in six feet of swift water and then rode on. About -half a mile from the forks of the road we swings around a curve and -almost runs over Al Bassett and another man. Bassett’s right arm is out -of commission and the other feller is kinda sick from too much lead.</p> - -<p>“They were sent after that old man,” says Buddy.</p> - -<p>“It’s been a hard day for Willer Crick,” observes Hashknife.</p> - -<p>Bassett can’t hang onto himself any longer. Hashknife takes off his -hat and holds it in his hand until Bassett stops.</p> - -<p>“Sleepy,” says Hashknife, “did yuh ever hear the like. I wish I could -cuss like that. Bassett, you’re one of the fellers who was sent down -here to stop the old man, ain’t yuh? Did the mule kick yuh or did the -old man bite yuh?”</p> - -<p>Bassett refuses to talk, and the other feller is too sick to -remember.</p> - -<p>“A feller by the name of Poky Vane is tied up in Mitch Ames’ cabin,” -says Hashknife. “I reckon you’ll see that he gets loose.”</p> - -<p>“Willer Crick will git you yet!” snarls Bassett.</p> - -<p>“I refuse to argue,” grins Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“Home won’t never seem the same to you fellers. <i>Adios.</i>”</p> - -<p>We left ’em there in the road.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t we take Cale Ames out with us, Hashknife?” I asks. “Mebbe -the sheriff won’t be able to find him.”</p> - -<p>“It would be our word against a hundred, Sleepy. Me and you ain’t so -danged lily-white that a jury’d take our word against a hundred; and -besides, hangin’ ain’t half as bad as thinkin’ about it.”</p> - -<p>At the forks of the road, where the old sign-board hangs, we found -the old preacher and Glory Sillman with a rifle.</p> - -<p>“I had a escort,” says the old man, nodding at Glory. “She—she saw -that I got out safe.”</p> - -<p>“She did,” nods Hashknife. “I seen that a mile or so ago.”</p> - -<p>Glory starts to swing her horse around.</p> - -<p>“I—I reckon I better be going back,” says she.</p> - -<p>“You come wit’ us,” says Buddy. “We licked ’em.” Glory looks at Buddy -and then at Hashknife.</p> - -<p>“I’m goin’ to adopt him,” says Hashknife. “Yuh might come with us, -Glory. There ain’t no more Willer Crick law to stop yuh now. The trail’s -wide open.”</p> - -<p>Glory and Hashknife sets there and looks at each other. I looks at -the old man and he looks at me. I turns and points down the valley and -says to the old man:</p> - -<p>“Do yuh see that peak ’way down there, old-timer?”</p> - -<p>“I do. What about it, son?”</p> - -<p>“I never climbed it in my life.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well!” says he. “Ain’t that queer?”</p> - -<p>We sets there like a pair of danged fools and admires that peak, -which don’t mean a thing to either of us.</p> - -<p>“You comin’?” shrills Buddy, and we turns to see Hashknife and Glory -riding down the road side by side, while Buddy leans out past Hashknife -and yells at us.</p> - -<p>The old man looks at me and says—</p> - -<p>“Son, if you’ll ride slow, mebbe I can make my mule keep up.”</p> - -<p>I turns in my saddle, grabs that old sign and tears it off the tree, -after which I throws it into the brush. Then I turns back to the old -man.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t in no hurry, ’cause I know I’ll never get there anyway,” -says I.</p> - -<p>“Where?” he asks.</p> - -<p>“Alaska.”</p> - -<div class='tn'> - <p>Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in - the September 3, 1921 issue of <i>Adventure</i> magazine.</p> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAW RUSTLERS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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