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diff --git a/78587-0.txt b/78587-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..229d957 --- /dev/null +++ b/78587-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6919 @@ +*** 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 *** |