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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78587 ***
+
+                            THE MEDICINE-MAN
+
+                            By W. C. Tuttle
+
+
+Bud Daley sat humped over on his wash-bench near the kitchen door of his
+unpretentious little ranch-house, staring with moody blue eyes across
+the hills. The wash-bench was sloppy with soap-suds, plain evidence that
+Bud had performed his ablutions in a violent manner.
+
+And as he sat looking moodily into space, he dangled a none-too-clean
+towel in his hands. Just behind him, leaning against the side of the
+kitchen door, stood Mrs. Daley, a thoughtful frown on her pretty face.
+She was dressed in a plain calico dress, faded from many washings; a
+girlish looking woman, whose crown of glorious auburn hair tumbled in
+unruly fashion about her face.
+
+Bud’s visible attire consisted of a battered sombrero, a thin blue
+shirt, wide open at the neck, a pair of bat-winged chaps, boots and
+holstered gun. His thin face was decorated with several days’ growth
+of beard. Down in the little corral, which was hooked to the long,
+low barn, a roan horse, sweat-marked, rolled wearily.
+
+Bud’s eyes turned from the panorama of low hills, which swept away
+across the Modoc ranges, and his fingers searched his pockets for
+tobacco and cigaret papers.
+
+“Bud, are you sure?” Mrs. Daley spoke softly, a trifle hopefully.
+
+“Yeah,” Bud nodded and licked the edge of the paper, “I reckon it’s a
+fact, May.”
+
+“Then it means that we’re--broke?”
+
+“Broke?”
+
+The match burned Bud’s fingers, and he snapped it away as he turned and
+looked at her.
+
+“May, we’re worse than that. I still owe Cleve Lavelle five thousand
+dollars.”
+
+“As much as that, Bud?”
+
+There were tears in her voice. Bud laughed shortly and got to his feet.
+
+“Just that much, May.”
+
+“But--but where have the cattle gone? Surely----”
+
+“They’ve been stolen!” said Bud savagely. “Somebody has rustled every
+head of Triangle-D stock in the Modoc country. By ----, we haven’t even
+got a hide nor a horn to show.
+
+“I told Cleve Lavelle. He was at the round-up, May. They were all there;
+every puncher in this country. I tell you, we combed every inch of the
+county, and there wasn’t a cattleman there, except me, that wasn’t
+satisfied.”
+
+“Was Uncle Jimmy Miller there, Bud?”
+
+“Yeah, he was there. He exploded over it. Just the same as told me I
+was a ---- liar. But he found out that I was right. Oh, we’re broke;
+that’s a cinch.”
+
+Bud threw the towel aside and backed against the wall.
+
+“But, Bud, we must have had close to five hundred head,” said Mrs.
+Daley. “Why, you can’t lose five hundred head of cattle.”
+
+“Can’t we?” Bud laughed bitterly. “I wish you was right, May. I kept
+sayin’ the same thing--until I had it proved to me. Somebody
+just--well--” Bud shrugged his shoulders wearily--“they took ’em,
+thassall.”
+
+“Well--” Mrs. Daley sighed deeply and patted him on the shoulder--“we’re
+not very lucky, Bud. Dinner is ready.”
+
+“I’m not hungry, May. It kinda hits me in the pit of m’ stummick.”
+
+“Starving won’t help you any, dear.”
+
+“I s’pose not.” Bud grinned and shook his head. “I reckon I’ve got to
+keep m’ head up and m’ stummick full. I wish----”
+
+Two riders swung around the corner of the cottonwood clump beyond the
+barn and came toward the house, causing Bud’s wish to go unfinished.
+
+“It’s Uncle Jimmy Miller and ‘Sody’ Slavin,” said Mrs. Daley.
+
+“Two of the toughest old pelicans that ever wore a boot,” remarked Bud
+as they rode up and dismounted.
+
+Uncle Jimmy Miller was only five feet four inches tall, thin of frame,
+thin of voice, with the whiskers of a gray old bob-cat and an explosive
+disposition.
+
+Sody Slavin was nearly six feet tall and so fat that he could hardly
+find a saddle-horse strong enough to carry him more than half a day at
+a time. Sody talked in a counter-tenor voice and panted at all times.
+He was of a nervous temperament and so ticklish that everything annoyed
+him. Uncle Jimmy owned the JM outfit--one of the big cattle outfits of
+the Modoc--and Sody was his foreman.
+
+“’Lo, Mrs. Daley,” called Sody. “Nice weather we’re havin’.”
+
+“Hello, Mr. Slavin,” she answered, smiling.
+
+“Mister!” he snorted indignantly.
+
+“Mrs.!” she shot right back at him.
+
+“All right, May. I didn’t want to call you May right in front of yore
+husband; but if you ain’t scared of him, I ain’t.”
+
+“That’s what polite folks calls ‘small-talk’, I reckon,” observed Uncle
+Jimmy. “Anyway, it’s too ---- small to pay for the wear and tear on yore
+teeth.”
+
+Uncle Jimmy spat dryly and turned to Bud.
+
+“Well, whatcha know about it, Bud?”
+
+“Not any more than I did before.”
+
+“Uh-huh.” Uncle Jimmy scratched his mustache violently.
+
+“Aw, they must ’a’ strayed,” said Sody. “Dog-gone it, yuh----”
+
+“They did, like ----!” snorted Uncle Jimmy. “Sody, you ain’t got---- My
+----, you make me mad, Sody! Must ’a’ strayed! Since when did one brand
+of cows all git together and vamoose? Mebbe they didn’t like to
+associate with the other brands, eh? Sody, you do think of the dangdest,
+craziest answers to questions.”
+
+“Mebbe I’m wrong,” said Sody contritely.
+
+“Mebbe!”
+
+“You ain’t got no better answer,” grinned Sody. “They’re all gone, ain’t
+they? They must ’a’ went away together.”
+
+“Yeah! With some range-burglars fannin’ their south ends with a lariat.”
+
+Bud grinned in spite of his loss. To Uncle Jimmy and Sody Slavin,
+life was just one argument after another. At times the arguments
+grew so personal that Uncle Jimmy would fire Sody. He was known to
+have discharged Sody three times in one day, and Sody was known to
+have quit his job three times in one day. And the majority of their
+arguments were over things that neither of them knew anything about,
+which neither would admit.
+
+“Well, let’s not fight over it,” said Bud. “They’re gone, thassall.”
+
+“I know it,” nodded Uncle Jimmy. “I know they’re gone, Bud; but
+that--that----”
+
+“Your Mister Slavin,” suggested Sody sweetly.
+
+“Yea-a-a-ah!” snorted Uncle Jimmy. “My mister!”
+
+“What’s the joke?” asked Bud.
+
+“Joke, ----!” exploded Uncle Jimmy. “When Sody took that trip to Frisco
+he went out to a packin’ plant. I s’pose he lied to ’em about the cows
+we’ve got out here, and all that. You know how a danged half-wit like
+him would talk. Anyway, I got a letter from the packer, and he says:
+
+“‘Regardin’ a conversation with your Mr. Slavin.’
+
+“My Mister Slavin! He ain’t mine, Bud. That’s the only thing that saves
+him. If he was mine, I’d----”
+
+“You wouldn’t have to,” interrupted Sody. “If I belonged to you, I’d
+’a’ grieved m’self to death long ago. There is things that flesh and
+blood can’t stand.”
+
+“And you’re one of ’em,” declared Uncle Jimmy.
+
+“If the argument is over, we might eat,” smiled Mrs. Daley.
+
+“It never was no argument, as far as I was concerned,” said Uncle Jimmy.
+“I--I-- Now, Sody, if you open your danged mouth, I’ll----”
+
+“Who’s openin’ their mouth?” demanded Sody. “You took exceptions to a
+statement I made, didn’t yuh? Yeah, yuh did, too. I’ll bet you don’t
+even know what I said that started the argument.”
+
+“Don’t I? The ---- I don’t! Huh! Do you?”
+
+“Nope,” said Sody honestly.
+
+Uncle Jimmy stared at him for several moments, his mustache working
+violently. Then he turned his head and looked at Mrs. Daley, his face
+breaking into an expansive smile.
+
+“May, you sure do look fine,” he observed sincerely. “If I was thirty
+years younger, I’d sure steal yuh away from that good-for-nothin’
+husband of yours.”
+
+Mrs. Daley laughed lightly, but Bud’s laugh was bitter, as he unbuckled
+and kicked off his chaps.
+
+“They’ve stole everythin’ else from me, Uncle Jimmy.”
+
+“Yeah, that’s true, I reckon.”
+
+Uncle Jimmy turned and squinted reflectively at the sunswept hills of
+Modocland.
+
+“Yeah, they’ve plumb cleaned yuh out, Bud. ’S far as I can see, yuh
+ain’t got hide nor horn in this county. We’ve been free of rustlin’ for
+a long time in the Modocs; but every once in a while they steps out and
+starts in where they left off. But I don’t sabe it yet--nossir. Mebbe
+I’ve lost a few head--I dunno.”
+
+“May jist said that dinner was waitin’,” reminded Sody.
+
+“Well, who said she didn’t?” demanded Uncle Jimmy. “You’re always tryin’
+to start an argument, Sody.”
+
+“No such a danged thing!” Sody shook his head violently. “I never start
+arguments, Jim. You start ’em, and then----”
+
+“Let’s eat,” suggested Bud.
+
+Thus ended another argument that might have lasted several minutes--and
+ended nowhere.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Fall round-up of the Modoc country had just been completed, and
+in all those thousands of cattle there was not a single one bearing
+Bud Daley’s Triangle D brand. It was unbelievable, but true. An army
+of cowboys had ridden for days, combing the hills so thoroughly that
+hardly an animal had escaped them.
+
+And all of them knew that Bud Daley owned at least five hundred head of
+cattle, outside of possible increase. Bud had been foreman for Uncle
+Jimmy Miller for a year; a top-hand cow-man, who had gained the respect
+of every one during that one year.
+
+But Bud was not content with a salary. He had married May Lloyd, the
+prettiest girl in the Red Hills range country, and he wanted to make
+good for her sake. For a few hundred dollars he had acquired the
+Triangle ranch and iron, which he had had registered as the Triangle
+D. Bud had a little money, which he invested in stock, starting his
+little herd.
+
+Then he had gone to Cleve Lavelle, the political and cattle power of
+the Modoc country, and borrowed five thousand dollars, which he
+invested in cattle--or rather, all except two hundred dollars. Bud
+was a gambler. As soon as his cattle buying was over he went into the
+Rest Ye All gambling-house, which was owned by Cleve Lavelle, and won
+ten thousand dollars at roulette.
+
+But, instead of paying Lavelle the borrowed money, he went out and
+bought cattle with every cent of it. This gave him a respectable-sized
+herd, and, barring the unforeseen, Bud Daley was destined to become a
+regular cattleman.
+
+Cleve Lavelle came in for a great amount of good-natured joking over
+the fact that Bud had cleaned out the gambling-house, but Lavelle
+was a cool-nerved gambler and merely smiled. It was all in the game.
+Perhaps he felt that Bud should have paid his debts, but did not say
+so. Lavelle was close-mouthed, and his square, deep-lined face, thin
+lips and level gray eyes told nothing.
+
+Lavelle owned the 76A cattle outfit, located about six miles from the
+town of Modoc, where he employed a big crew of cowboys and
+broncho-riders. Lavelle broke many horses for the Eastern markets and
+took pride in the fact that he had the hardest riding crew of punchers
+in the county.
+
+And Lavelle was the political power in Modoc County. He was a mixer,
+known as a square-shooter, but the political pot of the county was
+mixed in Lavelle’s private office at the rear of the ornate Rest Ye All
+gambling-house in Modoc. Whether or not the ingredients were according
+to the pure political ideas of some of the people, they were according
+to Cleve Lavelle.
+
+Bud Daley had not the slightest idea of who had taken his stock. If he
+had, he would not have gone to see Dug Breed, the sheriff, the day after
+the close of the round-up. Bud did not like Dug Breed. He had opposed
+Dug at the election of the year before, and Dug had not forgotten it. He
+was a square-built man, about forty years of age, with harsh features,
+narrow lips and eyes that flashed green in anger.
+
+Breed was a competent officer, saying little, drinking none and paying
+strict attention to running the sheriff’s office. To him went Bud. He
+had heard of Bud’s loss. Every one in the Modoc range knew of it. Breed
+had little to say, but Bud felt that he did not believe that the stock
+had been stolen.
+
+“You ain’t sold any stock lately, have you, Daley?” he asked.
+
+“Sold any?” Bud shook his head, and it suddenly dawned upon him that the
+sheriff was hinting that he had sold his stock and was trying to claim
+that he had been robbed. For a moment he had difficulty in holding his
+temper.
+
+“Mebbe,” said the sheriff suggestively, “they were herded out through
+the Crooked Cañon country and shipped from Black Wells.”
+
+The Crooked Cañon country lay to the West of Bud’s ranch, and Black
+Wells was a small shipping-point thirty miles from Modoc. Before the
+advent of the railroad into Modoc, Black Wells had been the shipping
+point for all of the Modoc range.
+
+“That’s probably where they went,” admitted Bud slowly. “And Black Wells
+ain’t a place where yuh can get reliable information.”
+
+“No, it’s a pretty safe place,” said the sheriff thoughtfully. “Folks
+over there mind their own business. This kind leaves you in a bad shape,
+don’t it, Daley?”
+
+“Well,” Bud smiled a trifle, “I’ve still got my health and the Triangle
+D ranch.”
+
+“I mean--you’re kinda left in debt, ain’t yuh?”
+
+“Am I?” Bud’s lips shut tightly for a moment. “Where did yuh get that
+idea, Breed?”
+
+“It ain’t an idea, Daley. In fact, it’s none of my business; but
+everybody knows that you couldn’t accumulate a herd of that size in
+a year and not be in debt. I hope you’re not. And if you are, I hope
+that yuh won’t be stuck for the payment.”
+
+“Stuck for it?”
+
+“You know what I mean--have the ranch taken away from yuh.”
+
+Bud laughed softly as he rolled a cigaret. The ranch-house, brand and
+the water-rights to a few springs had cost him less than five hundred
+dollars. The repairs would not amount to more than two hundred more.
+
+“You were just gettin’ a good start,” observed the sheriff.
+
+Bud threw away his match and looked quizzically at the sheriff.
+
+“Breed, I didn’t come here for sympathy,” he said slowly. “If that’s
+what I wanted, ---- knows I’d never come to you. I’ve been robbed,
+dontcha understand? Ain’t it kinda up to you to do something besides
+settin’ there and feelin’ sorry for me?”
+
+Breed frowned heavily for a moment, looking down at the toes of his
+boots. Bud turned away and moved over to the open door. He had not
+expected much from Breed; so he was not disappointed.
+
+“Did you think I was offerin’ you sympathy?” asked Breed.
+
+“I hoped you wasn’t,” said Bud, without turning his head.
+
+“Well, I wasn’t.” Breed laughed shortly and turned back to some papers
+on his desk.
+
+Bud turned and looked at Breed, but the latter did not look up. For
+a moment Bud’s lips curled with anger, and he rubbed an itching palm
+across the brass heads of the cartridges in his belt. He knew that
+Breed was a fighter, a dangerous man to provoke; yet every drop of
+fighting blood in his body cried out against the injustice of an
+officer refusing assistance because of a personal grudge.
+
+But he fought down the desire to tell Breed what he thought of him
+and to back up his opinions with hot lead. Bud knew that one of them
+would probably never walk out of the place--possibly both. If the
+sheriff killed him, it would be easy to explain; but if he killed the
+sheriff--that would be a difficult situation.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+So he turned, stepped out on the sidewalk and crossed the street to the
+Rest Ye All saloon. It was the slack time of the day, and he found Cleve
+Lavelle in his private office, reading a newspaper.
+
+Lavelle put the paper aside, motioned Bud to a chair and waited for him
+to speak.
+
+“You heard what happened to me, didn’t yuh, Lavelle?” asked Bud.
+
+Lavelle nodded curtly. He did not seem greatly concerned.
+
+“I’m broke, I reckon,” continued Bud. “Somebody has cleaned me out as
+slick as a rifle-barrel.”
+
+“I heard about it,” said Lavelle. “Well?”
+
+“Well?” Bud swallowed hard and shifted his position. “Well, I’m broke,
+thasall. I owe you five thousand dollars, Lavelle.”
+
+“You do.”
+
+“Due next month,” said Bud.
+
+“The first of the month, Daley.”
+
+“All right. It looks to me like it was just too bad, thasall.”
+
+“You can’t pay it?” Coldly.
+
+“What with?”
+
+“Mm-m-m.” Lavelle rubbed his chin with a hand that was just a trifle
+over-decorated with diamonds. Bud estimated that just one of those
+white stones would cost more than his debt.
+
+“What’s your ranch worth, Daley?” asked Lavelle.
+
+“That’s a question,” replied Bud thoughtfully. “It ain’t for sale.”
+
+“Possibly not,” smiled Lavelle, “but under the present situation, I
+might have to take it over.”
+
+“I reckon I get yore idea,” nodded Bud, “but I didn’t come with that
+idea in mind a-tall, Lavelle. Yuh see, it’s like this: yo’re a
+gambler, Lavelle. You ain’t got a ghost of a chance to ever get that
+five thousand. My ranch ain’t worth a fifth of that amount.”
+
+“I understand that!” snapped Lavelle.
+
+“You’ve set into big games,” continued Bud, ignoring the interruption.
+“You’ve been stuck for five thousand dollars lots of times. Did you
+quit, Lavelle?”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Did you quit the game, when you was five thousand in it?”
+
+“No.” Lavelle shook his head. “No, I never quit, but----”
+
+“Yo’re into my game five thousand dollars, Lavelle. If you quit now,
+you lose five thousand; if you back me again, you’ve got a chance to
+get yore money back.”
+
+“Like ---- I have!” Lavelle threw back his head and laughed. “Daley,
+you’ve got more nerve than a bank-robber. Do you think I’d gamble at
+those odds?”
+
+Bud did not laugh. His blue eyes bored into Lavelle’s face, and his jaw
+was set tight.
+
+“You sure make me laugh,” declared Lavelle.
+
+“Ten thousand dollars would put me on my feet, Lavelle,” persisted Bud.
+“Inside of three years----”
+
+“They’d clean you out again,” finished Lavelle. “No, you’ve got me all
+wrong, Daley. On the first of next month, you be here with five thousand
+dollars.”
+
+Lavelle dropped a heavy fist on the polished surface of his desk.
+
+“In the first place, I don’t think that anybody robbed you. It isn’t
+reasonable, Daley. Look at the thing right.”
+
+Bud got to his feet and stood looking down at Lavelle.
+
+“Just what do you mean by that remark, Lavelle?”
+
+“Figure it out for yourself, Daley.”
+
+“You mean that I----”
+
+Bud leaned forward, his hands clenched tightly, as he stared down at
+Lavelle.
+
+“Hold your temper,” advised Lavelle. “You’re not a good bluffer, Daley.”
+
+“I’m not goin’ to bluff,” said Bud slowly. “I’m goin’ to mean everythin’
+I say to you, Lavelle. Yo’re ----”
+
+“Wait a moment,” interrupted Lavelle. “You are going to say something
+that you’ll be sorry for, Daley. You already owe me more than you want
+to pay, and you are sore because I won’t lend you more. Your opinions
+of me are of no interest to any one except yourself; so tell them to
+yourself and save trouble.”
+
+Bud relaxed slowly and a grin wreathed his lips. Then he laughed and
+turned to the door.
+
+“All right, Lavelle. I reckon that’s good advice. I’m sorry I acted like
+a fool, and I’ll try to have that money for yuh.”
+
+Bud crossed the gambling-room and entered the bar, where he found Sody
+Slavin and “Dinah” Blewette. Dinah was a little dark-skinned cowpuncher
+from the JM ranch, with an impediment in his speech, bow-legs and a
+totally bald head.
+
+They greeted Bud effusively and expansively. Between them they owned the
+world and were perfectly willing to cut their share to thirds. Would he
+accept?
+
+“I ain’t a bit dry,” protested Bud. “Not a danged bit, boys.”
+
+“Bud’s had grief,” explained Sody, while Dinah listened attentively.
+“He’s sure had flocks of grief, Dinah.”
+
+“Sh-sure,” agreed Dinah, nodding violently, which caused his sombrero to
+shift in a circle on his bald dome.
+
+“I--I--I--I--I----”
+
+“That’s all from you,” interrupted Sody. “Me and Bud will do all the
+talkin’, Dinah. Thasall right, we’ll excuse yuh from participatin’ in
+conversation. You nod or shake, thasall.”
+
+Dinah’s lips worked convulsively for a moment, as if trying to frame
+a protest; but he broke into an expansive grin and turned to the bar,
+signaling frantically for the bartender to show more speed.
+
+Bud could not resist their invitation. It had been a long time since he
+had taken a drink, and the potent liquor lifted him out of his blue
+haze and transported him into a world which was filled with rose-tinted
+atmosphere.
+
+Lavelle came through the barroom a little later, but none of the three
+cowboys paid any attention to him. Other cowboys, with their round-up
+stakes in their pockets, were invading the place, anxious for their
+drinks and a chance to woo the Goddess of Luck.
+
+“She’s goin’ to be a big night,” declared Sody. “A big night.”
+
+“Yuh--yuh--yuh--yuh--” choked Dinah.
+
+“Yuh betcha,” said Sody, anticipating what Dinah was trying to say.
+“Now, you stop that, Dinah. Yo’re a good cowboy and I like yuh fine;
+but you never was intended to talk.”
+
+“Tha--tha--tha--tha----”
+
+“That’s right,” prompted Bud, nodding violently. “We know all about yuh,
+Dinah.” And then to Sody, “I’ll make yuh a little bet that Dinah can’t
+say ‘Piper Heidsick’ inside of five minutes.”
+
+“Not with me yuh don’t,” grinned Sody. “The last time he tried to say
+it, he was plumb unconscious for an hour. My gosh, he jist chokes plumb
+to death. Uncle Jimmy wanted him to bring some chewin’ tobacco one day.
+Uncle Jimmy chaws Piper; so he tells Dinah to bring him some. ‘Shorty’
+Ryan was workin’ out there at that time, and he chaws Star. He wanted
+some, too.
+
+“Well, Dinah comes down to the store and horns up to the counter. He
+was goin’ to order the Star first. They tells me that he started to
+siss-s-s-- You know what I mean? Well, he keeps it up for so long
+that everybody thought he was loaded to the gills with sody water.
+Dinah sees that it ain’t goin’ to be no success; so he decides to
+buy the Piper Heidsick first.
+
+“Well, I reckon the change didn’t do Dinah no good, ’cause he collapsed
+before he ever got past the pup part of it.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dinah took it good-naturedly, but tried for the next fifteen minutes to
+tell Bud that Sody’s story was a ---- lie. Bud knew what Dinah wanted
+to say, so everybody was satisfied. Things were going along fine, until
+some of the 4-A cowboys came in, loaded for bear.
+
+Among them was “Short-Horn” Adams, a fat-faced, blear-eyed puncher, who
+had in some way incurred the displeasure of Dinah Blewette. Dinah was
+getting all tuned to sing a song, when he happened to see Short-Horn.
+Dinah proceeded to swing his heavy beer-glass overhanded and threw it
+with all his strength at his enemy.
+
+It was a good shot--except that Dinah threw it at Short-Horn’s
+reflection in the back-bar mirror, causing the big mirror to radiate
+cracks in every direction and creating havoc among the stacks of
+glittering glassware on the back-bar.
+
+Dug Breed happened to be among those present and proceeded to collar
+the luckless Dinah, who was but a handful for Breed. As a result of
+his reverse-English marksmanship Dinah would have probably spent the
+night in the Modoc jail but about that time Sody Slavin accidentally
+tangled his feet with those of Dug Breed, and the sheriff sat down
+hard.
+
+And Dinah ducked like a rabbit, although a trifle uncertain of gait,
+while the cowpunchers cheered everybody concerned.
+
+Breed got to his feet, blazing with wrath, only to be met with words of
+apology and regret from Sody Slavin.
+
+“My gosh, that was awful,” explained Sody. “I dunno how in ---- m’ feet
+ever got over there.”
+
+Sody seemed very sincere and serious. Breed glared at him, his fists
+clenched tightly at his sides. There was no doubt that the sheriff was
+fighting mad.
+
+But Sody ignored the sheriff’s attitude as he kept on explaining:
+
+“I must ’a’ slipped, dontcha know it? I’m sure-footed, too. I must ’a’
+stepped on somethin’ with m’ left foot, and m’ right swung like this.”
+
+Sody’s exaggerated slip caused him to lose balance and his swinging
+right foot caught Breed on the shin-bone of his right leg. It was a
+painful thing. Sody was badly off balance; so he grabbed at the
+yelping sheriff and they both went down, half-under a table, with
+Sody on top.
+
+The fall half-stunned Breed, but did not affect Sody, who got to his
+feet, still apologizing, and dragged his spurred heel across the
+sheriff’s knee-cap as he stepped away. Breed struggled to his feet and
+leaned on the table, panting and cursing painfully. He was so mad that
+his eyes were shut.
+
+Then Bud blundered into the table, knocking away the sheriff’s visible
+means of support; and he and Sody went out through the front door. They
+heard the sheriff hit the floor again, and his curses were wonderful to
+hear; but Sody and Bud were too joyful to care about mere words.
+
+“Oh, m’ ----!” wheezed Sody, clinging to Bud. “It went jist like
+clockwork, Bud. Ain’t I the thinker? Ain’t I? And then you moved the
+table away from him! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
+
+“He’ll try to kill us both,” choked Bud.
+
+“He can’t. It’s ag’in’ the law, Bud.”
+
+“He’s so mad that the law won’t stop him, Sody.”
+
+“All right,” laughed Sody. “I hope I don’t die so painful that I can’t
+take time to think of how I kicked him in the shin, fell on top of him
+and then spurred him in the knee. Ha-ha-ha! And every danged bit of it
+was accidental, too.”
+
+“I couldn’t help bumpin’ into that table,” added Bud. “I was so drunk I
+never knowed what I was doin’. I wonder where Dinah went?”
+
+“He won’t go far,” gasped Sody. “What did the ---- fool bust that mirror
+for? Why, he jist whaled away at it with his glass.”
+
+“I--I--I--I--I----”
+
+Dinah stepped out from the dark corner of the building and began his
+explanation.
+
+“Wait a minute,” begged Sody. “Let’s get farther away from Breed.”
+
+They went farther down the street and stopped in a dark spot.
+
+“Didja jist want to bust that mirror?” asked Sody. “Don’t talk, Dinah;
+nod or shake.”
+
+Dinah shook.
+
+“Accidental?”
+
+Dinah shook again.
+
+“Uh-huh,” reflected Sody. “That’s funny.”
+
+“Say, didja see somebody in the mirror?”
+
+Dinah nodded violently.
+
+“Who?” asked Sody.
+
+“Sh--sh--sh--sh--sh--”
+
+“Stop it!” snapped Sody. “Was it Short-Horn Adams?”
+
+Dinah nodded quickly.
+
+“Well, that’s settled,” said Sody. “Now what do we do?”
+
+“I’m goin’ home,” said Bud. “I’ve got a home and a wife, yuh must
+remember.”
+
+“If I was in yore condition, I’d not thank anybody to remind me of it,”
+said Sody seriously. “You might as well stay and make a good night of
+it, Bud.”
+
+“I’ll be sober by the time I get home, Sody.”
+
+“Yeah--by the time yuh git home. You’ll prob’ly fall off yore horse
+before yuh get there.”
+
+“No, I won’t either. You and Dinah better go home, too. If yuh stay
+around here, Breed’ll have yuh both in jail.”
+
+“You better stay,” insisted Sody. “You’ll get a lot of good laughs out
+of watchin’ him try it.”
+
+But Bud had made up his mind to go home; so Dinah and Sody parted
+reluctantly with him and went seeking more fun, while Bud mounted and
+rode swiftly out of Modoc.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was five miles from town to Bud’s ranch, but before he had gone half
+the distance he realized that he contained far too much whisky. Solitude
+and the swinging motion of his horse caused him to realize also that he
+was in no condition to converse with his wife.
+
+“It can’t last always,” he told himself; “so I’ll swing into the hills
+and ride it off.”
+
+There was a full moon, which lighted the hills, and a cool breeze that
+fanned his fevered brow; but instead of sobering up, he grew even more
+intoxicated. In a half-daze, he circled through the hills and came in
+at the rear of the ranch.
+
+He could see a dim light in the living-room, and he knew that May was
+waiting up for him. He felt sorry for her. He had promised her many
+things which she had been denied. Now he was worse than broke. He
+remembered dimly that Breed was not going to try to find the stolen
+cattle, and that Lavelle had refused to help him again. It seemed like
+weeks ago that he had talked with them. He dismounted and dropped the
+reins, forgetting to unsaddle his horse.
+
+“To ---- with ’em!” he told himself thickly. “I’ll git along. Tha’s jist
+what I’ll do--git along, y’betcha.”
+
+He approached the house from the rear, laughing foolishly at his
+erratic progress. At the kitchen door he stopped. The door was open.
+A foolish idea took root in his addled brain. He would take off his
+boots and sneak in. The idea appealed to him immensely.
+
+So he sat down on the step and drew off his boots, chuckling to himself.
+Somewhere he had heard of a drunken man doing that same thing. It didn’t
+seem so funny then, but it did now. Perhaps, he thought, May might be
+asleep--and never know that he did not come home sober.
+
+He tucked a boot under each arm and crept inside. He could see the light
+in the living-room. It was an oil-lamp, turned low. Into the living-room
+he went and stopped near the table. The front door, which led out on to
+a porch, was open, and he heard voices. They were talking softly.
+
+Bud frowned and listened closely, but could not hear plainly enough; so
+he moved over closer to the door. It was a man’s voice and a woman’s. He
+could hear them plain enough now. The man’s voice was very distinct:
+
+“Oh, I know--loyalty and all that. But you’ve tried it two years. And
+what have you got? Nothing. Why, this ranch wouldn’t bring the price
+of two dresses--the kind you ought to have.”
+
+Bud blinked wonderingly, straining his ears for the woman’s reply, which
+was pitched too low for him to hear what she said. He looked around the
+room, as if wondering if he had entered the wrong house by mistake. Then
+the man’s voice again:
+
+“Look at it right. You are young yet; the prettiest woman in this
+county. Do you want to throw away your youth? Do you want to look like
+the rest of these cattlemen’s wives in a few years, or do you want to
+live in luxury, retain your beauty?
+
+“Bud Daley can never hope to give you much. I will admit that Bud is
+doing the best he can, but it isn’t enough. As a cattleman, he is a
+failure; and you two can’t live on a cowpuncher’s salary. Just now,” the
+man laughed, “he is down in Modoc filling his skin with whisky--leaving
+you here alone.”
+
+If the woman made any reply, Bud was unable to hear it. He was sober
+now. The whisky had evaporated from his brain. He looked down at his
+bedraggled socks and at the boots under his arms. He lifted his eyes
+and stared toward the door, as the man’s voice continued:
+
+“I remember when you came here to Modoc. I knew then that you were the
+most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I pictured you in silks and furs,
+May. Since then you have been in my dreams, day-dreams and night-dreams.
+You are not happy. No, you are not. Can you look me in the eyes and tell
+me that you are satisfied with life? No, I didn’t think you could.
+
+“May, you can’t afford to throw away your life. Bud is man enough to
+understand--and if he doesn’t--well, what matter?”
+
+Bud’s face had gone gray in the yellow light of the lamp, and the lines
+of his face deepened, as he stared across the room into space. His mouth
+was so dry that it was painful, and his eyes ached from the intensity of
+looking far into the future.
+
+They were talking again, but he did not listen. The world had gone flat,
+stale. He wondered dimly if May had a wrap around her shoulders. It was
+cool out there on the porch. He felt cold.
+
+Then he found himself back at his horse and started to mount before he
+realized that he still carried his boots. They were hard to get on, and
+he wondered why he had ever taken them off. It was a foolish thing to
+do, he thought.
+
+He mounted his horse and looked slowly around.
+
+“Where am I goin’?” he asked himself, half-aloud. “I’m ready to go, and
+there ain’t no place.”
+
+Somewhere a cow bawled sleepily.
+
+“Wish I was a cow,” said Bud wearily. “Cows don’t think.”
+
+On all sides stretched the moonlit hills, silver, blue and haze that hid
+their harsh outlines--a sparkling fairyland, topped with a ceiling of
+stars. Bud turned and rode out of the rear gate, heading into the hills;
+riding away from humanity, seeking the open places to clear his brain.
+
+On the slope of the hill he drew rein and looked back toward the
+ranch-house, where the oil-lamp gleamed, a dull pin-point of yellow
+light. It seemed that he could still hear the drone of voices on the
+front porch; but it was only the whispering of the breeze through the
+purple sage.
+
+“Lavelle, I reckon yo’re right,” he said softly. “Bud Daley can’t ever
+hope to give her much. And she can’t afford to throw away her life--look
+like the rest of the cattlemen’s wives. I--I never thought about it
+thataway, Lavelle.”
+
+Bud sighed deeply and the fumes of the forgotten whisky tasted sour to
+his palate.
+
+“Gawd,” he said softly, “you made a wonderful world, but, if I’m any
+judge, the makin’ of humanity wasn’t no job for one man.”
+
+Then he bowed his head and rode straight into the hills.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+After Bud had left them, Sody and Dinah proceeded to keep out of Dug
+Breed’s way and to drink much liquor. Dinah promised Sody that he
+would bury the hatchet as far as Short-Horn Adams was concerned and
+hold nothing but good thoughts for everybody.
+
+And so passed several pleasant hours in the lives of Dinah and Sody.
+The wooden sidewalks became far too narrow for their tread and the
+buildings, at times, surged and jerked violently. Then, without any
+warning, Dinah’s cup of joy turned sour, and he choked with a great
+emotion. In fact, he wept brokenly. Sody tried to cheer him, without
+avail. Then a great sadness came down upon Sody, and he cried too.
+
+It is very likely that the tears blinded them to such an extent that
+they separated. No one will ever know whether Sody lost Dinah or Dinah
+lost Sody. Anyway, as soon as he partly recovered from his crying spree,
+Sody went hunting for his little partner.
+
+But in all that vast army of gyrating houses, lamps, cowboys, he was
+unable to find the object of his search. From saloon to saloon he
+went, but there was no sign of Dinah Blewette. Then Sody decided that
+Dinah had gone home; so he went to the hitch-rack, intending to see
+if Dinah’s horse was still there.
+
+It was--and so was Dinah. He was sitting on the ground, with his back up
+against a post, and Sody did not see him until he stepped on his leg.
+
+“Yuh-yuh-yuh----” began Dinah indignantly.
+
+“Oh, there yuh are, eh?” said Sody.
+
+Sody lighted a match and looked Dinah over. His eyes were swollen and
+purple, his nose slightly out of line and he appeared to be minus
+several front teeth. Taking him all in all, Dinah was a greatly changed
+man.
+
+“Yuh found Short-Horn, didn’t yuh,” commented Sody. “Don’t try to answer
+me, Dinah. Every inch of yuh proclaims the fact that you cried yore way
+into his heart. My ----, but yo’re a mess!”
+
+He helped Dinah to his feet and backed him against the post, while he
+tried to wipe Dinah’s face with a handkerchief, which only increased
+the misery of the little cowpuncher.
+
+“Don’t try to tell me what to do,” growled Sody. “Yore face has got to
+be set right, or it’ll look awful queer. You ain’t got no sense, Dinah.
+Short-Horn is big enough to tie yuh in a knot and hang yuh up to dry.”
+
+“He-he dud-did,” said Dinah sadly.
+
+“Uh-huh.” Sody made a last swipe at Dinah’s face with the handkerchief
+and hitched up his own belt.
+
+“Well, we’ll have speech with Mister Short-Horn, Dinah. He’s a powerful
+mean critter, the same of which I ain’t too drunk to remember; so I goes
+cautious-like. I ain’t takin’ yore troubles upon me, yuh understand.
+Yore battles are yore battles, Dinah; but jist now I feels antagonistic
+agin’ him and all his ilk.
+
+“Know what ‘ilk’ means, Dinah? Don’t answer me. My ----, I do like these
+one-sided conversations. C’mon.”
+
+Sody hitched up his belt, squared around to get his bearings and headed
+for the Rest Ye All, with Dinah weaving along in his wake. For all of
+his huge bulk, Sody was as hard as nails; but he was cognizant of the
+fact that he was just a little too drunk to do a good job of fighting
+with his hands.
+
+The Rest Ye All was well filled with cowboys, who were spending their
+round-up stakes as fast as possible. The long bar was crowded to
+capacity, and the gambling-hall, at the rear, was blue with tobacco
+smoke and shifting forms. Sody shouldered his way past the bar, with
+Dinah following along in his wake, taking advantage of Sody’s bulk to
+clear a trail for him.
+
+Dug Breed was coming out into the barroom, elbowing his way along; but
+when he saw Sody and Dinah he turned around and forced his way back.
+Breed had heard that Short-Horn Adams had whipped Dinah Blewette, and
+he knew that the trail of these two JM cowpunchers would probably lead
+to trouble.
+
+And not only that, but Breed held no forgiveness in his heart for what
+Sody had done to him earlier in the evening; and he was all primed to
+tap Sody over the head with a gun and take him to jail.
+
+Short-Horn Adams was bucking a roulette wheel at the extreme end of the
+room and was having no luck whatever. Short-Horn’s voice was plainly
+audible as he complained over his ill-luck. Other punchers laughed,
+shouted with rough glee and placed their bets.
+
+A dapper little gambler was running the game, his derby hat cocked at
+a rakish angle on his head, a cigar held jauntily between his teeth.
+Short-Horn glared belligerently at him, as the gambler raked in
+Short-Horn’s last bets.
+
+“The house is lucky tonight, gents,” he laughed. “Put down your
+contributions and accept our sympathy.”
+
+“Yeah, yo’re sure lucky,” agreed Short-Horn. “I betcha I know what makes
+yuh lucky.”
+
+With a sweep of his hand, Short-Horn removed the hat from the gambler’s
+head and placed it on his own. Short-Horn’s head was a trifle too small
+and the derby fitted down over his brows.
+
+“Now spin yore wheel,” roared Short-Horn. “C’mon, gents. I’ve removed
+the curse from our midst, and we c’n break the danged game in three
+whirls.”
+
+_Whap!_
+
+Sody’s broad palm descended upon the derby with great force and drove it
+down over Short-Horn’s head, covering his face and wedging it down over
+his ears. Short-Horn whirled around clawing at the brim of the hat, but
+only succeeding in ripping the brim away.
+
+“Now yuh got him, Dinah,” said Sody calmly. “He’s yore size now, li’l
+feller. Help yoreself to the mustard.”
+
+And Dinah did not need a second invitation. With both fists he hammered
+the blinded Short-Horn unmercifully, while the crowd cheered wildly and
+gave him plenty of room. Many of them knew that Short-Horn had beaten
+Dinah, and they wanted to see the smaller man even the score, even if
+he was doing it unfairly.
+
+While Short-Horn clawed at the hat-brim, which stuck tightly, Dinah
+socked him with both fists, driving him back into the roulette layout.
+And then, through the cheering crowd, came Dug Breed, shoving his way
+to the center, only to be met by Sody Slavin.
+
+“Stop it!” yelped Breed. “I’ll arrest every----”
+
+But his threat was unfinished, when Sody bumped into him, crashing him
+back into the crowd. At this moment, Short-Horn managed to get the hat
+loose, and charged Dinah, who ducked down and let Short-Horn fall over
+him.
+
+“Rattle yore hocks, Dinah!” yelled Sody. “The sheriff is angry with us.
+C’mon!”
+
+Sody dived straight at the crowd, with Dinah wobbling after him, and
+the crowd surged in behind them, blocking the sheriff and the cursing
+Short-Horn, who had a gun in his hand and murder in his eye.
+
+Straight out past the bar went Sody and Dinah, heading for their horses,
+which were up the street at the nearest hitch-rack. Sody knew that it
+would be dangerous for them to stay in Modoc. It would mean a gun-battle
+with Short-Horn and his gang--if the sheriff did not get them first.
+
+They had swung on to their horses and spurred into the street when
+they heard the unmistakable thud of a revolver shot, fired from inside
+a building. Sody’s horse lurched sidewise and went to its knees, while
+Sody flung himself free, bounced to his feet and ran to Dinah, who was
+having trouble with his animal.
+
+Up behind Dinah’s saddle climbed the big cowpuncher, while Dinah’s
+horse, unused to a double-load, bawled wildly, threw down its head and
+bucked out of town, heading for the home ranch.
+
+But the bucking was of short duration, because of the fact that Sody’s
+weight was too much for the broncho to handle; but they faded out of
+Modoc’s sight so fast that only a wisp of dust blew back to show of
+their leaving.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dug Breed clawed his way to the street about the time that they faded
+out. Several others arrived about this time, their interest centered
+on Sody’s horse, which sprawled in the middle of the street. The fact
+that some one had fired several pistol shots did not alarm them in the
+least.
+
+“I heard three shots fired,” volunteered a cowpuncher. “I was comin’ up
+the street and I see this horse go down. I think the first shot hit the
+horse, but I dunno where they was fired from.”
+
+Dug Breed said nothing. The horse was quite dead; so they unsaddled
+it, and two cowboys, using their ropes, hooked on to it from their
+saddle-horns and dragged the carcass off the street.
+
+Breed knew that the shots had not been fired by Short-Horn nor by any
+one in the Rest Ye All; and he wondered who else had a grievance against
+Sody Slavin.
+
+Across the street was a general merchandise store, post office,
+restaurant and the Modoc bank. The restaurant was the only one of the
+four that was open at this time of night. Farther up that side of the
+street were more saloons, but the shots could hardly have been fired
+from there.
+
+Beside the Rest Ye All saloon was a big feed store, on one side, and
+on the other was another general merchandise store, both closed. Breed
+found the cowboy who had heard the shots and questioned him.
+
+“I dunno much about it,” confessed the cowboy, “but they did seem to
+come from the other side, and they was kinda muffled, like they was
+from inside a house. I heard one shot, and then I seen the horse
+fall down. I was kinda interested in that, but I sure heard two more
+shots.”
+
+Breed crossed the street and walked past the restaurant. There were
+several diners within, busily engaged with their food. He walked past
+the store, which was unlighted, the door locked. The post office was
+locked, blinds drawn.
+
+But in front of the Modoc bank he stopped. There was glass on the
+sidewalk, which had fallen from one of the front windows. A closer
+examination showed that almost the entire pane was missing.
+
+“Did somebody shoot from inside the bank?” wondered Breed as he peered
+in through the broken window.
+
+He broke away some of the jagged glass and prepared to climb within, but
+changed his mind. It might look bad, he thought.
+
+It was only a short distance to the home of Frank Jordan, president of
+the bank, and Breed negotiated it in short order.
+
+Jordan was asleep, but Breed beat a tattoo on the door with the muzzle
+of his gun and soon aroused him.
+
+“This is the sheriff,” informed Breed. “One of the front windows of the
+bank has been smashed out.”
+
+“Smashed out?” Jordan grew very wide awake. “Who smashed it?”
+
+“----, I dunno!” snapped Breed. “Hop into yore pants and let’s find out.
+And don’t forget yore key.”
+
+Jordan appeared in a few minutes, and they hurried down to the bank.
+Breed told him nothing about the shots nor of the dead saddle-horse,
+but Jordan volunteered the information that George Findlay, the
+cashier, intended to work late that evening.
+
+“Did he have anythin’ agin’ Sody Slavin?” asked Breed.
+
+“Slavin? That big cowboy? Why, I--I really can’t say, sheriff. Not that
+I know of. In fact, I doubt that George knows him.”
+
+Jordan grunted wonderingly at the broken window and opened the door. The
+bank was lighted with oil-lamps, which it took several moments to find
+in the dark. The vault door was wide open, as was the inner door.
+
+Jordan gawped wildly around, while Breed walked to the vault door and
+peered inside.
+
+“Look over there!” exclaimed Jordan, pointing back toward the door.
+
+Just to the left of the door, directly below the smashed window, was the
+huddled body of the bank cashier. Breed went swiftly to him, turning his
+face up to the light.
+
+“Is he dead?” asked Jordan hoarsely.
+
+“Yeah.” Breed squinted at the window and back at the dead cashier.
+
+“He’s been hit over the head,” said Breed. “Mebbe that didn’t stop him;
+so they used lead on the poor ----. Better take a look at the vault,
+Jordan.”
+
+They left the body lying there and went to the vault, carrying a lamp.
+Swiftly the banker examined the place, but shook his head wearily.
+
+“I can’t tell how much, if anything, is missing, sheriff. It will take a
+complete check to tell. I am afraid that the Modoc bank is hit hard.”
+
+He stooped and picked up several loose bills which had been dropped on
+the floor. The sheriff picked up several silver dollars, and among them
+was a silver piece, which was not a dollar. He looked closely at it.
+
+“What is it, sheriff?” asked the banker.
+
+“A rosette,” said Breed thoughtfully.
+
+“A rosette?”
+
+“Yeah. One of them ornaments that punchers wear on the side of their
+chaps. I’ll keep this, ’cause it might come in handy.”
+
+They went back into the room, and the banker closed the vault, while
+Breed studied the case. There was a spot of blood on the floor near
+the vault door. The cashier was wearing a coat. Just to the right of
+the front door, the sheriff picked up a black hat.
+
+“That’s George’s hat,” said the banker.
+
+“They probably laid for him,” said Breed. “When he came out the door
+they herded him back in here, made him open the vault and then sapped
+him over the head. They probably thought he was hit hard enough to
+make him lay still; but he recovered and tried to make a getaway. They
+missed him with one shot and smashed the window. That bullet killed
+Sody Slavin’s horse. The other two got George. You stay here while I
+get the coroner, Jordan.”
+
+“Have you any idea who did it?” asked Jordan.
+
+“If I have, I ain’t yellin’ it,” said Breed, and slammed the door behind
+him.
+
+He felt of the hammered silver rosette as he hurried along, and the feel
+of it brought a grin to his lips.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was after nine o’clock the following morning, when Bud Daley rode up
+to his stable. All night long he had ridden the hills, and his horse
+stumbled wearily to a standstill, its head hanging.
+
+And Bud was just as weary as the horse. His face was gray and drawn from
+his mental battle, but his lips were drawn tightly in a stern resolution
+to put the case squarely up to his wife. He felt that he would know in a
+moment just how she felt about it.
+
+She came out through the kitchen door as he dismounted, shading her
+eyes from the sun, and walked slowly toward him, while he yanked the
+saddle from his horse.
+
+Another rider was coming in toward the ranch, and Mrs. Daley turned to
+look at him. It was Dug Breed, the sheriff. He raised his hat to Mrs.
+Daley and dismounted beside her, as Bud came up to them.
+
+“Hello, Dug,” said Bud wearily.
+
+He felt that Breed was out there because of what happened the night
+before, and grinned slightly, as he remembered that he had knocked the
+table away from the sheriff.
+
+“Mornin’, Bud,” said Breed softly. “Been ridin’?”
+
+Bud looked at his wife. Her general appearance indicated that she had
+spent a sleepless night. Breed looked at Bud’s horse, which was rolling
+in the dust beside the corral. It was easy to see that the horse had
+traveled many miles during the night.
+
+“Yeah,” Bud nodded slowly. “I’ve been ridin’. Why?”
+
+“Where yuh been ridin’ to, Bud?”
+
+“What’s that to you, Dug?”
+
+“Mebbe a lot--mebbe a little, Bud. Can yuh prove where you’ve been
+ridin’?”
+
+Bud shifted uneasily and his eyes hardened.
+
+“Where was you about midnight, Bud?” asked Breed.
+
+“None of your ---- business!”
+
+Bud’s body tensed angrily and his right hand dropped to his side. Mrs.
+Daley looked from one to the other quickly and started to put her hand
+on Bud’s arm, but he stepped aside.
+
+“I ain’t goin’ to quarrel with yuh, Bud,” said Breed slowly. “You don’t
+have to tell me where you’ve been, if yuh don’t want to. But, under the
+circumstances, I’ve got to arrest yuh for the murder of George Findlay
+and for robbin’ the Modoc bank.”
+
+Bud’s right hand came up slowly and the back of it brushed across his
+eyes. He scowled thoughtfully, but a grin crossed his lips.
+
+“You jokin’ me, Dug?” he asked hoarsely.
+
+“Wish I was, Bud. You’ll come peaceful-like, won’t yuh?”
+
+“I’m under arrest?”
+
+“Yeah, yuh sure are, Bud. I hate----”
+
+“What do you know about hate?” Bud’s voice was flat, toneless.
+
+He looked at his wife. Her eyes were wide with fright and her face
+looked pale and drawn.
+
+“Bud,” she whispered, “you--you didn’t do this. Why, you couldn’t have
+done a thing like that, Bud.”
+
+Bud looked at her thoughtfully. Then he shook his head, and a wistful
+smile passed his lips as he said:
+
+“May, yuh never can tell what a human bein’ will do. I’ve kinda lost
+faith in folks.”
+
+“But you can prove that you didn’t do it, can’t you, Bud?”
+
+“No-o-o,” Bud shook his head. “I don’t reckon I can, and I don’t know
+anybody that can prove it for me.”
+
+Breed turned to Mrs. Daley.
+
+“Wasn’t Bud home last night?”
+
+“You don’t need to answer that, May,” said Bud quickly.
+
+“No, she don’t have to,” admitted Breed.
+
+“But why do yuh blame me for it, Dug?” asked Bud. “You ain’t told me a
+thing, except that I’m guilty.”
+
+Breed stepped in closer to Bud, examining the sides of his leather
+chaps, while Bud watched him curiously. Then Breed pointed to a spot
+about midway of Bud’s right leg.
+
+“Where’s the rosette gone, Bud?”
+
+“The rosette?”
+
+Bud frowned and looked closely. On the left leg there were five silver
+rosettes; on the right there were only four. They were of a peculiar
+design, hand-hammered from silver. Bud had made them from Mexican silver
+and had stamped the designs with a leather stamping tool.
+
+“I must ’a’ lost it,” muttered Bud.
+
+“I found it on the vault floor,” said Breed slowly, watching Bud’s
+face. “There was some scattered money, too. Findlay was over by the
+front window--dead.”
+
+“On the vault floor?” muttered Bud vacantly. “That’s funny.”
+
+He examined the leg of his chaps closely. The piece of whang-leather,
+which looped through the rosette, had worn through.
+
+“Yeah--on the vault floor,” said Breed.
+
+“Oh, Bud!” breathed his wife. “You didn’t do this. Say that you didn’t
+do it, Bud.”
+
+Bud sighed and shook his head.
+
+“What’s the use, May? I reckon it don’t make much difference, anyway.”
+
+He held his hands out to Breed, a wistful smile on his lips.
+
+“Better put ’em on, Dug, yuh never can tell about me--or any other human
+bein’.”
+
+Breed snapped the handcuffs on Bud’s wrists, took Bud’s gun and shoved
+it inside his own waist-band.
+
+“You’ll have to saddle my horse for me, Dug,” he grinned.
+
+“All right,” Breed sighed with relief.
+
+He was glad to have taken Bud Daley without trouble. Bud followed him
+down to the horse, but Mrs. Daley turned and went back to the house, a
+dejected little figure, and leaned against the kitchen door wearily,
+while Bud and the sheriff rode away.
+
+Bud did not look back.
+
+“Mebbe it’s better this way,” he told himself. “I don’t care a dang what
+happens from now on.”
+
+There was no demonstration in Modoc when the sheriff came in with his
+prisoner. Bud was well liked by the cattlemen. Jordan had made an
+investigation of the robbery and found that the Modoc bank was about
+twenty thousand dollars loser.
+
+Jordan lost no time in interviewing Bud in the jail. Even if Bud was
+convicted, the fact still remained that the Modoc bank was still twenty
+thousand dollars short--which was a lot of money.
+
+Jordan intimated that the return of the money would react in Bud’s
+favor; but Bud only grinned at him and reminded him that murder was
+murder and had nothing whatever to do with money.
+
+“And besides,” reminded Bud, “if I was able to hand yuh back that money,
+it would only cinch the murder on to me. Whoever got that money killed
+Findlay.”
+
+Then came Uncle Jimmy Miller, like a raging bob-cat. He swore and raved
+about what he was going to do, while Bud grinned and smoked his
+cigarets. Then he cooled down and told Bud that one of Bud’s shots had
+killed Sody Slavin’s horse. The fact that Uncle Jimmy was sure that Bud
+had done the job made no difference.
+
+“I’ll back yuh for the last ---- cent I’ve got,” he declared. “Never
+did have no use for banks, by ----! Wanted to borry some money about
+a year ago from Jordan. Wanted ten p’cent.! Wanted me to give him a
+mortgage on the JM. Dang him, he wanted the world with a fence around
+it. Jist the same as told me that m’ word wasn’t no good. I’ll betcha
+he’ll be dunnin’ yuh for ten p’cent., if they convicts yuh, Bud.”
+
+“They’ll likely hang me, if they find me guilty,” grinned Bud.
+
+“Like ---- they will! Let ’em try it. By ----, I’ll organize a gang of
+m’ own and take this town apart. Oh, I ain’t too old to act right smart
+at times, Bud. I used t’ be a hellion in m’ time, and Dug Breed won’t be
+the first sheriff that I’ve called upon to hunt a new stompin’-ground.
+And some of ’em has sure hummed like a spike gettin’ away, too.”
+
+Bud laughed and shook his head.
+
+“Better let things go as they lay, Uncle Jimmy.”
+
+“Uh-huh.” Thoughtfully. “What about May? How’d she take it?”
+
+“Oh, all right, I reckon.”
+
+Uncle Jimmy considered Bud closely.
+
+“You and May ain’t antagonistic toward each other, are yuh?”
+
+“No-o-o.”
+
+“Yes, yuh are. Now, you jist set easy, Bud; I’ll take care of May.”
+
+Bud shook his head and stared at the ashes of his cigaret.
+
+“Better let her alone, Uncle Jimmy.”
+
+“Thasso? You go to ----, will yuh?” Uncle Jimmy got to his feet and
+backed to the barred door. “You see if I let her alone, young feller.
+Ain’t either one of yuh got any sense. Now you set down on the seat of
+yore pants, ’cause you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
+
+Dug Breed unlocked the door and Uncle Jimmy went swearing back to the
+street.
+
+Sody and Dinah came cautiously back to town, but every one seemed to
+have forgotten the incidents of the night before. Uncle Jimmy told
+them about the arrest, and Sody swore wonderingly at the fact that it
+was one of Bud’s misdirected shots that killed his horse.
+
+“Gug-gosh!” blurted Dinah in amazement.
+
+“Now that’s about all from you,” warned Sody. “This ain’t a case that
+requires a lot of conversation, Dinah. How much money did Bud get, Uncle
+Jimmy?”
+
+“Twenty thousand dollars.”
+
+“The ol’ son of a gun!” applauded Sody. “Bud ain’t no piker, is he?
+Whooee-e-e! Twenty thousand!”
+
+“But he’s in jail for murder,” reminded Uncle Jimmy.
+
+“I know, but--gosh, that’s a lot of money. He likely planted it in a
+safe place, too.”
+
+“You kinda amaze me, Sody,” said Uncle Jimmy sadly. “Don’tcha know yo’re
+applaudin’ a murderer? My ----, ain’tcha got no respect for the law?”
+
+“Since when did you git so danged sanitary?” demanded Sody.
+
+“I’ve allus respected the law, Sody.” Softly and sadly.
+
+“You have, like----!”
+
+“I have respect for the law, Sody.”
+
+“Yeah, sure yuh have. You respect a kickin’ bronc, too. You don’t monkey
+with the business end of the ---- thing; you get ahead of it.”
+
+“He-he-he-he,” chuckled Dinah.
+
+“Sure he does,” interrupted Sody. “We know him. He gits ahead of the
+law--where the thing can’t kick him. Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
+
+“A prophet is without honor in his own home town,” said Uncle Jimmy
+sadly, shaking his head.
+
+“Profit!” snorted Sody. “Yo’re a dead loss, Jim Miller. Let’s go and git
+a drink.”
+
+“If I was in m’ right mind, I’d fire you, Sody,” declared Uncle Jimmy.
+
+“If you wait for that, I’ve got a life job,” grinned Sody.
+
+They went into the Rest Ye All and stopped at the bar. Several men
+were there, and among them was Cleve Lavelle. He nodded absently and
+continued to converse with the others. Naturally the robbery and
+murder was the topic of conversation.
+
+“I dunno how Bud Daley is goin’ to even hire a lawyer,” said one of the
+men. “He’s flat broke, I hear.”
+
+“I’ll be ---- if he is!” snorted Uncle Jimmy, “the JM ranch is behind
+him, with every horn and hide I’ve got.”
+
+“You don’t think he’s guilty, Miller?” asked Lavelle.
+
+“What the ---- difference does that make?”
+
+“All right,” nodded Lavelle. “I’ll go fifty-fifty with you on the deal.”
+
+“You mean that you’ll help him, too, Lavelle?”
+
+“Just that,” said Lavelle firmly. “As far as Daley is personally
+concerned, I’m not interested; but we’ve got to remember that he’s got a
+wife. Things like this hurt a woman, boys. Whether he’s guilty or not,
+we’ve got to try and save him. He owes me a lot of money, which I never
+expect to collect. He got sore because I would not lend him another ten
+thousand.”
+
+“Then he needed money, eh?” queried one of the men.
+
+“I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned that,” said Lavelle. “He must
+have needed it, or he wouldn’t have tried to borrow. Yes, he claimed
+that some one had stolen all his cattle.”
+
+“They did,” said Uncle Jimmy. “Bud won’t lie.”
+
+“All right,” laughed Lavelle. “Let’s have a drink.”
+
+
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+
+The smoking-car creaked and groaned as the train swung slowly around one
+of the many sharp curves in the Modoc country. From the engine came the
+shrill whistle, sounding eerie and far away; from the wheels came the
+_clickety-click_, _clickety-click_, caused by the rail-joints.
+
+There were only two men in the smoker--“Hashknife” Hartley and “Sleepy”
+Stevens. Hashknife sprawled his six-feet-plus in solid comfort, hunched
+down so low that his coat hiked up around his ears and the lower part of
+his lean face was hidden inside the unbuttoned collar.
+
+Sleepy was also at ease, although he did not have as much length to
+distribute. His booted feet were heel-hooked against the cushion of
+the opposite seat, his nose slightly flattened against the window as
+he stared out into the darkness.
+
+Both men were dressed in range fashion. On the seat in front of them
+rested a couple of cheap telescope valises, not at all bulged. In
+fact, the sides were just a trifle sunken, which would indicate that
+these two sons of the range were traveling light.
+
+Hashknife’s right hand fumbled in the pocket of his faded vest and drew
+out a conglomeration of matches, cigaret papers, a revolver cartridge
+and a piece of string. He selected a paper, carefully replaced the other
+impedimenta and glanced sidewise at Sleepy.
+
+“Gimme yore Durham.”
+
+Sleepy’s nose squeaked on the glass, as he turned his head.
+
+“Why dontcha buy yuh some Durham once in a while?”
+
+Hashknife looked with disapproval upon his partner.
+
+“You ain’t refusin’ me yore Durham, are yuh, cowboy?”
+
+Sleepy grunted complainingly, dug into a hip-pocket and drew out a sack
+of the required brand.
+
+“Yo’re always stingy,” observed Hashknife, helping himself from the
+inverted sack, and spilling a goodly quantity into the wrinkles of his
+shirt. “I always give you tobacco, don’t I? Answer me that, why don’t
+yuh? Any old time I have tobacco----”
+
+“Any old time yuh do!” snorted Sleepy, accepting the sack and shoving it
+deep in his pocket.
+
+Hashknife scratched a match and settled down to solid comfort again.
+Sleepy humped over, searching under the seat for a much-thumbed
+time-table, which he perused diligently for a while.
+
+“The ---- fool that got up this here time-table must ’a’ knowed what he
+meant; but I don’t,” he declared. “It says here for yuh to read up. Read
+up, ----! It ain’t no ways----”
+
+“He means for yuh to read up the page,” informed Hashknife.
+
+“Didja think I thought he meant for me to read up the side of my boot? I
+know what he meant.”
+
+“Didja? When do we hit Modoc?”
+
+Sleepy perused the page again.
+
+“Up or down?” he asked.
+
+“Which way are we goin’?”
+
+“That’s why I complains,” explained Sleepy, throwing the offending
+folder on the floor. “Nobody knows, except the _hombre_ that wrote
+it--and he prob’ly didn’t want to go to Modoc.”
+
+“Probably not,” agreed Hashknife. “I’ll betcha that Modoc don’t care
+what he thought, though.”
+
+“I s’pose not.” Thus Sleepy wearily. “Mebbe Bud Daley won’t be a ----
+bit glad to see us.”
+
+“Yeah, he will,” said Hashknife. “Old Bud’s a good feller.”
+
+“Was,” corrected Sleepy. “You ain’t heard from him lately.”
+
+“Year ago last Christmas.”
+
+“And this is September. Danged near two years.”
+
+“That’s right. Time sure does gallop along.”
+
+“And it wasn’t nothin’ but a Christmas card he sent yuh.”
+
+“That’s all,” Hashknife yawned widely and threw away his cigaret. “But
+it said he’d like to have us stop and see him some time, Sleepy--him and
+May.”
+
+“He had to be polite,” grinned Sleepy. “I wonder if May is as pretty as
+she used to be? My golly, she sure was a dinger.”
+
+“Wouldn’t change much in two years, or so. Yessir, she sure was pretty,
+Sleepy. I’ve seen a lot of girls, but I’ll betcha that May Daley is the
+prettiest. She was too pretty to be safe and sound.”
+
+“M-m-m-m. I s’pose that Bud and her are gettin’ along like old married
+folks. He prob’ly puts on his slippers at night, don’t play no poker,
+has to sneak a drink and then eat cloves. Smokes a pipe out in the
+woodshed and never says ----, except when he refers to a irrigation
+project.
+
+“How did he ever happen to go to this Modoc country, Hashknife? Didn’t
+her folks live up here, or how was it?”
+
+“I dunno about her folks, Sleepy. Bud met the owner of a cowranch up
+here and he offers Bud a good job, I reckon. That’s the way it was
+told to me. Bud never said how it comes. Anyway, it don’t make me no
+never mind. As long as we’re passin’ Modoc, I thought we might as
+well stop off to see him.”
+
+“Sure; I’d like to see old Bud. He used to be a forked sort of a
+puncher. Didja ever hear anythin’ about this Modoc range?”
+
+Hashknife shook his head.
+
+“Nope. It’s a big range, I reckon. There’s a lot of cows shipped out of
+here. Remember them two painted broncs that Red Ellers had at Skyline?
+They was branded with the Bow-Knot. Red called ’em the ‘Necktie’ broncs.
+Them two was from Modoc. Red spoke about the range once in a while, but
+I don’t remember much of his talk.”
+
+They were silent for quite a while as the train lurched along through
+the hills. Then:
+
+“Hashknife, I wonder if me and you will ever settle down?”
+
+“I dunno.” Hashknife smiled softly and rubbed his chin against the
+collar of his shirt. “I s’pose so, Sleepy. I’m gettin’ kinda tired
+of rammin’ around the country, hornin’ into other folks’ business.
+Sometimes I wish I had a home, cowboy.”
+
+“Mebbe we’ll hit a good range some day; a range where we’ll want to
+settle down and take life easy. The years roll along, Sleepy. A
+buckin’ bronc kinda makes me weary, and I’m gettin’ slow with a gun.
+We’re bound to slow up, don’tcha know it? We try to kid ourselves
+into thinkin’ that we’re just as fast as we was a few years ago, but
+age sneaks along and takes the snap out of us. Pretty soon me and
+you will buck up agin’ a tough deal and we’ll find that we’re just a
+fraction of a second slow.”
+
+Sleepy looked at Hashknife and laughed.
+
+“All right, Methusalem; yo’re about ready for the bone-yard.”
+
+Hashknife grinned and stretched in a wide yawn.
+
+“All right. Anyway, I’m growin’ timid in my old age. Here comes the
+brakeman, lightin’ his way with a lantern that don’t give no light.”
+
+The brakeman came up the swaying aisle, grasping the backs of the seats,
+and when almost to the two men, he opened his mouth and yelled--
+
+“Moo-o-doc!”
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy uncoupled quickly and grasped their valises. Came a
+long-drawn wail from the locomotive, and the _clickety-clicks_ sounded
+at longer intervals as the brake-shoes gripped softly on to the wheels
+and slowly brought the train to a stop.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy were halfway to the doorway, when the train
+stopped, with Hashknife in the lead. Suddenly he stopped and Sleepy
+bumped into him. For a moment Hashknife held firm, then turned quickly
+and shoved Sleepy out of the aisle and into a seat.
+
+It was all done so quickly that Sleepy had no time to protest, and
+found himself sitting down, with Hashknife beside him, while through
+the doorway came two men. Sleepy blinked. One of the men was Bud Daley,
+the man they were going to stop at Modoc to see, and he was linked by a
+handcuff to the other man.
+
+Then the train started on. The two men sat down a few seats ahead and
+across the aisle from Hashknife and Sleepy, without paying any attention
+to them. The two cowboys looked at each other, as if seeking an answer
+to the question that was uppermost in their minds. Bud Daley had not
+seen them. Just now he sat on the inside, looking straight ahead, saying
+nothing.
+
+The other man turned his head and looked at Hashknife and Sleepy. He
+was a man of about forty years of age, hard-faced, keen of eye and
+rather cruel of mouth. He merely glanced at them and turned back.
+
+“Whatcha know about that?” whispered Sleepy.
+
+“Bud has done had the deadwood put upon him, it seems.”
+
+The train gained speed again. It was evident that there were many
+curvings of the railroad on this side of Modoc, as the old coach
+protested against the contortions; while the engineer shrilled an
+almost constant warning.
+
+They were possibly two miles out of Modoc when the train seemed to
+shudder its whole length as the brakes were applied heavily. The windows
+rattled and the doors banged loudly, while the whistle shrilled in short
+blasts. Then the train ground to a lurching stop.
+
+The man to whom Daley was linked leaned across and peered out of the
+window. Sleepy flattened his face against the window and tried to see
+something, but there was nothing but the dark.
+
+“Prob’ly hit a cow,” said Hashknife.
+
+“They sure can flag a train. I remember----”
+
+Hashknife stopped and turned his head. Some one was coming down the
+aisle from the rear of the train. And that someone was two masked men,
+very business-like with their six-shooters.
+
+“Don’t move, gents!”
+
+The one in the lead spoke sharply. Bud Daley jerked around, as did the
+man with him.
+
+“Just take things easy,” he cautioned. “That’s what we’re aimin’ to do.”
+
+He walked past Hashknife and Sleepy, past Daley and the other man and
+turned, while his companion stayed farther back, guarding from the rear.
+
+The man at the front took off his hat, disclosing the fact that the mask
+covered his entire head.
+
+“Now,” he said, “we will take up the collection. Just ante what you’ve
+got and don’t hold out on the handsome gent. Remember that the man
+behind yuh is lookin’ on, and don’t start nothin’.”
+
+He held out his hat, and for the first time he seemed to notice that the
+two men were linked together.
+
+“Well, well!” he exclaimed. “What have we here, folks? This must be the
+sheriff, takin’ a prisoner to the big corral. Bet there ain’t enough
+money on the two of yuh to buy a breakfast for a hummin’-bird. Huh!
+
+“Probably against the law, but I’m goin’ to ask the officer to turn his
+man loose. Officer, have yuh got the key for that padlock?”
+
+The officer squinted closely at him and was about to shake his head,
+when the bandit continued:
+
+“Go ahead and lie, if yuh want to; you’ll have to produce the key, just
+the same.”
+
+“All right,” grunted the officer, taking the key from his pocket.
+“You’ve got the drop.”
+
+He snapped the hand-cuff loose. The bandit motioned for Bud Daley to get
+up, which he lost no time in doing.
+
+“Beat it,” said the bandit. “I’ve done all I can for yuh.”
+
+Swiftly Daley went to the door and swung off into the darkness. The
+bandit laughed, stepped past the officer and faced Hashknife and Sleepy,
+holding out his hat.
+
+“Pardner,” grinned Hashknife, “you’ve sure picked a blank. We’ve got
+what’s left of a pair of tickets, an appetite and nowhere in particular
+to go.”
+
+“Yeah?” The bandit glanced sidewise at the officer, who was sitting
+rigidly in his seat.
+
+“Broke, eh?” he asked.
+
+“Bent all to thunder,” nodded Hashknife.
+
+Swiftly the bandit reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of
+silver, which he tossed to Hashknife.
+
+“Breakfast stake, gents,” he laughed. “Sit just like yuh are and
+everybody will have a pleasant evenin’.”
+
+“Much obliged,” said Hashknife, “and we’re holdin’ firm.”
+
+Swiftly the two bandits backed out of the car, shutting the door behind
+them. Then the officer sprang to his feet, drew a gun and ran toward the
+rear door; but there was no sign of the two bandits.
+
+He came back cursing his luck, and went to the front door. From outside,
+farther up the train, came a fusillade of shots. The officer stepped out
+on the platform, but did not leave the car.
+
+“What do yuh make of it, Hashknife?” queried Sleepy.
+
+“I dunno, cowboy. Let’s investigate.”
+
+They found the officer on the steps, leaning out, looking toward the
+front of the train. There was nothing to be seen. Then a man came
+running back, carrying a lantern. It was the brakeman.
+
+“They’re gone!” he yelled, as he came up to them. “Robbed every car,
+cut loose the express car and engine and took ’em away. Did they come
+into this car?”
+
+“By ----, they sure did!” snorted the officer. “They took my prisoner
+away from me.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” nodded the brakeman, too excited to even care who the prisoner
+might be. “They’ve done a good job of it, I guess. I’ve got to flag the
+rear, or some darned freight will come along and ruin us.”
+
+He trotted away up the track, his lantern bobbing in the dark.
+
+“Got any idea who pulled the job?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“No!” The officer was sore.
+
+“You’re the sheriff, ain’t yuh?”
+
+“Yeah.”
+
+“Waitin’ for ’em to come back?”
+
+“Waitin’ for who to come back?”
+
+“The hold-up men,” said Hashknife innocently.
+
+The sheriff grunted an unprintable word and dropped off the platform.
+
+“Now yuh went and made him sore,” complained Sleepy. “And he’ll go away
+and leave us here alone. You don’t show no judgment a-tall, Hashknife.”
+
+The sheriff heard it, but did not turn his head. The conductor came on
+to the platform and flashed his lantern into them.
+
+“Did they collect back here, too?” he asked.
+
+“They had it in mind,” grinned Hashknife. “But it wasn’t in the cards.
+What did they do--swipe the express car?”
+
+“They sure did,” said the conductor. “There must have been a bunch of
+’em, because they worked all the cars at the same time. Some of the
+bunch took the engine and express car, but the rest of them had their
+horses handy and pulled out as soon as they had cleaned out the train.
+It sure was a neat job.”
+
+“Yeah, they knowed how to do it,” said Hashknife. “How far are we from
+Modoc?”
+
+“About two miles.” The conductor swung his lantern outward.
+
+“Who is that out there?” he asked.
+
+“That’s the sheriff,” explained Hashknife. “He’s lookin’ for ’em to come
+back.”
+
+The sheriff turned and climbed back onto the platform, where he glared
+at Hashknife and turned to the conductor.
+
+“I got on with a prisoner--a murderer,” he said coldly, “and that gang
+turned him loose.”
+
+“Got on at Modoc?” asked the conductor.
+
+“Yeah.”
+
+From down the track came the whistle of a locomotive. The conductor
+swung down and ran toward the front of the train, as the engine came
+backing around the curve, shoving the express car. There was a great
+bobbing about of lanterns near the car, as the train jerked from the
+jar of the coupling. Came a shrill blast of a whistle, and the train
+began slowly backing toward Modoc.
+
+The sheriff turned and went back into the car, followed by Hashknife and
+Sleepy.
+
+“Did you say that yore prisoner was a murderer?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“What’s it to yuh?” Thus the sheriff sarcastic in his anger.
+
+“Don’t antagonize him, I tell yuh,” warned Sleepy. “He’s the sheriff,
+and he’s got a awful mad spell upon himself.”
+
+“You think you’re smart, don’t yuh?” queried the sheriff.
+
+“Well, mebbe I ain’t so smart,” said Sleepy seriously, “but I’m sure
+cautious. As far back as we’ve ever traced our family tree, there has
+been a cautious streak. Yessir, the old sap jist fairly oozes caution.
+Now----”
+
+“Aw, to ---- with your family tree!” snorted the sheriff.
+
+“That’s what I always told pa. I don’t hold with no----”
+
+“My ----!” breathed the sheriff wearily and moved away down the car.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy exchanged mirthful glances and secured their
+valises. The train was backing into the depot at Modoc; so they swung
+on to the platform and headed up the main street of the town. Neither
+of them cared to stay there at the depot and hear a rehearsal of the
+hold-up; and it would likely be a relief for the sheriff to know that
+he was rid of their presence.
+
+The main street of Modoc was not well-enough lighted for them to get
+much of an idea of the town, but from the number of hitch-racks and the
+general appearance of the street it appeared to be a well patronized
+cow-town.
+
+Most of the buildings were of the false-fronted variety, but here and
+there a two-story frame building lifted its top a trifle above the
+ordinary. It seemed that the business district was composed mostly of
+saloons.
+
+Out in front of one, which bore the title of Rest Ye All, a fat cowboy
+was doing his little best to brace up the front of the place, while he
+sang mournfully:
+
+    “I don’ wanna play in yore yard,
+    I don’ like you any mo-o-o-o-ore.
+    You’ll be sor-r-ree when you see me-e-e-e
+    Slidin’ dow-w-wn our cel-lur-r doo-o-o-or.
+    You can’t hol-ler dow-w-wn our rain bar’l,
+    You can’t climb our apple tree-e-e-e;
+    You can’t play in ow-w-wer yar-r-r-rd,
+    ’Cause you won’t be good to me-e-e-e-e.”
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy waited until he had finished and was still panting
+from clinging quaveringly to the personal pronoun at the end of the
+chorus.
+
+“You’ve got a good voice, pardner,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Y’betcha,” agreed the cowpuncher heartily. “Yuh like to hear me sing?”
+
+“Nope. You’ve got a good voice--but not for singin’. Do yuh think this
+saloon would fall down, if yuh moved away?”
+
+The cowpuncher grunted, shoved himself away from the wall and grasped a
+porch-post firmly with both arms.
+
+“Now whatcha goin’ to do?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“Sing. I’m sad, don’tcha know it? My ---- but I’m sad. And when I’m
+sad--I seeng, thasall.”
+
+“Oh, yo’re a seenger, are yuh?” laughed Hashknife. “Well, hop to it,
+brother. Far be it from us to curtail yore sadness.”
+
+“That’s real kind of yuh, I’m sure.”
+
+The cowboy almost fell off the sidewalk in trying to bow his
+appreciation, but Sleepy steadied him and helped him get a fresh grip
+on the post.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy passed on into the saloon, while the puncher lifted
+his voice in a wailing sort of a dirge, which bore a certain resemblance
+to “When You and I Were Young, Maggie.”
+
+The Rest Ye All was rather a pretentious place inside. A long, mahogany
+bar extended down the left side, backed by an ornate but damaged mirror.
+The walls were decorated with oil paintings of considerable merit,
+mounted in gaudy frames. Even the lamps were decorative.
+
+The barroom proper was about thirty feet long by twenty feet wide, with
+an archway at the rear, which led to the gambling parlor. As Hashknife
+and Sleepy stopped at the bar they caught a glimpse of several gaudily
+dressed women in the rear room, and to their ears came the rattle of
+poker-chips, the whir of a roulette-wheel, the soft voice of a dealer
+at a stud table.
+
+The pink-faced bartender, with a diamond horseshoe in his shirt front,
+lifted his eyebrows in interrogation. Hashknife and Sleepy made known
+their wants and drank silently.
+
+“Yuh got quite a place here, pardner,” observed Hashknife.
+
+“Yeap.” The bartender carefully polished the bar and replaced the
+bottle.
+
+“Swellest place this side of New York.”
+
+“Coverin’ a lot of territory, ain’t yuh?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“I’ve never been to New York,” grinned the bartender.
+
+“You spent much time between here and there?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“Nope. I’ve been as far East as Cheyenne.”
+
+“Thasso? You must like to travel.”
+
+At this time the fat cowboy came inside and weaved up to the bar, where
+he goggled at Hashknife.
+
+“I’m Sody Slavin,” he announced, and added, “And I’m sad within me.
+They took m’ friend Bud Daley t’ prison, don’tcha know it? And all he
+done was t’ kill a cashier and steal twenty thousand dollars. This
+here country is gettin’ too antisheptic for me, by gosh.”
+
+Hashknife squinted at Sleepy, who was making faces at himself in the
+back bar mirror. Came the sound of excited voices outside, and the
+sheriff came in, followed by several men. Sody squinted at the sheriff
+and reached for him with both hands.
+
+“Whazzamatter?” blurted Sody. “Where’s Bud?”
+
+“Aw, go to ----!” snorted the sheriff, shoving Sody aside, and heading
+for the back room.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy followed them into the gambling-room. Cleve Lavelle
+was just coming in from the rear, and the sheriff went straight to him
+with the news, blurting it loud enough for every one to hear.
+
+Those at the games quit playing and crowded around, while the sheriff
+told them what had taken place. But he only told of the cutting loose
+of the express car and the loss of his prisoner.
+
+“They robbed the passengers, too, didn’t they?” asked Hashknife.
+
+The crowd turned their attention to Hashknife. Breed squinted at him and
+shook his head.
+
+“No. That brakeman got so excited that he thought everybody was robbed.
+None of the passengers were molested, except me.”
+
+“How much did they git?” queried a cowboy.
+
+“Not much,” said the sheriff. “They dynamited the express safe, but
+didn’t get much. The messenger said that it was empty.”
+
+“And Bud Daley got away from yuh, eh?” chuckled another.
+
+“Oh, hurray! Hurray!” whooped Sody, who had followed them in. “Hurray
+f’r ol’ Bud.”
+
+Sody’s enthusiasm drew a laugh from the crowd and lessened any sympathy
+that might have gone to the sheriff.
+
+“It seems to me that there ought to be more action and less talk,”
+observed Hashknife. “A train robbery and an escaped murderer ought to
+make a sheriff do somethin’ besides talk himself tired.”
+
+Dug Breed squinted at Hashknife and Sleepy closely.
+
+“Takin’ quite a lot of interest in this ain’t yuh?” asked Breed
+sarcastically.
+
+“Well,” Hashknife grinned softly, “I’m a citizen, and I kinda like t’
+feel that I’m protected by the law.”
+
+“You ain’t,” declared Sody seriously. “P’tect yourself, stranger. The
+law means right, but she’s plumb flat-footed around here.”
+
+Breed grunted angrily and looked around, as though wondering just what
+reply to make. Hashknife grinned at Sody, who nodded owlishly and
+essayed a few jig-steps.
+
+“Who are these two men, Dug?” asked Lavelle.
+
+“---- if I know!” snapped Breed. “They were on the train.”
+
+“We’re just a couple of helpless mortals,” said Hashknife slowly. “We’re
+lookin’ for a peaceful place, thasall. We finds that we ain’t safe on a
+train; so we unloads here. Ain’t no objection to it, is there?”
+
+“Not that I know of,” said Lavelle.
+
+“Well, that’s nice of yuh, I’m sure,” said Hashknife. “We both thank
+yuh. My pardner is kinda timid; so I does the talkin’.”
+
+“Myah!” snorted Breed angrily, and turned his back on Hashknife.
+
+“Goin’ to git up a posse, Dug?” asked a cowboy.
+
+“Y’betcha.” Breed turned and walked swiftly back toward the barroom.
+
+“Let’s go and find a hotel, Sleepy,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Hotel, ----!” snorted Sody. “Git yore broncs and come out to the ranch
+with me.”
+
+“We ain’t got no broncs, Sody,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+“Ain’tcha?” Sody took this under advisement. “I’ll git yuh some.”
+
+“Not tonight,” said Hashknife. “We’ll hit the hay in a hotel tonight.”
+
+“All right,” grudgingly. “I’ll see yuh ’morrow. Yo’re the kinda folks I
+like, and you’ll like ol’ Jim Miller’s outfit. He’s got the JM outfit;
+_sabe_?”
+
+They talked outside and Sody pointed out the hotel down the street.
+
+“Who’s the feller that the sheriff talked to back there in the saloon?”
+asked Sleepy.
+
+“Tha’s Cleve Lavelle.”
+
+“Outside of his name, what is he?”
+
+“Mos’ly everythin’,” said Sody. “Owns everythin’, almost. Owns the 76A
+ranch, too.”
+
+“Was Bud Daley a friend of yours?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Yo’re ---- right. Bud’s a dinger. And he’s loose, ain’t he? Tha’s fine,
+y’betcha. Good ol’ Bud. I don’t like Dug Breed. He’s the sheriff. I’m
+jist as pop’lar with him as a set of delirium tremens.”
+
+“And they put the deadwood on Bud, did they?”
+
+“Oh, pos’tively. Twelve good men and true said he was guilty. Uncle
+Jimmy Miller and Cleve Lavelle hired the bes’ lawyers yuh ever seen,
+but they cinched him. Bud wouldn’t talk. My ----, I can’t con-shee-ve
+of anybody not talkin’, in a case like that. I’d talk so much and so
+fast that the judge would never have a chance to pronounsh shentence.
+That’s me--a man of many words.”
+
+“The sheriff was takin’ him to the pen, wasn’t he?”
+
+“Exactly. Oh, indeed he was, yessir. Bud was shentenced yesterday. They
+gave him twenty years.”
+
+“Who do yuh reckon took him away from the sheriff?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Who? I dunno. I’ve got to do a lot of thinkin’ before I can shay
+pos’tively. I’ll buy a drink.”
+
+“Not tonight,” laughed Hashknife. “Do yuh think they’ll catch Bud
+Daley?”
+
+“I refuse to state.” Sody grew very wise and serious. “If Bud don’t want
+to be caught, tha’s another matter en-tirely. Bud’s forked, don’tcha
+know it? He’ll fight. Yessir, I kinda look for gore to be spilled before
+they git ol’ Bud agin’.”
+
+They shook hands with Sody and went on toward the hotel.
+
+“What do yuh think of it, Hashknife?” queried Sleepy.
+
+“Looks like Bud Daley had growed horns and a tail, Sleepy. But yuh never
+can tell. We’ll sleep over it.”
+
+“We ought to have stayed on that train,” said Sleepy. “The first thing
+we know we’ll be sharpenin’ our horns agin’--and this don’t look like a
+one-man proposition.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was little excitement in Modoc the next morning. The sheriff and
+his posse, which consisted of Charley Morse, the deputy sheriff, “Monte”
+Sells, foreman of the 76A ranch, Frank Asher, of the same outfit, and
+Steve Harris, of the 4X, had not come back to town.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy ate breakfast late and ran into Sody Slavin at the
+post office. Uncle Jimmy had come in with him, and Sody lost no time in
+introducing Hashknife and Sleepy to him.
+
+“Sody tells me that you was on the train last night when it was held
+up,” said Uncle Jimmy.
+
+“Yeah, we were there,” grinned Hashknife. “Yuh see, we were on our way
+here to make Bud Daley a little visit. We came in by stage through the
+Brant River country to Dixon; and found ourselves so close to Modoc
+that we figured it would be kinda handy to drop off and see Bud.”
+
+“Thasso? You knowed Bud before, eh?”
+
+“Sure. We used to work with him. Tell us somethin’ about the trial, will
+yuh?”
+
+Uncle Jimmy related everything, according to the evidence, while the
+four of them sat on the edge of the board sidewalk and dug their heels
+into the dirt.
+
+“There wasn’t a lot of evidence ag’in him,” explained Uncle Jimmy. “That
+rosette off his chaps looked bad to the jury. Bud wouldn’t tell where he
+was that night, and everybody knowed that Bud needed money. He jist sat
+there and let ’em convict him, without even arguin’ about it.
+
+“Me and Cleve Lavelle hired lawyers for him, but they didn’t help Bud
+much, ’cause Bud wouldn’t talk. He jist didn’t seem to give a ----
+what they done to him. Old Jordan has been doin’ his dangdest to find
+out what Bud done with that money, but Bud won’t never tell.
+
+“If he lives to serve that twenty years, he’ll have twenty thousand
+dollars. Mebbe he looks at it thataway, I dunno. Didja ever know his
+wife, Hartley?”
+
+“Yeah. Knowed her before she married Bud. This must ’a’ been danged
+tough for her.”
+
+Uncle Jimmy nodded sadly.
+
+“----, yes. May is salt of the earth.”
+
+“They can’t take the ranch away from her, can they?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“I dunno. Anyway, it ain’t worth enough to battle about.”
+
+“Bud wasn’t a success as a cattleman, eh?”
+
+“He was doin’ all right until somebody stole all his cows.”
+
+Hashknife’s eyes opened a trifle wider and he looked sidewise at the old
+cattleman.
+
+“Stole all his cows?”
+
+“That’s what Bud says. He had a nice herd started. Bought out the old
+Triangle outfit, about three miles west of here, and had it registered
+as the Triangle D. Bud had a little money, but not enough; so he borrows
+five thousand from Lavelle, who owns the Rest Ye All over across the
+street.
+
+“Bud always was a gambler; so he takes that borrowed money and tackles
+the roulette. He sure was right that day, and he annexes ten thousand
+from Lavelle. That gives him fifteen thousand, and he soaks it all into
+cows.”
+
+“Was Lavelle sore?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“No. Lavelle is a gambler. Bud should ’a’ paid back that money right
+then, but he didn’t. The round-up was about three weeks ago, and there
+ain’t a Triangle D animal in the Modoc range.
+
+“I don’t sabe it no more than anybody else does. A lot of ’em think that
+Bud picked ’em up quietly and shoved the herd through the Crooked Cañon
+country and over to Black Wells.”
+
+“To keep from payin’ Lavelle that five thousand, eh?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“Seems to be the idea,” nodded Uncle Jimmy. “He even went and tried to
+borrow ten thousand more from Lavelle, but didn’t git it.”
+
+Hashknife laughed softly and shook his head.
+
+“Our friend Bud has become a salty sort of a gent, it seems.”
+
+“Could he drive his cows out of the country and not have it known?”
+asked Sleepy.
+
+“Could be done,” said Sody. “Bud’s place is kinda away by itself, and
+right on the old trail to Black Wells. He could ’a’ worked easy-like,
+bunched ’em in the hills back of his place and hammered ’em out at
+night, and it wouldn’t take more than a few hours to put ’em well into
+the Crooked Cañon country.”
+
+“But,” demurred Hashknife, “if he sold ’em in Black Wells, it ought to
+be easy to find it out.”
+
+Uncle Jimmy spat viciously and shook his head.
+
+“The only thing yuh ever find out in Black Wells is that it’s a ----
+good place to keep yore mouth shut.”
+
+“It’s a good place to dispose of stock,” grinned Sody. “They don’t even
+look at brands.”
+
+“Lavelle and Bud were good friends?”
+
+“Well,” grinned Uncle Jimmy, “he loaned Bud five thousand dollars, and
+then he paid half of his lawyer bill. I reckon that’s friendship, ain’t
+it?”
+
+“Kinda has the ear-marks,” smiled Hashknife. “Who do yuh reckon held up
+the train and turned Bud loose?”
+
+“More friendship,” laughed Sody. “Ol’ Bud was pop’lar.”
+
+“Bud didn’t trail with train-robbers, did he?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Uncle Jimmy squinted closely at Hashknife and placed a horny hand on
+Hashknife’s knee.
+
+“You ain’t pious, are yuh, Hartley?” he asked slowly.
+
+Hashknife laughed and shook his head.
+
+“Then don’t build yuh any glass houses and start throwin’ rocks.
+Friendship is friendship, accordin’ to my way of lookin’ at it,
+Hartley. I’ve heard that there was a ---- of a lot of bad folks in
+the Modoc country--but there ain’t none of us that say a prayer
+before we go to bed, ’cause we ain’t afraid of anybody shootin’ us
+in our sleep.”
+
+“I beg yore pardon, Jim Miller,” said Hashknife softly. “I reckon I
+understand how it is.”
+
+“Thasall right,” nodded Uncle Jimmy. “You know how we stand now.”
+
+“I’d like to see Mrs. Daley,” said Hashknife. “Yuh see, we came here to
+see Bud, and we’d like to do what we can for his wife.”
+
+“Mebbe we can get horses at the livery stable,” suggested Sleepy.
+
+“Yuh can, but yuh won’t need to,” grinned Sody. “I dragged in a
+couple of extra broncs with me this mornin’, and they’re over at the
+hitch-rack, waitin’ for yuh.”
+
+“You fellers kinda hypnotized Sody, didn’t yuh?” laughed Uncle Jimmy.
+“He wouldn’t do that much for me. I remember----”
+
+“No, yuh don’t,” interrupted Sody. “I’ve done a lot for you.”
+
+Uncle Jimmy got to his feet and brushed off his knees.
+
+“There ain’t no use arguin’ with yuh, Sody,” he declared. “You ain’t
+noways changeable. I never did see anybody as set in their ways as
+you are. I sure made a awful mistake when I made you foreman of the
+JM outfit--I should ’a’ given it to yuh.”
+
+“It ain’t too late,” grinned Sody. “But if yuh do I’ll fire yuh right
+off the reel. I’d want capable men on my ranch.”
+
+They went over to the hitch-rack and untied the horses. Sody had brought
+a couple of hammer-headed, evil-eyed animals for Hashknife and Sleepy;
+but he was not trying to play any tricks on them.
+
+“They’ll likely buck a little,” he told them. “Mebbe they’ll buck more
+than a little, but I didn’t want to insult yuh by bringin’ a couple of
+rockin’-chairs for yuh.”
+
+“If we git ditched, it’ll be all yore fault,” laughed Hashknife as he
+swung aboard.
+
+Neither animal made any effort to buck, and Sody nodded wisely.
+
+“Yuh can’t fool a bronc,” he declared as they rode out of town. “Them
+animals knowed right away that it wasn’t no use tryin’ to shuck you two
+fellers; so they don’t waste their energy.”
+
+“I reckon we’ll find Ma out at Bud’s place,” said Uncle Jimmy. “She
+didn’t say she was goin’ out there, but she will.”
+
+“Y’betcha,” nodded Sody. “Where there’s sufferin’, you’ll find Ma
+Miller.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It did not take them long to ride the three miles to the Triangle D
+ranch-house. A sorrel buggy team was tied to the fence near the house,
+and near the front porch was grouped a number of saddled horses.
+
+“That’s Ma’s buggy team,” observed Sody, “and them broncs belong to the
+sheriff’s posse. I c’n tell Dug Breed’s black animal.”
+
+They rode up and dismounted, just as Breed and his posse came out of
+the front door. Breed squinted hard at them, but did not say anything.
+Ma Miller, a tall, raw-boned woman, followed them out.
+
+Her jaw was set at a belligerent angle, and it was plain to be seen that
+she was not at all in accord with the officers. She ignored Uncle Jimmy
+and the rest and centered her indignation upon Dug Breed and his men.
+
+“Git off the ranch--the whole caboodle of yuh!” she ordered in a
+masculine voice. “Dug Breed, you ain’t got the feelin’s of a coyote.
+Trompin’ in like that! Didja expect to find Bud Daley here? You can’t
+keep a man when yuh do git one.
+
+“Anyway, you’re a sweet-lookin’ gang to be enforcin’ the law. Yeah,
+I mean it, too. Monte Sells and Frank Asher! Steve Harris! Say, when
+did you snake-hunters git a license to hunt criminals? If we had a
+sheriff that’d uphold the law, you fellers would be huntin’ the high
+places yourself.”
+
+They were riding away, making faces at each other, and Ma turned
+belligerently toward Uncle Jimmy and the others.
+
+“You sure can tell ’em things, Ma,” laughed Sody. “Whooee! Meet Mister
+Hartley and Mister Stevens, Ma. Gents, this is Ma Miller. Most men has
+a better half, but Uncle Jimmy has a better seven-eighths.”
+
+Ma grinned and shook hands with them.
+
+“Ma, I’m sure glad to meet yuh,” laughed Hashknife. “Yo’re worth a lot
+to a man whose eyes hankers for the home folks.”
+
+“That’s a reg’lar speech,” laughed Ma Miller. “Didja say yore name was
+Hartley?”
+
+“Yes’m. Hashknife, to m’ friends.”
+
+Mrs. Daley had come to the door and was staring at Hashknife. Her face
+was tear-streaked and her eyes shadowed with sorrow, but she held out
+both hands at the sight of Hashknife.
+
+“I heard your name,” she said gladly. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you,
+Hashknife. And there is Sleepy Stevens!”
+
+Hashknife took both of her hands, while Sleepy crowded in to shake hands
+with her.
+
+“How in the world did you ever happen to come here?” she asked.
+
+“We came here to visit yuh, Mrs. Daley.”
+
+“When did you come?”
+
+“We was on the train that Bud was on, and we seen him turned loose.”
+
+Mrs. Daley looked away, her lips trembling.
+
+“Then you know what has happened to us, Hashknife.”
+
+“Y’betcha. We’ve heard a lot of the story.”
+
+“Haven’t you heard all of it?”
+
+Hashknife shook his head slowly.
+
+“Nobody knows all of it, ma’am. Yuh see, the last chapter ain’t been
+written yet.”
+
+“By gosh, there’s a lot of sense in that, too!” exclaimed Ma Miller.
+“May has been grievin’ her heart out; but she don’t know yet how it’s
+goin’ to turn out.”
+
+May smiled wistfully and shook her head.
+
+“I don’t see how things can be better for us, Ma.”
+
+“Well, they ain’t got Bud in no danged prison,” reminded Sody. “He’s got
+a fightin’ chance.”
+
+“Quit talkin’ about it,” grunted Uncle Jimmy.
+
+“Anyway, I am awful glad to see you two boys,” smiled Mrs. Daley. “Bud
+speaks about you so often.”
+
+She turned to Ma Miller and took her by the hand.
+
+“Ma, you’ll like these two men. Bud swears by both of them. He says
+that Hashknife Hartley--no, I won’t repeat it--but it used to make me
+jealous. He used to wonder what old Hashknife and Sleepy are doing
+today, and wish that they would come along and advise him on certain
+things.”
+
+“I told yuh they was reg’lar folks,” Sody grinned at Uncle Jimmy
+triumphantly. “By golly, I can pick ’em--drunk or sober.”
+
+“Are you going to stay a while?” asked Mrs. Daley.
+
+“Yuh never can tell about us,” smiled Hashknife. “We ain’t gentlemen
+of leisure, but it kinda seems that we don’t stay put in one place
+very long.”
+
+“You don’t look like a pair of drifters,” observed Ma Miller.
+
+“No, ma’am,” Hashknife shook his head. “We travel under our own power.”
+
+“Bud used to say that they were the best cowpunchers in the world, but
+they never punch cows,” said Mrs. Daley. “He said they were always too
+busy to work.”
+
+“What did he mean by that?” asked Sody.
+
+Hashknife laughed and began rolling a cigaret.
+
+“Yuh see, we’re kinda unlucky--me and Sleepy. Everywhere we go we
+find somebody in a jam. We jist can’t mind our own business--somehow.
+Personally, I’d like to settle down and grow old with the country;
+but Sleepy can’t git over his childish ways; so I reckon we’ll--keep
+movin’ along.”
+
+“You won’t have much for yore old age, will yuh?” asked Uncle Jimmy.
+
+“Yeah, we’ll have quite a lot,” smiled Hashknife. “It won’t be anythin’
+that yuh can cash in at a bank. And when we die, we won’t leave nothin’
+spendable. There ain’t nobody dependin’ on either one of us, except the
+other.”
+
+“I think I know what you mean,” said Mrs. Daley softly. “Bud told me
+some of the things you have done.”
+
+“Likely magnified ’em,” grunted Sleepy. “Bud always did have a big
+imagination. We’ve been lucky, thasall.”
+
+“I hope it will never change,” said Ma Miller earnestly.
+
+“It won’t, Ma--as long as we’re right,” said Hashknife. “Sometimes it’s
+hard to be right. Humanity is a queer thing. We might do wrong through
+friendship, through a wrong hunch, or believin’ a lie.”
+
+“If yuh want jobs, I’ll give ’em to yuh,” stated Uncle Jimmy. “I ain’t
+got a danged thing for yuh to do, but that ain’t goin’ to interest
+nobody but me. Mebbe it’ll be worth it to have somebody for Sody to
+argue with. He’ll leave me alone. Harry McKee won’t argue with him, and
+Dinah Blewette stutters so bad that he ain’t got a chance in the world;
+so Sody makes me miserable. If there’s anythin’ on earth that I hate,
+it’s an argument.”
+
+“Yeah, you do,” growled Sody. “You hate it like yuh hate fried chicken.
+When you won’t argue--you’re in danged bad shape.”
+
+“Thasso!” Uncle Jimmy bristled belligerently. “Lemme tell yuh somethin’,
+you----”
+
+“Jim Miller, don’t start it!” snapped Ma Miller. “My gosh, you two
+gallinippers make me tired. Your arguments never have no beginnin’ nor
+end. And anyway, this ain’t no time nor place for arguments.”
+
+“He started it, Ma,” protested Uncle Jimmy. “He always starts ’em, if
+yuh notice. All I done was to offer these two men jobs.”
+
+“They never asked yuh for a job, Jim.”
+
+“Didn’t they? I s’pose I’ve got to be asked, have I? Say, who owns the
+JM ranch? Ain’t I got a right to offer a job without bein’ asked?”
+
+“I’m the foreman,” reminded Sody.
+
+“Are yuh?” Uncle Jimmy teetered on the balls of his feet and hooked his
+thumbs over his cartridge belt. “You are, are yuh? That makes you quite
+important, eh? Anybody’d think you was the Grand Exalted Ruler of the
+Universe, Sody. I made yuh foreman, didn’t I? Anybody’d think you was
+born thataway? You sure do wear yore honors lightly, fat feller. Well,
+go ahead and hire ’em, why don’tcha?”
+
+Sody turned and looked seriously at Hashknife and Sleepy.
+
+“Did you fellers want a job on the JM ranch?” he asked.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy both shook their heads. Ma Miller threw back her
+head and laughed, and even Mrs. Daley forgot her troubles long enough
+to join in the merriment.
+
+“That was a lot of talk wasted,” said Ma Miller, wiping her eyes with
+her apron. “But that’s like Jim and Sody. I’ve been tryin’ to convince
+May that she ought to come over to the JM and stay with us a while. She
+can’t stay here alone.”
+
+“By golly, she sure can have the JM, if she wants it,” said Uncle
+Jimmy. “That’s her home. You come and live with us, May. Ma needs
+somebody to argue with, don’tcha know it. Then she’d leave me alone.
+I sure don’t git much peace in this world--and yuh never can tell
+about the hereafter.”
+
+Hashknife laughed and threw away his cigaret.
+
+“Now that’s a good idea,” he said seriously. “Suppose Mrs. Daley goes up
+to yore ranch and leaves us in charge here. We’ve got to have a place to
+sleep, and I don’t like that hotel. We’ll run the ranch for a few days.”
+
+“Why, you wouldn’t want to do that,” protested Mrs. Daley.
+
+“Sure, we’d enjoy it,” said Sleepy enthusiastically. “We hate hotels.”
+
+“But there’s nothing here to do.”
+
+“_Esto buena_, as the Mexican says,” laughed Hashknife. “If we wanted
+work, we’d ’a’ grabbed Uncle Jimmy’s offer.”
+
+“Well,” said Mrs. Daley dubiously. “I don’t know. There isn’t a very big
+stock of food in the house, and the----”
+
+“Ne’ mind the food,” grinned Sleepy. “We’ll haul some out. If we see a
+fat JM on the hill, we’ll eat steaks.”
+
+“I’ll herd one down to yuh,” offered Uncle Jimmy. “Or yuh might beef a
+76A. Lavelle wouldn’t miss one.”
+
+Hashknife happened to be looking at Mrs. Daley and noticed the quick
+flush that came to her white cheeks at the mention of Lavelle.
+
+“Lavelle owns the 76A?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Yeah,” nodded Uncle Jimmy. “He’s the he-hawk of this country. Two of
+his men are in that sheriff’s posse, but I’ll betcha he’ll give ’em----
+when he finds it out.”
+
+“Mr. Lavelle has been very kind to us,” murmured Mrs. Daley.
+
+“Well, I’m glad we’ve got a place to stay,” observed Hashknife, looking
+around. “Yuh don’t mind if we keep them two broncs for a while, do yuh,
+Uncle Jimmy?”
+
+“I should say not. Keep ’em as long as yuh want ’em. If there’s anythin’
+else on the JM that yuh want, come a-hootin’ and have at it. Ma, you and
+May git yore stuff into the buggy. By golly, it’s goin’ to be fine to
+have May back home ag’in. If Bud----”
+
+Uncle Jimmy stopped and squinted toward the hills. The tears had come to
+Mrs. Daley’s eyes again, but she turned and went into the house, while
+Ma Miller glared at Uncle Jimmy before following her inside.
+
+It did not take them long to pack up what clothing Mrs. Daley wanted to
+take to the JM ranch, and they drove away down the dusty road. Uncle
+Jimmy and Sody shook hands with Hashknife and Sleepy, promising to drop
+in on them very soon.
+
+“Bring yuh down a fat yearlin’ t’morrow,” promised Uncle Jimmy, “and
+mebbe Sody’ll bring yuh a hatful of aigs.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+They went out through the rear gate and swung into the hills, cutting
+across to the JM, which was about three miles to the North. Hashknife
+and Sleepy locked the house, mounted their horses and headed back
+toward town, itemizing the groceries they would need.
+
+“Bacon,” said Sleepy. “What do yuh think of the proposition?”
+
+“May’s prettier than she ever was,” said Hashknife thoughtfully. “We
+gotta have a few cans of tomatoes.”
+
+“Ma’s a dinger, Hashknife. How about some beans?”
+
+“Beans? Sure. Who do yuh reckon stole Bud’s cows? And matches. I never
+did live in a place where there was enough matches. And Uncle Jimmy
+ain’t no--Sleepy, don’t let me forget canned peaches. I love peaches.
+How’s yore Durham?”
+
+“Mine’s all right; how’s yours? You ought to buy some tobacco for
+yourself, Hashknife. Honest, yuh ought to do that. And if you forget
+bakin’-powder, I’ll massacree yuh. ’Member the time we-- Say, that
+posse sure got told about themselves, didn’t they? Ma sure rattled
+their skeletons for ’em.”
+
+“And salt’n pepper,” added Hashknife. “I suppose that posse went back to
+Modoc and got drunk.”
+
+And so they enumerated jerkily all the way back to Modoc, filled with
+joy at the prospect of doing their own cooking and of eating it.
+
+To one who did not know Hashknife Hartley they might have classed him
+with the average irresponsible cowboy, but back in his serious mind was
+the germ of an idea.
+
+Sleepy did not originate ideas. He was content to follow Hashknife’s
+lead in all things; content to sit back and let the lanky one work
+out the salvation of both. In many things, Sleepy Stevens was a
+pessimist, an arguer, but open to conviction. He was outspoken in
+his likes and dislikes, as was Hashknife, ready to do battle for a
+friend, caring little for the future. Men had said that these two
+were animated antidotes for range poison--a title which had caused
+them much amusement.
+
+Neither of them was a wizard with a six-shooter. In fact, their
+marksmanship was criticized by both; but cold nerve had carried them
+through some tough battles against men who were reputed to be lightning
+on the draw.
+
+Both of them were good average rifle-shots, although neither would
+admit it. Sleepy loved trouble. His idea of bliss was to swap lead
+with somebody. Not hand to hand swapping; but a battle in the hills,
+long-range rifle-work. The _sping-g-g_ of a high-power bullet,
+ricocheting off the rocks, was music to his ears.
+
+But Sleepy was not blood-thirsty. It was all in a day’s work with both
+of them. And their work had made them confirmed fatalists; confirmed
+humorists. They had laughed at death, laughed at life.
+
+“And why not?” Hashknife had questioned. “Nobody knows what life is.
+Neither do they know what death means. When yuh see somethin’ that
+yuh don’t know nor understand, ain’t it better to laugh than to cry
+over it?”
+
+Hashknife was partly right when he prophesied that the posse had gone
+back to Modoc to get drunk. Breed and his deputy were cold sober, but
+the others were having their fill at the Rest Ye All bar, while their
+weary horses nodded at the hitch-rack.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy tied their horses at a rack in front of a general
+merchandise store and were ordering their groceries, when Breed came in.
+He watched them sack up their stuff and then followed them outside.
+
+“Goin’ batchin’?” he asked.
+
+Hashknife grinned and nodded, as he tied a sack behind the cantle of his
+saddle.
+
+“We’re goin’ to live at Bud Daley’s ranch for a while.”
+
+“Oh, thasso?” The sheriff was interested. “You knew Bud, didn’t yuh?”
+
+“Yeah, we used to know him pretty well.”
+
+“His wife goin’ to stay there?”
+
+“Nope. She’s gone out to the JM ranch. We’ll be there alone.”
+
+“What’s the idea?”
+
+Hashknife knotted a string and squinted at it critically before he said:
+
+“Well, now I don’t reckon you could call it an idea, sheriff. We jist
+got tired of the hotel, thasall.”
+
+“Uh-huh.”
+
+The sheriff scratched his chin thoughtfully. Naturally, he wanted all
+the information possible. Bud Daley was still at large, and this might
+be a scheme to get him a grub-stake. But it might not be an opportune
+time to mention such a thing, he realized; so he nodded and walked
+away.
+
+Sleepy went to the hotel, paid their bill, took their valises and came
+back to the horses. The half-broke bronchos objected to the valises,
+but were soon convinced that this excess baggage was there to stay. Dug
+Breed watched them ride away and grew thoughtful.
+
+These two men rode well, he observed. They both wore guns, and their
+guns and belts seemed more practical than ornamental.
+
+“That tall jasper ain’t no man to fool with,” he mused. “I dunno about
+the shorter one. I wish I knew what they are goin’ to do out there at
+Bud’s ranch. They’re friends of Bud’s, that’s a cinch. But I can’t stop
+’em. There’s no law against ’em living out there.”
+
+Breed shook his head, rubbed some of the dust out of his sleepy eyes and
+went across the street to the Rest Ye All.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The 76A ranch was located about five miles northeast of Modoc. Lavelle
+had spent much money in making it the finest cattle-ranch in the
+country, although he did not spend much of his time at the ranch-house.
+A Chinese cook and a Chinese house boy had charge of the ranch-house,
+while Monte Sells was in charge of the ranch.
+
+While no one had objected openly there were many who did not exactly
+care for Sells, “Red” Blair, Frank Asher, “Mesa” Caldwell and Brent
+Allard, Lavelle’s cowpunchers. They were a hard-riding, hard-drinking
+crew of men, who gave Lavelle back their salaries over the green
+cloth, or drank it up over his polished bar.
+
+Just now Red Blair and Brent Allard were enjoying a cigaret siesta in
+the shade of a big cottonwood near the big red stable at the 76A. Red
+was lying flat on his back, his sombrero half-across his face. Blair
+was a big man, with high cheek-bones, eyes deeply set under bushy
+brows and a flaming thatch of red hair.
+
+Allard was a smaller man, colorless, tow-headed, but with a cruel mouth
+and a deep knife scar along his right jaw-bone. His cigaret hung limply
+from his lips as he humped over on his haunches and drew meaningless
+patterns in the dirt with his forefinger.
+
+“I’d jist like t’ know where Monte got his information,” he said
+musingly.
+
+Red Blair grunted and brushed a fly off his nose.
+
+“He won’t tell,” continued Allard complainingly.
+
+“---- the flies!” Red grunted angrily, and sat up slowly to reach for a
+match.
+
+“Wonder if the posse caught Bud Daley yet?”
+
+Allard shook his head and spat disgustedly.
+
+“I’d jist like to know who stuck up Dug Breed.”
+
+“You ought to buy a dictionary,” said Red wearily.
+
+“Why?”
+
+“You want to know so ---- much.”
+
+“Yeah?” Allard dug savagely at the dirt. “I don’t like to risk my neck
+for nothin’, Red.”
+
+“You didn’t risk yore neck.”
+
+“Didn’t, eh? Aw, I know. You fellers think yuh can do anythin’ yuh want,
+as long as yo’re workin’ for Cleve Lavelle. Sure. He makes the sheriff
+and all that, and we’re perfectly safe. But Lavelle didn’t have nothin’
+to do with this, yuh must remember.”
+
+“He’d have somethin’ to say,” replied Red easily. “Yuh don’t see the
+sheriff moseyin’ around here, do yuh? Dug Breed knows which side his
+bread is buttered on, y’betcha.”
+
+“Stick yore head in the sand like an ostrich,” grunted Allard. “That
+bird ain’t the only animal that rams its head out of sight and thinks
+nobody can see the rest of it.”
+
+“Why don’tcha go back to Oklahoma?” queried Red. “You ain’t got the guts
+of a canary-bird, Allard.”
+
+Red got to his feet, slapped his hat on his head and squinted toward the
+road.
+
+“Here comes Monte and Frank,” he grunted, “and they’re ridin’ kinda
+loose.”
+
+Allard got up and they walked down to the corral where Monte Sells and
+Frank Asher had dismounted. Both men had been drinking and were in a
+joyful mood.
+
+“We’ve been upholdin’ the law,” declared Asher, yanking the saddle off
+his panting animal and almost upsetting himself.
+
+“Yuh look like you’d been holdin’ up a saloon,” observed Red
+caustically.
+
+“Didja find Bud Daley?” asked Allard.
+
+“Find ----!” snorted Monte angrily. “Breed led us all over the ----
+hills in the dark. Mebbe he thought Bud would be carryin’ a lantern.”
+
+“Yeah, and we went to Bud’s house,” laughed Asher. “Breed wanted to
+search the place, didn’t he, Monte? Ma Miller was there. And what she
+told Breed was a plenty. Man, she sure read his sign for him.”
+
+“Read our epitaph, too,” laughed Monte. “Said we’d be high-tailin’ it a
+long time ago, if we had an honest sheriff.”
+
+“Wonder where Bud went,” said Allard.
+
+“You better go down and join Breed,” snorted Monte. “He’s in the same
+fix you are.”
+
+“Did Breed give up the posse idea?” asked Red.
+
+“As far as we’re concerned,” laughed Monte. “Lavelle was sore as a boil,
+when he found that me and Frank was on the posse. Lavelle spent a lot of
+money tryin’ to clear Bud; and he said he’d be ---- if he wanted his men
+to help run him down in the hills.”
+
+“Bud’s wife still at the ranch?” queried Red.
+
+“She’s gone out to the JM,” said Asher. “Anyway, that’s what Breed
+told us before we left. Couple of strange punchers goin’ to batch at
+the Triangle D. Friends of Jim Miller, I reckon. They came out there
+about the time that Ma Miller hoodled us out of the house.”
+
+“Who are the strange punchers?” asked Red. “Didn’t yuh hear their
+names?”
+
+“Aw, Breed said that one of ’em was named Hartley, or somethin’ like
+that. I don’t know whether that’s the name or not.”
+
+Allard moved in a little closer, his lower lip sagging, as if his
+half-smoked cigaret weighed pounds.
+
+“Didja say ‘Hartley,’ Frank?”
+
+“It was somethin’ like that, Brent. I didn’t pay much attention to the
+name.”
+
+“What kind of a lookin’ feller, Frank?”
+
+“Tall, skinny geezer.”
+
+“The other one was shorter? Kinda sad-faced and bow-legged?”
+
+“That’s him.”
+
+Allard brushed the cigaret off his lip and cleared his throat.
+
+“That’s Hashknife Hartley and Sleepy Stevens, by ----! And I’m draggin’
+m’self off this range right away.”
+
+Monte Sells stared at Allard for a moment and broke into a laugh. Allard
+was squinting into space, his lips shut tight.
+
+“What’s the matter with you, Allard?” asked Monte. “You act like this
+feller might be gunnin’ for yuh.”
+
+Allard shook his head quickly.
+
+“No, he ain’t gunnin’ for me, Monte. At least, I don’t think he is. But
+he’s jist bad luck, thasall. I’ve seen his work--him and the bow-legged
+one.”
+
+“Why you ---- fool!” exploded Red angrily. “What can he do to you?”
+
+“Not a ---- thing!” snapped Allard. “’Cause I ain’t goin’ to give him a
+chance. I’m goin’ away--a long ways away.”
+
+“Not a gut in his body,” declared Red inelegantly, pointing at Brent
+Allard. “Runnin’ away from a spook.”
+
+“Thasso?” Allard flushed indignantly. “I’ve got all I need to keep me
+in a healthy condition, Red. And I’m goin’ to keep ’em, too. I wonder
+what them two are doin’ around here.”
+
+Monte laughed shortly and hitched up his belt.
+
+“They’re just livin’ at the Triangle D, thasall.”
+
+“No, that ain’t all,” declared Allard. “Jist livin’ ain’t all where
+they’re concerned.”
+
+“They were on the train the night of the hold-up,” volunteered Frank.
+
+“Uh-huh-h-h,” said Allard triumphantly. “And you ---- fools think
+they’re jist livin’ here, eh?”
+
+“Detectives?” queried Red a trifle uneasily.
+
+“Malignantly,” nodded Allard. “Hashknife Hartley can read yore mind, I
+tell yuh.”
+
+Monte laughed sarcastically and slapped Allard on the back.
+
+“We’ll see that our minds are clear of all evil, when we meet him,
+Brent. Don’t be a fool. Hartley is just a human bein’, ain’t he? Well,
+I reckon we know how to deal with human bein’s, don’t we?”
+
+“You said a heap,” laughed Red. “If that pelican monkeys around us,
+we’ll sure clip his wings, eh, Monte?”
+
+“Hop to it,” said Allard wearily. “But don’t ask me to help yuh. I’ve
+warned yuh, thasall.”
+
+Allard turned and walked toward the bunk-house, while the rest of the
+cowboys looked after him, a laugh on their lips.
+
+“Scared plumb stiff,” declared Monte.
+
+“And,” observed Frank seriously, “it ain’t like Brent to get scared
+thataway. He ain’t no coward, Monte.”
+
+“That’s right,” muttered Red. “Brent’s no coward, but right now he’s
+scared. Mebbe we better investigate this Hartley person. It’s better
+to be safe than sorry, Monte.”
+
+“That’s true enough, Red. If he’s here to find trouble, we’ll sure guide
+him to plenty of it, won’t we?”
+
+“Danged right. And we’ll label it in big letters, so he won’t make no
+mistake. I’m kinda anxious to see this pair of whip-poor-wills, m’self.
+If they’re dangerous, the sooner we find it out the better it will be
+for all of us.”
+
+“Mebbe they’ll be in town tonight,” grinned Monte widely. “If they’re
+not, we know where they will be.”
+
+“That’s my idea, too,” laughed Red.
+
+
+
+
+                                  III.
+
+
+Dug Breed was greatly disgruntled over his failure to find any clue
+to Bud Daley’s whereabouts. He had not expected to find any trace of
+the train-robbers. The express messenger and the engine crew said
+that there were several masked men in the gang; but their failure to
+do more than damage the through-safe and the interior of the car
+hardly made them worth bothering with.
+
+Breed was of the opinion that the hold-up was planned only as a
+means for taking Bud Daley away from him, because of the fact that
+an organized gang would hardly stick up a train and blow the express
+safe unless they were reasonably certain of some remuneration.
+
+But he could hardly understand just who would do such a job. The JM
+outfit might have done such a thing. There were four men at that ranch.
+But Breed well knew that Sody Slavin was too drunk that night, and that
+Uncle Jimmy Miller had been at the depot to see Bud leave. This was a
+perfect alibi for the JM.
+
+“I don’t _sabe_ it a-tall,” he told Charley Morse, his deputy, who was
+tilted back in an office chair, trying to coax a tune from a home-made
+banjo.
+
+Charley balanced the banjo on his knee while he rolled a cigaret.
+Charley was not very keen mentally, and Breed’s worries bothered him
+very little.
+
+“Bud’s prob’ly got a gun, by this time,” he observed.
+
+“Yeah, he prob’ly has,” agreed Breed.
+
+“And he’ll use it, too.”
+
+“What would you do, if yuh had twenty years starin’ yuh in the face?
+Wouldn’t you use a gun, Charley?”
+
+“Y’betcha.”
+
+“All of which makes Bud a dangerous man,” mused Breed.
+
+“Gotta outsmart him, thasall,” declared Charley, picking up his banjo
+and hunching to a comfortable position.
+
+“Yeah? How would you outsmart him, Charley?”
+
+Charley yawned widely and rubbed his nose. Charley was not slighted when
+they passed around noses.
+
+“He’s got a wife, Dug,” said Charley. “He’ll want to see her, won’t he?
+Stick him up when he comes home.”
+
+“Uh-huh?” Breed squinted reflectively. It was not such a bad idea, at
+that, he agreed.
+
+“He’ll come home after grub, I reckon,” added Charley. “Feller has got
+to eat.”
+
+“But his wife ain’t home, Charley. She’s at the JM ranch.”
+
+“Does Bud know it?”
+
+Breed glared at Charley and spat disgustedly.
+
+“How in ---- do I know what Bud knows?”
+
+“Have to watch both places, I reckon.”
+
+“All right. As soon as it gets dark we’ll pull out. You go to the JM
+and I’ll watch Bud’s place. It ain’t likely that he knows she went
+to the JM, Charley. Don’t let nobody see yuh, _sabe_? Cache yourself
+away where yuh can watch the house all night.”
+
+“----!” Charley threw the banjo on the table and fumbled for a match.
+“Set there all night, eh? I had a ---- of a good idea, didn’t I?”
+Charley rubbed an ear violently. “Next time I’ll keep my danged mouth
+shut. Bein’ real smart didn’t git me anythin’.”
+
+“You prob’ly won’t have much to do, Charley?”
+
+“Only keep awake. I played poker all night, I’d have yuh know.”
+
+“That ain’t my fault. You better take a shotgun along, ’cause you’re
+cock-eyed already.”
+
+Breed went across the street to the Rest Ye All, where he sat in at a
+poker game. It was shortly before dark when the boys from the 76A rode
+in and proceeded to regale themselves with plenty of liquor.
+
+Breed noticed that they talked among themselves, ignoring the games,
+but drank plenty of whisky. Then they went out and were gone quite a
+while, drifting back in singles to meet at the bar again.
+
+“Lookin’ for somebody,” Breed decided.
+
+More cowboys drifted in, and in a little while Breed cashed in his
+chips and drew out of the game. Charley was at the office, with the
+two saddled horses, and in a few minutes they were out of Modoc and
+on their way, unseen by any one in the town.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+About a mile out of town the road forked; one road leading to the JM and
+the other to Bud’s ranch. Breed gave Charley final instructions and they
+separated.
+
+There was no moon, but the sky was brilliant with stars. The road
+led along the slope of the hills, winding in and out of the hollows,
+crossing an old water-course, deep in the shadows of cottonwood and
+willow, only to lead straight back into the sage-covered hill again.
+
+Further on it skirted the side of a hill, and Breed could see a light in
+the ranch-house window. Somewhere a horse nickered shrilly. Breed drew
+up, dropped to the ground and placed a hand over his horse’s muzzle.
+After a minute or two he went on, walking and leading his horse.
+
+The road led in past the stable, but Breed dismounted in the brush
+before reaching the stable, tied his horse and went cautiously past
+the corral and stopped at the corner of the stable. He was not in a
+position to watch the entire house; so he went back to an open window,
+climbed inside the stable and felt his way to the door, which he found
+unlocked.
+
+He shoved the door partly open and sat down. From here he could see
+part of the front porch, all of one side and the kitchen door. The
+horses moved uneasily for several moments, but settled down to their
+feeding.
+
+He could not see the lighted window now. It was warm there in the barn.
+He found a saddle-blanket and a box, with which he made a comfortable
+seat, and settled down to his long vigil. He felt sure that Bud would
+not show up before midnight, if at all.
+
+Then he did the natural thing under the circumstances--fell asleep.
+After all, a sheriff is only human, and he was comfortable.
+
+He did not know what awakened him, but he suddenly found himself wide
+awake and staring out through the doorway. A man was between him and the
+house, bulking large in the half-light. As far as Breed could determine,
+this man was watching the house. Then he began moving slowly toward the
+front porch, apparently cautious.
+
+Breed grunted to himself, drew his gun and stepped softly outside.
+
+“He ain’t takin’ no chances,” he observed to himself. “Bud always was
+cautious, and he don’t know who might be in the house.”
+
+Swiftly but softly, Breed crossed toward the man, who was so intent on
+the house that he did not think of any danger from the rear, and when
+within about twenty feet, Breed stopped and spoke:
+
+“Put ’em up real high, young feller.”
+
+The man whirled swiftly, and his answer was an orange-colored streak of
+fire and the crashing report of a revolver. Breed felt the wind from the
+bullet, ducked instinctively and shot from his hip. The man grunted,
+staggered sideways and went to his knees, shooting as fast as he could,
+while Breed’s gun stabbed streaks of fire in his direction.
+
+Then a bullet struck in the gravel a few feet from Breed and threw a
+spray of fine rocks into his face. He ducked sideways and almost ran
+into a bullet, which was coming from another direction; while from
+three different directions came the barking reports of six-shooters,
+all throwing lead at the sheriff.
+
+Breed did not stop to question any one. He almost decided not to bother
+with a horse, but his course was in that direction. Luckily the corral
+gate was open, which gave him a chance for a long run before his jump,
+and he barely scraped a heel on the top pole of that seven-foot corral.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy were in bed when the first shot caused them to
+sit up, like a pair of mechanical toys. The next shot sent them out
+of bed, gun in hand and running toward the door; but the fusillade
+caused Hashknife, who was in the lead, to stop short, and Sleepy
+bumped violently into him.
+
+“What the ---- are yuh tryin’ to do--knock m’ teeth out?” demanded
+Sleepy. “Yore danged elbow is jist like a bay’net.”
+
+“Aw, hire a hall!” snapped Hashknife. “What’s goin’ on around here,
+anyway?”
+
+The firing ceased. Some one ran past the front porch, crunching heavily
+on the gravel. Hashknife cautiously opened the door and peered out. All
+was serene. From far away came the sound of a running horse, and
+somewhere in the hills a coyote barked snappily and wailed dismally, as
+if protesting against being disturbed.
+
+“Well, now that sure does beat ---- by a neck!” exclaimed Hashknife.
+“Jist why do they pick our little ranch to stage a battle?”
+
+“Some of it was danged close, too,” said Sleepy. “Them first few shots
+were right up against our house.”
+
+Hashknife led the way back to the bedroom, where they proceeded to dress
+and buckle on their belts.
+
+“She’s a small world,” complained Sleepy, “when they have to come out to
+our yard to have their fights. What do you make of it, Hashknife?”
+
+“Mebbe somebody was havin’ fun with us, Sleepy.”
+
+“Well, they’ve had it, cowboy. I’m a-quiverin’ all over.”
+
+They went out on the front porch and looked around. There was not a
+sound to be heard. Hashknife led the way around the corner and stopped
+short. A man was lying flat on his back, looking up at the sky, arms
+outstretched. A few feet from him was a heavy six-shooter.
+
+Hashknife knelt beside him and felt of his heart. He was still
+breathing, and as Hashknife touched him he groaned aloud.
+
+“He ain’t dead, is he?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“Yeah. They always groan thataway after they’re dead.”
+
+Hashknife got to his feet and dusted off his knees.
+
+“Grab his feet, Sleepy; we’ll take him in the house.”
+
+They carried him in and placed him on the floor, after which they
+lighted a lamp and looked him over. It was Red Blair; but he was an
+unknown to them. Hashknife made a brief examination of him and
+pronounced him a case for a doctor.
+
+“And we ain’t got no time to lose,” declared Hashknife. “There’s a
+buckboard down at the stable, and I reckon them other two horses are
+broke to harness. We’ll take this jasper to Modoc and find out who he
+is.”
+
+It did not take them long to harness the team, load the wounded man
+into the buckboard, and head for town. The road was not very smooth,
+but Sleepy held the man down, while Hashknife drove the team at a
+stiff gallop most of the way.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was past midnight when they drove up to the Rest Ye All. The place
+was fairly well filled, and Lavelle was at the bar, talking with several
+men, when Hashknife asked the bartender where he could find a doctor.
+
+“Somebody hurt?” asked Lavelle.
+
+“Yeah,” replied Hashknife, “I dunno who he is. There was a lot of
+shootin’ goin’ on out at Daley’s ranch, and this feller must ’a’ got
+in the way of some lead. He’s out there in the buckboard.”
+
+There was a general exodus to the front of the saloon, and Hashknife
+soon found out who the man was. Lavelle took immediate charge and sent
+a man for the doctor.
+
+“Mind telling me how it happened?” asked Lavelle.
+
+Hashknife told him what he knew of the matter, but it was evident that
+Lavelle did not believe a word of it. Some one was sent after the
+sheriff, who appeared in a few minutes. He made a great show of asking
+questions, which no one could answer--except the sheriff himself--and
+he grew absent-minded, trying to appear at ease and to puzzle out what
+Red Blair was doing at the Triangle D ranch, and who did the shooting
+after Red Blair went down.
+
+He felt sure that Hashknife and Sleepy were telling the truth, as
+strange as it might seem to those who did not know.
+
+The doctor took charge of the wounded man, and Hashknife and Sleepy
+went back to the ranch, wondering what Lavelle’s cowpuncher was doing
+at their doorstep, and who shot him.
+
+“This,” declared Hashknife, “sure as ---- has got me fightin’ my head,
+Sleepy. What did that red-headed puncher want out there? Who shot him?
+Was all them shots fired at the jasper that shot this Red Blair? Who
+were they? Sleepy, I’ll be darned if this ain’t some mix-up.”
+
+“Do yuh reckon Bud Daley was mixed up in it?” queried Sleepy.
+
+“That’s hard to tell, Sleepy. There’s a lot of things to work out.
+F’r instance, who stole Bud’s cows? Who robbed the bank? Who held up
+that train? Why did they take Bud away from the sheriff? What in ----
+was Red Blair doin’ out there tonight, and who shot him? My gosh, no
+wonder Sherlock Holmes was a hop-head.”
+
+“Well,” laughed Sleepy, “yo’re happy, ain’t yuh, cowboy?”
+
+“Gittin’ thataway,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+They unsaddled at the stable and went to the house, but drew all the
+curtains before lighting the lamp. Hashknife started toward the bedroom,
+but stopped and squinted toward a corner of the living room.
+
+“Sleepy,” he asked, “wasn’t there a rifle in that corner when we left
+here?”
+
+“By jolly, I think there was, Hashknife. It was there the last I seen of
+it.”
+
+“Uh-huh.” Hashknife strode into the kitchen with the lamp and looked
+around, with a wide grin on his face.
+
+“We’ve had a visitor,” he stated. “Bud’s been here after a gun and a
+grub stake, Sleepy. That dog-gone pantry is jist about cleaned out,
+and I’ll betcha we’re shy a horse and saddle.”
+
+“That’s fine!” grunted Sleepy. “Takes a load off m’ mind. I was kinda
+worryin’ about Bud, but we know he’s all right now.”
+
+They went back to the bedroom and undressed.
+
+“I wish we’d ’a’ been here,” said Hashknife thoughtfully. “I’ve got a
+lot of questions to ask that danged fool.”
+
+“What about, Hashknife?”
+
+“Oh, about hang-nails, and if he’s bothered with dandruff,” replied
+Hashknife sarcastically. “If I’ve got to live with an idiot, I might
+as well be crazy, too. Good night.”
+
+One of their horses was missing in the morning, but Bud took his own
+saddle. Sleepy saddled one of the buggy team and found it much better
+riding than a harness-animal. They went to Modoc, where they found
+that Red Blair was still unconscious and that the doctor was still
+prospecting him for bullets.
+
+Dug Breed made a show of questioning Hashknife, while Cleve Lavelle
+listened. But Hashknife had told all he knew the night before. Lavelle
+was thoughtfully serious, and the bartender confided to Hashknife that
+Lavelle had lost a lot of money at stud poker last night.
+
+“And that’s the first time anybody has tapped him hard since Bud Daley
+took ten thousand out of here,” stated the bartender.
+
+“Lost his luck?” queried Hashknife, grinning.
+
+“I betcha.” The bartender breathed tenderly upon a glass, and polished
+it carefully.
+
+“Lavelle’s sure out of luck when they can hit him hard.”
+
+“Gamblin’ is a queer profession,” mused Hashknife. “They’re all
+superstitious. They make up their mind that somethin’ brings ’em
+luck--and it does. I reckon it’s just another case of mind.”
+
+“Lavelle’s thataway,” laughed the bartender. “Horse-shoes, pins on the
+floor, pointin’ toward him, pictures hangin’ crooked on the wall--oh, a
+lot of hoodoo or good-lucks.”
+
+“Alle same Injun medicine-bag, eh?” grinned Sleepy.
+
+“That’s it.”
+
+Lavelle came in and walked over to the bar, inviting the two cowboys to
+have a drink.
+
+“How far is it to Black Wells?” asked Hashknife as they lifted their
+glasses.
+
+“About thirty-five miles,” said Lavelle.
+
+“Good road?”
+
+“Good enough for a saddle-horse. Been neglected so long that it wouldn’t
+be passable for a wagon. Thinking of going there?”
+
+Hashknife nodded slowly.
+
+“Yeah, I’m goin’ over there, Lavelle. Have you got any idea what could
+have become of Bud Daley’s cattle?”
+
+Lavelle laughed and indicated for the bartender to fill up the glasses
+again.
+
+“Just between us,” said Lavelle, “I think that Bud sold his cattle.”
+
+“In Black Wells?”
+
+“Perhaps. That is the best place.”
+
+“Well,” said Hashknife, “we’re goin’ over there and see what we can
+see. There ought to be somebody there that could put us on to the right
+track.”
+
+“If they would. Black Wells,” said Lavelle slowly, “is one place where
+it’s hard to get folks to talk.”
+
+“We never get folks to talk,” said Hashknife. “Let ’em alone and they’ll
+tell everythin’. Well, Sleepy, we better be hittin’ the grit. We’ve got
+to stop at the JM outfit a while, and I dunno if them hammer-headed
+broncs are good for thirty-five miles, or not.”
+
+“You two were on the car the night the hold-up men took Bud away from
+the sheriff, wasn’t you?” asked Lavelle.
+
+“Y’betcha,” grinned Hashknife. “I’ll never forget it. They tried to rob
+me and Sleepy, but I told ’em that all we had left was the draggin’ end
+of a pair of railroad tickets, so he dug into his pocket and tossed me
+some money for a breakfast stake.”
+
+Lavelle laughed and lighted a cigar.
+
+“How much did he give you?”
+
+“I dunno. It wasn’t much. Well, c’mon, Sleepy; let’s hit the grit.”
+
+Monte Sells and Frank Asher were riding into town, as Hashknife and
+Sleepy rode out. Monte squinted closely at them and turned in his
+saddle to watch them fade out down the road in a cloud of dust.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Miller family, Mrs. Daley and the cowpunchers were all at the JM
+and greeted them warmly. Sody noticed that Sleepy was riding one of
+Bud’s horses and asked him what was wrong with the JM horse.
+
+“Bud took him,” laughed Hashknife. “From what we can observe, Bud has a
+horse, grub and a gun. He took that rifle out of the corner of the front
+room, cleaned out the cupboard and lifted a horse.”
+
+“Oh, did you see him--talk to him?” exclaimed Mrs. Daley.
+
+“Wish I had,” said Hashknife. “We wasn’t there when he came. We was
+packin’ Red Blair to a doctor.”
+
+“What happened to Red Blair?” asked Uncle Jimmy.
+
+Hashknife described what had happened at the ranch the night before,
+and Dinah Blewette almost choked to death, trying to express himself.
+Sody hammered him on the back and ordered him to use his ears and let
+his tongue alone.
+
+“Do you suppose that Bud had anything to do with it?” asked Mrs. Daley
+wonderingly.
+
+“He didn’t have no gun,” said Sleepy. “Least we don’t reckon he did. It
+was after that when he took the rifle.”
+
+“Well, tie up yore horses and have somethin’ to eat,” invited Ma
+Miller. “You two gallinippers are jist like every other puncher I ever
+knowed--always show up at meal-time.”
+
+“Ma throws a mean flock of food,” grinned Uncle Jimmy. “I know she’s
+bakin’ bread and there’s beans in the oven, too.”
+
+“Oh, we’ll stay,” said Hashknife. “My gosh, we’ll stay.”
+
+The wide porch of the ranch-house looked inviting to Hashknife. Sody
+and Dinah were breaking a bronc at the corral, and this was inviting
+enough for Sleepy. Uncle Jimmy followed Ma to the kitchen, leaving
+Hashknife and Mrs. Daley together. They sat down in the shade, and
+Mrs. Daley waited for Hashknife to speak. His long, lean face was
+serious as he carefully rolled and shaped a cigaret before saying a
+word. Then--
+
+“Where was you the night the bank was robbed?”
+
+“Why, I was at home.”
+
+Mrs. Daley looked curiously at him, and a fear clutched at her heart.
+Did he know that Cleve Lavelle was out at the ranch that night, she
+wondered?
+
+“Wasn’t Bud home that night?” he asked.
+
+She shook her head slowly.
+
+“No, he did not come home.”
+
+“Where’d he go that day--to Modoc?”
+
+“I--I think so. He said he was going to see the sheriff about the stolen
+cattle.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” Hashknife smoked thoughtfully. “Are him and Breed good
+friends?”
+
+“No, I do not think so.”
+
+Hashknife turned and looked directly at her, as he said--
+
+“Lavelle thinks that Bud sold his cows and lied about ’em bein’ stolen.”
+
+“That is not true! Why, Bud wouldn’t do a thing like that. You ought to
+know Bud better----”
+
+“I didn’t say it,” interrupted Hashknife. “Lavelle said it.”
+
+“Well, it’s not true. We were just getting a good start in life, when
+this all happened.”
+
+“All right.” Hashknife nodded and shoved his hat onto the back of his
+head. “Why didn’t Bud talk at the trial?”
+
+“Why didn’t he talk?” Mrs. Daley looked at Hashknife closely.
+
+“Yeah. He didn’t even try to tell where he was that night.”
+
+“No, he didn’t tell,” Mrs. Daley spoke softly. “He wouldn’t tell
+anything.”
+
+“Feller ought to talk,” said Hashknife slowly. “Did he ever tell you
+that he didn’t do it, May?”
+
+“No.” Softly.
+
+“Did he ever tell you where he was that night?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Say!”
+
+Hashknife turned half-around and looked at her. She lowered her eyes,
+but he put his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him, her eyes
+filmed with tears.
+
+“May Daley, did Bud talk to you a-tall?”
+
+She bit her lips to try and keep back the tears, as she shook her head.
+
+“Why didn’t he?”
+
+“I--I do not know.”
+
+“Grub-pile!” yelled Uncle Jimmy. “Come and git it!”
+
+Hashknife helped her to her feet and she gripped his hand tightly as she
+looked up at him.
+
+“Why do you ask me these questions?”
+
+Hashknife grinned down at her and shook his head.
+
+“I can’t tell yuh yet, May. I don’t want yuh to think that I’m meddlin’
+into yore personal affairs; but I’d like to ask yuh if yuh still care
+for Bud?”
+
+“More than any one in the world, Hashknife Hartley.”
+
+Hashknife nodded slowly.
+
+“I hope he knows that, May. If I wasn’t his friend I’d think he was
+guilty; but friendship makes it look different.”
+
+“Do you--” she faltered--“do you think there is any way of saving him?”
+
+Hashknife grinned and patted her on the arm.
+
+“Miracles do happen,” he told her smiling. “I saved half of my salary
+one year. Let’s eat and forget it.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The town of Black Wells was on the east side of the range and on the
+main line of the railroad, the branch of which extended into the Modoc
+country, but from a point much farther South.
+
+Until the building of this branch line, all the cattle of the Modoc
+had been herded into Black Wells for shipment; but since then, Black
+Wells had ceased to be more than one of the many little cattle-towns
+along the railroad.
+
+Its one street was little more than a dusty road, bordered by
+false-fronted, unpainted buildings, which looked as if they might fall
+down in the next gust of wind; their signs were faded and dimmed by
+time.
+
+The railroad did not come within a quarter of a mile of the town and it
+seemed that the town did not like the railroad well enough to move over
+close to it. The little depot stood bravely forth in the sage-covered
+plain, and a few hundred yards from it were the big corrals and
+loading-pens, fast falling apart from neglect.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy rode into Black Wells after dark, put their horses
+into a corral, foraged some hay and went hunting for a hotel. A frowsy
+hotel-keeper answered their banging on the front door, grumbled at being
+disturbed, but finally agreed to give them a place to sleep.
+
+He held up his overalls with one hand, a smoking oil-lamp in the other,
+and padded along barefooted to a door, which creaked a protest at being
+disturbed.
+
+“Ain’t used to puttin’ up folks at night,” he explained. “The hotel
+business ain’t what it used to be. I’ve seen the time when this old
+Californy House was loaded to the guards. I’ll leave yuh fix up the
+bed the way yuh want it. This lamp ain’t got more’n enough ile to see
+yuh to bed, and I’ll be darned ’f I’d ever fill one by match-light.”
+
+He placed the lamp on a rickety dresser and peered around.
+
+“How about a little water, pardner?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Water? T’night? Nope.” He shook his head violently. “Fetch yuh some
+in the mornin’. That ---- old pump is hard t’ find in the dark, and
+she’s gotta be primed to beat ----, or yuh don’t git nothin’ to come
+up.”
+
+He padded out, shut the door and went down the narrow hallway,
+complaining audibly. The room was hot, unventilated; but both cowboys
+were too tired to care about that. They flopped on the old bed, which
+creaked and groaned at every move, and stayed there until daylight,
+when they went wearily down the hall and on to the front porch.
+
+Black Wells woke up by degrees. A mongrel dog got up from in front of
+the Welcome saloon, turned around three times, lay down. Then it got
+up, yawned widely, snapped at a fly and went down the street toward a
+watering-trough.
+
+Somewhere a door banged shut, and some one began whistling discordantly.
+A high-pitched voice complained profanely against the whistler, who
+stopped whistling long enough to tell the plaintiff to go plumb to ----.
+A window slammed down and there came a tinkle of broken glass.
+
+“You ---- fool, that winder has been cracked ever since eighteen
+eighty-six!” complained a feminine voice. “Whatcha slammin’ it down
+fer?”
+
+The reply was muffled. A man came across the street, leading a horse to
+the watering-trough. He began manipulating the rusty old pump-handle,
+which screeched loud enough to wake every one. Another man came out of a
+one-story building across the street; a short dumpy man, bearded to the
+eyes. He slid back the wide door of the blacksmith shop and went inside,
+where he busied himself singing a tuneless song and beating time on the
+anvil. The proprietor of the hotel, evidently fearful that Hashknife and
+Sleepy might get away without paying for their lodging, came out on to
+the porch, still using his two hands in lieu of suspenders.
+
+“Howja sleep?” he asked.
+
+“With our eyes shut,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Howja find the bed?”
+
+“That wasn’t a bed,” said Sleepy dryly, “that was a buggy.”
+
+The man seemed aggrieved.
+
+“Yuh can’t expect no New Yawk accommodations in Black Wells. ----,
+man; yo’re in the West. Black Wells is a good town. Whatcha like for
+breakfast--coffee or tea?”
+
+Hashknife laughed and got to his feet.
+
+“That’s what I’ve always heard about Black Wells--yuh can get what yuh
+want. We’ll take coffee.”
+
+“Yuh sure can git anythin’ yuh want,” admitted the proprietor. “She’s a
+he-man’s town, y’betcha.”
+
+He went back into the house. The blacksmith was still singing to the
+music of his anvil, his voice quavering with the intensity of feeling.
+Hashknife grinned and nodded toward the shop.
+
+“That feller’s human, Sleepy. My bronc has a loose shoe; so we’ll give
+the singer a job, and mebbe he’ll talk.”
+
+They got the horse at the corral and took it to the shop. The blacksmith
+grinned good-naturedly and examined the loose shoe.
+
+“Better take her off and shape her up li’l’, eh?” he asked.
+
+“Yo’re the doctor,” said Hashknife. “Do yore job.”
+
+“Quite a town yuh got here,” observed Sleepy.
+
+The blacksmith looked up from his work and squinted at Sleepy.
+
+“You tryin’ to be funny, or start an argument?” he asked.
+
+“Neither one,” grinned Sleepy. “But that’s the regular thing to say,
+ain’t it?”
+
+The blacksmith laughed and walked back to his forge, where he shoved the
+shoe into the fire and leaned heavily on his bellows pole.
+
+“You fellers are strangers here,” he said slowly. “I _sabe_ the JM
+brand on this bronc, and I _sabe_ the Modoc. I ain’t been here long,
+but I know everybody by their first name. Black Wells is a ---- of a
+town, any old way yuh look at it.”
+
+“Ain’t much since Modoc quit bringin’ their cows over here, I reckon,”
+said Hashknife. “I dunno how yuh make a livin’.”
+
+“Oh, I manage to get a little job now and then.”
+
+“Know the 76A outfit?”
+
+“Know of ’em. I put a couple of shoes on a 76A bronc not long ago. That
+was the first job I had, after I opened this shop.”
+
+“You been open long?”
+
+“Less than a month.”
+
+He took the shoe from the fire and shaped it carefully, while Hashknife
+sat on the edge of the slack-tub and watched him work.
+
+“You must ’a’ been here when them Triangle D cows were brought over
+here,” said Hashknife thoughtfully. “That wasn’t more than a month ago.”
+
+The blacksmith squinted thoughtfully for a moment.
+
+“No, I don’t remember them. Mebbe that was before my time. Who owned
+them Triangle-D cattle?”
+
+“Bud Daley.”
+
+“Oh, yeah. He was the feller that robbed the Modoc bank, wasn’t he? And
+then got away from the sheriff?”
+
+“That’s the feller.”
+
+“I dunno him. How did he happen to bring his cows over here?”
+
+Hashknife laughed shortly and shook his head.
+
+“Do you know the sheriff of Modoc?”
+
+“Nope.” The blacksmith went over to the horse and fitted the shoe. “I
+dunno many folks over there. I used to be there a couple of years ago,
+but I went up to Pocatello, Idaho, and stayed there until jist a while
+ago.”
+
+“Over in Modoc they told me that Black Wells has a pretty bad
+reputation,” said Hashknife, watching the blacksmith closely.
+
+“I dunno.” The blacksmith laughed shortly and came back to the forge.
+“I never seen anythin’ bad about it. I suppose there’s a certain gang
+that ain’t teachin’ no Sunday schools; but they jist kinda fade in and
+fade out of here. Nobody bothers me; so I keep my mouth shut and drive
+nails.”
+
+“After all,” observed Hashknife, “that’s the best thing to do.”
+
+“Safest, anyway,” grunted the blacksmith.
+
+The proprietor of the hotel came out on the porch, a huge bell in his
+hand, and proceeded to announce breakfast. Men began to drift in from
+all directions, and there was a sizable crowd in the dining-room, when
+Hashknife and Sleepy arrived.
+
+No one spoke to them, but, being strangers, they created a certain
+amount of silent interest. Hashknife sized up the crowd and decided
+that Black Wells might be able to live up to advance notices. There
+were two men whose attire stamped them as saloon owners or gamblers,
+another whose tonsorial splendor shrieked of the fact that he mixed
+drinks for a livelihood. Another might be a keeper of a store. The
+rest were cowpunchers or cattlemen.
+
+There was little conversation, except in a low tone. The proprietor of
+the hotel waited on table, assisted by a slatternly, middle-aged woman,
+who did not change expression during the meal.
+
+After breakfast they filed silently out of the room. Hashknife and
+Sleepy went back to the blacksmith shop, paid for the work and took
+their horse back to the corral.
+
+“I wish I knowed what in ---- we came down here for,” complained Sleepy.
+“This ain’t my idea of a good place to stay.”
+
+“I want to find out if Bud sold them cows himself,” replied Hashknife.
+
+“All right,” grinned Sleepy. “That’s somethin’ yuh never did expect to
+find out down here.”
+
+“You’d laugh at me, if I told yuh why I came, Sleepy.”
+
+“No, I’d fall dead, Hashknife.”
+
+They went into the Welcome saloon, where a poker game had already
+started. Hashknife looked the players over, but decided that there was
+too much dexterity shown by the dealer; so he did not take the vacant
+chair. The blacksmith came in, bought himself a drink and appropriated
+the chair.
+
+Several hard-faced cowpunchers drifted in, took a few drinks and went
+away. It was hot. The old saloon reeked of stale liquor and tobacco
+smoke. Flies crawled over the bar and buzzed up and down the dusty
+mirror and windows.
+
+The proprietor of the saloon, a crafty-faced individual, with an
+almost-bald head, which was knobby in contour, was in the poker game.
+He drank whisky copiously and perspired generously on his bald dome.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The day passed slowly, dustily. The poker game was listless, and
+Hashknife and Sleepy dozed in a pair of chairs on the porch of the
+saloon. Cow-ponies stood listlessly at the hitch-racks, switching their
+tails wearily at the flies, while the sun beat down on the dusty street
+until the pine boards of the buildings oozed pitch.
+
+“There ain’t been a soul spoke to us all day,” said Sleepy. “I hope to
+gosh that we pull out this evenin’. Even if they do use our dooryard to
+pull off their killin’s, I’d rather be there than here.”
+
+Supper time came and about the same crowd went to eat. There was a
+little more conversation, because of the fact that much liquor had
+been consumed. Several of the men nodded to Hashknife and Sleepy,
+and the proprietor of the Welcome muttered something about it being
+a warm day for this time of year.
+
+“They’re thawin’ out,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+“At a hundred and ten in the shade, they ought to,” grunted Sleepy,
+wrinkling up his nose at the dishes of hot food. “I’d like to hit that
+old Crooked Cañon ag’in. It’s cool there.”
+
+“Don’t get impatient,” said Hashknife. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
+
+“Oh, that’s what yo’re doin’ over here, eh? Buildin’ another Rome.”
+
+They went back to the Welcome saloon and sat down. Men drifted in
+and started another poker game, but this time the proprietor of the
+saloon did not sit in at the games. He went behind the bar and let
+the bartender go to eat his supper, and his first act was to invite
+everybody up to have a drink.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy came up with the others, but stayed at the bar
+after the rest of the crowd had gone back to their drinks.
+
+“You fellers goin’ to locate around here?” asked the proprietor.
+
+He had drunk enough whisky to make him just a trifle thick of tongue,
+but his eyes were keen.
+
+Hashknife considered his question thoughtfully, but finally shook his
+head.
+
+“Didja come from over in the Modoc country?”
+
+The man was busy washing glasses and did not look up when he asked the
+question.
+
+“Yeah, we rode in from there last night,” yawned Hashknife.
+
+The proprietor filled several bottles from a keg, arranged his glasses
+carefully and turned back to them.
+
+“Many Modoc folks drift over this way?” queried Hashknife.
+
+The man appeared interested in an argument which had started at one of
+the poker tables and did not answer, although Hashknife felt sure that
+he had heard the question. Finally he said:
+
+“When are you goin’ back to Modoc?”
+
+“Mebbe tonight, we dunno,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Nicer ridin’ at night than in the daytime.”
+
+The man looked straight at them when he spoke, and it seemed that his
+statement held a warning.
+
+“That’s right,” grinned Hashknife. “It’s kinda hot in the daytime. You
+know much about the Modoc country?”
+
+“Not much.”
+
+Hashknife leaned across the bar and lowered his voice.
+
+“Pardner, I’m lookin’ for information. Do you know who Bud Daley is?”
+
+The man squinted keenly at him, but lowered his eyes, a slight frown on
+his face. He was putting up a show of thinking. Then:
+
+“I’ve heard the name. Didn’t he git into trouble over there?”
+
+“They say he shipped some stock from here,” said Hashknife, ignoring the
+question, “and we’re tryin’ to find out if that is the truth.”
+
+The man shook his head, but called to a cowpuncher who was watching one
+of the games. He was a frowsy, unkempt individual, who had been around
+there all day. He slouched over to the bar.
+
+“Jud,” said the proprietor, “here’s a man who wants to find out if Bud
+Daley has shipped any stock from here lately?”
+
+Jud licked his lips and reached for a cigaret-paper.
+
+“Jud kinda has charge of the loadin’ corrals,” explained the proprietor.
+
+“Bud Daley?” Jud seemed to be questioning himself. Then he looked at
+Hashknife keenly, “Whatcha want to know fer?”
+
+“I’ll trade answers with yuh,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Trade with me?”
+
+“Yeah. You tell me if he has and I’ll tell yuh what I wanted to know
+for.”
+
+Jud grinned wisely and licked the edge of his cigaret-paper. His eyes
+shifted to the face of the proprietor and back to Hashknife.
+
+“Suppose I tell yuh I don’t know,” he suggested. “How’d yuh trade on
+that?”
+
+“By tellin’ yuh it wasn’t none of yore ---- business,” replied
+Hashknife.
+
+Jud gawped at Hashknife for a moment and flushed angrily.
+
+“Yo’re kinda salty, ain’t yuh?” he queried.
+
+Hashknife laughed with his mouth, but there was no mirth in his steady
+eyes. Jud fidgeted nervously, ripped a match viciously along the bar and
+lit his cigaret.
+
+“I’ll buy a drink,” said the proprietor slowly.
+
+Jud whirled on his heel and walked back to the poker-table, ignoring the
+invitation. The proprietor laughed and set out glasses and a bottle. He
+did not drink, but lighted a fresh cigar instead.
+
+“This one is on me,” said Hashknife, tossing a dollar on the bar, “I
+reckon that folks didn’t lie to us when they said that we’d never find
+out anythin’ in Black Wells.”
+
+He and Sleepy tossed off their drinks and went outside, leaving the
+dollar on the bar.
+
+“My gosh, that’s awful whisky!” exclaimed Sleepy. “No wonder this town
+hates itself. Where now?”
+
+“Back to Modoc,” said Hashknife, “I don’t like this place.”
+
+They went back to the corral and began saddling. A moon had just come
+up over the Modoc hills. Sleepy was fussing with his cinch and looking
+at the moon. Then he stopped and grasped the saddle with both hands.
+
+The moon was acting queerly. It seemed to advance and recede rapidly,
+and the queer motion was making Sleepy sea-sick. He looked over at
+Hashknife, who seemed to be acting strangely. Then a sudden dizziness
+struck him and he fell backward against the corral fence, where he
+slumped down in a heap.
+
+It seemed to Sleepy that he had only been on the ground a short time,
+when he groped for the fence and managed to get back to his feet. The
+moon was high in the heavens now, and he wondered how it had got up
+there in such a short time. He was still nauseated, hazy; but the cool
+night breeze revived him rapidly.
+
+The horses were still there. He crossed the corral, where he found
+Hashknife leaning against the fence, his head on his hands.
+
+“Say, what in ---- happened?” queried Sleepy painfully.
+
+Hashknife groaned and straightened up. He looked at Sleepy and laughed
+hoarsely.
+
+“Feel in yore pockets, Sleepy?”
+
+Sleepy did so.
+
+“Anythin’ missin’?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Well, I’ll be ---- if I ain’t shy about ten dollars!”
+
+“They cleaned me out,” groaned Hashknife. “I’m as clean as a new six-gun
+barrel.”
+
+“Well, what in ---- is the answer?” demanded Sleepy angrily.
+
+“Them last drinks,” said Hashknife, “they must ’a’ filled ’em full of
+knockout drops, Sleepy. I’ve been doped before, but I never got all
+there was in the world in one drink. Waugh!”
+
+“They doped and robbed us?” queried Sleepy.
+
+“That’s the answer.”
+
+“All right.” Sleepy’s voice was harsh with anger. “We’ll go back to
+that Welcome saloon and take it back with interest. C’mon, Hashknife.
+I’ll show that bunch of tin-horns somethin’ quaint.”
+
+“Nope.” Hashknife laughed and went back to his horse. “Me and you are
+goin’ back to Modoc. It’s late.”
+
+“You ain’t goin’ to let that bunch of side-winders get away with all
+this, are yuh?” demanded Sleepy.
+
+“They didn’t get much.”
+
+Sleepy went to his horse, shook up the saddle and drew up the cinch.
+He was mad. They rode out of the corral gate and down the street. As
+they passed the Welcome saloon, Sleepy drew up his horse and peered
+through the window. There were several men at the bar and among them
+was the proprietor.
+
+“Hang on to yourself,” advised Hashknife. But he was too late.
+
+Sleepy drew his gun and sent a bullet smashing through the window and
+into the back-bar. The crowd at the bar fell back in a panic. Another
+bullet bored through the broken window, splintered the back-bar mirror
+and played havoc with some bottled goods, which were on display.
+
+A man threw open the door, but slammed it shut quickly, when a bullet
+buzzed in over his head.
+
+“Yeow! Ye-e-e-ow!” whooped Sleepy. “Dodge, you Black Wells pickpockets!”
+
+Three times more he sent bullets in through the windows, before he set
+spurs to his horse and went thundering out of Black Wells, riding high
+in his saddle and stuffing more cartridges into his six-shooter.
+
+Straight out the old Crooked Cañon road they went and into the moonlit
+hills before they slackened pace.
+
+“I sure gave ’em a receipt for my money,” laughed Sleepy, looking back
+toward the town, “yo’re too easy, Hashknife. I only hope that bunch of
+reptiles will be pickin’ glass splinters out of their mangy hides for
+a month.”
+
+“Well,” laughed Hashknife, “I dunno that I blame yuh, cowboy.”
+
+“Blame, ----!” snorted Sleepy, “I wish we’d ’a’ gone in there and
+salivated the whole works. I was shootin’ at the cash register, and I
+hope I rung up enough to make it worth while. You wanted to come to
+Black Wells, and I hope you’re satisfied.”
+
+“I’m satisfied,” answered Hashknife. “Perfectly satisfied.”
+
+“You didn’t do no good for anybody.”
+
+“Didn’t I?”
+
+“Well, where in ---- did yuh? You asked questions and got no answer. We
+got doped and robbed. And you’re satisfied. Brother, it don’t take much
+to satisfy you, does it? Sometimes, I wonder if you’re just right in the
+head.”
+
+“My heart is in the right place, Sleepy.”
+
+“Yeah--and I suppose yore liver is accordin’ to the location notice.
+You’re actin’ as happy as though you done some good there.”
+
+But Hashknife only laughed joyfully, in spite of the fact that his
+stomach was almost too weak to bear the drag of his heavy belt and gun.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was breakfast time the next morning at the 76A, when Dug Breed and
+Charley Morse rode in for breakfast. A rumor that Bud Daley was back in
+the Lost Pine country had given them eighteen hours of riding, with no
+results.
+
+Monte Sells, Frank Asher and Brent Allard were eating, but stopped long
+enough to greet the sheriff and deputy, who sat down at the long table.
+
+“A feller don’t have to strain his eyesight to see that yuh didn’t have
+much luck, sheriff,” observed Monte.
+
+He winked at the other two cowboys. Dug Breed noted the wink, but did
+not appreciate the humor of Monte’s observation.
+
+“Not much,” said Breed dryly.
+
+Frank Asher laid down his fork, rested his elbows on the table and
+leaned toward Breed, as he said--
+
+“Breed, who do you think shot Red Blair?”
+
+The sheriff had a cup of hot coffee at his lips, but he slowly lowered
+it to the table, his eyes searching the faces of the three men across
+the table.
+
+“What in ---- was Blair doin’ out there?” he countered.
+
+“What’s that got to do with it?” asked Monte.
+
+“Quite a lot.” The sheriff seemed more at ease. “If we knew what Red
+Blair was doin’ out there, we might get a line on who shot him.”
+
+Asher grunted and began eating, but Monte took up the discussion.
+
+“What do yuh know about them two punchers who are livin’ at Bud’s
+place?”
+
+“Not a thing.”
+
+“Did yuh ever think that they might ’ve had a hand in the shootin’ of
+Red?”
+
+“If you’ll tell me what Red was doin’ out there, I might say.”
+
+Brent Allard got to his feet and shoved back his chair.
+
+“What’s the use of arguin’ about it?” he asked.
+
+“I’m not arguin’ about it,” laughed Breed. “Red will likely tell us what
+he was doin’ out there, as soon as he is able.”
+
+“The doctor don’t think he’ll get well,” observed Monte. “I was down
+there last night. Them two punchers told about a lot of shots bein’
+fired out there that night. They claim to have found Red after the
+shootin’ was all over.”
+
+Breed nodded slowly.
+
+“Yeah, I know that’s what they said.”
+
+“Who do yuh reckon done all the shootin’?” queried Allard.
+
+“Didn’t you say that there wasn’t no use arguin’ about it?” asked Breed,
+grinning. “Don’t ask me who done it, Allard; I didn’t see ’em.”
+
+Breed and Morse finished their breakfast and went on to town, while
+the three cowboys sat down on the ranch-house porch and rolled fresh
+cigarets.
+
+“Do yuh know what I think?” asked Monte.
+
+Nobody seemed to care what he thought, but he continued--
+
+“I think that Bud Daley was the one that shot Red.”
+
+“All right,” said Brent Allard. “It’s a free country, Monte. I told yuh
+before we went there that we was monkeyin’ with dynamite. But Red got a
+lot of drinks under his belt----”
+
+“He didn’t get any more than the rest of us did,” interrupted Monte.
+
+“I know it. But Red got braver than the rest of us. I told yuh what
+would happen. Red thought we could frame up a scare for them two
+jaspers; but yuh see what happened, don’t yuh.”
+
+“Aw-w-w, ----!” snorted Frank Asher. “You can’t make me believe that
+one of them was guardin’ the place. They didn’t know we was comin’
+out there. I’ll betcha that Bud was the one what busted up the party
+for Red.”
+
+“Here comes Mesa,” said Monte, pointing down the road, where a lone
+horseman was riding swiftly toward the ranch.
+
+They watched him ride in at the gate and come straight to the porch,
+where he dismounted and joined them.
+
+“Red died a couple of hours ago,” he stated wearily. “He never got
+conscious.”
+
+Monte swore softly and rolled a fresh cigaret, while Mesa Caldwell
+helped himself to Monte’s tobacco.
+
+“Lavelle thinks it was Bud Daley that done it,” said Mesa. “I was
+talkin’ to Lavelle a while ago. Met the sheriff and his deputy and
+told them about it. I reckon most everybody thinks that Bud done the
+shootin’.”
+
+“That’s where yo’re all wrong,” insisted Brent Allard. “If you ----
+fools would only believe me, when I tell yuh that them two fellers,
+Hartley and Stevens, are----”
+
+“Aw, stop croakin’, Brent!” wailed Monte. “My ----, yo’re always
+lookin’ for spooks! If yo’re so scared of them two, why don’tcha pull
+yore freight out of here?”
+
+“Gimme my time, then,” said Brent quickly. “I’m plumb willin’ to go,
+Monte. I tell yuh, there ain’t nothin’ but trouble, where yuh find
+them two snake-hunters. I remember the time they----”
+
+“Aw, hire a hall!” exploded Frank Asher, and Allard subsided, growling
+and shaking his head.
+
+“So Lavelle thinks that Bud Daley shot Red, does he?” queried Monte.
+“I wonder if Lavelle thinks that his opinions are worth a ---- of a
+lot? They’d have a sweet time convicting Bud of it, wouldn’t they?
+Personally, I think the least said about it the better it will be for
+all of us. Bud’s likely got a horse and a gun by this time, and he’ll
+be a hard jigger to corral.”
+
+“We’ll likely find out,” grinned Mesa knowingly. “Lavelle is goin’ to
+turn us all over to the sheriff--to assist him in gettin’ Bud Daley.”
+
+The three cowboys stared at Mesa, who seemed to enjoy their silent
+expressions.
+
+“Mesa Caldwell, are you lyin’ to us?” demanded Monte.
+
+“Cross m’ heart and hope t’ die, if I am. The county is offerin’ two
+thousand for Bud, dead or alive, and the bank antes a thousand. As
+soon as our friend Dug Breed gets back to Modoc, Lavelle is goin’ to
+offer him our services.”
+
+“Well,” said Brent Allard slowly, “Cleve Lavelle and Dug Breed can go
+plumb to ----, as far as I’m concerned.”
+
+Allard set his jaw tightly and hitched up his belt.
+
+“Scared?” queried Mesa, grinning.
+
+“Yeah, I’m scared.”
+
+“Of one man?”
+
+“No, not of one man. Bud Daley don’t count. I liked Bud and I still like
+him. Them two punchers ----”
+
+“Aw, they’ve got yore goat,” laughed Monte, and the other two punchers
+joined in the laugh at Allard’s fears.
+
+“All right,” Allard was not interested in their sarcasm.
+
+He knew what he knew, and their joking would not change him.
+
+“They ain’t got nothin’ to do with us,” pointed out Mesa.
+
+“Not until we try to put the deadwood on Bud Daley,” agreed Allard.
+“They’re friends of Bud Daley, that’s a cinch; and I don’t intend to
+give them a chance to work agin’ me. I’ll take my pay and hunt for
+another range--it’s safer.”
+
+“You won’t find a safer place to work than for Lavelle.” Thus Monte, who
+did not want to lose Allard.
+
+“Mebbe we better go over and have a talk with these bad _hombres_,”
+suggested Mesa, laughing. “Would they recognize yuh, Brent?”
+
+Allard squinted at Mesa, but did not answer. He was not going to commit
+himself.
+
+“We could ride over there,” continued Mesa. “It would be four against
+two. It wouldn’t be hard to start somethin’, especially if they
+recognized you and made some remarks.”
+
+“Any ti-i-ime,” drawled Allard, shaking his head quickly. “Not for
+mine, Mesa. You fellers trot right along and start somethin’ with them
+two; but leave me here. Mebbe they’d recognize me. Hartley, the tall
+one, ain’t got a bad memory for faces. And--” Allard squinted seriously
+and rubbed his stubbled chin--“I’d like to bet that he knows more about
+why and how things have been done since he showed up than the men that
+done ’em.”
+
+“Yo’re crazy,” declared Monte.
+
+“Jist like a li’l fox,” grinned Allard. “I love my own hide so much that
+I’ll go into a hole any old time that the runnin’ ain’t good.”
+
+“Well,” observed Mesa, “mebbe yo’re right, Brent. If yuh feel like
+yo’re runnin’ into bad luck, it’s a good thing to lay off the game for
+a while. Talkin’ about luck, Lavelle got a trimmin’ at stud agin’ last
+night. Sody Slavin and a gambler from Burke sure cleaned out Lavelle.
+
+“Sody went in on a shoe-string and came out with enough to buy a
+train-load of cows. Lavelle almost lost his shirt. That bird from Burke
+and Sody took turns throwin’ the hooks into Lavelle, and I’m tellin’ you
+that the Rest Ye All is danged badly bent.”
+
+“They must ’a’ been loaded with luck,” observed Monte. “Lavelle is
+usually awful lucky at his own game. But he’s been gettin’ hit hard
+lately. I wonder if his luck is slippin’?”
+
+“Sure it’s slippin’!” Brent Allard spoke with conviction. “The minute I
+heard them two names, I knew----”
+
+“You poor fool!” Monte swung around angrily. “What in ---- would they
+have to do with Cleve Lavelle’s luck? You talk like a sick buzzard,
+Brent.”
+
+“He’s sure superstitious,” laughed Mesa.
+
+But there was a note of uneasiness in Mesa’s voice. He, too, believed in
+omens.
+
+“I dunno,” continued Mesa. “Somethin’ is wrong with Lavelle’s luck--and
+Lavelle knows it, too. He’s sour-balled, I tell yuh. I watched him
+playin’, and he was as nervous as an old woman. Kept kinda lickin’ his
+lips. He got sore at Sody Slavin, ’cause Sody kidded him about his bad
+luck. Why, I even seen Lavelle kinda countin’ his chips.”
+
+“Countin’ his chips, eh?” grunted Allard. “That’s a jinx.”
+
+“Mebbe,” said Monte thoughtfully, “he was workin’ one jinx against the
+other. Sometimes that works.”
+
+Which proved that Monte Sells was not proof against superstition. Brent
+Allard laughed at Monte’s opinion and stalked off the porch toward the
+bunk-house.
+
+“---- him!” muttered Monte, after Allard had passed out of earshot.
+“Him and his ---- superstition make me tired. We’ll all be jumpin’
+around with bad nerves if he don’t quit it.”
+
+“Well, let’s go and take a look at these two pelicans,” suggested Mesa.
+“We don’t have to choose ’em, if we don’t want to.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+And while the boys of the 76A argued about them, Hashknife and Sleepy
+rode in at the JM ranch in time for breakfast. Sody Slavin, with wealth
+in every pocket, greeted them like long-lost brothers and insisted on
+telling them how he had helped clean out Cleve Lavelle.
+
+“It was like takin’ straw away from the ‘crippled cow,’” explained Sody.
+“I seen him quit cold, when he had me beat in sight. And I went in with
+ten dollars. Man, I never seen a game like that. I’d take a wallop at
+Lavelle and then that gambler from Burke would paste him for a bushel of
+chips. We sure seesawed him out of a lot of _dinero_.”
+
+“Yuh ought to have a little compassion,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Not me.” Sody shook his head. “I hookum cow, when I git m’ feet rammed
+into a lucky spot. Lavelle has cleaned me plenty of times, but I’m
+more’n even with him this time.”
+
+Ma Miller welcomed them to breakfast and demanded the latest news from
+Black Wells.
+
+“I used to know Black Wells pretty well,” she laughed. “When we used to
+trail our cows over there, I handled the chuck-wagon.”
+
+“And there never was a puncher late for a meal,” declared Uncle Jimmy
+proudly. “Ma sure can make food. Black Wells ain’t much, is she?”
+
+“Not much,” grinned Hashknife. “This here food don’t look like what they
+feed yuh over there.”
+
+“They didn’t like us,” grinned Sleepy, balancing a whole fried egg on
+his knife-blade. “They don’t fuss over strangers.”
+
+Sody grinned encouragingly. He felt that something worth while had
+happened over there and wondered how they had found out that Black Wells
+did not like them. Mrs. Daley came from up-stairs and smiled a welcome
+to them. She sat down at the table and waited for the conversation to
+resume.
+
+“Do any of you folks know a puncher over there named Jud? He’s kinda
+pointed-faced, with squirrel-teeth, and looks like he never lived in
+a country where there was soap.”
+
+“That’s Jud Mahley,” said Uncle Jimmy. “I betcha that’s who yuh mean.
+His eyes are awful close together--kinda makes him look like he’s
+cross-eyed.”
+
+“That’s him,” grinned Hashknife. “And there’s the proprietor of the
+Welcome saloon. He’s----”
+
+“That’s ‘Bumpy’ Dickenson,” laughed Sody. “Got a bald head, with bumps
+all over it, ain’t he?”
+
+“That’s the whip-poor-will,” admitted Sleepy. “Nice sort of a gent.”
+
+“With a reverse-English!” exploded Uncle Jimmy. “There ain’t a bigger
+crook in the world than Dickenson.”
+
+“Unless it’s Jud Mahley,” amended Sody. “He ain’t only crooked, but he’s
+lucky.”
+
+“Sody shot at him once,” grinned Uncle Jimmy, “and Sody has been sore
+ever since.”
+
+“Danged right!” snorted Sody. “I’d bet forty dollars agin’ a cigaret
+paper that it was Jud Mahley. He was usin’ a runnin’-iron on a calf,
+back toward Crooked Cañon. I had a .45-70 and a lot of them ---- D.
+C. ca’tridges that got into this country, because they was cheap.
+
+“Anyway, I got a good runnin’ shot at that jasper, and I’d ’a’ handed
+him a harp; but the head blowed off the shell, knocked ---- out of my
+Winchester, and I couldn’t see to spit for twenty minutes.”
+
+Hashknife laughed at Sody’s disgusted expression. He knew just how Sody
+had felt at the time.
+
+“So Jud used to be over here, eh?” he asked.
+
+“Yeah, he sure did,” grunted Sody. “He worked around for the different
+outfits. Thinks he’s a gun-man. He sure rattled his hocks out of the
+Modoc hills.”
+
+“Aw, he comes back once in a while,” said Uncle Jimmy. “I seen him in
+Modoc a few weeks ago.”
+
+“And yuh didn’t tell me?” Sody grew indignant to think that this
+information had been withheld.
+
+“You still want to kill him?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Yo’re ---- right I do!”
+
+“Well, you’ve got my permission,” laughed Sleepy. “But you’ve got to
+beat me to him. I’ve picked him, cowboy.”
+
+They got up from the breakfast table and moved into the living-room,
+while Ma and Mrs. Daley cleared away the breakfast table.
+
+Uncle Jimmy signaled Hashknife to follow him outside, and they walked to
+the far corner of the porch.
+
+“Did yuh find out anythin’?” queried Uncle Jimmy.
+
+Hashknife shook his head slowly.
+
+“Nothin’ that would show who sold them cows of Bud’s. They’re a
+tight-lipped outfit over there, Uncle Jimmy.”
+
+“----, yes,” thoughtfully, “I dunno whether we’ll ever find out the
+truth of it all. I hate to think that Bud is guilty.”
+
+“I wish to gosh I could have a talk with Bud.”
+
+“He wouldn’t talk when he was in jail, Hartley.”
+
+“He’d talk to me or I’d knock ---- out of him.”
+
+“Uh-huh.” Uncle Jimmy seemed a bit dubious of Hashknife’s ability to do
+this.
+
+“I’ve got a hunch that Bud’s cows were shipped out of Black Wells,”
+said Hashknife, “but that’s as far as my hunch goes. This Jud Mahley
+has charge of the loadin’ corrals over there, but he won’t talk. Have
+yuh heard how that Red Blair is gettin’ along?”
+
+Uncle Jimmy shook his head. He was not interested in Blair.
+
+“That was kind of a funny deal,” observed Hashknife. “Do yuh suppose Bud
+had anythin’ to do with it?”
+
+“I don’t think so.” Uncle Jimmy sucked thoughtfully on his old pipe.
+“Red Blair and Bud never had any trouble that I know about.”
+
+“Blair works for Lavelle, don’t he? Who else is in that outfit?”
+
+Uncle Jimmy named over the other cowboys of the 76A. Hashknife listened
+thoughtfully, squinting his eyes away from the smoke of his cigaret.
+
+“Brent Allard, eh? Kinda sad-lookin’ jasper, with a lock of hair that’s
+always in his eyes?”
+
+“Yeah.” Uncle Jimmy looked up quickly. “You know him?”
+
+Hashknife grinned softly and threw away his cigaret.
+
+“I know a Brent Allard, and I’d like to see if this is the one. Does Bud
+Daley know Jud Mahley?”
+
+“Yeah, he knows him. Everybody around here knows Jud. There’s a fat
+reward out for Bud. The country offers two thousand dollars, dead or
+alive; and the bank says he’s worth a thousand to them.”
+
+“That’s a lot of money, Uncle Jimmy.” The old man nodded slowly.
+
+“Yeah--dead or alive,” he said sadly and jerked his head toward the
+door. “I ain’t told May. She’s got enough to worry about without knowin’
+that the law is willin’ to pay for Bud’s carcass. I sure feel sorry for
+her, Hartley. She’s jist a kid.
+
+“Her and Bud was jist gittin’ a good start, when he got hit with all
+the troubles in the world. I got sore as ---- at Bud, ’cause he
+wouldn’t talk to nobody. I went down there and argued with him, but
+he didn’t seem to give a ---- what they done to him. Why, that ----
+fool seemed pleased when the judge sentenced him.”
+
+Uncle Jimmy snorted his disgust and knocked the dottle from his pipe
+against his spurred heel.
+
+“Wouldn’t even talk to May,” added Hashknife.
+
+“Not to anybody. It looked bad to the jury. What could a lawyer do in a
+case like that? They’ve got to know whether yo’re guilty or not, before
+they can prove that yuh ain’t. But they never did know about Bud.”
+
+“That’s the one big question,” observed Hashknife. “If we only knew why
+he wouldn’t talk.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hashknife did not get a chance to talk with Mrs. Daley before they left
+the JM ranch. He and Sleepy had ridden all night and were too weary to
+think of much except a chance to stretch out and sleep.
+
+They went back to Bud’s ranch-house, stabled and fed their horses and
+slept until mid-afternoon. Bud had cleaned out their food supply, which
+had not been replenished; so they decided to go to Modoc and eat.
+
+At the restaurant they heard that Red Blair was dead, but it did not
+seem to have excited the town greatly. They met the sheriff, who seemed
+disposed to talk, or rather to ask questions; so they got away from him
+as gently as possible and went over to the Rest Ye All.
+
+Lavelle was behind the bar, talking to the bartender, but turned as
+they came up. He squinted at them closely and smiled as he placed a
+bottle and glasses on the bar.
+
+“We’ll have some see-gars,” said Hashknife, shoving the bottle aside and
+leaning against the bar.
+
+“That stuff is ten years old,” stated Lavelle.
+
+“Let her live to a ripe old age,” grinned Hashknife. “We got hold of
+some bad liquor over at Black Wells, and it kinda cured us of the
+drink habit. A shot of that stuff is the best temperance lecture I
+ever attended.”
+
+“Strong?” queried Lavelle.
+
+“Well, I took one drink and it affected the moon,” grinned Sleepy. “And
+that’s no danged imagination either.”
+
+Lavelle laughed and handed out a box of dusty-looking cigars.
+
+“I remember that you said you was going to Black Wells,” he said
+indifferently. “It used to be a wild place a few years ago.”
+
+“I’ll bet they’re wild yet,” laughed Sleepy. “I wrote my initials on the
+back-bar of the Welcome saloon with a six-gun.”
+
+“You did?”
+
+Lavelle grew interested and would like to have heard more, but Sleepy
+decided that he had told quite enough. Sleepy dropped his cigar into a
+cuspidor and began rolling a cigaret.
+
+“Did you hear that Red Blair died?” asked Lavelle.
+
+“Three times,” said Hashknife. “First two times I didn’t believe it, but
+three times is a charm. Did he ever wake up?”
+
+Lavelle shook his head. He did not like the way Hashknife treated the
+subject, but could hardly see where it would be policy to chide him for
+his attitude.
+
+“There’s three thousand reward for Bud Daley.”
+
+Hashknife grinned at Lavelle’s statement but suddenly sobered and leaned
+across the bar toward Lavelle.
+
+“I hear you’ve lost yore luck, Lavelle?”
+
+Not a muscle of the gambler’s face moved for several moments. Then his
+eyelids twitched slightly, and his lips parted.
+
+“What do you mean, Hartley?” he asked coldly.
+
+“I just heard that Sody Slavin busted the stud-game last night. I hear
+that you quit cold, with the best cards in sight.”
+
+Lavelle laughed, but without mirth. Hashknife was looking him straight
+in the eyes, and the gambler turned his head away.
+
+“Well, he didn’t break me,” he said slowly, “and as far as quitting--I
+know enough to quit when I’m beat, Hartley.”
+
+Hashknife grinned thoughtfully and tossed away his cigar. He knew
+that Lavelle was mad, and wondered just how far he could go with his
+baiting. Lavelle had started to go around the end of the bar, when
+Hashknife turned to him again.
+
+“What’s yore particular hoodoo, Lavelle?”
+
+“Hoodoo?” Lavelle stopped and looked queerly at Hashknife. Then he came
+back.
+
+“What did you mean by that?” he asked softly.
+
+“Yore bad-luck medicine,” explained Hashknife, although he knew that
+Lavelle understood the question.
+
+“I’ve knowed a lot of superstitious gamblers,” continued Hashknife
+after a moment. “They believed in signs and all that kinda stuff, and
+I wondered what yore pet hoodoo was, thasall.”
+
+Lavelle laughed shortly and shook his head.
+
+“Not me, Hartley. I believe in good luck and bad luck, but I have no
+charms to bring me luck.”
+
+“No, I didn’t think yuh did,” said Hashknife.
+
+Lavelle looked quickly at him, but did not reply. Sleepy was itching
+to know what it was all about, but he knew, deep down in his heart,
+that Hashknife was not talking in vain. Lavelle walked from behind
+the bar and went toward the back room without another word, while
+Hashknife laughed silently and rested his elbows on the bar.
+
+A moment later Monte Sells, Frank Asher, Mesa Caldwell and Brent Allard
+came, rattling their spurs and arguing over the fact that the sheriff
+wanted them to start on their man-hunt today. Monte glanced quickly at
+Hashknife and Sleepy and stepped aside to see what Brent Allard would
+do.
+
+Brent was in the rear, crowding in behind Caldwell, who also stepped
+aside, leaving Brent almost within reach of Hashknife. He looked up
+and stopped in his tracks. No one spoke. Brent’s two hands had been
+against Caldwell’s back, and they remained in that same position for
+several moments. Then they slowly relaxed, but he kept them above
+his belt-line.
+
+Hashknife was grinning at him, and a foolish grin came to Brent Allard’s
+lips.
+
+“Hyah, Allard?” said Hashknife easily. “Long time I no see yuh. Wyomin’,
+wasn’t it?”
+
+“Uh-huh.” Allard wet his lips with a dry tongue and cleared his throat
+raspingly. “I--I come there from Oklyhomy.”
+
+“That’s right,” nodded Hashknife. “I remember hearin’ that the sheriff
+run yuh out of Oklahoma. Boot-leggin’ to the Injuns, wasn’t it, Allard?”
+
+Allard grinned foolishly; Monte snorted disgustedly. He felt that Allard
+was too frightened to resent an insult. Hashknife’s eyes flashed to
+Monte, considered him coldly for a moment, and turned back to Allard.
+
+“You workin’ for the 76A, ain’t yuh, Allard?”
+
+“Yeah. I’ve been here quite a while, Hartley.”
+
+“Wasn’t it one of yore outfit that got shot out where we’re livin’? We
+packed him in. We jist found out that he died.”
+
+“Yeah,” said Monte harshly, “and we’re lookin’ for the man that shot
+him.”
+
+Hashknife squinted at Monte and at the rest of the 76A outfit. They
+shifted uneasily under his steady, half-contemptuous gaze. They
+remembered that Allard had declared that Hartley could read their
+minds, and four pairs of eyes shifted uneasily.
+
+“You’re lookin’ for that man, are yuh?” queried Hashknife slowly.
+
+“You’re ---- right!” grunted Monte.
+
+“So are we,” declared Hashknife. “Come and have a drink.”
+
+The invitation was unexpected. For a moment they hesitated, but only for
+a moment. They had expected trouble. Allard laughed nervously, but was
+the first one to reach the bar, where he filled his glass with a shaky
+hand.
+
+“Here’s hopin’ we find him,” said Hashknife seriously.
+
+“If you’re huntin’ for him,” said Allard nervously, “you won’t need
+hopes.”
+
+They drank deeply, except Hashknife and Sleepy, who took cigars. Monte
+grinned at their choice, but the grin left his face when Hashknife said
+seriously--
+
+“We was over at Black Wells yesterday, and Jud Mahley told us to give
+yuh his regards.”
+
+“The ---- he did!” blurted Monte. “Can’tcha think of anythin’ funnier
+than that to say?”
+
+Hashknife laughed softly and shook his head. He wanted to find out if
+Jud Mahley was a friend of the 76A boys--and he found out quickly.
+
+“Mahley never meant it,” laughed Caldwell.
+
+“We’ve got a ---- of a job ahead of us,” said Frank Asher disgustedly.
+“We’re goin’ to help the sheriff find Bud Daley.”
+
+“That’ll be quite a chore, I’d imagine.” Hashknife hunched backward
+against the bar and proceeded to crumble the cigar between his long
+fingers.
+
+“I’ve knowed Bud a long time, and if he ain’t changed, you’ll have to
+bring him in on a stretcher.”
+
+“And we ain’t got a ---- thing agin’ him,” complained Brent Allard. “The
+law don’t mean nothin’.”
+
+“It never did, to you, did it?” laughed Hashknife.
+
+“Aw, you know what I mean,” protested Allard. “Bud’s all right.”
+
+“He’s all wrong,” said Hashknife. “The danged fool never tried to get
+away. That bandit had to almost throw him off the train.”
+
+The 76A boys exchanged quick glances, as if questioning each other.
+Monte half-smiled and moved in a trifle closer. It was evident that
+he did not want any one, except those immediately concerned, to hear
+his question.
+
+“You got a good look at the two men who took Bud away from Dug Breed,
+didn’t yuh?” he asked.
+
+Hashknife nodded seriously, but his face broke into a grin.
+
+“Yeah, we got a good look--especially into the muzzle of their guns.
+They were masked, yuh know.”
+
+“I _sabe_ that part of it,” nodded Monte. “It’s kinda hard to describe a
+masked man. But I thought that mebbe yuh was able to kinda pay attention
+to their size and--you know what I mean.”
+
+“Didn’t they say anythin’?” asked Allard.
+
+“One of ’em did,” said Hashknife. “But I reckon he changed his voice
+quite a lot. The other one said nothin’. If I remember right, they were
+both kinda tall. One was kinda skinny--the one that didn’t talk--but the
+other one wasn’t fat.”
+
+“That’s a good description,” stated Mesa Caldwell.
+
+“It must ’a’ been quite a good-sized gang,” observed Sleepy, “and it
+looks like they intended to take Bud away from the sheriff. They never
+touched any of the other passengers--never even went into the cars.”
+
+Monte scratched his chin thoughtfully and motioned for the bartender to
+fill up their glasses again.
+
+“The express robbery must ’a’ been done by tenderfeet,” grinned
+Hashknife. “They never got a cent for their trouble.”
+
+“I dunno what they’d expect to get on a branch railroad.” Thus Sleepy
+wisely. “They never carry money.”
+
+“Sometimes they do,” said Monte. “The mines at Dixon ship bullion from
+the Kalura, and the money for a big pay-roll comes in from the bank at
+Burke.”
+
+“They was probably figurin’ on that pay-roll money,” observed Hashknife.
+“Somebody must ’a’ got the wrong dope.”
+
+“Yeah, they must have,” agreed Monte dryly.
+
+In a few minutes Charley Morse came in and told them that Breed was in
+need of their services. Hashknife and Sleepy watched them all ride out
+of town, heading into the hills, with the intention of looking through
+the Crooked Cañon country.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sun was nearly down when Hashknife and Sleepy rode in at the ranch
+again and found Mrs. Daley and Dinah Blewette there. Dinah had driven
+her down there in the buckboard after some clothes she had forgotten to
+take with her.
+
+Dug Breed and the man-hunters had crossed the road just ahead of them,
+and Mrs. Daley questioned Hashknife as to whether some one had given the
+sheriff information about Bud’s hiding-place. Hashknife assured her that
+no one seemed to know just where Bud was located, but that Breed was
+making the search on general principles.
+
+She seemed to gather a certain amount of satisfaction from this, but she
+knew that evading the posse would only make him safe for the time being.
+Dinah took no part in the conversation; being content to nod or shake
+his head.
+
+Mrs. Daley gathered up what articles she desired and was putting them
+into a battered telescope valise, when there came the sound of a
+running horse and a muttered curse, and a man came up the steps. He
+flung himself into the doorway, leaning heavily against his elbow,
+swinging a six-shooter in his right hand.
+
+It was Bud Daley, unkempt, unshaven; his face drawn and haggard.
+Hashknife had taken a step toward him, but Bud’s leveled gun caused
+him to stop quickly.
+
+“Bud, don’t yuh know me?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Bud stared at him, licking his dry lips.
+
+“Good ----! Hashknife Hartley!” Bud’s voice was a croak. “And Sleepy
+Stevens! Where did you come from?”
+
+His gun-hand waved and dropped to his side weakly.
+
+“Bud, you’ve been hit, ain’t yuh?” Hashknife crossed quickly to him, as
+Bud lurched forward.
+
+“In the leg,” breathed Bud. “The posse is close behind me.”
+
+Sleepy quickly closed the door behind Bud, who sank down in a chair.
+May, her face white with fear, threw an arm around Bud’s shoulder and
+began crying.
+
+Hashknife ran to a window and scanned the hills, which were already
+dimming in the fading light.
+
+“How far behind yuh is that posse, Bud?” he asked.
+
+“Close,” panted Bud. “I think they knew I was headin’ home.”
+
+“Where did they hit yuh?” queried Sleepy. “In the leg?”
+
+“Yeah. Through my thigh, I think. It’s bleedin’ quite a lot. They’ve
+got me, I guess. I had a rifle; but it wouldn’t do me no good to kill
+’em. Can’t kill everybody, yuh know. Ha-ha-ha!”
+
+Bud laughed from sheer weakness, but there was no mirth in it.
+
+“Don’t, Buddie,” begged his wife. “Don’t laugh like that. We’ll take you
+to a doctor.”
+
+“And from there to the pen,” said Bud wearily. “Anyway, it’s better than
+dodgin’ in the hills. It’s a losin’ game. But, Hashknife, where did you
+fellers come from? I can’t believe it’s you two.”
+
+“It’s us all right,” said Hashknife, his face glued to the window pane.
+
+The posse had come out on the sky-line of a hill, about five hundred
+yards away and were bunched, as they debated.
+
+Just away from the front porch stood Bud’s horse, one foot on the
+dragging reins, its head down as it panted wearily from its long run.
+The buggy team was tied near the back of the house, out of sight of
+the sheriff and posse.
+
+Hashknife turned from the window. Sleepy had cut away part of Bud’s
+overall-clad leg and was trying to stop the flow of blood. Hashknife
+examined it quickly and slapped Bud on the shoulder.
+
+“It went plumb through, Bud. You don’t need a doctor; we’ll fix it up
+ourselves.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dug Breed was highly elated, but still cautious. He knew that Bud was
+in that house, but getting him out might be a different matter; hence
+the deliberation on the hilltop.
+
+“He’s hit, I tell yuh,” insisted Charley Morse. “I could tell the way he
+was ridin’--one foot out of his stirrup.”
+
+“That’s right,” admitted Breed. “He’s plugged; but that makes him a bad
+_hombre_ to drag out of a hole. If he wasn’t hurt, I don’t think he’d
+hole up at home. Kinda funny he didn’t shoot back at us, though.”
+
+“Nothin’ funny about that,” snorted Monte. “Bud ain’t no danged fool,
+Dug. He knows too much to waste ammunition on flyin’ targets. From now
+on, he’ll shoot--and he’s a good shot, too.”
+
+Breed nodded, as he squinted at the house below them. Then:
+
+“We’ll surround the place. Monte, you and Caldwell swing to the left and
+work into that old washout over there; Frank can watch the front, while
+me and Charley and Brent can swing to the right and work in back of the
+barn and corrals.”
+
+“You’ve overlooked another bet,” said Brent Allard quickly. “There’s
+Hartley and Stevens to look out for.”
+
+Breed squinted at Allard and back at the house.
+
+“Do yuh think they’d back Bud’s play?”
+
+“You’d be a ---- fool to take a chance on ’em not doin’ it. I’d rather
+be safe than sorry.”
+
+“Uh-huh.” Breed deliberated, but shook his head stubbornly.
+
+“We’ll go ahead with our program. Better move fast, ’cause a movin’
+object is harder to hit. Let’s go.”
+
+Swiftly they separated and began their encircling movement. Frank Asher
+rode straight down the hill, with the intention of reaching a thicket
+of greasewood about three hundred yards from the house, but he had only
+gone a short distance, when he drew his gun and sent two shots into the
+air.
+
+A man had run from the front door of the ranch-house--a man who limped
+badly. He caught the horse and mounted slowly. Breed had heard the
+shots and drew rein, swinging up his rifle. His horse lunged badly on
+the steep side-hill, making it impossible for him to draw a bead; so
+he dismounted and began shooting.
+
+But the rider was wasting no time in seeing where the shots were coming
+from. He swung his horse around the corner of the house, galloped
+straight across the open ranch-house yard, hurdled the fence and bored
+straight into the hills. The encircling movement had failed.
+
+Breed swore bitterly and mounted again, racing ahead as he stuffed
+shells into the loading-gate of his rifle. Monte Sells and Mesa Caldwell
+were riding swiftly along the slope to the left of the ranch-house,
+while Frank Asher swung wide and followed in the wake of Breed and the
+other two riders.
+
+And far ahead of them rode the quarry, riding into the dusk of the
+hills, holding a straight line toward the Crooked Cañon country. Mile
+after mile reeled away behind them. It was almost dark now. Breed
+scowled at the fading light as he roweled his weary horse to greater
+efforts.
+
+Suddenly he threw up his head and laughed triumphantly. Monte and
+Caldwell, better mounted than the rest, had caused the rider to swing
+farther to the right, and Breed had caught a glimpse of him, cutting
+around the side of a cañon, heading toward the bottom.
+
+“Got him, by ----!” swore Breed.
+
+He yelled shrilly at Morse and Brent Allard and waved at Frank Asher.
+Swiftly they gathered around him, their horses blowing heavily.
+
+“We’ve got him, boys!” panted Breed. “He’s headed into that blind cañon
+just ahead of us. All we’ve got to do is to smoke him out. C’mon.”
+
+“Bud wouldn’t head into a blind cañon,” protested Allard.
+
+“Well, he did,” said Breed, laughing. “He didn’t know that I seen him,
+and he thinks that’s the last place we’d ever look for him.”
+
+A blind cañon is one of those freaks of nature; like an alley, which
+ends in a blank wall. Usually the sides are precipitous, as is the
+end. Even the wild things shun them as they would a trap.
+
+The entrance to this one looked harmless enough, sloping away gently
+to the bottom; but further along the sides reared higher and higher,
+impossible of foot-hold. Monte and Caldwell came in from the opposite
+side and the whole posse met at the mouth of the trap where they
+stopped to rest their horses.
+
+“He can’t get away,” declared Monte, staring into the gloom of the
+cañon. “I’ve been in there, and I know that you’d have to have wings to
+get out. But how did Bud happen to run in there? He knows this place as
+well as we do.”
+
+Breed laughed and dismounted to tighten his cinch.
+
+“That’s where he tried to outsmart us, Monte. He figured that we’d never
+look for him here. It was lucky that I seen him headin’ down here. We’ll
+move in to where the sides break straight up and bottle him up. It would
+be dangerous to move in on him in the dark. He’s hurt, I think; and a
+night up there won’t make him any more active than the law allows.”
+
+Breed swung back on his horse and they moved ahead. Suddenly they
+stopped. A rider was coming slowly out of the narrow neck of the cañon.
+Breed threw up his rifle, but the rider did not pay any attention to it.
+He was looking up at the sides of the cañon. Then he moved in closer;
+close enough for them to see that it was Hashknife Hartley.
+
+Breed swore hollowly and lowered his gun. Allard laughed nervously, a
+chuckling laugh of vindication. Hashknife rode up to them, his face
+serious, as he motioned back toward the far end of the cañon.
+
+“Say,” he remarked easily, “that ---- cañon’s blind.”
+
+“Huh!” Breed crowded the disgust of his soul into one grunt. The rest of
+the posse merely nodded.
+
+“Yessir, it’s blind,” continued Hashknife. “A feller could never get out
+that way.”
+
+Then he seemed to consider the posse for the first time.
+
+“You fellers goin’ in that way? Don’t do it.”
+
+Breed spluttered angrily for several moments before his tongue finally
+shaped words.
+
+“Say, what in ---- do yuh think you’re doin’? You--huh!”
+
+“Me?” queried Hashknife innocently. “Whatcha mean?”
+
+“You know ---- well what I meant! I’ve got a good notion to arrest you.”
+
+“Yeah?” Hashknife seemed amused. “Why don’tcha, Breed?”
+
+Breed looked around at his posse as if trying to seek an answer, but he
+found them grinning foolishly. Brent Allard seemed almost convulsed with
+mirth, and it angered Breed.
+
+“What the ---- tickles you so ---- much, Allard?”
+
+“Wall,” laughed Allard, “I told you you’d be a ---- fool to overlook
+Hartley.”
+
+“Yeah!” Breed snorted and looked back at Hartley, who was grinning
+softly and offering his sack of tobacco to Monte.
+
+“I reckon we better call it a day,” observed Caldwell. “I know I’ve
+had all the exercise I need, and my horse twisted two shoes off on
+that scab-rock below here.”
+
+Breed swung his horse around and led them back out of the cañon to the
+open hills, where he stopped and faced Hashknife.
+
+“Hartley,” he said, “I won’t forget this. You made a monkey out of me
+and my posse.”
+
+“I’m sorry,” said Hashknife soberly. “I didn’t mean for yuh to ever
+catch me; but that danged cañon ruined it.”
+
+“How about goin’ back to the ranch?” suggested Morse.
+
+“Not my gang,” said Monte firmly. “If Bud stayed there while we ran the
+heads off our broncs, he ain’t there now.”
+
+“Stevens would see that Bud was taken care of,” laughed Allard.
+
+“All right!” snapped Breed. “It’s too late to do anythin’ tonight
+anyway.”
+
+He swung his horse to the left and they headed across the dusky hills
+toward Modoc town while Hashknife rode alone down the hills toward the
+Triangle-D, grinning into the night.
+
+
+
+
+                                  IV.
+
+
+That same evening Cleve Lavelle stood near one of his roulette tables,
+which was losing heavily. His face was as expressionless as the face
+of a savage, but his eyes shifted nervously, as the dealer paid out on
+nearly every turn of the wheel.
+
+He knew that every one was talking about his run of bad luck, and, like
+a flock of buzzards, they had come to the kill. He turned away from the
+roulette and walked to a stud game. Mediocre players were bucking the
+game, and nearly every one of them had an array of red, white and blue
+chips in front of them.
+
+Lavelle walked to his private office at the rear and sat down alone,
+chewing savagely on his cigar. Alone, his features relaxed and he swore
+softly to himself.
+
+“If this keeps up, I’ll be flat broke in a short time,” he muttered to
+himself.
+
+Then he threw his cigar aside and paced the length of the room.
+
+Came a knock on the door, and he wheeled quickly. It was Dug Breed. He
+squinted at Lavelle and came to the center of the room, where he leaned
+on a table.
+
+“Well, what luck?” queried Lavelle uneasily.
+
+It was not often that Dug Breed came to his private office, and he felt
+that Breed must have a good reason for it now.
+
+And with little omission, Breed told Lavelle of running Bud Daley to
+cover, only to have him escape them. Lavelle listened in silence to the
+telling, a speculative expression on his face. Then he laughed shortly;
+an ugly laugh.
+
+“Breed, you are a mighty poor sheriff,” he declared.
+
+“All right.” Breed shrugged his shoulders. “It was just a case of
+mistakin’ Hartley for Bud Daley, thasall.”
+
+“That’s all,” nodded Lavelle. “You had your chance, and missed.”
+
+“Didn’t miss entirely, Lavelle. Bud was hit.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I suppose so.” Lavelle was sarcastic, and it nettled Breed.
+
+“Well, it was just a case of Hartley bein’ smarter than I was,” admitted
+Breed.
+
+Lavelle laughed at Breed’s admission, but grew serious.
+
+“It’s too ---- bad you didn’t plug him by mistake.”
+
+“I was mad enough to plug him on purpose, Lavelle.”
+
+“Well, what are you going to do next, Breed?”
+
+“Search me. I’m goin’ to watch Hartley and Stevens, for one thing. They
+know where Bud is, and sooner or later they’ll lead me to him. Next time
+I won’t be fooled.”
+
+“You better not,” said Lavelle coldly. “You make another mistake like
+that, and you’ll not be the next sheriff of Modoc.”
+
+Breed lifted his eyebrows slightly and backed slowly to the door, where
+he stood and looked intently at Lavelle.
+
+“Well, what are you waiting for?” demanded Lavelle.
+
+“I was just thinkin’,” said Breed slowly. “They say that you’ve lost
+your luck, and I was wonderin’ if it would affect you politically.”
+
+Lavelle came toward him, a scowl on his face.
+
+“What do you mean, Breed?” he snarled.
+
+“It takes money to run politics--even in a county as small in population
+as this, Lavelle.”
+
+“Don’t let that bother you, Breed. I’ll be leading the parade next
+election, and don’t you forget it. You either ride with me or you walk
+alone. Those cheap gamblers out there are only winning chicken-feed.”
+
+“Yeah--all right.” Breed turned and opened the door. “I’ll see how
+things go, Lavelle.”
+
+“Just a moment,” said Lavelle, coming closer. “If you need any help, my
+boys will be free to ride with you.”
+
+“And a ---- of a lot of good they’ll do me!” snorted Breed. “When
+Hartley laughed at me, they laughed with him. _Adios_.”
+
+Breed slammed the door shut, leaving Lavelle staring after him. Then
+Lavelle went back to the table and selected a fresh cigar from a box.
+For a long time he chewed on the unlighted weed, his face drawn in a
+heavy frown.
+
+“Breaking me, are they?” he muttered. “My luck is all gone, eh? I put
+him in office, but he’d quit me in a minute--the coyote.”
+
+Lavelle laughed softly, bitterly, as he crumpled the cigar in his
+clenched hand. From the gambling-room came the sounds of laughter,
+the rattling of chips, the drone of a dealer’s voice. Business was
+in full sway, and Lavelle knew that the Rest Ye All was losing money
+every minute.
+
+He went back to the games, where men jostled each other for a chance
+to place a bet. None of them paid the slightest attention to Lavelle.
+His games were on the square--no chance for a fixed wheel, a crooked
+deal--and they knew it. It was just one of those unaccountable runs
+of ill-luck in which every game in the house suffered heavily.
+
+The stud game halted temporarily while the dealer came to Lavelle and
+drew him aside.
+
+“Every chip in the rack gone,” he said softly. “My game is about four
+thousand in the hole right now. I’ve paid out about two thousand in
+cash.”
+
+“Fill your rack,” said Lavelle shortly, and walked away.
+
+The dealer nodded indifferently and went back to his game. Lavelle went
+to the roulette and studied the play. Men were going in on dollar bets
+and coming away with a hatful of coins.
+
+He walked over to a draw-poker table and sized up the chips in front of
+the different players, estimating swiftly. The dealer looked up at him
+inquiringly, but Lavelle walked away and went to the bar. There was
+nothing he could do. To close the games would be fatal to his prestige.
+Men would say that he was a quitter.
+
+Down deep in his heart he wanted to quit, because he knew that he had
+lost his luck.
+
+Sody Slavin and Uncle Jimmy Miller came in, but did not play. Lavelle
+knew that Sody had taken a big roll of money out of the place the night
+before. Other cowboys came rollicking in and added to the noise and
+smoke of the place. Lavelle turned to the bartender and beckoned him
+away from the end of the bar, where he was talking to Sody Slavin.
+
+“If anybody wants to see me, I’ll be at my room in the hotel.”
+
+The bartender nodded.
+
+“Sure, I’ll do that.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+As Lavelle turned toward the door he came face to face with Jud Mahley.
+The Black Wells cowpuncher paid no attention to Lavelle, but slouched up
+to the bar and ordered a drink of whisky.
+
+Lavelle studied him from the rear, a look of half-disgust on his face,
+which he could not conceal. Jud gulped his liquor and turned around, as
+Lavelle moved up closer to him.
+
+“Hello, Mahley,” Lavelle spoke softly.
+
+Mahley’s ferret-like eyes shifted quickly around the room, as he
+returned the greeting.
+
+“What do you know?” queried Lavelle.
+
+“Not a ---- thing.”
+
+“Not a thing, eh?”
+
+Mahley shook his head. A couple of cowboys had come in close to them and
+ordered their drinks. Mahley moved aside, drawing his slouchy sombrero
+farther down over his eyes.
+
+“Couple of fellers come out to Black Wells,” he said to Lavelle. “They
+didn’t like the liquor very well, so they shot the winder out of the
+Welcome saloon and smashed the mirror of the back-bar. That’s all the
+news.”
+
+“Who was they?”
+
+One of the cowboys turned his head and looked at Mahley.
+
+“I dunno.”
+
+Mahley turned away, as if he did not care to talk about it. The cowboys
+laughed and went back toward the gambling-room. Sody and Uncle Jimmy
+came toward the bar, laughing over some incident of the gambling, and
+Sody moved in beside Mahley.
+
+Lavelle knew of the enmity between Sody and Jud Mahley, and tried to
+flash a signal to Mahley; but the signal was lost upon every one,
+except Sody, who saw the action in the mirror.
+
+Quickly he turned his head and looked at the profile of the bad-man from
+Black Wells. Sody did not believe in arguments. With a sideswipe of his
+big left hand he caught Mahley a slap full in the nose and mouth.
+
+The sound of the blow could be heard all over the house, but was of
+such a nature that it did little more than sting and partly daze
+Mahley. He struck his shoulders against the bar and fairly rebounded,
+his hat flying over the bar and both hands grasping for a support.
+
+For an instant he seemed incapable of action, but instinct caused him to
+reach for his holstered gun. Sody grunted with glee, swung his right
+foot in an arc, catching Mahley’s legs just behind the ankles and kicked
+his feet from under him before his hand had quite gripped the butt of
+his gun.
+
+The shock of Mahley’s downfall shook the Rest Ye All and also took all
+the fight out of Mahley. He sat on the floor, goggling around, while
+Sody swiftly disarmed him and tossed the gun over the bar.
+
+“What’s the big idea?” queried Lavelle angrily. “What right ----?”
+
+“You backin’ this scorpion?” asked Sody, pointing at Mahley.
+
+“No, I’m not. But I don’t see----”
+
+“You try and see enough to mind your own business, Lavelle.”
+
+Lavelle stepped aside while Mahley got slowly to his feet, looking
+around as if wondering what had happened to him. Then he got a good
+look at Sody Slavin, and his face reddened with anger.
+
+“Whatcha tryin’ to do?” he muttered.
+
+“You’ve got a lot of nerve to be showin’ up around here,” said Sody. “If
+I wasn’t tender-hearted I’d unwind you, Mahley. And if you show up here
+agin, I’ll jist about do that. Now you git off the Modoc range and stay
+off, you brand-buster.”
+
+Mahley’s right hand felt of the empty holster, and his eyes squinted
+almost shut. He blinked his little eyes angrily and started to say
+something, but changed his mind.
+
+“You ain’t goin’ fast enough to suit me,” said Sody. “If I was you I’d
+be halfway to Black Wells by this time.”
+
+“Aw right.”
+
+Mahley turned toward the door, and Sody stared after him. Mahley
+appeared to be perfectly willing to leave; but at the door he drew a
+six-shooter from inside his dirty flannel shirt bosom and whirled on
+Sody.
+
+“---- you, I’ll show you!” he snarled, half-sobbing with wrath, as he
+threw down on Sody.
+
+But before he could pull the trigger a man dived through the doorway
+into him, and he went staggering sideways, the bullet tearing along
+the wall.
+
+The man who had knocked him sidewise fell to his knees from the rush,
+leaving Mahley still able to recover for another shot; but another
+man came through right behind him and was into Mahley with both hands
+swinging like pistons.
+
+The first man was Hashknife Hartley, the second Sleepy Stevens.
+Neither man said a word. Hashknife got to his feet in time to see
+Mahley sway forward and catch one of Sleepy’s punches flush on the
+chin. Then Mr. Mahley of Black Wells folded up like an old shirt and
+went to sleep. And, without any lost motions, Sleepy picked him up
+in his arms, staggered to the doorway and threw him bodily into the
+street.
+
+Sody’s altercation with Mahley had drawn quite a crowd, and now they
+stood open-mouthed and stared at Hashknife and Sleepy. Hashknife dusted
+off his knees with his hands and grinned slowly. Lavelle had not moved,
+but now he looked keenly at Hashknife before turning away.
+
+“That was kinda complete,” remarked Sody with a sigh of relief. “I’m
+sure much obliged, gents. You came just in time. Mebbe he ain’t a very
+good shot, but I’m big enough for anybody to hit at that distance.”
+
+“You don’t need to thank me,” grinned Sleepy, blowing on his sore
+knuckles. “I’ve been honin’ for a crack at that horse hobo. And I sure
+got my fill. He rattled like a handful of poker-chips when I hit him on
+the chin, didn’t he?”
+
+“Mebbe we better take another look at him,” suggested Sody. “Yuh never
+can tell how many more guns he’s got with him.”
+
+They filed outside and looked around, but there was no sign of Jud
+Mahley. In the space of two minutes he had recovered from his knockout
+and had faded from view.
+
+“And I’ll betcha he never even stopped to bother with a horse,” laughed
+Sody. “He knows now that Modoc ain’t healthy. Let’s all go and have a
+drink.”
+
+They went back to the bar. The curious crowd had gone back to the
+gambling-room, leaving only the bartender to applaud them.
+
+“You sure knocked on his gate,” he told Sleepy, grinning. “I ain’t never
+seen anybody nail ’em sweeter.”
+
+“Wasn’t he talkin’ to Lavelle?” asked Sody.
+
+“Yeah, he was,” said the bartender. “Most everybody around here knows
+Jud Mahley. He’s kinda tough, I’d say.”
+
+“Well, he got softened up quite a little,” laughed Sody. “Let’s have
+another little snifter and then help break Lavelle. Everybody wins
+from the house these days.”
+
+They all trooped into the gambling-room and began laying small bets
+on the roulette. There was no sign of Lavelle, but there was plenty
+of talk about the ill-luck of the house. Neither Hashknife nor Sleepy
+felt inclined to gamble heavily, but preferred to stand by and watch
+the others buck the games.
+
+Uncle Jimmy tried to get Sody to break away and go home; but the fat
+cowboy was adding to his bank-roll and did not want to leave any easy
+money behind.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Time passes swiftly when stakes are running high, and it was about two
+hours after the incident with Jud Mahley when Hashknife, Sleepy and
+Uncle Jimmy went back into the barroom. They had about decided to ride
+home and were going to take a farewell drink, when Dug Breed staggered
+through the doorway.
+
+His face was streaked with blood, as if something with many claws had
+scratched him, and he was disheveled and covered with dirt. He spat
+dryly and reached for a glass of whisky which Uncle Jimmy had poured
+out for his own use. Gulping the liquor at one swallow, he leaned
+against the bar and swore hoarsely.
+
+“Morse is dead,” he croaked, shaking his head painfully. “He never
+knowed what hit him. I--I----” he felt tenderly of his face--“I reckon
+I got the drag of the load.”
+
+“You sure look like you got somethin’,” admitted Hashknife.
+
+“Who killed Morse?” queried Sody wonderingly.
+
+“---- only knows. His horse ran away, and mine won’t pack double, so
+I had to leave him there in the road. Somebody bushwhacked us with a
+shotgun. I was a little behind Charley. Look at my face!”
+
+“Where did it happen?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Between here and Bud Daley’s ranch just a little beyond where the JM
+road forks. I couldn’t bring Charley in. But he’s dead; so it won’t
+matter to him. I’ve got to find a doctor and take him out there. Lucky
+it didn’t hit me in the eyes.”
+
+He turned and staggered outside. The word ran swiftly through the
+gambling-room and the crowd quit playing to find out the particulars.
+Some one went to Lavelle’s office at the rear and told him what had
+happened. He added his voice to the rest, and hurried down to the
+doctor’s house to get further particulars from Breed.
+
+No one seemed to be able to figure out just why the sheriff and his
+deputy should have been ambushed--unless Bud Daley had done it.
+Hashknife smiled grimly at their conjectures. He knew what had happened
+or thought he did.
+
+Jud Mahley, smarting over what had happened to him, had secured a
+shotgun and planted himself beside the road. In the darkness he had
+mistaken Breed and Morse for Hashknife and Sleepy, never expecting
+any one except them to ride over that road that night.
+
+And Sleepy had arrived at the same conclusions. He drew Hashknife aside.
+
+“Cowboy, she’s a good thing we didn’t get there first,” he said softly.
+
+Hashknife nodded and they walked outside to their horses.
+
+“Breed and Morse were goin’ to the ranch,” declared Sleepy. “They knowed
+we were here; so they thought it might be a good chance to look for
+Bud.”
+
+“And some of them danged fools are blamin’ poor Bud,” said Hashknife
+disgustedly. “We know what happened, but we’ll never be able to prove
+it. Still--” he swung into his saddle--“never is a mighty long time,
+Sleepy.”
+
+The murder of Charley Morse shocked even the sensibilities of Modoc. It
+was so uncalled for, so fiendish, that those who were hard-bitten enough
+to overlook an ordinary killing longed for a chance to get their hands
+on the murderer.
+
+Morse had never been popular, but he had never been unpopular. He was
+soft-spoken, reliable, minded his own business and was an efficient
+officer. The charge of bird-shot had scattered enough merely to rake
+Breed’s features and drill some little holes in his neck and shoulders.
+
+The shooting had been done at fairly close range, and, from the extent
+of Morse’s wounds, the assassin had fired both barrels. Hashknife and
+Sleepy had ridden back to town fairly early in the morning and had a
+talk with Breed, whose face was plentifully decorated with bits of
+court-plaster.
+
+Breed was frankly worried. It looked to him as if some one was trying
+to put the sheriff’s office out of commission. But he did not have the
+slightest idea of who had killed Morse. Only fate had put Morse ahead
+of him that night. A loose cinch, which he had stopped to tighten,
+caused him to be riding far enough behind to have escaped the force of
+the shotgun load.
+
+“You were lookin’ for Bud, wasn’t yuh?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Breed rubbed his speckled face and nodded slowly.
+
+“Yeah, we was, Hartley. I knowed that you and Stevens were here in town;
+so we rode out there, intendin’ to take a good look at Bud’s ranch. You
+foxed us the other day, but I ain’t holdin’ no hard feelin’s toward yuh.
+
+“Bud and me never did hitch. He’s a wild sort of a jigger, and just a
+kid; but he ain’t a feller that yuh can dislike a lot. It ain’t me that
+wants him, Hartley; it’s what I represent. The law says he’s guilty--not
+me.”
+
+Hashknife held out his hand to Breed, who took it wonderingly.
+
+“Yo’re kinda human, Breed,” said Hashknife warmly. “Mebbe I’ve
+misunderstood yuh all the time. Let’s set down and have a talk.”
+
+Hashknife indicated a spot on the board sidewalk and they sat down
+together, where no one would overhear them.
+
+“You don’t think that Bud Daley killed Morse, do yuh?” queried
+Hashknife.
+
+Breed shook his head quickly.
+
+“No, I don’t, Hartley. Bud Daley ain’t that kind. Bud would shoot, if he
+had to, but not from ambush with a shotgun.”
+
+Hashknife glanced across the street. Uncle Jimmy and Ma Miller had
+driven in and were tying their team to a hitch-rack. The hitch-racks
+were filling up fast. Hashknife grinned and turned to Breed.
+
+“Saturday is always the same in all ranch countries,” he observed.
+“Everybody comes in to trade and tell lies. If it wasn’t for Saturday,
+I’d live in a city.”
+
+Breed grinned and nodded. Lavelle came out of the Rest Ye All, spoke
+to Uncle Jimmy and Ma for several moments and walked down the street.
+Hashknife watched him keenly and turned to Breed.
+
+“Funny about Lavelle’s luck, ain’t it, Breed?”
+
+Breed glanced after Lavelle and nodded slowly, a slight frown on his
+face.
+
+“Do you believe in luck, Hartley?”
+
+“Yeah.” Hashknife nodded slowly. “I believe in it, sheriff; but not the
+way Lavelle does. He’s superstitious; believes in signs and charms, I
+hear.”
+
+“Yeah, he does.” Breed laughed shortly. “Most gamblers do.”
+
+“They’re poor sticks to tie to,” declared Hashknife. Breed looked up
+quickly.
+
+“What do yuh mean, Hartley?”
+
+“Lavelle got you into the sheriff’s office, didn’t he?”
+
+Breed’s face flushed hotly, but he shut his lips tight.
+
+“He thinks the office belongs to him,” continued Hashknife easily. “I
+know how you feel about it.” Hashknife dug his heel into the dirt and
+squinted thoughtfully, as he said--
+
+“Breed, did you ever wonder what became of Bud’s cattle?”
+
+“Yeah; but I never figured it out. Bud could ’a’ bunched ’em and
+taken ’em to Black Wells. Lavelle thinks that Bud done it. Yuh see,
+Bud owes Lavelle five thousand dollars, and Lavelle thinks that Bud
+sold his cattle and lied about ’em bein’ stole; so he won’t have to
+pay it back.”
+
+“And who do yuh think them two men were that took Bud away from you that
+night on the train?”
+
+Breed shut his lips tight and shook his head. Lavelle was riding up the
+street from the livery-stable. He had changed to boots and chaps, and
+sat his horse as easily as any cowpuncher in the country. He nodded to
+Hashknife and Breed, as he passed them and rode out of town.
+
+“I don’t know who them two men were,” said Breed thoughtfully. “But
+it strikes me that the hold-up was just a blind to stop the train and
+release Bud.”
+
+Hashknife laughed and began rolling a cigaret. Breed looked curiously at
+him and said--
+
+“Does it strike you funny?”
+
+“It’s so danged mixed up, Breed. If it was only a blind, why did they
+dynamite that safe in the express car? Their intentions were good,
+don’tcha think?”
+
+“I dunno. Still, it looks like it might ’a’ been just--well, I dunno
+watcha call it. I can’t imagine who the robbers were.”
+
+Breed shook his head seriously, but turned to Hashknife with a grin.
+
+“That jasper that made me unlock Bud’s handcuffs was a queer jigger.
+When he found that you didn’t have any money, he gave yuh some.”
+
+“Cold-blooded bluff,” said Hashknife, grinning. “Gentleman bandit stuff.
+Wanted to show that he was plumb salty, thasall. Well, we don’t know
+much, do we, Breed? Now let’s talk about the bank robbery.
+
+“That happened late at night. Somebody knowed that the cashier was
+workin’ late; so he must ’a’ waited for the cashier to come out of the
+door. Then he jist about shoved a gun in his ribs and hurried him back
+inside.
+
+“Mebbe he made the cashier open the vault. Then he pops the cashier over
+the head with his gun. He thinks that the cashier is cool for a spell;
+so he proceeds to loot the vault. About that time, the cashier wakes up
+and makes a break for the door.
+
+“This robber gent takes a shot at the cashier, misses him, busts the
+window and kills Sody’s bronc. The next shot gets the cashier dead
+center. Then this man takes his plunder and makes a getaway. Ain’t
+that about the ticket?”
+
+“That’s the way I see it,” nodded Breed, “I found a rosette off Bud’s
+chaps on the vault floor, kinda mingled with some loose money. I’d know
+that rosette anywhere. At daylight, I beat it for the ranch and found
+Bud jist pullin’ in. He’s sure been ridin’ a lot that night, and he
+won’t tell where. His wife don’t know, except that he ain’t been home.
+
+“We do know that Bud got kinda drunk that evenin’ and said he was goin’
+home. He was kinda raisin’ thunder around here--him and Sody Slavin and
+Dinah Blewette. Dinah and Short-Horn Adams had a fight, and Dinah got
+licked. Then Sody proceeds to lick Short-Horn--or to fix him so Dinah
+can lick him--which he does to the queen’s taste. But that was long
+after Bud disappeared.”
+
+“And Bud needed the money, didn’t he?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“Yeah. He tried to borrow more from Lavelle that evenin’, but didn’t get
+it. I don’t blame Lavelle. Bud wanted me to try and find his cows; but I
+was convinced that he’d sold the ---- things; so I got mad at him for
+askin’ me to hunt for ’em. If Bud shot Charley Morse----”
+
+“He didn’t,” declared Hashknife. “He couldn’t. You fellers shot Bud
+through the leg and he can’t walk.”
+
+“Thasso?” Breed rubbed his chin and grinned at Hashknife.
+
+“Yeah, that’s so, Breed. That’s an alibi for Bud. I know where Bud is
+right now, but I’m not goin’ to tell you.”
+
+“I could arrest you for harborin’ a criminal, Hartley.”
+
+“Hop to it,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+Breed frowned reflectively. He knew that Hashknife would not tell,
+and somehow he did not blame him. There was something about the
+tall, sad-faced cowpuncher that made Breed feel willing to tell him
+everything he knew.
+
+“Hartley,” he asked, “are you a detective?”
+
+“No. I’ve done things that a detective might ’a’ done; but never wore a
+badge. Didja ever notice that my nose is kinder long and sharp on the
+end? Breed, I was born to stick my nose into other people’s business. I
+can’t help it.
+
+“Sleepy Stevens is my pet pessimist. Any old time I gets to feelin’ real
+smart, he’s there to hang crape on my soul. I need him. Cattle-ranges
+get sick, don’tcha know it? Yeah, they do. I reckon the cities get sick,
+too; but I don’t _sabe_ their disease. We’re jist cowpunchers, Breed--me
+and Sleepy--but fate has made us a couple of medicine-men of the
+cow-country.”
+
+“Medicine-men?” queried Breed.
+
+“Yeah--medicine-men, thasall.”
+
+Breed smiled and got to his feet as he said:
+
+“All right, Hartley; Modoc needs somethin’ in that line. I’m jist a
+sheriff. Nobody ever gave me credit for havin’ brains. They’re sayin’
+that I ought to find the men who robbed that train; find the man who
+killed Findlay and find Bud Daley. Now I’ve lost my deputy and got
+shot in the face with a scatter-gun. I reckon I’ve got a job on my
+hands.”
+
+“Like the Irishman said--single misfortunes seldom come alone,” laughed
+Hashknife. “You forgot to mention Red Blair.”
+
+Breed looked quickly, suspiciously at Hashknife; but the tall cowpuncher
+was looking at Brent Allard, who was just riding past them, heading
+toward the hitch-rack beside the post office. Allard waved at them, and
+Hashknife nodded.
+
+“We’ll add Red Blair to the total,” said Breed.
+
+Hashknife looked up quickly and nodded.
+
+“One more won’t hurt.”
+
+Breed crossed toward the Rest Ye All, and Hashknife turned and sauntered
+down toward the post office, where Brent Allard was trying to tie a
+half-broken broncho to the rack. It was a mean-looking, glass-eyed gray
+with a snaky head and ears that seemed to be pinned down.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Allard had passed inside the post office. Hashknife leaned against the
+corner and studied the animal. In a few minutes Allard came out, with
+a bundle of mail under his arm. He grinned at Hashknife, as he stuffed
+the mail into his coat-pockets.
+
+“I seen yuh talkin’ with the sheriff,” he grinned. “By grab, I didn’t
+think he’d ever speak to yuh, after the way yuh fooled him in the blind
+cañon.”
+
+“Aw, we’re good friends,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+“Uh-huh,” Allard glanced toward the saloon and back at Hashknife. “Well,
+he’s got a little sense, anyway.”
+
+“That’s a plumb forked-lookin’ bronc yo’re ridin’,” observed Hashknife.
+
+“That thing?” Allard’s voice was filled with contempt. “Forked? Say,”
+Allard laughed, “that ---- bunch of coiled springs never knows when
+to quit bouncin’. It’s about seven miles from here to the ranch, I
+reckon. Well, that bronc jist went seven miles high. Mebbe it went a
+little higher than it did long, ’cause there was times that we stuck
+to the same landin’ spot for quite a spell.”
+
+“That’s a ---- of a thing to ride in after mail,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+Allard laughed and shoved the animal away from the rack, so he could
+untie the rope.
+
+“That’s what Monte said. But I told him there was so ---- much
+bushwhackin’ goin’ on these days that I wanted to ride somethin’ that
+would be awful hard to hit--even with a shotgun.”
+
+“Is Lavelle out at the ranch, Allard?”
+
+“Naw. He don’t come out much. Well, I’ve got to git ready to hammer this
+jughead out of town.”
+
+The gray whirled wickedly, but Allard cramped its head back against its
+shoulder and snapped into the saddle. For a moment there was a blur of
+whirling horse and man; then the horse went high in a lunging pitch that
+almost unseated Allard, and sent a shower of mail from both his coat
+pockets.
+
+Swiftly the gray changed ends, its head seemingly locked between its
+front feet, but Allard stuck like a burr. Into the street they went
+and the gray broke into a run, which took them out of town, like the
+fading of a motion picture on the screen.
+
+Hashknife gathered up the mail from the dust and started into the post
+office, but a glance at one of the dusty envelopes caused him to flash
+a quick glance around as he swiftly slid it inside his shirt.
+
+He walked into the post office and told the postmaster what had
+happened.
+
+“I’ll put it back,” grinned the old man, “I don’t reckon it’s
+perishable. Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
+
+Hashknife laughed with the old man and went outside. Sleepy and Sody
+had seen the bucking horse, and now they came across the street. They
+had imbibed several drinks and insisted on Hashknife joining them, but
+Hashknife was not in the mood.
+
+Uncle Jimmy and Ma Miller came out of a store, and Hashknife got rid of
+Sleepy and Sody by hailing them.
+
+“C’mon, Sleepy,” urged Sody. “If Ma smells liquor on me, she’ll gimme
+---- She always tells me a story about a feller who got all stunted to
+---- from whisky. Pers’nally I ain’t scared of not growin’ any more.
+C’mon.”
+
+Hashknife joined the old folks and asked where Mrs. Daley was.
+
+“Oh, May stayed home,” explained Ma. “She didn’t have nothin’ to buy,
+and she naturally don’t like to talk to folks. She kinda feels that
+they’re sayin’ things about her. You know how it’d be.”
+
+“That--and other reasons,” grinned Uncle Jimmy.
+
+Hashknife nodded.
+
+“You try and don’t talk too much,” warned Ma.
+
+“I ain’t said nothin’, have I?” demanded Uncle Jimmy.
+
+“Then don’t repeat it,” said Ma, and then to Hashknife:
+
+“Are yuh comin’ out soon? Come out and eat, can’tcha. My gosh, you’ll
+ruin yore stummicks eatin’ city food down here.”
+
+“We’ll be out real soon,” declared Hashknife. “Mebbe we’ll be out
+tonight.”
+
+“You just do that,” urged Ma. “I’ll set two extra places.”
+
+Hashknife laughed and went over to the hitch-rack. Sody and Sleepy had
+disappeared. Hashknife hesitated for several minutes, but decided to let
+Sleepy go ahead and have a good time. He mounted his horse and rode out
+of town toward the ranch.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lavelle also knew that Mrs. Daley had been left at the JM ranch. It was
+the first time since Bud’s arrest that Lavelle had had a chance to see
+her alone, and he lost no time in taking advantage of it.
+
+He was careful to study the ranch-house at a distance before riding in,
+as he wanted to be sure that no one else was there. He dismounted at the
+front porch and knocked loudly on the door, but there was no response.
+He tried the door and found it unlocked.
+
+Cautiously he opened it. The living-room was empty. Some one was moving
+about behind the half-open door of an adjoining room. He listened
+closely, thinking that perhaps his knock had not been heard.
+
+“Hello,” he said softly. “Anybody home?”
+
+There was no reply, but the person in the next room continued to move
+about. Suddenly the door opened. Lavelle took a step backward, an
+unspoken exclamation on his lips.
+
+Bud Daley was standing in the doorway, a half-dressed Bud Daley, whose
+face was flushed with fever, his eyes bloodshot. He blinked at Lavelle,
+but without a sign of recognition, muttering something unintelligible.
+
+Some one was coming to the front of the house. Lavelle wanted to turn
+his head, but there was something that caused him to keep his eyes on
+Bud. Then Hashknife Hartley’s voice drawled--
+
+“Mister Lavelle, meet Mister Daley.”
+
+Lavelle turned his head and looked at Hashknife, who was leaning against
+the side of the doorway. Bud was paying no attention to either of them;
+he was too sick for that.
+
+“I--I just came,” said Lavelle lamely.
+
+“I know yuh did,” said Hashknife indifferently, and started to cross the
+room, when Mrs. Daley came in from the dining-room.
+
+She was dressed for riding. At sight of them she stopped, with a quick
+intake of breath.
+
+“It’s all right,” assured Hashknife softly. “There’s nothin’ to get
+scared about, May.”
+
+“I--I was just going to town after the doctor,” she said wearily. “Bud’s
+fever got worse, and there wasn’t anybody here to help me.”
+
+Hashknife crossed to Bud and took him by the arm. Bud half-smiled, as if
+he recognized Hashknife, but did not speak.
+
+“You get back into bed, old-timer,” ordered Hashknife. “You’ve got to
+take it easy, don’tcha know it?”
+
+Hashknife assisted him back to the bed, where Bud dropped wearily.
+Lavelle and May were left alone in the living-room, but neither of them
+spoke. Hashknife was back in a minute and went straight to Lavelle.
+
+“You tryin’ to collect that three thousand reward, Lavelle?” he asked.
+
+Lavelle flushed hotly and wished that this long-faced, keen-eyed
+cowpuncher was miles away. Lavelle had the feeling that Hashknife
+wanted to make him angry; and Lavelle was too clever a gambler to
+show his anger.
+
+“The reward does not interest me,” he replied. “I just dropped in. But I
+had no idea that Bud was here.”
+
+“You waited until yuh knew that nobody but Mrs. Daley was here, yuh
+know,” reminded Hashknife.
+
+“All right,” laughed Lavelle easily. “You did, too.”
+
+Hashknife’s face grew serious as he nodded slowly.
+
+“Yeah, that’s true,” he said softly. “I knowed that she was alone--with
+Bud. Yuh see, I think a lot of these folks, Lavelle. Now, there ain’t
+nothin’ for you to do, except to tell the sheriff where Bud is--and
+collect the reward.”
+
+“---- the reward!” snapped Lavelle. “I’m not looking for any reward.”
+
+“No? Well, that’s funny,” Hashknife laughed shortly. “You let Breed use
+yore cowpunchers to try and catch Bud.”
+
+“He swore them in, Hartley. I couldn’t stop him, could I?”
+
+“We’ve got to get a doctor for Bud,” interrupted Mrs. Daley. “All this
+talk is a waste of time. You stay here and I’ll go.”
+
+“And the sheriff will find it out,” declared Lavelle.
+
+“Will he?” queried Hashknife. “Listen to me, Lavelle. You’ve got
+enough power to keep Breed from doin’ anythin’. Suppose you go after
+the doctor? He won’t tell. And if Breed finds it out, a word from you
+will stop him from makin’ any arrest.”
+
+Lavelle nodded quickly and turned to the door. He was willing to get
+away. Hashknife followed him out on to the porch and watched him mount.
+
+“Just to save arguments, you might not tell the doctor who the sick
+person is, Lavelle,” he said. “Tell him it’s mostly a fever.”
+
+“All right,” grunted Lavelle.
+
+“And the sheriff won’t come out here?”
+
+“I’ll do my best,” said Lavelle.
+
+“That won’t be quite enough,” said Hashknife meaningly.
+
+Lavelle turned and rode swiftly away, while Hashknife went back into
+the house. Mrs. Daley was standing beside Bud’s bed, looking down at
+him, when Hashknife came back in. Bud was mumbling in his delirium a
+meaningless jumble of broken sentences.
+
+“--price of two dresses,” he muttered. “--prettiest woman in this
+country.”
+
+Hashknife glanced keenly at Mrs. Daley. Her lips were shut tightly, and
+her hands clenched.
+
+“What’s he talkin’ about?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“--throw away your youth?” queried Bud, “--retain your beauty? Two can’t
+live on cowpuncher’s--failure--throw away your life.”
+
+Bud laughed bitterly in his delirium. “--silks and furs. Bud is man
+enough--loyalty and all that.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. Daley turned away, with tears running down her cheeks. Now she knew
+that Bud had come home and overheard Lavelle and her talking that night.
+That was why he did not come home; why he did not care what they did to
+him at that trial. He was willing to go to prison. And this was why Bud
+would not speak to her.
+
+She walked out into the living-room and sat down in a chair, while
+Hashknife followed her to the doorway. Bud had quit talking now. Mrs.
+Daley looked up at Hashknife and found him staring intently at her.
+
+“Oh, he’s so sick.” Her voice sounded strained, unreal, and she knew
+that Hashknife did not believe that she was overcome on account of
+Bud’s condition.
+
+“What did he mean?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Mrs. Daley turned away, trying to ignore the question; but Hashknife was
+not to be denied. He came over and put his hand on her shoulder, shaking
+her a little.
+
+“What did he mean?” he repeated. “Tell me, May.”
+
+She looked up at him and tried to get to her feet, but he held her
+firmly.
+
+“Why, he’s--he’s just delirious,” she faltered. “He doesn’t know
+what----”
+
+“It’s back in his mind,” said Hashknife firmly. “He don’t realize what
+he’s sayin’, thasall.”
+
+“Will Lavelle send the doctor out?” asked Mrs. Daley.
+
+“That’s up to Lavelle, May. Now will yuh tell me what Bud means?”
+
+“I--I don’t know, Hashknife.”
+
+“You don’t need to lie to me, May.”
+
+She looked up at him, her lips shut tightly; and she turned away from
+the determined expression in his eyes.
+
+“And you know yuh lie, when yuh say yuh don’t know, May,” he said
+softly. “I’m yore friend--and I’m listenin’ real close.”
+
+“You--you call me a liar?” she faltered. “And you say you are my
+friend?”
+
+“I’ve had a lot of friends that lied, May. That’s one of the failin’s of
+the human race. There’ll always be liars. Now come clean with me. I want
+to help yuh, but I’ve got to have the truth.”
+
+She got up from her chair and walked to the front doorway. He followed
+her and she went out on the porch, where she leaned against one of the
+porch-posts, staring off across the hills. Hashknife leaned easily
+against the side of the doorway and rolled a smoke. Back in the bedroom
+Bud muttered some broken sentences.
+
+“Oh, I wish that doctor would hurry,” said May nervously.
+
+“It’s quite a ways to town,” said Hashknife. “But that’s all right; Bud
+ain’t in dangerous shape. Are yuh ready to talk?”
+
+“Talk?” She turned on him wearily. “Oh, why don’t you go away and let me
+alone? I have nothing to talk about.”
+
+He stepped out and put a hand on each of her shoulders, forcing her to
+look into his face.
+
+“May,” he asked softly, “are you in love with Lavelle?”
+
+She shut her eyes quickly and shook her head violently.
+
+“Is he in love with you?”
+
+Quickly she turned away from him, but did not answer.
+
+“All right, I reckon that’s it,” said Hashknife sadly. “I don’t blame
+him. Yo’re a lovable sort of a girl, May. I used to wonder how Bud Daley
+got yuh.” He laughed softly and rubbed his chin.
+
+“Yo’re too good for Bud Daley.”
+
+She turned quickly, angrily.
+
+“What do you mean by that?” she demanded.
+
+“He’s just a cowpuncher, May. You ought to have silks and furs and all
+that, don’tcha know it?”
+
+Her tightly shut lips trembled and tears came to her eyes. He was
+goading her with Bud’s own words.
+
+“Lavelle could give yuh all them things, May. He told yuh he could,
+didn’t he?”
+
+“Oh, why do you ask me these things?” she cried. “What good can it do
+you?”
+
+“And Bud heard yuh talkin’ with Lavelle, didn’t he? He heard Lavelle
+offer yuh all these things, May? When did he hear this?”
+
+“What good--?” she began.
+
+“Was it the night that the bank was robbed?”
+
+She tried to turn away, but he caught her by the arm and their eyes met.
+She nodded quickly and looked away.
+
+“Thank yuh, May,” he said softly. “Now, let’s talk about it.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t want to talk about anything, Hashknife. Please don’t ask me
+to talk about it. I’ve had so much trouble----”
+
+“Yo’re goin’ to talk to me,” laughed Hashknife, “or I’m goin’ to take
+you across my lap and spank yuh good; _sabe_?”
+
+She turned angrily on him, but her sense of humor saved Hashknife. In
+spite of herself she was forced to laugh at his threat.
+
+“Right down here on the steps,” grinned Hashknife. “We’ll set down and
+have a real good talk. I’m a danged good spanker, too.”
+
+They sat down together. It seemed easier to talk now.
+
+“Now,” said Hashknife, “I understand that Lavelle loves you, but you
+don’t love him. Makes it tough on Lavelle, but lucky for you. And the
+night of the bank robbery, Bud heard Lavelle makin’ love to you, eh?”
+
+“I didn’t know it,” she confessed. “But those were some of the things
+that Lavelle said to me; so Bud must have overheard.”
+
+“Prob’ly broke Bud all up. He had tried to borrow more money from
+Lavelle that day. Makes it look bad for Bud. He needed money to buy
+yuh the things that Lavelle promised yuh. It’s a good thing yuh didn’t
+have to testify at the trial, or they’d ’a’ hung him on that kind of
+testimony.
+
+“Would you--say, May, this is gettin’ danged personal, and mebbe yuh
+won’t answer it, but I’m asking it just the same: If Bud had gone to
+the penitentiary, would you have married Lavelle?”
+
+“I don’t love Lavelle,” she replied softly.
+
+“He wanted to marry yuh, didn’t he?”
+
+“Yes--for a long time.”
+
+“Uh-huh. And if Bud was sent to the penitentiary, you could marry him,
+if yuh wanted to, May. There wasn’t nothin’ to stop yuh.”
+
+“I realize that,” she said slowly. “Lavelle offered to take me away from
+here--away from Modoc. He said he would sell out and we could see the
+world. He came to me again, after Bud was convicted. But I told him that
+it was impossible. I was so sick over it all. He begged me to go away
+with him, but I refused. I told him that I was Bud’s wife as long as he
+lived--no matter what he had done.”
+
+“That was square of yuh, May,” said Hashknife softly. “I’m kinda proud
+of yuh, don’tcha know it?”
+
+“And you don’t blame me, Hashknife?” she asked eagerly.
+
+“Not that I know of,” he smiled. “It wasn’t no fault of yours, if
+Lavelle loved yuh. You wouldn’t be hard to love. If I was ten years
+younger, I’d love yuh myself.”
+
+She laughed softly and the color came back to her face.
+
+“I didn’t know that age was a barrier to love,” she said.
+
+“There’s different kinds of love, May. The kind you know is yore love
+for Bud. That’s the love of youth. If I was ten years younger--”
+Hashknife laughed and got to his feet. “Gettin’ kinda stiff in the
+knees.”
+
+“You are not over forty, Hashknife.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Lavelle is almost forty.”
+
+“And yo’re about twenty-two. Say, you ain’t tryin’ to make love to me,
+are yuh, May?”
+
+“Certainly not!”
+
+“Squirshed agin’,” said Hashknife dejectedly. “I never did have no luck.
+I got stuck on a waitress in Cheyenne once. She had the prettiest hair I
+ever seen. I reckon I got stuck on her hair. Well, one day she was
+waitin’ on my table and I asked her to go to a dance with me that night.
+I was sure goin’ to ask her to marry me that night.” Hashknife laughed
+softly and rubbed his chin.
+
+“Well, she said she’d go with me. She was standin’ agin’ the wall, where
+the hooks are that yuh hang yore hats on, and when she turned to go back
+to the kitchen, her hair got caught on a hook--and stayed there.”
+
+“Stayed there?” wondered May.
+
+“Uh-uh.” Hashknife laughed heartily. “It was a wig. She was as bald
+as an aig. She beat it for the kitchen; so I got the wig and gave it
+to the cashier. That was my only experience as a hair-restorer.”
+
+Mrs. Daley laughed heartily over Hashknife’s sorrows, and to take
+her mind off the long wait for the doctor, he told her some of the
+experiences that he and Sleepy had encountered; telling them in a
+whimsical way, taking no credit for himself.
+
+It was an hour or so later that the doctor arrived. He asked no
+questions, but proceeded to administer to Bud, who had recovered to
+a certain extent. Uncle Jimmy and Ma Miller came home, excited over
+the presence of the doctor, until Hashknife explained how it had all
+happened.
+
+“And what was Lavelle doin’ out here?” demanded Ma Miller.
+
+“I reckon he just dropped in,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Dropped, eh?” Ma was suspicious and did not conceal it.
+
+“Ma, it’s none of yore business,” said Uncle Jimmy, glad of a chance to
+chide her. “He didn’t come out here to see you, ’cause he knowed you was
+in town.”
+
+“Yeah, and he knew that May was here alone. I don’t like it.”
+
+Ma bustled away into the kitchen, and Hashknife went back to his horse.
+Uncle Jimmy begged him to stay for supper, but Hashknife declined.
+
+“Mebbe t’morrow night. I’ve got some folks that I want to see pretty
+soon.”
+
+“Well, make it tomorrow night then,” said Uncle Jimmy regretfully.
+“Ma’ll probably raise ---- when she finds out that yo’re gone, but yo’re
+single and can do as yuh ---- please. Might do her good to find out that
+she can’t boss everybody.”
+
+
+
+
+                                  V.
+
+
+Hashknife rode back toward town, deep in thought. He drew out the
+letter he had purloined from the 76A mail and looked it over again.
+It was directed to Cleve Lavelle and post-marked Black Wells. Inside
+was a single sheet of paper, on which was written in lead-pencil:
+
+                            $75 dols.  Plese remit.
+
+It was unsigned. Hashknife grinned as he touched a lighted match to a
+corner of it and watched it burn to ashes. Then he rode on into Modoc
+and tied his horse to the Rest Ye All rack.
+
+There were three horses at the rack, which looked as if they might
+have traveled a long ways. Hashknife noticed that two of them bore a
+Cross-Arrow, while the third was branded with three parallel bars on
+the left hip. He had seen these brands at Black Wells. It was evident
+that some of Black Wells had come to Modoc, and he wondered if it was
+any of the gang that were in the Welcome saloon when Sleepy had
+bombarded the place.
+
+Modoc was a well-patronized town on Saturday. There were many men in
+the Rest Ye All, but Hashknife decided not to go in. There was no use
+of running into trouble; which would probably result if he ran into
+some folks he knew in Black Wells.
+
+He crossed the street and ran into Breed, who seemed visibly worried. He
+jerked his thumb in the direction of the hitch-rack at the Rest Ye All.
+
+“Jud Mahley and a couple of other hard roosters came over from Black
+Wells t’day, Hartley. They’re in the saloon, drinkin’ hard liquor and
+keepin’ an eye on the door. Sleepy and Sody are down at the Elite
+saloon, singin’ songs to a bartender, who don’t care for music.”
+
+“Well, he ain’t hearin’ any,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+Breed grinned shortly and squinted the length of the street.
+
+“I know. But there’ll be ---- to pay, if them two meet Mahley and his
+two friends. I figure that they came here to get even for what happened
+to Mahley. He’s a dirty coyote, Hartley; and the two men with him ain’t
+no better. What had we better do?”
+
+“Well,” said Hashknife slowly, “I reckon we better find a preacher and
+have him pray a few times for Mahley and his two gun-men. I dunno much
+about Sody Slavin, but I know that Sleepy is able to protect his own
+hide.”
+
+“I wasn’t worryin’ about Sody,” grinned Breed. “He’s a big, fat son of
+a biscuit-shooter, but he’s a humdinger in a fight. You kinda figure in
+this, too, don’tcha?”
+
+“Oh, that don’t matter. I’ll kinda keep out of sight, I s’pose.”
+
+Breed laughed and hitched up his belt. He felt better about it now.
+
+“You ain’t worryin’, are yuh?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“No-o-o, I reckon it’ll be all right. Had supper yet?”
+
+“Nor dinner,” grinned Hashknife. “Plumb forgot it. Let’s get Sody and
+Sleepy and all go to eat together. It’ll give us a good chance to keep
+’em away from Juddie and his gang.”
+
+“That’s the ticket.” Breed was enthusiastic, but became dubious.
+
+“I seen ’em a while ago, and they wasn’t open to suggestions. Mebbe you
+can convince ’em, I dunno.”
+
+They found the two cowpunchers in the Elite, leaning against the bar,
+while Sody was trying to tell Sleepy a story about Christopher Columbus.
+It dealt with Columbus’ feat of standing an egg on end. Sody had the
+egg. The bartender, a sleek, fat individual, with a scant growth of
+hair, well plastered down, was interested in the narrative, and none of
+them paid any attention to the coming of Hashknife and Breed.
+
+“Well, how’d he do it?” asked Sleepy, owl-eyed. “Yuh can’t stand no aig
+on end, Sody. It ain’t built thataway, I tell yuh. Old Chris must ’a’
+had a hen that laid a flat-ended aig.”
+
+“Noshir,” Sody wagged his head wisely. “Here’s how he done it.”
+
+Sody grasped the egg firmly in his ham-like hand, held it aloft in
+triumph.
+
+“Wa’sh me closely,” he chuckled. “There’s no mushtash to desheeve the
+eye. Ol’ Chris jus’ took the aig--thusly, and----”
+
+Thump! Sody brought his hand down hard enough to have broken a much
+tougher article than an egg, and the contents of the fruit of the
+hen-house squirted all over the interested bartender.
+
+He backed against the back-bar, clawing the yolk out of his eyes, while
+Sody looked goggle-eyed at the crushed mass in his palm. Sleepy moved
+back, his nose twitching.
+
+“Didja see her stand on end?” asked Sody foolishly.
+
+“I didn’t see it,” said Sleepy. “But I betcha it could. My ----, that
+aig was old enough to whip the hen that laid it.”
+
+“You’ve gotta lot of nerve,” wailed the bartender, brushing furiously at
+the bobby-goo on his white vest. “Next time yuh want to tell stories,
+keep away from here. My ----, that’s a strong egg!”
+
+Sody reached across the bar and dragged the palm of his hand across the
+edge to dislodge the remnants of the egg, while with the other hand he
+held his nose.
+
+“Well, ’f here ain’t m’ fambly!” exclaimed Sleepy, catching sight of
+Hashknife. “Yo’re late, cowboy. Sody jist showed us how to stand an
+aig on end. C’mon and have a drink.”
+
+“You’ve had a plenty,” grinned Hashknife. “You and Sody are invited to
+eat supper with me and the sheriff.”
+
+“We ain’t under arrest, are we?” queried Sody quickly.
+
+“Not yet--but the evenin’ is still young. C’mon.”
+
+“There’s somethin’ wrong,” declared Sleepy wisely. “They want to keep an
+eye on us, Sody. Whatcha s’pose it is?”
+
+“I dunno, and I don’t care,” declared Sody. “I’m hongry--but not for
+aigs. Waugh! A voice from the tomb. C’mon, let’s go.”
+
+They went up the street to a restaurant and ordered their meals. Sleepy
+was suspicious. He knew that there was a reason for bringing them up
+there, and in a few minutes Hashknife told them.
+
+“Great lovely dove!” exploded Sody. “That lop-eared whangdoodle came
+back here? Mamma mine, what we’ll do to him will be a joy for the
+Cannibal Islands. Where are they, Hashknife?”
+
+“Set still,” ordered Hashknife. “You two jiggers are goin’ to promise
+me that yuh won’t start no trouble. Until the proper time, Mahley and
+his gang are as safe as a church; _sabe_?”
+
+“Oh, yeah!” snorted Sleepy indignantly.
+
+“They came back here to get even with us--and we’ve got to take it, eh?”
+
+“No, I don’t mean that, Sleepy; and you know I don’t. Keep away from
+Mahley and his men. You don’t need to butt into ’em, do yuh?”
+
+“It would be a lot of fun,” muttered Sleepy. “I want to take a shot at
+that bat-eared pelican. He ain’t no good, dang his hide.”
+
+“But yuh won’t take no shot at him, Sleepy,” said Hashknife. “I told yuh
+not to, and you mind me real fine.”
+
+“All right,” Sleepy nodded violently and upset a glass of water with
+his elbow. “I’ll keep my paws off him for yore sake, but if you kill
+him without givin’ me and Sody a chance at him we’ll see that Sandy
+Claws don’t come to yore house next Christmas.”
+
+They ate their supper and went back to the street. Hashknife noticed
+that the three Black Wells horses were missing from the hitch-rack, and
+sighed with relief. He felt sure that Sleepy and Sody would proceed to
+forget what they had promised--and prove a good alibi later on.
+
+Sody seemed to have an idea that the Elite bartender might be getting
+lonesome; so he and Sleepy headed down there, while Breed and Hashknife
+sauntered down to Breed’s office and went inside.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was growing dark and Breed lighted a lamp. They sat down and smoked
+for a while, discussing things in general. The talk drifted around to
+Bud Daley and his troubles.
+
+“They convicted Bud on a silver rosette, didn’t they?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Yeah,” nodded Breed. “Didn’t yuh ever see it?”
+
+He flung open a drawer of his desk beside Hashknife and took out the
+rosette, which had been thrown in on top of some papers. Hashknife
+examined it closely. It was a hand-made thing and very distinctively
+hammered and engraved.
+
+“There was no argument about the ownership,” said Breed as Hashknife
+examined it under the light of the lamp.
+
+He had one hand in his pocket, but now he withdrew the hand.
+
+“Funny how a thing like that will convict a man,” he mused. “Bud made
+it with his own hands; hammered it out to suit himself, and the danged
+thing made an outlaw out of him. Well--” he turned and dropped the
+shining ornament back into the drawer and shoved it shut--“it’s the
+little things in life that do the damage.”
+
+“It sure looks thataway,” nodded Breed. “But for some reason I ain’t
+worryin’ about catchin’ Bud. He’s worth three thousand to the man
+that finds him, and I kinda hope he won’t be found. Funny thing for
+a sheriff to say, ain’t it?”
+
+Hashknife laughed softly.
+
+“I’m glad yuh feel thataway, Breed. Mebbe you’ll be disappointed, but I
+don’t think so.”
+
+“Anyway, I’m not huntin’ for him, Hartley. I probably won’t be the next
+sheriff of Modoc.”
+
+“Keep yore shirt on,” grinned Hashknife. “Everybody in the county ain’t
+agin’ Bud Daley; and yuh might still get a vote or two.”
+
+“All right, Medicine-Man,” laughed Breed. “We’ll wait and see what
+happens.”
+
+They went over to the Rest Ye All and moved about the gambling-room.
+It was a big night and the games were well patronized. Lavelle was
+there watching the play. He glanced nervously at Hashknife and Breed,
+and Hashknife noticed a slight pallor about his face.
+
+Lavelle was not a quiet dresser at any time, but tonight he sparkled
+with sartorial splendor. He nodded shortly, as Hashknife and Breed
+passed him, but Hashknife did not speak. Lavelle looked after the tall
+cowpuncher, a half-sneer on his lips. He noted the big, holstered
+six-shooter which seemed to cling tightly to Hashknife’s thigh, hanging
+at just the right angle for a quick draw.
+
+He wondered where Sleepy and Sody were. They had been around earlier in
+the day. Not that he wanted to see them come in. They were too rough,
+too boisterous to suit Lavelle; but he rather wanted to know where they
+were and what they were doing.
+
+Hashknife placed a few bets on the roulette and won the majority of
+them. But he did not care for roulette. It was all luck, when the wheel
+was honest. Hashknife preferred to match his brains with others at draw
+or stud poker. But both big games were filled.
+
+He stood around for a while, watching the games and talking with the
+players. Breed suddenly disappeared. Hashknife looked for him, but
+he was not in the house; so Hashknife took a seat near the wall and
+proceeded to smoke a cigaret.
+
+It was about fifteen minutes later that Sleepy and Sody came in. They
+seemed in a hurry and there was little evidence in their actions that
+they had ever taken a drink. They saw Hashknife and came straight to
+him, drawing him away from the crowd.
+
+“It’s all off with Bud, unless we act quick,” whispered Sleepy. “That
+---- Mahley found out where Bud is and has told the sheriff.”
+
+“How did Mahley find out?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“He told Breed that the doctor told him. Breed just left with a
+livery-rig, but he told me to tell you. Now, we’ve got to do somethin’
+real fast, Hashknife.”
+
+“What can we do?” queried Hashknife. “The sheriff knows where Bud is,
+and Bud’s too sick to move. We can’t fight the sheriff.”
+
+“We can go down and kill that ---- doctor,” said Sody seriously. “Me
+and Sleepy are gunnin’ for Mahley and his two pet skunks, as soon as
+they show up back here.”
+
+“Breed took a livery-rig, eh?” mused Hashknife. “He must figure on
+bringin’ Bud back with him. How long has he been gone?”
+
+“About ten minutes,” said Sleepy anxiously. “We can still beat him to
+the JM, if we cut the hills.”
+
+Hashknife shook his head slowly and squinted back at the windows of the
+Rest Ye All.
+
+“No, it wouldn’t do us any good, boys. Killin’ Mahley won’t stop Bud’s
+capture. We’ve just got to let ’em go ahead; and in the meantime, let’s
+go back and see if Lavelle’s luck is still good.”
+
+Both Sody and Sleepy grumbled over what they were going to do to Jud
+Mahley and his two companions, but they followed Hashknife into the
+gambling-house.
+
+Lavelle was watching the stud-game, and Hashknife stopped near him.
+Lavelle glanced quickly at Hashknife, but turned back to the game.
+
+“You ain’t playin’ much these days, are yuh, Lavelle?” asked Hashknife.
+
+His voice was loud enough for those at the game to hear, and the dealer
+looked up at Lavelle, who turned quickly to Hashknife.
+
+“Well, what about it?” Lavelle’s voice held a trace of annoyance.
+
+“Ain’t takin’ chances on bad luck,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+Lavelle stared intently at the table for several moments, as if trying
+to make up his mind what to say. One of the players shoved his chips
+over to the dealer, who stacked them quickly and shoved the correct
+amount in coin across to the player.
+
+“Looks like easy money,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+“Try it!” snapped Lavelle, indicating the vacant chair.
+
+Hashknife laughed softly, but did not accept.
+
+“I was just wonderin’ whether it was yore personal hoodoo, or whether
+the house was just havin’ a run of bad luck.”
+
+Lavelle shifted uneasily. Some of the players laughed, and it angered
+Lavelle. He disliked being laughed at. Suddenly he looked at Hashknife,
+a sneer on his lips.
+
+“What’s all this talk about hoodoos, Hartley? If you’ve got money enough
+to make it worth while, I’ll gamble with you.”
+
+“From what I’ve seen around here, it don’t take much,” laughed
+Hashknife. “A dollar runs into hundreds pretty quick.”
+
+“I don’t gamble with pikers,” said Lavelle coldly and turned away.
+
+“Same here,” laughed Hashknife. “So there ain’t no chance for us to
+clash.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lavelle turned and came back to the table. He was mad. At a signal
+from him, the dealer got up and let Lavelle sit down in his place.
+Swiftly Lavelle arranged the chips to suit himself, broke open a new
+deck of cards and looked up at Hashknife.
+
+“I thought I’d bluff yuh into dealin’,” grinned Hashknife, sliding into
+the vacant chair. “You ought to be easy to beat.”
+
+The muscles around Lavelle’s thin mouth twitched slightly, but he
+did not reply. His hands trembled visibly as he shuffled the cards.
+The other three players seemed amused, and grinned at the circle of
+spectators. Sody and Sleepy were in that circle; Sody stolid in his
+interest, Sleepy alert, because he knew that this gambling challenge
+was not at all like Hashknife.
+
+Hashknife drew out a roll of bills and tossed five of them across to
+Lavelle.
+
+“Give me twenty blues,” he said.
+
+Lavelle accepted the hundred dollars and shoved the small stack of blue
+chips across the table, each chip worth five dollars.
+
+“Cash mine in, Lavelle,” said one of the players. “I can’t see clear
+enough to bet only five-dollar chips.”
+
+Lavelle smiled coldly and counted the man’s chips. One of the other
+players shuffled uneasily, but decided to stay. The other grinned and
+separated his chips into two piles.
+
+“One’s velvet,” he said. “I’ll play close to m’ stummick.”
+
+Four blue chips decorated the center of the green-covered table, and
+Lavelle began the deal. Hashknife did not look at his hole-card. Monte
+Sells and Brent Allard came in from the bar and stopped to look at the
+game.
+
+On the second round, both Hashknife and Lavelle received aces, hearts
+and diamonds. Hashknife flipped three blue chips to the center. Lavelle
+stayed, but the other two dropped out.
+
+“I’ll high-spade yuh for ten dollars, Lavelle,” challenged Hashknife,
+but Lavelle ignored him.
+
+The ace of clubs fell to Hashknife, while Lavelle drew a small card.
+Hashknife bet five blues, but Lavelle dropped.
+
+“Looks easy,” grinned Hashknife, raking in the pot. “I’m better off than
+the boys were who had inside information that the big pay-roll was goin’
+to Dixon that night.”
+
+Lavelle’s eyes flashed questioningly at Hashknife, but he was stacking
+his chips carefully and did not look up. Brent Allard shot a swift
+glance at Monte Sells, and their eyes met.
+
+On the next deal Hashknife passed without looking at his hole-card.
+Lavelle gave him a curious look, but Hashknife only grinned and said:
+
+“Luck’s a funny thing. Now, take Bud Daley, as an example; he’s unlucky.
+Somebody stole all his cows, and there’s a lot of folks who don’t know
+yet who stole ’em.”
+
+Lavelle scowled heavily as the player at Hashknife’s right won the pot
+and raked it in with a laugh.
+
+“Is this a poker game or a lecture?” growled Lavelle angrily.
+
+Hashknife grinned widely and rested his elbows on the table.
+
+“I like to entertain folks, Lavelle,” he said. “Don’t mind me; go ahead
+with the deal.”
+
+The onlookers were beginning to enjoy it. Lavelle was noted for his
+cold, hard nerve, and it amused them to see him so angry that his
+dealing was jerky. Hashknife peeked at his hole-card and laughed
+loudly.
+
+“I’ve got a card in the hole that looks like Jud Mahley,” he announced.
+“Jud Mahley in the hole, Lavelle. Deal ag’in; this is sure gettin’
+good.”
+
+Hashknife seemed to pay no more attention to his hand, but called the
+bets as the cards dropped. He had two jacks in sight, while Lavelle’s
+hand showed a pair of eights. The other two players quit. Hashknife
+bet twenty dollars, and, after due deliberation, Lavelle conceded the
+pot to Hashknife, who uncovered his hole-card--a deuce of spades.
+
+“Thought I had a knave, didn’t yuh, Lavelle? You knowed that Mahley was
+a knave. Ha-ha-ha-ha! He’s a dirty deuce, too.”
+
+Lavelle shut his jaw tightly and shuffled the cards in a savage way.
+
+“Leave some of the spots on ’em,” cautioned Hashknife. “Jist ’cause
+yo’re mad--don’t ruin the pretty cards.”
+
+After the next hand, the other two players decided that the pace was too
+hot for them, and dropped out. Lavelle cashed in their chips, leaving
+himself and Hashknife to a single-handed battle.
+
+“Speakin’ of Jud Mahley,” said Hashknife seriously. “There’s a lot of
+pickpockets in Black Wells.”
+
+He looked around as if challenging somebody to dispute his statement.
+Sleepy was grinning widely.
+
+“We know it, don’t we, Hashknife?” he laughed.
+
+“Danged right. Whisky dopers, too. I understand that somebody in Modoc
+has got to pay seventy dollars damage to the Welcome saloon. That’ll
+take off some of the profit from Bud’s cows.”
+
+Lavelle had dealt two cards and was waiting for Hashknife to make
+his bet. Lavelle’s eyes looked strained and there were tiny beads of
+perspiration about his temples. The crowd around the table, with the
+exception of Sleepy, did not know what it was all about, but they
+were more interested in Hashknife than they were in the two-handed
+stud-game.
+
+“That’s what happens when yuh lose yore luck,” continued Hashknife,
+tossing some chips to the center. “Feller gets to worryin’ about it
+and snags himself in his own loop. Bud didn’t have bad luck--he had
+some bad friends. Now the sheriff has gone after him. He’s sick in
+bed, with a bullet-hole in his leg. They’ll bring him back pretty
+soon. You callin’ my last bet, Lavelle?”
+
+Lavelle was staring at the pot, holding the cards tightly in his hand.
+He had called Hashknife’s last bet; but now he called it again. Which
+showed that Lavelle’s mind was not on the game.
+
+“Yo’re of this game, but not in it,” laughed Hashknife. “But yuh
+might as well leave that fifteen dollars in the pot, ’cause I’ll get
+it anyway. You ain’t even got poker sense, Lavelle.”
+
+Lavelle flushed hotly and looked around. The former dealer was at his
+elbow, and Lavelle started to get out of his chair.
+
+“Goin’ to change dealers, eh?” sneered Hashknife. “Afraid to trust yore
+luck any further, are yuh, Lavelle? Yo’re a ---- of a gambler, you are.
+Why don’t yuh git some buildin’ blocks and play behind the bar, where
+nobody can see yuh?”
+
+Lavelle snapped back into his chair, his face white from the sting of
+Hashknife’s insults.
+
+“You want to play poker?” he snarled angrily, “You game to play a
+man-sized game of cards? By ----, I’ll show you some action. Buy enough
+chips to make it worth while, you mouthy fool!”
+
+Hashknife leaned across the table and laughed into Lavelle’s face.
+
+“You can be bluffed, Lavelle. Right now yore heart is yaller from the
+gall yo’re usin’ to brace it up.”
+
+Hashknife drew out a billfold and took out three one-thousand-dollar
+bills, which he tossed carelessly across to Lavelle. The ring of
+onlookers crowded in close to look at the money.
+
+“My ----!” exploded a cowpuncher. “Thousand-dollar bills! I didn’t know
+they was that much money in the world.”
+
+“They’re a safe size,” laughed Hashknife. “If yuh stole one, you’d have
+a ---- of a time disposin’ of it in this country.”
+
+Lavelle squinted at the money closely.
+
+“How big do you want to play this?” he asked.
+
+“Man-size,” laughed Hashknife. “You name the amount. I’m in favor of
+hundred-dollar chips and no limit.”
+
+Sleepy moved in a little closer and tossed a cheap billfold on to the
+table in front of Hashknife.
+
+“Here’s another the same size,” said Sleepy indifferently. “Give him
+plenty of action, cowboy.”
+
+Hashknife grinned up at Sleepy and nodded his thanks. Lavelle flashed a
+glance at Sleepy, but continued to count out chips. His fingers trembled
+slightly and a chip fell to the floor as he shoved thirty chips across
+to Hashknife.
+
+It was the biggest price ever paid for poker chips in Modoc, and it
+did not take the whole room long to find out that something out of the
+ordinary was going on at the stud table.
+
+It was out of the ordinary for cowpunchers to have as much money as
+Hashknife and Sleepy had shown, and many of the onlookers glanced
+significantly at each other. But the money had been honestly earned. It
+was their pay for cleaning up a crew of rustlers in the Ghost Hills,
+which had happened but a short time previous to their arrival in Modoc.
+Hashknife had insisted on taking the money in thousand-dollar bills,
+because it would be more difficult for them to get one cashed. Both he
+and Sleepy had visions of saving enough to buy them a little outfit and
+go into the cattle business.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The crowd grew silent as the game began. Lavelle’s face was a set mask
+under the yellow light of the big lamp. Hashknife’s grin hid any emotion
+he might have felt, and he handled hundred-dollar chips as if they were
+pennies.
+
+Hand after hand they played, one player or the other conceding the pot,
+after two or three cards had been dealt. Neither man was winner as yet;
+but every one knew that sooner or later they would get the cards they
+were looking for.
+
+“Kinda funny about Charley Morse,” observed Hashknife, as he peered at
+his hole-card. “The feller that killed him didn’t have a shotgun until
+he came to Modoc. Yuh see, he didn’t have nothin’ agin’ Charley Morse
+nor Breed. He wanted to kill me or my pardner. It was just another fool
+mistake. Killers all make mistakes.”
+
+The crowd was listening intently, wondering. Lavelle shifted in his
+chair, looking nervously at Hashknife as he said hoarsely--
+
+“You calling my bet?”
+
+Hashknife rolled two chips to the center, and they promptly circled and
+rolled back to his side of the table.
+
+“They know where the luck is,” laughed Hashknife. “They want to come
+back to me, Lavelle.”
+
+Lavelle muttered a curse and dealt the next card. The board showed that
+Hashknife had a jack and a six, while Lavelle had a pair of tens.
+
+“Twenty miles of railroad,” laughed Hashknife. “Yore bet.”
+
+After a moment of hesitation, Lavelle shoved five hundred dollars to the
+center. Hashknife laughed softly and fingered his chips.
+
+“Mahley in the hole,” he muttered. “A jack and six in sight. That beats
+a pair of tens, so I call.”
+
+He shoved in five chips and grinned widely. Lavelle studied Hashknife’s
+hand, a half-smile on his lips, as he said--
+
+“Are you playing table-stakes, Hartley?”
+
+Hashknife laughed softly and leaned back in his chair.
+
+“You make your bets, Lavelle. I’ve got over six thousand here.”
+
+Lavelle flipped off the next two cards, which showed another six for
+Hashknife and a trey for himself. Hashknife’s hand showed a pair of
+sixes and a jack, while Lavelle’s showed a pair of tens and a trey.
+
+“Yore tens are still good,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+Lavelle shoved five chips to the center. Hashknife laughed as he shoved
+in five chips to cover the bet and then added ten more as a raise.
+
+“My ----!” exploded a cowpuncher. “Raised him a thousand!”
+
+Lavelle moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and stared hard at
+Hashknife, who was rolling a cigaret with hands that did not tremble.
+Again Lavelle looked at the pip on his hole-card. It was a six spot. He
+realized that there were big odds against Hashknife having a six spot in
+the hole.
+
+And he remembered that Hashknife had said that he had a “Mahley” in the
+hole. The last time it had been a deuce; this time it might be a jack.
+Lavelle’s fingers trembled over his chips.
+
+“That bank robbery was a funny deal,” said Hashknife, and Lavelle looked
+up quickly.
+
+“Funny thing that Bud would pick the vault to lose that silver rosette
+in,” continued Hashknife thoughtfully. “It’s too bad that the cashier
+didn’t live long enough to tell who done it. He knew, too.”
+
+“Oh, for ----’s sake, shut up!” snarled Lavelle. “What’s all the talk
+about, anyway?”
+
+“I’m tryin’ to take yore mind off yore bad luck,” laughed Hashknife.
+“I want yuh to call that thousand; but yo’re afraid to do it, when yuh
+stop to think. You know where yore luck went, but that don’t help yuh
+any, Lavelle. Yuh get kinda sick in the stummick, when yuh think about
+it, don’tcha?”
+
+Lavelle’s eyes narrowed, as he shoved ten chips into the pot.
+
+“Bluffed yuh into it, eh?” Hashknife laughed triumphantly. “Yuh didn’t
+do that because yo’re brave; yuh did it because yo’re plumb scared to
+death.”
+
+“What in ---- are you talking about?” said Lavelle hoarsely.
+
+“Yore luck. Go ahead and deal.”
+
+Lavelle picked up the deck and dealt two more cards. A gasp went up
+from the crowd, when they saw that Hashknife had drawn another six,
+while Lavelle had another ten-spot.
+
+Lavelle stared at the two hands and a smile of triumph flashed across
+his lips.
+
+“What about luck now, Hartley?” he asked nervously.
+
+Hashknife lifted his eyes from an inspection of the two hands and
+grinned widely.
+
+“Yore three tens bets, Lavelle.”
+
+There was no nervousness in Hashknife’s voice--only amusement. Lavelle
+hesitated. He had faced many a man across the green cloth, but this man
+was different from the rest. That third ten had brought the courage back
+into Lavelle’s heart, but now he felt it oozing away again.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The crowd moved slightly, and Hashknife looked up to see Jud Mahley
+and his two companions crowding in for a look at the table. Hashknife
+glanced at Sleepy and Sody. They had seen Jud. Sleepy flashed a glance
+at Hashknife, who turned back to his game. He was not worrying about
+Jud Mahley now.
+
+“A lot of folks wondered why Bud Daley wouldn’t tell where he was the
+night of the bank robbery,” said Hashknife, as if talking to himself.
+“I can tell ’em. I know. I know where that rosette came from, and I
+know who planted it.”
+
+The crowd stirred nervously. They were hearing something. On the fringe
+of the crowd a man questioned another. He wanted to know if he had heard
+rightly. Still, Lavelle did not bet.
+
+“Take yore time,” said Hashknife softly. “I’ll entertain the crowd while
+yuh figure it out. Yuh know, it took me quite a while to figure out why
+Bud Daley was taken away from the sheriff.”
+
+Lavelle jerked up his head.
+
+“What in ---- do I care about Bud Daley?”
+
+Lavelle’s voice was almost a whine. Perspiration trickled into his eyes,
+but he did not try to wipe it away.
+
+“Somebody wanted Bud killed,” stated Hashknife. “And it wasn’t because
+they wanted to avenge the death of the cashier either. Ain’t yuh about
+ready to back up yore three tens, Lavelle?”
+
+With a nervous jerk of his hand Lavelle tossed some chips into the pot.
+
+“Gettin’ jerky, eh?” Hashknife laughed. “Count ’em, Lavelle.”
+
+“Eight chips,” whispered a bystander.
+
+Hashknife slowly counted the pot and found that Lavelle had bet eight
+hundred dollars.
+
+“You ain’t got much faith, have yuh?”
+
+Hashknife threw in eight chips and added a thousand-dollar bill from
+Sleepy’s billfold.
+
+“There’s a thousand that says my sixes win, Lavelle.”
+
+Lavelle swallowed hard and stared at the pot. His nerves were rubbed raw
+and he wanted to get away. Hashknife was talking again.
+
+“Those pickpockets at Black Wells were disappointed.”
+
+As he spoke he looked up at Jud Mahley. The Black Wells cowpuncher did
+not have a poker-face, and Hashknife’s statement brought a startled
+expression to his countenance. He shot a quick glance sidewise toward
+the door and looked into the face of Sleepy Stevens. Then Mr. Mahley
+turned his head and studied the wall, but his hands dropped along his
+hips.
+
+“Folks who don’t know might think it was funny that they would dope and
+rob a stranger,” continued Hashknife. “They didn’t know us--except from
+description. I don’t wonder that they want Lavelle to pay damages.”
+
+Lavelle stared at Hashknife, his mouth half-open, as if he were badly
+in need of oxygen. He seemed to have trouble in keeping his hands on
+the table. He tipped a stack of chips, and they rattled loudly.
+
+“Sounds like a skeleton,” laughed Hashknife. “Didja ever hear a skeleton
+rattle, Lavelle?”
+
+“---- you!” breathed Lavelle. “What’s all this talk about? What damages?
+I never----”
+
+Breed shoved his way to the table, and behind him was Uncle Jimmy--a
+very angry Uncle Jimmy.
+
+“They got Bud, Hashknife,” he said. “The sheriff brought him in.”
+
+“Don’t worry about it,” soothed Hashknife.
+
+“Don’t you worry about anythin’ either, Hashknife,” laughed Sleepy. “Go
+ahead and play the game.”
+
+Lavelle shaded his eyes with his hand as he slowly counted out his
+chips. Then he shoved thirty chips to the center of the table; a
+thousand dollars to call Hashknife’s raise, and a two-thousand-dollar
+tilt to the pot.
+
+He did not say a word, but leaned back, dropping his hands to his lap.
+Hashknife grinned widely as he said:
+
+“You bet that money just like it was the last bet you’d ever make,
+Lavelle. I wonder if you had a hunch. Gamblers do have hunches, don’t
+they? I’ve got one, too. But my hunch is backed up by good-luck.”
+
+He leaned across the table, his face suddenly serious, his voice
+ominous.
+
+“I’m goin’ to call that bet, Lavelle. There’s a black cat settin’ on
+yore shoulder, look’n at yuh.”
+
+Lavelle twitched quickly, and his eyes flashed sidewise. Hashknife
+laughed, as he shoved in two thousand dollars. Then something flashed
+in the lamplight as he tossed an object to the center of the table,
+where it rattled among the chips.
+
+“I’ll raise yuh that much, Lavelle.”
+
+Lavelle jerked forward, staring at the object. It was the rosette that
+had been found on the vault floor. Breed gasped and shifted his feet.
+Lavelle licked his lips and stared at it.
+
+“It’ll take everythin’ yuh own to cover that, Lavelle,” Hashknife’s
+voice was low, but every one heard him. “That represents a lot of
+misery, murder and money. You had it once, Lavelle. You got it the
+night you was out at Bud’s ranch--that night, Lavelle.”
+
+Lavelle did not speak. It is doubtful whether he could have spoken. His
+eyes met Hashknife’s, and Hashknife was not smiling. He reached slowly
+into his vest pocket, clenched his hand and extended it across the table
+and almost under Lavelle’s nose.
+
+“It’ll take everythin’ yuh own to call that last raise, Lavelle,” he
+said. “But yuh can’t win. The god of luck deserted yuh the night that
+the train was held up; the night you took Bud Daley away from Dug Breed;
+the night you had the boys from the 76A hold up the express car so that
+you could have a chance to take Bud away from the sheriff.”
+
+There was not a sound, except the heavy breathing of the crowd. Lavelle
+seemed to turn to stone under the accusation.
+
+“You lost your luck that night, Lavelle. It’s here in my hand. You had
+’em dope and rob us at Black Wells, thinkin’ I’d have it with me. You
+had Jud Mahley try to kill me, but he made a mistake and killed Charley
+Morse.”
+
+“All lies!” breathed Lavelle. His lips barely moved, but his eyes looked
+straight ahead. “You can’t prove it--you can’t.”
+
+“It proves itself,” said Hashknife. “You stole Bud’s cows to try and
+break him, Lavelle. Then you robbed the bank to send him to the
+penitentiary. You dirty coyote, you wanted Bud’s wife. But she told you
+that she was Bud’s wife as long as he lived; so you took him away from
+the law, hoping that he would be killed before being taken. Here’s what
+broke yuh, Lavelle.”
+
+Hashknife opened his hand. It was a piece of silver, about the size of a
+half-dollar. As swift as the slash of a cat, Lavelle struck Hashknife’s
+hand aside and flung himself, drawing a gun from the side-pocket of his
+coat, while the crowd behind him scattered like a covey of frightened
+quail.
+
+But if Lavelle acted quickly, Hashknife was prepared. His two hands
+flashed to the edge of the table, as he flung himself forward, throwing
+the weight of the overturning table into Lavelle, who promptly went over
+backward, crashing to the floor with his chair under him and the edge of
+the heavy table across his throat. Lavelle’s gun exploded, sending a
+bullet screeching along the floor and into the boot-heel of a cowboy,
+who jumped high from the impact.
+
+The crash of Lavelle’s gun blended with the roar of Sleepy’s
+six-shooter. Jud Mahley’s right hand relaxed from around the butt of
+his cocked gun and his close-set eyes blinked foolishly as he tried
+to reason out why certain things were being done. For instance, why
+were several men struggling, cursing, fighting beside him; why were
+men shouting? Then the earth was jerked from under Jud Mahley.
+
+Hashknife rolled the table-edge off Lavelle’s throat and kicked the
+revolver out of his nerveless hand. Mahley’s two companions were down
+on the floor, with Sody and Sleepy astride them, while Dug Breed jerked
+this way and that way, trying to figure out what to do first.
+
+“Well, you danged jumpin’-jack, get us some ropes,” yelled Sleepy. “Do
+yuh think we want to set on ’em until they petrify?”
+
+Breed turned to obey the order, but men were already producing ropes to
+tie up Lavelle and the two men from Black Wells. Jud Mahley needed no
+rope. Monte Sells and Brent Allard had disappeared in the confusion,
+picking up Frank Asher and Mesa Caldwell at the 76A and leaving only the
+tracks of four horses to show that they were all through with the Modoc
+country.
+
+Hashknife gathered up his money from the floor and walked outside, while
+men tugged at his sleeve and demanded that he tell them the whole story.
+Uncle Jimmy shoved them aside and grabbed Hashknife with both hands.
+
+“One of them punchers confessed to stealin’ cows!” he blurted. “Lavelle
+hired ’em to do it. And Lavelle gave Mahley the shotgun to kill yuh
+with. You sure was right, Hashknife. I’ve got to tell Ma and May.”
+
+He ran across the street toward the sheriff’s office, and Hashknife
+followed him. The crowd had already got there with Lavelle and the two
+punchers. Bud was lying on the sheriff’s cot, exhausted from the rough
+ride, but conscious.
+
+The crowd almost mobbed Bud, trying to exhibit their glee in his
+exoneration; but he did not know what it was all about. His wife, white
+of face, her eyes staring with fright, watched them and listened with
+ears that caught only a jumble of words.
+
+Then Cleve Lavelle and the two cowboys were pushed roughly past her and
+into the cells at the rear, while Uncle Jimmy almost knocked her down in
+his joy and excitement.
+
+“Bud is cleared!” he shouted in her face. “Don’tcha know what I’m
+sayin’? I tell yuh, he’s cleared!”
+
+She tried to smile. It was like a dream. He shook her violently, as if
+trying to force her to understand. Ma Miller caught him by the arm and
+yanked him away.
+
+“Don’t shake her, you ninny!” grunted Ma. “What happened, Jim? Tell me
+what happened?”
+
+She shook him roughly with both hands.
+
+“Don’t shake me, woman!” he exploded. “I’m jist about to bust.”
+
+Hashknife came in and Uncle Jimmy pointed at him.
+
+“He done it--the son of a gun--he done it! I tell yuh, he was the one
+what done it. I dunno how he done it, but he did.”
+
+Dinah Blewette shoved in and tried to shake hands with Mrs. Daley. For
+once in his life, Dinah did not try to talk.
+
+“What is it all about?” queried Mrs. Daley. “I--I don’t----”
+
+“It means that Bud is cleared,” explained Sody. “Lavelle was the guilty
+man. Hashknife Hartley put the deadwood on him.”
+
+Mrs. Daley lifted her head and looked at Hashknife, her eyes filling
+with tears of gratitude. Bud had lifted on one elbow and the men stepped
+aside to let him see what was going on. They had told him enough to let
+him know that he was cleared. Hashknife looked at Bud and a smile came
+to his face, as he said:
+
+“Bud, I’m comin’ back some day, when yo’re well. And I’m goin’ to knock
+---- out of yuh for believin’ somethin’ that yuh only heard one side
+of.”
+
+Bud blinked painfully and looked at his wife, who was coming toward him,
+her hands outstretched. He knew what Hashknife meant.
+
+“All right, Hashknife,” he said hoarsely. “I hope you’ll come soon; and
+I’ll take the lickin’ with my hands down.”
+
+Hashknife turned and faced Breed, who gripped his hand tightly.
+
+“Monte Sells and Brent Allard pulled out,” he whispered.
+
+“I know it,” replied Hashknife. “But you don’t need ’em. They were
+technically guilty, thasall. Mebbe they’ll do better now.”
+
+“They’ll have twelve hours lead,” said Breed meaningly. “Mebbe this will
+be a lesson to ’em. It ought to, anyway. I reckon we’ll have to settle
+up Lavelle’s estate and square things with Bud. He owes Lavelle five
+thousand, and Lavelle owes him for a lot of cows; but we’ll see that Bud
+gets a square deal and that nobody suffers from it, Hartley.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hashknife nodded and walked out, with Sleepy treading on his heels. Some
+one called their names, but they did not heed. Came the whistle of the
+southbound train, late as usual. They turned and headed for the depot,
+where they climbed aboard the creaking smoker and sat down.
+
+A moment later the car lurched ahead, and the lights of Modoc passed
+from view. Sleepy’s nose squeaked on the window glass as Hashknife
+said--
+
+“Gimme yore Durham, Sleepy.”
+
+“Why don’tcha buy yuh some once in a while?”
+
+He handed over the sack and leaned back against the seat.
+
+“Where did yuh get that rosette, Hashknife?” he asked.
+
+“From Breed. I took one of the plain ones off my own chaps and had it
+in my pocket. When Breed showed me that rosette, I palmed it and put
+the other one in the drawer. I thought it would shock Mr. Lavelle. I
+had to bluff, Sleepy. I wasn’t sure of it all, but I reckon I guessed
+right. Here’s what was among that money that the hold-up man gave me
+that night.”
+
+Hashknife drew out the piece of silver. It was so badly worn that the
+engraving and inscription was hardly visible; showing that it had been
+carried and handled much. One side was blank. The other showed the faint
+outline of a shield, on which was a tiger springing to the attack.
+
+It was surrounded with a ribbon bearing the faint inscription in Latin:
+
+                        In hoc signo spes mea.
+
+And below was the one word--LAVELLE.
+
+“What does it mean?” asked Sleepy. “I _sabe_ the Lavelle, but I dunno
+that other jargon.”
+
+“It’s Latin, Sleepy. I had quite a time with it m’self. It’s been a long
+time since I studied Latin, but I managed to make it out. It means--In
+this sign is my hope. That shield and tiger must be the family crest of
+the Lavelle family.
+
+“I knew danged well that nobody but Lavelle would have it; so I had him
+dead to rights. He made a ---- bad mistake that night. When they doped
+us at Black Wells, I knew they were tryin’ to get it back for him. Yuh
+remember, I told him we were goin’ there?
+
+“I knew that Lavelle turned Bud loose that night, but it sure took me
+a long time to find out why. A streak of bad luck hit the Rest Ye All,
+and Lavelle got superstitious. I made a guess that he had told Monte
+Sells that the big pay-roll money was comin’ through that night. He
+had to have that hold-up pulled off, and nobody but his own gang would
+do it. He had Jud Mahley with him that night, because Jud was the only
+one he could trust.”
+
+“And Lavelle was in love with May Daley,” mused Sleepy. “That’s funny,
+ain’t it?”
+
+“Funny?” Hashknife looked sideways at Sleepy. “What in ---- is so funny
+about that?”
+
+Sleepy’s mouth formed an unspoken, “Oh!” and he settled down in the
+seat, while the car wheels sent out their _clickety-click
+clickety-click_, and the engine whistled dismally around the sharp
+curves of the Modoc hills. Hashknife sat humped in his seat, his eyes
+half-shut in speculation.
+
+“Whatcha thinkin’ about, cowboy?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“About a range where there ain’t no more trouble, Sleepy. I’m kinda
+tired of it all now. I’m gettin’ so that I can’t think fast, and m’
+gun-hand kinda cramps on me--kinda. Ho, hum-m-m!”
+
+Sleepy glanced sideways at him and grinned softly.
+
+“Yore medicine is still good, Hashknife. When you git so danged old
+that yuh can’t walk no longer, I’ll put yuh in a wheelchair, hang a
+sign around yore neck and take yuh along with me.”
+
+“A sign on my neck?” laughed Hashknife. “What do yuh mean?”
+
+“Jist a sign,” smiled Sleepy. “And on it I’ll have printed: ‘_In hoc
+signo spes mea._’ Only I’ll have yuh find me the Latin word for ‘under’
+instead of ‘in.’”
+
+And the medicine-man smiled in appreciation.
+
+
+[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the March 30, 1924 issue of
+Adventure magazine.]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78587 ***