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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78713 ***
+
+                            THE LOOM OF LIES
+
+                              W. C. Tuttle
+
+         Author of “According to Ng Loy,” “Blind Trails,” etc.
+
+
+It was an August evening in the valley of the Bunch Grass, and in a year
+so dry that the poplars and cottonwoods along the Lost Horse River had
+already turned yellow, and the leaves of the willows were a crackling
+carpet to the tread of thirsty stock.
+
+No rain had come to the valley since the last Chinook winds had swept
+the winter snows, and the river was merely a shallow watercourse of
+evil-smelling fluid. The rolling hills, which extended back to the
+encircling mountains, were as brown as burlap, and the range cattle
+were dusty of hide, thin of flank and red-eyed from the heat.
+
+At the north end of this valley, its boundaries extending to the
+encircling cliffs, through which came the road out of Blackfeet Pass,
+was the JHF ranch, owned by John H. Fann, known throughout the valley as
+“John the Baptist.” This was not because of any religious proclivities,
+but because of his enormous size, his great white beard, which swept
+almost to his waist, and his massive head of white hair, hanging to his
+shoulders.
+
+Just now John Fann sat on the broad steps of the JHF ranch house, a
+rambling, unpainted structure, his elbows on his knees and his hands
+concealed under his great beard. He might well have posed for Rodin’s
+“The Thinker,” although there was a trifle more of sorrow than of
+thought in his half-closed eyes.
+
+Behind him, leaning against one of the porch posts, stood “Ma” Fann, a
+thin, sad-faced little woman, with large, brown eyes, and a wisp of
+colorless hair, drawn tightly back and knotted in what was commonly
+known as a “pug.” She was looking off across the seemingly endless
+hills, which had lost their drab hues of day and were painted in ivory
+and lavender in the glow of the setting sun.
+
+But Ma Fann’s eyes and expression did not register that she was viewing
+the beauties of the painted hills. She had seen them many times in the
+last fifteen years. Perhaps she had marveled at the Master Artist’s
+handiwork at some remote time, but that time was long forgotten.
+
+Just out in front of the steps was Bob Kern, squatted on the heels of
+his boots, as he drew meaningless patterns in the dust with a piece of
+willow-branch. He was a thin-waisted cowboy, with a face as thin and
+bony as the face of a half-starved Indian. His nose had been broken and
+grew at a peculiar angle, and one eye was not exactly set in a straight
+focus, but his thin-lipped mouth was full of good teeth.
+
+Bob Kern lifted his thin face and squinted narrowly at John Fann. He
+looked down at the dust-patterns and cleared his throat softly.
+
+“’T’s all right, John--’f yuh look at it thataway. It ain’t noways my
+point of view. Rustlin’ ’s rustlin’, and it don’t make no difference
+whether it’s me ’r you or the King of Siam--it’s still rustlin’.”
+
+“Yes, it’s still rustlin’,” said John Fann softly. “Men will always
+steal, I suppose. Sometimes I wonder why, Bob.”
+
+“Why?” Bob Kern squinted closely, and then looked up at Ma Fann, “Will
+yuh go inside the house, Ma? I’ve gotta swear a few notes.”
+
+Ma Fann smiled wistfully.
+
+“Swearing doesn’t help, Bob.”
+
+“Mebbe not you, Ma--but it does me. It makes me so ---- mad, I tell
+yuh. Here they’ve been stealin’ JHF cattle for a year, until--” Bob
+Kern spread his hands wearily--“Honest, Ma, we ain’t got enough left
+t’ wad a shot-gun.”
+
+“Is it as bad as that, Bob?”
+
+“Wel-l-ll,” drawled Bob, “mebbe it ain’t quite that bad, Ma, but it sure
+is gittin’ serious. Another year at this rate and there won’t be a JHF
+cow on the Bunch Grass range.”
+
+A rider was coming down one of the angling trails toward the main gate,
+riding slowly. He dismounted and opened the gate, which creaked
+dismally. Somewhere a cow bawled softly. The gate creaked shut and the
+man started toward the corral, leading his horse. The man was short and
+fat, with the waddling walk of a duck.
+
+“‘Splinter’s’ likely hungry, Ma,” observed John Fann.
+
+“He mostly always is,” said Ma Fann, “I’ll put the biscuits in the
+oven.”
+
+She turned and went slowly into the house. Bob yawned and sat down on
+the lower step, where he humped over and rolled a cigaret. In a few
+minutes, “Splinter” Martin waddled up from the corral. He sat down
+heavily beside Bob and helped himself to Bob’s tobacco.
+
+“I run across ‘Chet’ Gunning t’day,” said Splinter hoarsely. Splinter
+always talked as if suffering from a severe cold.
+
+“Thasso?” Bob showed little interest.
+
+“Over by Singin’ Angel Flats,” explained Splinter. “Me and him had a
+little talk.”
+
+“Yuh would,” nodded Bob. “Chet ain’t none secretive.”
+
+“I reckon he’s right, at that,” grunted Splinter. “’F I was the sheriff
+I’d ’a’ found it out long before this.”
+
+“Oh, yuh would, would yuh?” exploded Bob. “I s’pose you knowed it all
+the time, didn’t yuh? Now, that’s fine of yuh, Splint.”
+
+“F’r gosh sake, what ails you?” croaked Splinter. “You don’t need t’
+ride me, cowboy. Right’s right and don’t wrong nobody.”
+
+“Don’t quarrel,” advised John Fann softly. “That does not mend matters,
+boys. Splinter, you better wash up for supper.”
+
+Splinter got up slowly and started for the rear of the house.
+
+“And don’t forget that you’ve got two ears and a back to yore neck,”
+added Bob.
+
+Splinter stopped.
+
+“Zasso? Huh!”
+
+He waddled back, grasped Bob by the ears and looked him over closely.
+
+“Well, well! I sure admire yuh, Robert Emmett Kern. I admires any man
+who makes a discovery and immediate and soon passes out his information
+to his friends. You ranks with some of our great discoverers, cowboy;
+but I’d say you was jist a little more rank, at times.”
+
+“Supper is ready, boys,” said Ma Fann from the doorway. “Have you
+washed, Splinter?”
+
+“No, ma’am--” quickly--“but I’ve had a lesson in it. Be right with yuh,
+even if I dislocate m’ shoulders.”
+
+Splinter went to the rear of the kitchen, placed the battered wash-basin
+on a bench and poured some water from a five-gallon kerosene can, which
+had been fitted with a bail. Noisily he washed his face and dried it on
+a coarse towel.
+
+He could hear Ma Fann singing softly as she placed the supper on the
+table. It was an old church hymn, sung off-key, as if the singer’s
+mind was far from in tune. Splinter listened, his eyes half-closed,
+the rough towel held tightly in his two hands. He heard John Fann and
+Bob Kern clump into the dining-room, the closing of the oven door, as
+Ma Fann removed the biscuits. He picked up the wash-basin and slowly
+poured out the soapy water.
+
+“Gawd A’mighty made them two,” he said softly, meaning John and Ma
+Fann. “He made ’em t’ look kinda like me and the rest of the folks,
+but He must ’a’ took special pains, I reckon, ’cause they’ve got
+somethin’--that--we--ain’t--got.”
+
+He hung the battered wash-basin on the wall, picked up his hat and
+went in through the kitchen door. Ma Fann was standing at the stove,
+looking down at a pan of brown-topped biscuits, holding a plate in her
+hand. Splinter stepped in beside her and she looked up at him. Quickly
+she glanced toward the door which led into the dining-room, and then
+her hand darted inside her waist and she handed Splinter a small kodak
+picture.
+
+It showed two little children, little chubby things, sitting on the
+ground, looking up like two little robins at the approach of the
+mother bird. Splinter’s face broke into a smile and he glanced at Ma
+Fann. Tears were running down her cheeks, but her lips were drawn in
+a hard line.
+
+Splinter cleared his throat softly, gave her back the little picture and
+patted her clumsily on the shoulder as he went into the dining-room.
+
+“He must ’a’ washed his ears,” stated Bob loudly. “Look at the danged
+pelican. Whatcha doing--cryin’, Splinter? You’ve got tears in yore
+beautiful eyes, angel child.”
+
+“Soap!” grunted Splinter, easing himself into a chair. “I’m gittin’
+so danged clean that I wash m’ eyeballs. Got a good notion t’ build a
+bath-tub, so we could take a good washin’ every month or so.”
+
+“My gosh, yuh don’t need to go to extremes!” exclaimed Bob. “Just
+because yuh washed yore neck and ears once, don’t go and get a lot of
+dudish notions.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was little more said during supper. Splinter, who usually carried
+the bulk of the conversation, was silent and thoughtful.
+
+He and Bob Kern had been working for the JHF outfit for nearly three
+years, and they knew the inside life of most of the Bunch Grass range
+folk. There had been another cowboy working there when they came; a
+wild-riding, hard-drinking, handsome young man, whose name was Barr
+Wyeth. He was a good cow-hand, but he did not seem to fit in at the
+JHF.
+
+And then there had been Nell Fann, the daughter, a dark-haired,
+dark-eyed, strong-willed girl of nineteen. And she had fallen in love
+with Bob Kern. But Bob Kern did not have the broken nose and the one
+unreliable eye at that time. That was a memento of a broken cinch and
+an outlaw horse.
+
+John and Ma Fann had smiled upon the engagement. They both swore by Bob
+Kern, and John Fann had made his plans to turn the management of the
+ranch over to Bob Kern. But when Bob had recovered from his accident--he
+was not the same Bob Kern, outwardly. And who can say that any maid of
+nineteen will believe that beauty is only skin deep?
+
+Barr Wyeth was undeniably handsome. Range rumor linked his name with
+Nell Fann, and John Fann had foolishly taken her to task for it. And
+John Fann lost. A recital of Barr Wyeth’s failings only seemed to
+enhance his few virtues to her, and inside of a week they had eloped.
+
+Never by word nor deed had either John or Ma Fann showed that they were
+broken-hearted over the match, but Nell had never come home--never had
+seen her father and mother, except at a distance, possibly. But fortune
+smiled upon Barr Wyeth. With the last few dollars he owned he won a
+small stake at poker. Then he recklessly plunged into roulette until his
+winnings went well into thousands. At midnight that night the gambling
+house of Buck Kelly at Bunch Grass, known as the Buck Horn, closed its
+games and announced that the house was broke.
+
+Barr Wyeth had cleaned them out. With his winning he had bought the
+Lightning ranch and brand and set himself up as a stock-man. The
+Lightning ranch-house was located twelve miles from the JHF, and seven
+miles from the town of Bunch Grass.
+
+Barr Wyeth drank considerable and gambled at every opportunity, but
+fortune only smiled upon him once. He hired two wild-riding cowpunchers,
+Mark Ells and “Windy” Hart, whose monthly earnings went to swell the
+exchequer of the several drink emporiums in Bunch Grass, or to those who
+engineered the destinies of green-covered tables.
+
+Many times had Barr Wyeth and John Fann met, but never did they speak
+nor recognize each other in any way. Barr sneered at the mention of
+John the Baptist, but the name of Barr Wyeth apparently meant nothing
+to John Fann.
+
+Then the JHF cattle began to disappear; began to dribble away. Bob and
+Splinter had noticed it first and had told John Fann about it. He was
+unconvinced, but after a few months he began to realize that unless
+something was done the JHF brand would only remain on the iron itself.
+
+Bob Kern had found the first clue--the track of a horse wearing a
+bar-shoe. This horse had been used in the roping of a calf. There
+was the remains of a small branding fire. There was nothing to show
+that it was a JHF calf, but honest cattlemen are not in the habit of
+roping and branding calves far out in the open range.
+
+Bob had given his information to Splinter, and inside of a week they
+had discovered the owner of that horse. It was Bob who had discovered
+the horse and he had sworn Splinter to secrecy.
+
+Then Splinter had found a yearling heifer wearing a blotted brand on the
+right hip, while on the other hip was the jagged streak of the Lightning
+brand, which had been burned on with a running-iron. The other brand had
+been blotted entirely, but the blot was on the exact spot of the JHF
+registry.
+
+Again Bob swore Splinter to secrecy. There was still no absolute
+evidence. A week later, Splinter found the evidence of another range
+branding, and near the fire he found a hand-made bone hondo, on
+which had been burned the initials B.W. A small piece of frayed rope
+attached to the hondo showed that the weakened rope had broken and
+the hondo been lost.
+
+And with this evidence, Bob Kern had gone to John and Ma Fann.
+Splinter had asked him to do it while he--Splinter--was not there.
+It had been hard for Bob to do this. Down deep in his heart he still
+loved Nell Wyeth, and little less was his love for John the Baptist
+and Ma Fann, who was “Ma” to every cowpuncher the length and breadth
+of the valley.
+
+Neither of the old folks had expressed an opinion. He had simply stated
+his evidence and they knew that he would not lie. Their daughter’s
+husband was robbing them--had been robbing them for nearly a year.
+
+“That is the evidence,” said Bob. “Shall I report it to the sheriff?”
+
+“No,” said John Fann. “This shall be our secret, Bob.”
+
+And that was why Bob Kern had said--“Rustlin’ is rustlin’, and it don’t
+make no difference whether it’s me, or you, or the King of Siam--it’s
+still rustlin’.”
+
+After supper was over Bob and Splinter went to the bunk-house.
+
+“You told ’em, didn’t yuh?” queried Splinter, as he removed his boots.
+
+“Yeah.” Bob nodded slowly. “I told ’em, Splinter.”
+
+“Did John get sore?”
+
+“Like he always does. It must ’a’ hurt ’em both like ----, Splinter.
+They didn’t say nothin’. Ma just kinda took hold of a post with both
+hands, but John didn’t do nothin’ but look off across the hills. I
+don’t reckon they was thinkin’ much about Barr Wyeth.”
+
+Splinter shook his head.
+
+“No-o-o, I don’t reckon they was, Bob. Ma showed me a picture of Nell’s
+twins.”
+
+“I seen it. ‘Pastry’ Pell swiped it at the Lightnin’ and brought it to
+her.”
+
+Pastry Pell was sort of a lazy cowboy who worked extra at the different
+ranches, and had a habit of mixing in every one’s business.
+
+“Goin’ t’ tell the sheriff, Bob?”
+
+“Not if John has his way about it. He don’t want anybody t’ know,
+but--aw----Splinter, suppose we was in his place?”
+
+“A rustler’s a rustler, Bob,” reminded Splinter.
+
+“Jist what I got through tellin’ him. But he won’t do anythin’. I reckon
+the Lightnin’ can rustle every JHF cow on the Bunch Grass hills and John
+the Baptist won’t say a word, on Nell’s account.”
+
+“That’s right,” agreed Splinter, and then dolefully, “I--I wonder if I
+talked too much t’day. Dawg-gone it, I met Chet Gunning and me and him
+talked quite a little.
+
+“He asked me how things was comin’ along, and I told him we’d likely
+last six months longer. Kind of a fool remark t’ make, and he asks me
+what I meant; so I told him that somebody was liftin’ JHF cows.
+
+“He wanted t’ know how long this had been goin’ on and I told him. He
+got kinda mad and wanted t’ know why John the Baptist hadn’t told him.
+Then--” Splinter threw down his cigaret and ground out the lighted end
+with the heel of his boot--“Then I told him about the yearlin’ with the
+vented brand and the Lightnin’ put on with a runnin’-iron.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” said Bob slowly, thoughtfully. “You told him about all there
+was t’ know, didn’t yuh, Splinter?”
+
+“Well, I never stopped t’ think how John would take it. I might ’a’
+knowed I s’pose. Yuh don’t reckon Chet will start anythin’ on what I
+told him, do yuh, Bob?”
+
+“There’s an election in November,” said Bob meaningly, and then, “What
+did Chet say?”
+
+“He said it wasn’t givin’ a sheriff a square deal to keep things quiet
+thataway. I told him he better talk it over with John, bein’ as it’s
+John’s cows. We had quite an argument, and he said he’d come out and
+talk with John.”
+
+Bob yawned wearily and leaned back on his bunk. He was sorry that
+Splinter had talked with Chet Gunning. Chet had never been friendly to
+Barr Wyeth, and Bob knew that right now Barr Wyeth was working against
+Gunning in the coming campaign.
+
+Gunning was a man of about forty years of age, tall, dark, hawk-faced
+and with a drooping, black mustache. He was known as a good shot, fast
+on the draw and tireless in the saddle. Gunning was not a good “mixer,”
+and many expressed surprize that he had been elected.
+
+He was a single man and “batched” alone in a little shack at the
+outskirts of Bunch Grass. Even his deputy, the genial, roly-poly Andy
+Allard, had to confess that he had never become well acquainted with
+the sheriff. But Gunning was efficient, ambitious and had made a good
+officer.
+
+And Bob Kern knew that Gunning would make trouble for Barr Wyeth. Not
+that Wyeth did not have it coming to him, but Bob hated to be mixed up
+in it, because it might look like he was working against the man who
+had married his sweetheart.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was the following morning, just after breakfast, when Chet Gunning
+rode up to the porch of the JHF ranch-house and dismounted. John Fann
+had watched his coming from within the house, but now he came out on
+the porch and greeted the sheriff.
+
+Splinter was down at the corral, but Bob had stayed at the
+breakfast-table talking to Ma Fann. Bob heard John’s greeting to the
+sheriff; so he picked up his hat and went to the front door. Gunning
+was leaning against the side of the porch, talking to John Fann about
+the interminable drouth when Bob came out.
+
+“Howdy, Chet,” greeted Bob, “how’s crime?”
+
+“Well--” the sheriff brushed some tobacco flakes off his shirt-front and
+half-smiled--“it appears to be doin’ real well, Kern--if what I hear has
+any truth in it.”
+
+John Fann glanced quickly at Bob, as if wondering who had told the
+sheriff, but Bob was calmly rolling a cigaret.
+
+“Accordin’ to what I hear, there ain’t no mystery about it,” remarked
+the sheriff slowly, “but I thought I’d have a little talk with John
+Fann before I went ahead on the case.”
+
+“I never was good at riddles, sheriff,” said John Fann, “so you had
+better speak plainly.”
+
+“Riddles?” The sheriff lifted his eyebrows, “I reckon you know what I
+mean, John. Seems to me that the Lightnin’ has struck in the same place
+more than once.”
+
+“You’re doing the talking,” reminded John coldly.
+
+“I sure am,” replied the sheriff, just a trifle nettled. “I reckon it’s
+time for me to do a little talkin’, don’tcha think?”
+
+“Perhaps I might answer that, if I knew what you mean, sheriff.”
+
+“Aw, ----!” exploded Gunning. “You’ve had a lot of cattle stolen and
+you’ve got enough evidence to send a certain party to the penitentiary,
+haven’t yuh?”
+
+“Have I?” John Fann seemed mildly surprized.
+
+“Have yuh?” Gunning’s eyes snapped. “Well, haven’t yuh?”
+
+“Did you come out here to find out if I have, or to tell me that I
+have?”
+
+“Well, ----!” Chet Gunning seemed at a loss to know what to say. “Now,
+look here, John Fann. I reckon you’re tryin’ to shield Barr Wyeth, but
+I’m ---- if the law don’t take it up in spite of you. Mebbe you don’t
+care if the Lightnin’ steals yuh blind, but crime is crime, and I’m
+goin’ to stop it; _sabe_?”
+
+“Since when did the law hire you to ride herd on the JHF stock?” queried
+Bob Kern easily, as he came down the steps and stopped near the sheriff.
+
+“About the same time that it gave you the right to horn in on a
+conversation that don’t concern yuh,” retorted the sheriff
+sarcastically.
+
+Bob grinned widely.
+
+“Then I reckon we’re both talkin’ foolish, Gunning. Suppose you go
+back and run yore office, while we runs the JHF, and mebbe we’ll all
+do well.”
+
+“Thasso?”
+
+Gunning squinted critically at Bob. He knew that Bob would fight with
+fists or guns, and that he was fairly adept with either. Gunning was
+not looking for a fight; so he ignored Bob and turned to John Fann.
+
+“I reckon I’ll just go ahead on what evidence I’ve got, John.”
+
+“What evidence have you got?” queried John.
+
+The sheriff hitched up his belt and looked around. Splinter was coming
+up from the corral and the sheriff greeted him warmly.
+
+“Hello, Martin. I was just checkin’ up on some of the things you told
+me yesterday about the rustlin’ of the JHF stock. I reckon you had the
+right idea.”
+
+Splinter flushed slightly and looked at Bob, who was looking straight at
+him. Splinter spat thoughtfully and knitted his brows.
+
+“The things I told yuh, sheriff?” Splinter’s brow smoothed and he
+grinned widely. “I reckon yore dreamin’, ain’t yuh? Yesterday? Why, I
+ain’t seen yuh for a week.”
+
+Gunning stared at him for a moment and then walked over to his horse.
+He looked coldly at John Fann and Bob Kern and seemed about to speak,
+but mounted his horse and rode stiffly down through the big gate and
+headed down the road toward Bunch Grass.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Every city, every town and every community has its one certain eccentric
+character, and Pastry Pell was the one which fate had dealt to Bunch
+Grass. He was thin, almost to the point of emaciation, pasty of face,
+colorless of eye and with protruding teeth, as yellow as dirty ivory.
+
+His garb was as drab as his physique and personality; yet he was a
+good cow-hand--when he would work, which was not often. He preferred
+to meander about the range, eating here, sleeping there; tolerated,
+but never welcome. He was unable to read or write, yet he had an
+uncanny nose for news or scandal--preferably, scandal. He owned his
+own horse, saddle and bridle, and carried his six-shooter shoved
+inside the waistband of his trousers, where, on account of his lack
+of avoirdupois, it hung precariously, threatening at any time to
+become an inhabitant of the aforementioned trousers.
+
+But a gun was of little use to Pastry, if you were willing to take
+Pastry’s own words for it. He had hired out to the Double-Triangle at
+round-up time, and the foreman had asked him about his outfit.
+
+“I’ve got a bronc and a saddle and a bridle and a six-gun--the ----
+thing.”
+
+“What’s the matter with the gun? Ain’t it no good?” queried the boss.
+
+“Yeah, it’s a good gun,” admitted Pastry. “It’s a ---- good gun, but
+what the ---- good is it? I never see nothin’ to shoot.”
+
+And it was Pastry Pell that Sheriff Chet Gunning met, as he dismounted
+in front of his office in Bunch Grass. Pastry made it a point to visit
+the office at irregular times, because he might hear something to tell
+others about.
+
+Sheriff Gunning knew Pastry very well. Also, Sheriff Gunning was in a
+bad frame of mind, following his interview with the three men at the JHF
+ranch. He knew there was nothing he could do, as long as John Fann
+refused to admit theft. Splinter’s denial of their previous conversation
+made the sheriff boil.
+
+“Huh! You ain’t eatin’ right, sheriff,” was Pastry’s opening comment.
+
+“What’s that?”
+
+The sheriff turned from tying his horse and stared at Pastry.
+
+“Stummick’s disorderly, that’s what she is,” declared Pastry with
+conviction. “You ought to quit eatin’ meat f’r a while and stick to
+vegi-tables.”
+
+“Now, what in ---- are you talkin’ about?” demanded the sheriff.
+
+“Jowls kinda yaller,” explained Pastry. “Eyes blood-shot. Yore either
+sufferin’ from bad circ-lation, torpid liver, or--” Pastry considered
+the sheriff closely--“somebody done somethin’ to git under yore skin.”
+
+“Mm-m-yah!” snorted the sheriff and went into the office.
+
+After a moment, which Pastry consumed in masticating a huge chew of
+tobacco, he followed the sheriff inside.
+
+The sheriff had seated himself at his desk and begun sorting some legal
+papers, but now he looked up, a scowl on his face. But Pastry ignored
+the scowl and sat down against the wall, while the sheriff considered
+him for a space of time.
+
+“Know who rides a horse that wears a bar-shoe?” asked the sheriff.
+
+“Bar-shoe?” Pastry expectorated toward the door and nodded quickly.
+“Barr Wyeth.”
+
+“Hm-m-m!”
+
+The sheriff squinted closely at Pastry for a moment and went back to
+examining his papers.
+
+“Why?” queried Pastry. The question had excited his natural curiosity.
+“What about a bar-shoe?”
+
+The sheriff considered his answer well before he said--
+
+“There’s a lot of JHF stock missin’.”
+
+“Yeah?”
+
+Pastry got slowly to his feet and leaned against the wall.
+
+“And what about the bar-shoe?”
+
+The sheriff leaned back in his chair and considered the ceiling for
+several moments.
+
+“There’s a yearlin’ somewhere in the hills, wearin’ a vented brand on
+the right hip, and on the other hip is a Lightnin’ mark, run on with
+an iron rod.”
+
+“Well, f’r gosh sake!” exploded Pastry. “Does John the Baptist know it?”
+
+“Yeah, he knows it.”
+
+“Huh!”
+
+Pastry’s thin face seemed to twist with eagerness. This surely was a
+choice morsel; something worth the telling, and it would surely be
+told with elaborations and variations.
+
+“Hot, ain’t it?” grunted Pastry, moving toward the door. “I ain’t never
+seen it so hot, ’cept in Death Valley, and I ain’t never been there.
+Hope we have a rain.”
+
+“Be a long dry spell, if we don’t,” remarked the sheriff, but his
+sarcastic reply did not quite reach Pastry Pell, who was already
+hurrying to the hitch-rack in front of the Buck Horn saloon.
+
+For a long time the sheriff stared down at the mass of papers in front
+of him, a calculating look on his face. He knew that John Fann would
+not prosecute Barr Wyeth, on account of Barr’s wife, and he wondered
+what Barr Wyeth would do when he found himself branded publicly as a
+cattle-rustler.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Pastry lost no time in going to the Lightning ranch; in fact, his horse
+was a-lather when he swung off at the ranch-house and clumped loudly up
+the rickety steps. Mrs. Wyeth met him at the door, and even in his
+excitement, Pastry could see that she had been crying.
+
+She stepped aside to let him in. In the next room a baby was crying
+fretfully. The room was poorly furnished, but clean as wax. The walls
+were hung with cheap crayon enlargements of the Wyeth ancestors, but
+there were no likenesses of any of the Fann family. An old upright
+organ stood in one corner, with oil lamps surmounting the brackets on
+each side.
+
+“Where’s Barr?” asked Pastry hoarsely.
+
+“He--he’s asleep,” faltered Mrs. Wyeth, half-indicating a closed door
+with a jerk of her head.
+
+Pastry knew that Barr Wyeth had spent most of the night at a roulette
+table in the Buck Horn and had consumed quantities of liquor.
+
+“What did you want of him?” queried Mrs. Wyeth anxiously.
+
+Pastry fidgeted. He wanted to talk to Barr Wyeth, but not in the humor
+that he would probably find him now; so he decided against waking him
+up to receive the news.
+
+“I jist wanted t’ tell him t’ look out for the sheriff,” said Pastry
+nervously.
+
+Mrs. Wyeth’s face went white. She knew that Barr had come home
+drunk--what had he done that he should look out for the sheriff?
+
+“What is it, Pastry?” she breathed the question. “What has he done?”
+
+Neither of them saw Barr Wyeth’s door open several inches.
+
+“I got this from the sheriff,” said Pastry slowly, “and I dunno what
+he’s goin’ t’ do, but it kinda looks like Barr has been stealin’ cows
+from the JHF.”
+
+“From the JHF?”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to blot out the thought.
+
+“Yes, ma’am. Seems that there’s a horse that wears a bar-shoe mixed up
+in it, and yore husband rides a horse that’s shod thataway. And then
+there’s a yearlin’ that’s had the JHF blotted and a lightnin’ has been
+burned on with a runnin’-iron.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth clutched the top of the table with both hands and stared at
+Pastry.
+
+“Are you--sure--of--this?” she panted.
+
+“That’s what the sheriff said,” nodded Pastry. “I asks him if John the
+Baptist knows about it and he said that he did.”
+
+The door behind them creaked warningly and Barr Wyeth came toward them.
+His eyes were blood-shot and his tousled hair hung down low over his
+forehead. He had only removed his boots, and his clothes were wrinkled
+and disarranged. Several days’ growth of beard made Barr Wyeth anything
+but the handsome young man he had been a year before.
+
+“Barr, you--” began Mrs. Wyeth, but he stopped her with an impatient
+motion of his hand and walked up close to Pastry.
+
+“What’s this stuff you’ve been tellin’ her?” Barr’s voice was
+half-angry, half-inquiring.
+
+“Just what the sheriff told me,” explained Pastry nervously. “He
+said----”
+
+“That I was a rustler?” interrupted Barr.
+
+“Yeah, and he said----”
+
+“Drop that!” snapped Barr, grasping Pastry by the shoulder. “Did Chet
+Gunning tell you to come out here and tell this to my wife?”
+
+“----, no! He never told me to tell it to anybody.”
+
+“But you found this out from him, didn’t yuh?”
+
+“Yeah, he--don’t pinch me thataway! How’s a feller goin’ to talk with
+you pinchin’ off his arm? He said that there was a yearlin’ with a
+vented brand and that the Lightnin’ had been run on with----”
+
+Barr had drawn slightly away, after he had released Pastry’s arm, and
+now he smashed the luckless Pastry full in the mouth with his clenched
+fist.
+
+Pastry reeled backward, reaching blindly for support, while into him
+went Barr, smashing with both fists, driving Pastry out through the
+open door and knocking him backward off the porch, where he landed on
+his shoulders in a scraggly rosebush.
+
+Barr halted at the edge of the porch, panting, cursing, while Mrs.
+Wyeth clung to his sleeve and begged him to stop. Barr shoved the hair
+out of his eyes and stared at her. He was berserk with rage and shoved
+her roughly aside as he went back into the house.
+
+Pastry got wonderingly to his feet, dazed, bleeding. He had lost all
+sense of direction and his first two steps brought him in violent
+contact with the porch, after which he sat down real hard and held
+his face in his hands.
+
+Mark Ells and Windy Hart had seen the fight on the porch from down
+by the corral, and now they hurried up to the porch. Ells was a
+stoop-shouldered, hard-faced young man with sagging lips and a flat
+nose. Windy Hart was a big man, narrow between the eyes, almost
+chinless and with a generous-sized nose, heavily veined in red.
+
+They walked up and considered the fallen Pastry, who managed to get
+to his feet. He sopped some of the gore off his face with the sleeve
+of his shirt and groaned whiningly. Mrs. Wyeth was still standing on
+the porch, one hand braced against a post.
+
+“What’s a matter, Pastry?” asked Windy curiously.
+
+Pastry spat painfully and shook his head.
+
+“Can’tcha talk?” queried Mark.
+
+“Yeth,” Pastry lisped from the loss of teeth.
+
+“Tell us what was the matter, won’t-cha?”
+
+“No, thir,” Pastry shook his head. “I ain’t goin’ t’ thay nothin’.
+I--I--” Pastry glanced toward the open door of the ranch-house--“I
+thed too much ath it wath.”
+
+As Pastry turned toward his horse, Barr Wyeth came out of the house. He
+was dressed now, even to his belt and holster, and under one arm he was
+carrying a carbine in a scabbard.
+
+He did not speak to his wife, but as he started past her she grasped him
+by the arm.
+
+“Where are you going, Barr?”
+
+He jerked away from her and started down the steps.
+
+“Barr, where are you going?” she asked again.
+
+He stopped and looked back at her:
+
+“Well, if you want to know so ---- bad; I’m goin’ down to see the
+sheriff and then I’m goin’ out to the JHF.”
+
+“What for, Barr?”
+
+“What for?” Barr laughed hoarsely. “That’s a ---- of a question.”
+
+He turned and looked at Pastry, who had mounted--
+
+“Get off that horse, you coyote pup!”
+
+Pastry lost no time in dismounting.
+
+“Now, you stay here until I’m gone; _sabe_?” ordered Barr. “I ain’t
+goin’ to have yuh packin’ a talk to Chet Gunning nor to John the
+Baptist.”
+
+“What’s gone wrong, Barr?” asked Windy.
+
+“They’re brandin’ us a bunch of thieves--or rather, they’re brandin’ me
+a thief, and I’m goin’ to vent that brand ---- quick!”
+
+“Huh!” blurted Windy softly.
+
+Barr whirled and hurried down to the corral, where he began saddling.
+Windy and Mark exchanged glances. Pastry was standing beside his horse,
+nursing a very sore face, and Mrs. Wyeth still braced herself against
+the post, white-faced, sick at heart over it all.
+
+From back in the house came the wailing of a child. A grasshopper
+crackled its way past the house and a vagrant breeze stirred the
+dusty foliage. Barr Wyeth mounted and rode straight out toward the
+main highway, never looking back, and they watched him fade out in a
+cloud of dust.
+
+“Well, I gueth I can go now,” Pastry’s voice broke the stillness, and he
+got painfully aboard his horse.
+
+They watched him ride away, going slowly, feeling tenderly of his
+battered face.
+
+Mrs. Wyeth turned her eyes and looked at the two men.
+
+“Isn’t there anything we can do?”
+
+“No, ma’am, I don’t reckon so,” replied Windy.
+
+She turned wearily and went back into the house. For a moment the two
+men looked at each other, and then they went straight to the corral,
+saddled their horses and rode into the hills.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Buck Kelly, owner of the Buck Horn saloon and gambling-house, was not
+a flashy type of gambler; rather he was a quiet dresser, quiet in his
+conversation and drank little.
+
+But he was a hard man to beat. He played shrewdly, without visible
+emotion, and it was impossible to tell whether he was a hard loser or
+not. He had come in from “Nowhere” and bought out the Southern saloon,
+which he had renamed the Buck Horn.
+
+Physically, Buck Kelly was only average. The lines of his square-cut
+face were deeply graven, his lips thin, and his black hair slightly
+tinged with gray. He loaned small amounts of money to the cowboys,
+which insured their pay-day patronage, and was not averse to giving
+them a liberal liquor credit.
+
+But Buck Kelly, early in the game, showed that the Buck Horn was not a
+brawling-hall. With his two hands he had whipped a pair of belligerent
+cowboys. One of them had tried to draw a gun, but Kelly took it away
+from him in a way that showed the crowd that Kelly knew a few good
+tricks.
+
+Then, just to show the crowd that he was not unfamiliar with the weapon
+in his hand, he called their attention to a mineral-water lithograph on
+the wall, which depicted a very lovely fairy-like female person, with a
+flaming jewel for a head-dress. It was at least twenty feet away, but
+without apparent aim, he obliterated the aforementioned jewel.
+
+This served to establish Buck Kelly as a bad man to seek trouble with,
+and gave him a standing with the hard-riding sons of the Bunch Grass
+hills.
+
+Barr Wyeth had left the Lightning with a very definite purpose in mind.
+He was going to Bunch Grass and make Chet Gunning eat dirt. He was not
+entirely free of the potations of the night before, and when he came in
+sight of the drab, unpainted little town of Bunch Grass, after seven
+miles of dusty road, he was less bloodthirsty than when he started.
+
+He was still firm in his purpose, but his throat was very dry and his
+nerves were badly in need of a stimulant. He had seen much red, but
+now it had blended with morose reflections until it was almost indigo.
+Therefore he headed for the hitch-rack in front of the Buck Horn and
+lost no time in imbibing liquid cheer.
+
+And not far behind him came Pastry Pell. He had managed to keep Barr
+Wyeth in sight--or rather he had kept within what would have been
+sight if Pastry had been able to see things in a normal way, which he
+was not.
+
+Pastry circled the town and entered the sheriff’s office by the rear
+door. He found the sheriff standing in the front door, calmly surveying
+the street. He had seen Barr Wyeth ride into town, and he had noted that
+Barr rode with a rifle in a boot under his right saddle-fender. Now he
+turned and squinted at Pastry Pell, who had halted near the center of
+the room.
+
+“For ----’s sake, what happened to you?” grunted the astonished sheriff.
+Pastry’s face was not at all nice to look upon, as it had swelled
+considerably.
+
+“Thed too much,” lisped Pastry painfully.
+
+“Oh!” The sheriff did not need any explanation.
+
+“And he cometh down here to thoot you--Wyeth,” explained Pastry thickly.
+“Thed he wath.”
+
+“Thasso?”
+
+The sheriff glanced back up the street and walked up to Pastry.
+
+“Pell, you’re a ---- of a lookin’ thing. Did Barr Wyeth do this to you?”
+
+“Yeth,” simply.
+
+“I suppose you went out there and told a lot of ---- lies, like you
+usually do, didn’t yuh? Some day you’ll get enough sense to keep your
+mouth shut.”
+
+“That day ith today,” declared Pastry solemnly. “If I knowed that the
+earth wath comin’ to an end, I’d keep my mouth thut.”
+
+There was no doubt but what Pastry was thoroughly in earnest, and the
+sheriff smiled grimly.
+
+“So Barr Wyeth has come down here to shoot me, eh?”
+
+“Yeth,” nodded Pastry quickly. “And ath thoon ath that ith over he thed
+he wath goin’ after John the Baptith.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” nodded the sheriff absently. “He might, at that.”
+
+“You goin’ to arretht him?” asked Pastry.
+
+“Arrest him? What for? Because he came down here to shoot me? Or because
+he beat you up?”
+
+“No thir, but becauth he ith a rustler.”
+
+“I ain’t got no evidence that he’s a rustler, Pastry.”
+
+“No evidenth?”
+
+Pastry swallowed hard and felt tenderly of his swollen eyes.
+
+“Not a ---- bit!” exclaimed the sheriff.
+
+“Then,” said Pastry slowly, “you ain’t got a lot more thense than I
+have. I think you better thwear off today too--like I did. You thed
+too much to me and when I thed what you thed----”
+
+“I reckon you’re right,” interrupted the sheriff, “but I’ll be lucky to
+get off with only a busted face.”
+
+“If you think thith ith luck,” Pastry patted a swollen lip, which
+protruded like the bill of a duck, “you muth have a ---- of an idea
+of mithfortune.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+After the sheriff had ridden away from the JHF ranch, Bob Kern and
+Splinter saddled their horses and rode away toward Comanche Cañon.
+John Fann and his wife sat down on the porch and deliberated over the
+situation.
+
+“It’s going to mean trouble, Ma.” John Fann shook his head sadly. “Not
+trouble for us, but for----”
+
+“Barr Wyeth is hot-headed, John. Even if you would not prosecute him,
+there is still--disgrace.”
+
+“And disgrace means a killing in this country, Ma.”
+
+“I wonder if Barr needed the money so badly that he stole to get it? He
+drinks and gambles.”
+
+John Fann got slowly to his feet and picked up his hat. “I’m going to
+the Lightning ranch, Ma.”
+
+“To see Barr Wyeth? John, he hates you so badly?” Ma Fann did not want
+to see him go.
+
+“Yes, he hates me,” agreed John softly. “I think he has taught Nell to
+hate me, too. I suppose it is my reward for trying to interfere in their
+marriage.”
+
+“But what can you do--what good can you do in talking to Barr Wyeth,
+John?”
+
+“I don’t know, Ma. Sometimes I wonder why he is so bitter toward us. Why
+have we never seen Nell?”
+
+Ma Fann turned away. She too had heard some of the things that Barr
+Wyeth had said against them; things for which there was no reason. It
+was true that neither of them was in favor of her marriage to Barr
+Wyeth, but they had calmly bowed to the inevitable.
+
+“I don’t know what time I’ll be back, Ma,” stated John. “I’ll cut across
+the hills, and maybe I’ll go to town on my way back.”
+
+It was only about seven miles across the hills to the Lightning ranch,
+and John Fann rode into the ranch-house yard about fifteen minutes after
+Pastry Pell had ridden away, following Barr Wyeth to Bunch Grass.
+
+Nell Wyeth was standing in the doorway, staring off across the hills
+as he rode up. It was the first time he had ever come to her home--the
+first time she had ever been face to face with him since her marriage.
+For a long time they looked at each other, and then--
+
+“Where is your husband?”
+
+John’s voice was husky.
+
+“What do you want of him?”
+
+Her voice was barely audible, and she walked slowly out toward him. He
+looked down at her from his horse, but said nothing.
+
+“What do you want of him?” she repeated anxiously now, and her voice was
+husky.
+
+“I want to talk with him, Nellie,” softly. She shook her head quickly.
+
+“Don’t try to talk with him. You know how he feels toward you--how he
+has always felt toward you, after the things you have said about us--and
+he’s ten times worse now.”
+
+“After the things I have said about you,” repeated John Fann slowly.
+“What things, Nellie?”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth shook her head.
+
+“Too many things to remember.”
+
+“Too many to remember,” repeated John slowly. “I don’t think I
+understand. What could I say against you?”
+
+“That’s just it. Just because you did not want me to marry Barr, you
+have said these things, I suppose. I have managed to make Barr ignore
+everything, but now--” She turned and looked down the dusty road toward
+town--“Now, he has gone to Bunch Grass, and I think he is going to make
+serious trouble.”
+
+“I think I understand,” said John patiently. “More talk.”
+
+“More lies, you mean!”
+
+“I hope so, Nellie.”
+
+“And they started at the JHF ranch, too!” indignantly.
+
+“Yes, I think they did.”
+
+“And Bob Kern had a hand in it,” declared the woman heatedly. “He has
+been a dog-in-the-manger ever since I married Barr Wyeth. Oh, I’ve heard
+the things he has said.”
+
+John Fann stared down at her and a sad smile creased his eyes.
+
+“If Bob Kern has mentioned your name, it has been in his prayers,
+Nellie.”
+
+“Is that so? Well, it wasn’t in his prayers when he said that he would
+drive Barr Wyeth out of the Bunch Grass range and make me sorry that I
+ever turned him down because he had a crooked face.”
+
+“No, that don’t sound like a prayer--nor like Bob Kern. I will try to
+find Barr Wyeth in town.”
+
+And without saying good-by, John Fann turned his horse around and rode
+toward town on his big, gray horse, while the woman leaned against the
+side of the porch and stared after him, her eyes filled with sorrow. She
+wanted to call after him, but she bit her lips and stifled the impulse.
+
+Perhaps, she thought, Bob Kern might be right after all. The Lightning
+outfit was just about at the end of its rope. Drink and the green cloth
+had taken its toll of the outfit, and Bob had told her a few days before
+that he would probably lose the ranch. [see Transcriber’s note at end of
+text]
+
+Then the suspicion suddenly struck her. Was Bob stealing cattle to
+try to recoup his losses? If he was, his enmity toward the JHF would
+naturally cause him to take their stock in preference to any other.
+Pastry Pell had said that there was a yearling which had been
+misbranded with the Lightning mark.
+
+She went slowly into the living-room and sank down in a chair. The wife
+of a cattle-thief! If anything happened to Barr, what would become of
+her? And Bob Kern had said--but what had Bob Kern to do about it? There
+were the babies--the twins. And Bob had sworn that he was going to “get”
+the sheriff and John the Baptist. He was going to kill them.
+
+She sprang out of her chair and ran to the bedroom. The twins were
+peacefully sleeping--two tiny little bundles of humanity. For a moment
+she debated, looking at them nervously, then she closed the door, ran
+swiftly out of the house and down to the barn, where she began saddling
+her own horse. She was going to try to overtake her father and warn
+him.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Barr Wyeth did not drink wisely but he drank well--and alone, which
+was not at all like Barr Wyeth. Buck Kelly noticed this and tried to
+draw Barr into conversation, but without much success.
+
+“You ain’t drinkin’ on a bet, are you?” queried Buck.
+
+“On a bet?” growled Barr. “Whatcha mean?”
+
+“You’ve had seven glasses of liquor in ten minutes, Barr.”
+
+“What if I have?” Barr grew instantly belligerent, but Buck moved away
+and grew interested in a poker game.
+
+“What business is it of his?” demanded Barr of the drink dispenser.
+“Tell me that, will yuh? How ---- old does a feller have to be to know
+what he wants? Huh?”
+
+Barr surveyed the place, eyes half-closed.
+
+“I just want to tell everybody that I’m of age and that I do as I ----
+please. There’s too many people around here that are tryin’ to run my
+business, and I’m tellin’ yuh all here and now that I’m tired of it;
+_sabe_?”
+
+“Nobody tryin’ to run you, Barr,” assured Buck. “Go right ahead and get
+your skin filled with hooch. There’s a bunk in the back room, when yuh
+get so yuh can’t stand up to drink.”
+
+“Is--that--so?”
+
+Barr spaced his words carefully and his right hand dropped close to
+the butt of his holstered gun. One of the men shoved back from the
+poker table and left his cards where they had fallen in that deal. He
+was taking no chances.
+
+Buck Kelly did not move. He knew that Barr was dangerous. Came the
+sound of a step at the door and Barr’s eyes flashed sideways to see
+Chet Gunning, the sheriff, watching him closely.
+
+“Don’t move, Barr.”
+
+The sheriff’s voice was coldly conversational. “Ain’t nobody goin’ to
+hurt yuh--if yuh don’t move.”
+
+He walked up slowly, took Barr’s gun from the holster and handed it over
+to the bartender.
+
+“Fangs all pulled nice and pretty,” observed the sheriff. “Now yuh can
+move, Barr.”
+
+Barr turned and looked at the sheriff, who had stepped back. Barr’s
+lips showed like a white scar, and the muscles of his jaws stuck out
+like knotted ropes, but he knew that he was helpless now and might as
+well make the best of it.
+
+“I’ll thank Pell when I see him,” said Barr thickly. “Let’s have a
+drink.”
+
+But no one came up to the bar. The bartender handed out the bottle, and
+Barr poured out a drink. He looked back over his shoulder, but no one
+was paying any attention to him.
+
+“Nobody wants to drink with a cow-thief,” said Barr bitterly, leaning
+across the bar and looking at his reflection in the mirror.
+
+He lifted his glass and laughed harshly.
+
+“Here’s how, you ---- thief!”
+
+He started to take his drink, but the glass halted at his lips. John
+the Baptist was coming in the door. Quick as a flash, Barr dropped his
+glass, grasped the heavy bottle, whirled around and flung it straight
+at the old man’s head.
+
+Came the thud of the impact, the crash of breaking glass, as the bottle
+hit the floor, and John the Baptist went down in a heap, almost blocking
+the doorway.
+
+And before any one could stop him, Barr Wyeth sprang over him and went
+out of the door, tore his horse away from the hitch-rack and headed for
+home in a cloud of dust.
+
+Buck Kelly was the first man to reach John Fann’s side and he swore with
+relief when he saw that the bottle had struck the old man a glancing
+blow on the forehead, tearing and bruising the skin, instead of making a
+solid impact, which most surely would have crushed his skull.
+
+“An inch further to the left and no law on earth would save Barr Wyeth,”
+said one of the men, as they helped John Fann into a chair and bathed
+his forehead.
+
+“That sure is some caress to git from a son-in-law,” observed a grizzled
+cow-man seriously, proffering a none too clean handkerchief to use as a
+bandage.
+
+Pastry Pell came in and became an interested spectator, and the men
+looked curiously at his battered countenance.
+
+“My gosh, you must ’a’ been fightin’!” exclaimed one of the men.
+
+Pastry shook his head.
+
+“No, thir--not me.”
+
+“That’s Barr Wyeth’s trade-mark,” said the sheriff.
+
+“Why did he call himself a cow-thief?” queried the grizzled cow-man. “I
+don’t _sabe_ that, Chet.”
+
+“Booze talk,” said Kelly quickly. “Too much booze.”
+
+John Fann was recovering now. His eyes opened and he looked up at the
+ring of faces around him.
+
+“Feel better, John?” asked the sheriff.
+
+John nodded and got to his feet. He was a trifle unsteady as he felt of
+his bandaged head, but he smiled and nodded.
+
+“Yes, I think I am all right again.”
+
+“You had a ---- close call,” observed Kelly.
+
+“And Barr Wyeth never stopped to see whether it was just a close call or
+a cinch,” added the sheriff. “Right now he thinks he killed you, John.”
+
+“Probably be dithappointed when he finds out that he didn’t,” observed
+Pastry lispingly.
+
+“You talk too ---- much!” snapped the sheriff, and Pastry nodded quickly
+in agreement, which brought a laugh from the crowd.
+
+“Kelly, can I have a little talk with you?” asked John.
+
+“Sure yuh can, John. Come back to my room.”
+
+The old man walked unsteadily, as if still dazed from the blow, but
+followed Kelly to his room at the rear of the saloon. Kelly motioned
+him to a chair and sat down on the edge of the cot.
+
+“I want to talk with you about Barr Wyeth, Kelly,” said John Fann
+wearily.
+
+His hand trembled as he smoothed his white beard, which was now streaked
+with blood.
+
+“All right, John.” Kelly nodded and bit the end off a fresh cigar. “Go
+ahead.”
+
+“Do you think that Barr would steal?”
+
+“Well, that’s a hard question, John. I heard him call himself a thief
+today--a cow-thief, I think.”
+
+“He was drunk today,” said John slowly, as if trying to excuse the
+statement. “Drunk and mad, I guess. My cows are being stolen, Kelly;
+and the guilt points at Barr Wyeth.”
+
+“Enough evidence for an arrest, John?”
+
+“The law requires too little evidence, Kelly. It is easy to secure an
+arrest; not difficult to get a conviction. Acquittal does not mean
+exoneration. No, the law is not fair. All men may be equal before the
+court, but the process of law, the juggling of lawyers--no, I do not
+care to talk of evidence, Kelly.”
+
+“And they are your cows, John.”
+
+“Yes, my cows.”
+
+“Why would Barr Wyeth steal your cows?”
+
+“Kelly--” John the Baptist leaned forward and looked the gambler
+straight in the eyes--“Barr Wyeth must be badly in debt. Cards and
+drink will eat up any business, and the Lightning never was a rich
+ranch. I think that Barr stole to try and pay his debts.”
+
+Kelly laughed and considered the tip of his cigar.
+
+“Then why don’t he pay ’em, John?”
+
+The old man shook his head sadly. He knew that Barr must owe Buck Kelly
+a lot of money, and Buck should be in a position to know if Barr was
+making any attempt to pay off his debts.
+
+“Kelly, will you take a mortgage on my ranch?” John Fann did not look at
+Kelly as he spoke.
+
+“Your ranch--the JHF?”
+
+John nodded--
+
+“Yes, my ranch.”
+
+“Why--I dunno.”
+
+Kelly stretched and chewed rapidly on his cigar.
+
+“How big a mortgage, John?”
+
+“Five thousand dollars.”
+
+Kelly stopped chewing his cigar and stared at the old man.
+
+“Yuh ain’t aimin’ to pay Barr Wyeth’s debts, are yuh?”
+
+“Five thousand isn’t much on the JHF, Kelly.” John Fann ignored Kelly’s
+question.
+
+“No, that’s a fact--nor much toward Barr Wyeth’s debts.” John stared at
+Kelly curiously.
+
+“You don’t mean that Barr owes more than that.”
+
+“Barr Wyeth won the price of the Lightning ranch from me,” said Kelly
+slowly. “He should have quit gambling.”
+
+John Fann humped a little lower in his chair and his great gnarled hands
+seemed to fairly dig into his overall-clad knees. His eyes were nearly
+closed, and Kelly thought for a moment that the old man was suffering
+from the blow on his temple, but he lifted his head and looked at Kelly.
+
+“I’ve heard you say that you would like to own a ranch, Kelly; what will
+you give me for the JHF?”
+
+Kelly laughed.
+
+“Buy your ranch, John? Why, the JHF is the best ranch in Bunch Grass
+valley, man. Do you mean that you would sell out to pay the debts of
+Barr Wyeth? Give up your hard-earned money to--say, John the Baptist,
+you’re crazy! What would you do? Do you think that Barr would ever pay
+you back--that he would take you and your wife in and keep yuh? ----,
+you make me tired!”
+
+“No,” John shook his head. “I do not expect much from Barr Wyeth.
+Neither does he expect much from me; so we might both be surprized,
+Kelly. Me and Ma are getting old--don’t need much.
+
+“It has been a hard year for the cattle. The JHF has suffered with
+the rest--maybe more--and what’s left on this range are pretty blamed
+thin. We haven’t shipped any beef this year, Kelly; and you know what
+that means. I’ve managed to keep Bob and Splinter.”
+
+“Still, the JHF is a good ranch, John.”
+
+“Yes, a--good--ranch.”
+
+“And you want to sell it to pay Barr Wyeth’s debts?”
+
+“Perhaps,” the old man smiled wearily, “I need money for myself, Kelly.”
+
+Kelly snorted audibly and humped over, examining his finger-nails, as he
+considered the proposition. Then:
+
+“John, I haven’t a lot of money. My business is almost as uncertain as
+the weather, but I’ve got about eight thousand dollars. Suppose I take
+a mortgage for that amount. The JHF is worth a lot more than that, but
+if you ever obligate yourself for more than that amount, somebody is
+going to take away your home.”
+
+“Thank you, Kelly. I--I guess it will be enough.”
+
+“Too ---- much!” growled Kelly. “I’ll have the papers made out, John.
+You come tomorrow morning and I’ll have the money for you.”
+
+John Fann got to his feet and turned to the door.
+
+“Kelly, I am trusting you to keep this quiet.”
+
+“Well--” Kelly laughed shortly--“I’m just as ashamed of it as you are,
+John. I think I know Barr Wyeth better than you do.”
+
+“And yet,” John Fann paused with the door half-open, “it was written
+long ago, ‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.’”
+
+He closed the door softly. Pastry Pell was at the wash-stand, washing
+his swollen face, and he nodded to John Fann, but the old man was too
+deep in thought even to see him. Pastry grinned at himself in the
+cracked mirror and felt tenderly of his puffed lips.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+And the sheriff was right when he said that Barr Wyeth thought he had
+killed John Fann. He had spurred out of Bunch Grass, dazed, fighting
+mad and half-drunk, but above all his whirling emotions came the
+soul-shrinking fact that he was a murderer.
+
+Without warning, without giving the old man a chance in the world, he
+had killed him. There was no alibi, no defense in the world would save
+him. He tried to think calmly, and the thought smote him, that he had
+gone to town with murder in his heart. He had announced his intentions
+of killing Chet Gunning and John the Baptist.
+
+Some one was coming down the road toward him, riding in a cloud of dust.
+Through dazed eyes he saw that it was his wife, and he mechanically drew
+his horse to a stop. She was close to him now, her face tear-stained,
+her eyes wide and inquiring. The dust from their horses’ feet eddied up
+around them, blurring their faces.
+
+“I killed your father.”
+
+Barr Wyeth’s voice sounded like the voice of a ventriloquist’s dummy,
+thin and unreal.
+
+“You killed him,” said the woman in a flat voice, as if admitting the
+truth. “You said you would, you know.”
+
+“That was a long time ago,” said Barr wearily, slowly. “I remember that
+I said it--a--long--time--ago.”
+
+They stared at each other through the dust. The woman brushed a hand
+across her face, across her eyes, as if to wipe away the things that
+were before her. Then she turned her horse slowly around and started
+back toward the ranch. Barr Wyeth looked after her for a moment and
+then followed in her wake.
+
+He was sober now and no longer dazed. No jury in the valley would ever
+acquit him, the evidence was all against him. He remembered that Windy,
+Mark and Pastry Pell were present when he had said he was going to “get”
+the sheriff and John the Baptist.
+
+He felt sure that Pastry had told the sheriff and that the sheriff had
+disarmed him for that reason. It was a case of premeditated murder;
+murder in the first degree, punishable by hanging. He wondered if it
+would be worth while for him to go into the hills and take a chance on
+getting away. The whole valley would be against him.
+
+Suddenly he wondered if he had really killed John Fann. His soul
+clutched at the thought, but he shook his head. The bottle had been
+nearly full of liquor; a heavy glass bottle, and he had thrown it
+with every ounce of his strength. No, it must have crushed the old
+man’s skull like an egg-shell, he thought.
+
+It was a long way home for Barr Wyeth. Ahead of him rode his wife,
+looking into a blurred future for herself and the twin babies. Barr
+did not try to ride with her. He had hated John the Baptist, and just
+now, for the first time, he fully realized that John the Baptist was
+his wife’s father.
+
+“Why did I hate him so?” wondered Barr. “The things he said about
+me--that was the reason. Yes, that was it. I killed him for the things
+he had said about me. He didn’t want me to marry Nell, but I fooled him.
+He said things about me and I killed him for saying those things.”
+
+Two riders were coming down the slope of a hill ahead of him, and now
+they came down onto the road. It was Mark Ells and Windy Hart, heading
+toward Bunch Grass. Both of them spoke to Mrs. Wyeth as they passed
+her, but she did not look up.
+
+Both of them drew rein, as if to speak to Barr Wyeth, but he did not
+stop nor speak to them. He did not want to talk to any one. It seemed
+so useless to talk to any one now. They watched him ride away toward
+the ranch and looked curiously at each other.
+
+“Can yuh beat that, Windy?” queried Mark Ells.
+
+“Nope--yuh can’t even tie it,” declared Windy. “Barr was a whoopin’ wolf
+when he left, but somethin’ has sure shrunk his howl a heap. Might be
+worth findin’ out.”
+
+Mark grinned widely and they rode on toward town.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Buck Kelly did a lot of high-powered thinking after John Fann went out.
+He swore softly to himself over the whole deal, but mostly at John Fann
+for being such a fool. Then he lit a fresh cigar, picked up his hat and
+went in search of the sheriff.
+
+He found him in his office, and lost no time in telling him what John
+Fann proposed to do. The sheriff listened in evident disapproval.
+
+“I ain’t got a lot of use for John the Baptist, but I’m danged if I like
+to see him throwin’ money away on Barr Wyeth,” declared the sheriff. “I
+don’t think there’s any doubt but what Barr has been stealin’ cows from
+the JHF.”
+
+“And the ---- old fool is goin’ to hock his ranch to pay Barr’s debts,”
+growled Kelly. “As far as the investment is concerned, I can’t lose.”
+
+“You’ve got a mortgage on the Lightning, haven’t yuh?” asked the
+sheriff.
+
+“No, but I’ve got enough of Wyeth’s notes to cover the whole works.”
+
+“And if Barr does get that money from John the Baptist, and does pay his
+bills, he’ll be payin’ it to you.”
+
+“Sure,” nodded Kelly. “It’ll be a case of shiftin’ the debt to an old
+man and an old lady.”
+
+“And Barr Wyeth will never pay it back, Kelly. You’ve got to refuse to
+give it to him.”
+
+Kelly laughed and shook his head.
+
+“If he don’t get it from me, he’ll get it from somebody else, Chet.”
+
+The sheriff stared down at his toes, a frown between his eyes, but he
+suddenly looked up and leaned close to Kelly.
+
+“Buck, this ain’t a square deal to let the old man do a thing like this,
+don’tcha know it? Will you back me up in a ---- fool proposition?”
+
+“What is it?” smiled Kelly.
+
+“You’re payin’ him that money tomorrow morning. If he’s alone--” The
+sheriff hesitated--“Kelly, we’ve got to take a chance on him being
+alone and going home with the money. If he does, I’ll hold him up as
+he comes up through the cañon, and I’ll take that money.
+
+“I’ll give it back to you, Kelly. There’ll be ---- raised, but we’ll set
+pat; _sabe_? I’ll wear a mask and do it all up proper. We’ll let the old
+man think he’s a big loser, but he won’t be. Do yuh stand behind me in
+this?”
+
+Kelly laughed and nodded.
+
+“Chet, I’m with yuh. But for gosh sake, do it right. If you get caught
+it’ll look bad.”
+
+“Who’ll catch me? Andy Allard is laid up with a sore tooth. It’s a
+cinch, if the old man is alone. I don’t think he’ll go to the Lightnin’
+from here--not after Barr hittin’ him the way he did.”
+
+“It’s a ---- of a note when the sheriff turns highwayman to keep another
+man from payin’ his debts,” grinned Kelly.
+
+“Accordin’ to law, Kelly,” nodded the sheriff, “but I’m goin’ outside
+the law, and I’m bettin’ she works.”
+
+“---- help us, if it don’t, Chet--Bunch Grass jurors won’t.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. Wyeth rode straight to the ranch-house, where she dismounted and
+went inside. Barr followed her into the bedroom, where he found her on
+her knees beside the bed, her face buried in a pillow. The babies were
+awake and they stared up at him with wondering eyes.
+
+The twins had never meant much to him before. He wanted to say something
+to his wife, to try to console her, but what could he say to her now, he
+wondered? Then he backed out of the room and took the horses down to the
+corral.
+
+For a while he considered taking his swiftest horse and escaping into
+the hills, but decided against it. Then he went back to the ranch-house
+and sat down on the porch to wait for the sheriff.
+
+The sun was setting behind the Medicine Men peaks, and the road to Bunch
+Grass was fading out in the mist of evening. Barr’s eyes were watching
+the road; watching for the coming of the sheriff and his posse. Darkness
+comes swiftly after sunset, but still Barr Wyeth waited.
+
+His wife came out of the doorway and sat down on the porch, but she
+did not speak. He looked at her, but her face was only a white blur in
+the dim light. He knew that she was waiting, too. Then, out of the dim
+distance came the dark bulk of riders and turned in at the gate.
+
+“They’re comin’,” said Barr Wyeth softly.
+
+But the riders moved on to the corral, where they began to unsaddle;
+blurred misshapen figures.
+
+“It’s Mark and Windy,” said Barr in a flat voice.
+
+To Barr, it seemed hours that they consumed in unsaddling. Then they
+went into the bunk-house, and in a few moments later there came the
+yellow glow of their oil lamp. Then the door shut, cutting off the
+light.
+
+“Good God, why don’t they come up here?” breathed Barr wonderingly, and
+it was more a prayer than an imprecation.
+
+“What is the use?” asked Mrs. Wyeth.
+
+Then the bunk-house door opened and one of the men came slowly up to the
+porch. It was Windy. He stopped and appeared to be looking at the house,
+as if wondering why there were no lights. Then he discovered them on the
+porch and came up closer.
+
+“I was jist wonderin’ if you’d gone away,” he said apologetically.
+
+“No, I didn’t go away,” said Barr thickly.
+
+“I didn’t see no lights,” explained Windy, and then hesitated for a
+moment before he said, “I--me and Mark was jist wonderin’ if you’d do
+us a favor, Barr.”
+
+“A favor? What do you mean, Windy?”
+
+“Well,” Windy laughed shortly, “last night Mark got sore and tore up our
+deck of cards, and I was wonderin’ if you’ve got an old deck you’d loan
+us.”
+
+“A--a deck of cards?” parroted Barr. “Why, I--I----”
+
+“I’ll find one,” said Mrs. Wyeth.
+
+She went into the house and came out in a moment with the cards, which
+she handed to Windy.
+
+“What’s new in town?” Barr asked nervously.
+
+“Deader’n a nail.”
+
+“Wh-what?”
+
+“Bunch Grass allus is dead,” said Windy. “Thank yuh for the cards.”
+
+He turned and started back, but Barr stopped him.
+
+“Windy, did you see John Fann?”
+
+“Yeah, I seen him.” Windy hesitated for a moment. “The bartender said he
+was chargin’ you up with a quart of hooch and a new bottle.”
+
+“But--but John Fann--” faltered Barr weakly.
+
+“I dunno whether he’s sore or not, Barr. It’s a good thing yuh didn’t
+hit him square. I’ll git yuh a new deck of cards next time I go to town.
+Good night.”
+
+They watched him go back to the bunk-house and the door closed behind
+him.
+
+“Barr,” said Mrs. Wyeth softly, and her voice broke to a sob, “Barr, you
+ought to get down on your knees and thank God.”
+
+“I suppose so,” said Barr weakly, “but I’d likely make a mess of prayer,
+like I have everythin’ else.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was the following morning at breakfast that Bob Kern and Splinter
+Martin saw John Fann’s bandaged head. They had ridden in late and had
+not bothered Ma Fann for supper. Neither of them mentioned it, as they
+knew that John Fann would tell them, if he cared to have them know.
+But John Fann evidently did not care to tell them, and their curiosity
+naturally increased.
+
+Ma Fann looked as if she had passed a sleepless night, but tried to be
+cheerful during the meal.
+
+“We circled Comanche Cañon yesterday,” volunteered Bob, “and we made a
+pretty close count. There ain’t over two hundred head of cows on that
+end of the range.”
+
+John Fann nodded thoughtfully.
+
+“Betcha there ain’t over eight hundred JHF’s on the whole blamed range,”
+observed Splinter, as he balanced a piece of ham on his knife-blade,
+“and we had a tally of thirteen hundred and sixty-eight this Spring.”
+
+John Fann stared at the table, as he slowly stirred his coffee.
+
+“Bob,” he said thoughtfully, “how long would it take you and Splinter to
+throw all the stock onto the home ranch?”
+
+“Eh?”
+
+Bob dropped his fork and it clattered to the floor. He picked it up and
+squinted sharply at John.
+
+“Round ’em all up and throw ’em in here?”
+
+“Yes, Bob.”
+
+“Why--” Bob stared at Splinter and shook his head wonderingly--“Why, I
+reckon we could do it in a week.”
+
+“A week?” repeated John Fann slowly. “Well, I guess you can go ahead,
+Bob. Throw all you can in the horse pasture; there’s plenty of water
+there.”
+
+He got up from the table, picked up his hat and went out of the room.
+They heard him clump down the front steps and go toward the stable. Ma
+Fann was standing at the stove, her back toward the boys, and Bob went
+over to her. He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her around.
+
+“Ma, what does it mean?” he asked.
+
+She shook her head and her eyes filled up with tears.
+
+“Aw, gosh A’mighty,” muttered Bob. “F’r gosh sake, Ma, don’t cry!
+Here--” he drew a chair from beside the table and gently forced her
+to sit down. “Now, tell us about it.”
+
+She wiped her tears away with her apron and shook her bowed head.
+
+“He is going to sell all the stock. There was a man in Pine City who
+made him a flat offer a short time ago, but the price was so low that
+John wouldn’t take it. Now, he is going to sell out. He has given a
+mortgage on the ranch--on--the--old--JHF.”
+
+“Aw ----!” blurted Splinter. “A mortgage on--say, this is the best
+darned ranch----”
+
+“I didn’t know he needed the money so bad,” said Bob mournfully. “Me and
+Splinter have been takin’ forty a month a-piece, and we didn’t need it,
+Ma. Why didn’t he say he was pinched thataway?”
+
+Ma Fann wiped away her tears and got to her feet.
+
+“Well, we couldn’t winter all that stock, anyway. If it should be a hard
+winter, with the range in bad shape, we would have to buy hay.”
+
+Splinter walked to a window and watched John Fann ride down the road
+toward Bunch Grass while Bob leaned against the wall and rolled a
+cigaret so thoughtlessly that he wasted half a package of tobacco.
+
+“Then, I reckon, me and Splinter will have to rustle new jobs, Ma,” he
+observed sadly.
+
+Ma Fann sighed and turned back to her pans.
+
+“Mebbe,” said Splinter hopefully, “mebbe somethin’ will turn up.”
+
+“Yeah, tha’s right,” nodded Bob. “Don’tcha worry, Ma. C’m on, Splint;
+we’ve gotta job ahead of us.”
+
+They took their hats and went softly out of the house. Ma Fann looked
+after them tearfully. It would be like losing her own sons, and her
+heart echoed Splinter’s hope that something might turn up. She knew
+why John Fann was selling out his stock, putting a mortgage on the
+ranch, but she would not tell Bob and Splinter.
+
+The two cowboys saddled up and rode into the hills. Their hearts were
+not in the work, and there was little conversation. They traveled slowly
+along the ridges, working back into the breaks. There were few cattle in
+sight. Then Bob Kern drew rein on a ridge and considered the outlook.
+
+“Splinter, let’s swing back and clean up the range between Bunch Grass
+and the ranch. We’ll clean out this bunch when we herd in from Antelope
+Creek, and I don’t feel like tacklin’ Antelope today. Whatcha say?”
+
+“Suits me,” agreed Splinter. “It ain’t noways a job that I relish, Bob.
+Dang it all, I wish I knowed some way to help John the Baptist. Who do
+yuh reckon hit him? Or was it an accident, do yuh suppose?”
+
+“It wasn’t no accident,” declared Bob. “They’d ’a’ told about it, if it
+had been.”
+
+“I’d like to meet the son-of-a-gun that hit him, Bob.”
+
+“You’d have ---- little to do but to clean up the mess, if I found out
+first,” said Bob savagely. “If the JHF was owned by anybody else, I’d
+’a’ helped bust up that ---- Lightnin’ outfit long ago. They’ll keep on
+liftin’ cows until I forget who I’m workin’ for.”
+
+“Well, gosh all Friday, you ain’t the only one what is workin’ for the
+JHF,” reminded Splinter. “Any time yuh feel like startin’ somethin’,
+lemme know. Any old time you forget who yo’re workin’ for--I’m
+forgettin’, too.”
+
+They turned and rode slowly back down the slopes, where the dry grass
+and brush crackled like tissue under their horses’ hoofs. Beyond them
+stretched the rolling hills, yellowed and browned and traversed by
+cattle trails. Farther beyond was the dark line of the Lost Horse
+River, which angled the length of the valley, and beyond that was the
+Medicine Men range, harsh and black in the sunlight.
+
+Slowly they drifted around the heads of the cañons, coming nearer and
+nearer to the road which led from the JHF to Bunch Grass; a road that
+twisted its way through a narrow cañon, after leaving the flat country
+and opened out again before reaching the JHF ranch-house.
+
+Suddenly Bob Kern reined his horse and leaned forward, listening.
+
+“Thought I heard a shot,” he remarked.
+
+“Well,” Splinter smiled indulgently, “is it anythin’ strange that we
+might hear a shot?”
+
+Bob’s dusty face broke into a grin.
+
+“No, that’s a fact. I reckon I’m kinda jumpy, and I never stopped t’
+think.”
+
+They moved along, skirting the edge of the cañon above the road, going
+slowly. Finally they came out on the rim, where they could see the road
+far below them. There were two horses standing close together--two
+saddled horses.
+
+Just beyond them appeared to be a dark mass beside the road, which might
+be a man.
+
+“What do yuh reckon is goin’ on down there?” queried Bob.
+
+“Say, that looks like John Fann’s big gray bronc, don’t it? Ain’t that a
+man----”
+
+Splinter stopped. One of the dark objects was a man. He appeared to get
+up from his knees and went quickly over to the horses. He mounted and
+rode swiftly toward town.
+
+“There’s another man there!” grunted Bob. “There beside the road--that
+dark spot.”
+
+“And that’s John Fann’s horse, or I’m a liar!” exclaimed Splinter. “Yuh
+don’t suppose that anythin’----”
+
+But Bob had whirled his horse and was riding madly down the cañon rim,
+looking for a place to descend into the cañon. Splinter spurred after
+him. A short distance beyond, Bob whirled his horse over the edge and
+went angling and sliding down the steep hill, his horse fairly sitting
+down to keep from somersaulting, while close behind him came Splinter,
+ignoring the laws of gravity in his hurry to reach the road.
+
+And they found John Fann lying beside the road, with a bullet in his
+head; his hair and beard gory with blood, but still alive.
+
+“Good ----!” exclaimed Bob after a hasty examination. “He was shot from
+behind!”
+
+The bullet had struck him back of his left ear and ranged upward.
+
+“But he ain’t dead?” queried Splinter anxiously.
+
+“No, but he ain’t a long ways from it. Poor Ma. This will about kill
+her, Splinter.”
+
+“Who was the man who just left here?” demanded Splinter. “He’s the snake
+we’re after, Bob! Didja see what he looked like? What kind of a bronc
+was he ridin’?”
+
+Bob shook his head.
+
+“I dunno, Splint. Dark colored horse, but I ain’t got no idea who the
+rider was. Yuh can’t tell nothin’--lookin’ down on him thataway.”
+
+“But he’s headin’ toward town, Bob. One of us has got to stay here with
+John, while the other goes after a doctor and to try and find out who
+shot him.”
+
+“I’ll go, Splinter; and ---- help that man, if I find him! You stay
+here.”
+
+And before Splinter could protest, Bob vaulted into his saddle and was
+racing off down the road toward Bunch Grass. The other rider had had at
+least ten minutes start of Bob, and Bob was not sure but what this man
+had seen them on the cañon rim. There were innumerable places where
+this man could swing off the road and let him go past, but Bob did not
+hesitate. He wanted the doctor first of all.
+
+It was over three miles to Bunch Grass, but Bob did not slacken speed.
+Behind him streamed a cloud of yellow dust, like the smoke screen of a
+destroyer going into action. And Bob rode with a six-shooter clutched
+in his right hand, praying that he might catch sight of the man who had
+ridden away from John Fann.
+
+But he did not see him, and straight down the main street rode Bob,
+jerking his jaded horse to a slithering stop in front of the Buck Horn.
+He swung down and strode quickly inside.
+
+Buck Kelly was at the bar, talking to a couple of cow-boys from the 76
+outfit, while several more punchers were playing a game of pool and
+arguing loudly. Bob strode to the bar and up to Kelly.
+
+“Buck,” said Bob hoarsely, “John Fann was shot a while ago--shot from
+behind, while he was on the cañon road between here and the JHF.”
+
+“Shot!” gasped Kelly, and his face paled slightly.
+
+“Old John the Baptist?” queried one of the cowboys.
+
+Came the clatter of dropped cues and the pool-playing cowboys gathered
+around.
+
+“He wasn’t dead when I left,” said Bob. “Splinter’s with him. Shot in
+the head, boys. We saw the man who done the job, but we don’t know who
+he was. He headed for town.”
+
+“For ----’s sake!” blurted Kelly. “Who do yuh suppose done it, Bob?”
+
+Kelly was shaking in his shoes. He knew that the sheriff had gone out
+there to hold up John Fann, and he wondered if John Fann had put up
+such a battle that the sheriff had been forced to shoot him.
+
+“You told the sheriff?” asked a cowboy.
+
+Bob shook his head.
+
+“Ain’t had time. Does anybody know if Doc. Knowles is in town?”
+
+“I see him go into Pelliser’s store about five minutes ago,” volunteered
+a cowboy. “I’ll find him.”
+
+He whirled and ran out of the door, and almost collided with the
+sheriff, who was coming in. He shoved the sheriff aside and ran across
+the street.
+
+Bob grasped the sheriff by the arm and told him as quickly as he could
+of what had happened. Kelly was looking straight at the sheriff and
+their eyes met. The sheriff seemed to have grown old, tired; not at all
+himself.
+
+“Old John Fann,” he repeated. “Shot in the head. All right, I’ll get a
+horse and be right with yuh, Bob.”
+
+He turned and went out of the door. The cowboy was coming back to the
+saloon, bringing Doctor Knowles, a grayhaired physician who had spent
+most of his life in the Bunch Grass hills.
+
+“What’s this?” he demanded anxiously. “John the Baptist shot? Somebody
+help me hitch up my buggy-team. We’ll take him home. Best place for him.
+Team’s in my barn and the buggy’s in the yard. Be with you in a moment.”
+
+Two of the cowboys went out with him. Kelly turned to the bartender--
+
+“I’m going along, Sam,” he said, and went out the rear door, where he
+kept a horse in a little stable.
+
+The bartender shoved a bottle of liquor across the bar to Bob.
+
+“Better take this along with yuh, Bob.”
+
+Bob nodded and shoved it inside his shirt as he went outside. The
+cowboys were getting their horses, and in a few minutes the sheriff
+came from his stable, leading a tall, roan horse, which belonged to
+Andy Allard, his deputy, who was laid up with an ulcerated tooth.
+
+“My horse went lame,” explained the sheriff wearily. “Lucky thing that
+Andy’s horse was in the barn.”
+
+It was about fifteen minutes after Bob’s entry into Bunch Grass that he
+rode back at the head of eight riders and Doctor Knowles in a buggy. The
+riders swung into a swift gallop, but Doctor Knowles kept close behind
+them, his seasoned team of broncos traveling like a runaway.
+
+Buck Kelly and the sheriff rode stirrup to stirrup, but did not talk to
+each other. In fact, the sheriff seemed to try to avoid Kelly’s glances.
+
+John Fann was still alive, but unconscious. The doctor made a swift
+examination and ordered the boys to put John Fann into the buggy.
+
+“Can’t tell a thing,” he replied to their questions. “Bullet is still in
+there. Maybe it cracked his skull.”
+
+“Do you think he’ll live to tell who shot him?” queried the sheriff.
+
+“Chances are he never seen the man.”
+
+“Better see what he’s got in his pockets,” said Kelly softly. “I handed
+him eight thousand dollars in currency just before he left town. I took
+a mortgage on the JHF.”
+
+The sheriff stepped over and searched through John’s pockets, but there
+was no sign of the eight thousand.
+
+“Who knew that he had the money?” demanded Bob.
+
+“Judge Freeman, myself and John Fann,” said Kelly slowly. He was trying
+not to incriminate the sheriff.
+
+“The judge is a cripple, and you couldn’t ’a’ been there,” said Bob.
+“John Fann never shot himself and stole the eight thousand.”
+
+Kelly looked at the sheriff, but the sheriff avoided his eyes. They
+loaded John Fann into the buggy and Doctor Knowles picked up the lines.
+
+“Do the best you can for him, Doc,” said the sheriff. “I’m going to try
+and find the man who shot him.”
+
+“You goin’ back to town?” queried Kelly, and the sheriff nodded.
+
+“I’ll go back with you, Chet. There ain’t nothin’ I can do at the ranch.
+Lemme know as soon as yuh can what chances old John has got.”
+
+The buggy, with its cowboy escort, started on, and Buck Kelly rode
+slowly back toward town with the sheriff.
+
+“Now, yuh can talk to me, Chet,” said Kelly meaningly.
+
+The sheriff turned in his saddle and faced Kelly.
+
+“Buck, do you think I done that?”
+
+“I’m listenin’, Chet.”
+
+“Good ----! I wouldn’t harm John the Baptist, Kelly. I went out there
+to pull off that hold-up, but I went up the cañon further, where I
+waited. I hadn’t been there more than fifteen minutes, when I heard a
+horse comin’, but it was comin’ from the JHF.
+
+“Then I seen Barr Wyeth ride past, goin’ toward town. He didn’t see me,
+but I figured that everythin’ was off now. He’d meet old John and old
+John would give him the money.
+
+“I didn’t want to run into them; so I stayed there a while. I don’t know
+how long it was, but it must ’a’ been half an hour. Then I heard a shot.
+I got on my horse and went down the road in a hurry.
+
+“I found John’s horse comin’ up the road; so I caught it and took it
+back with me. Then I finds John flat on his back in the road. I packed
+him into the shade and examined him. The money was gone. I was wonderin’
+what to do about it, when I happens to look up at the rim of the cañon
+and I sees two riders, stopped on the edge.
+
+“I know they’ve seen me, and I think it’s Bob Kern and Splinter Martin.
+Then--” the sheriff shook his head--“I reckon I got panicky, Kelly. I
+got my horse and busted out for town. I left the road and circled to
+come in the back way. I seen Bob Kern streakin’ along the road. My bronc
+looked like he’d swum the river; that’s why I’m ridin’ Andy’s horse.”
+
+“Yuh sure it was Barr Wyeth?” asked Kelly.
+
+“Y’betcha. Passed within twenty feet of me, Kelly.”
+
+“If that’s told, there’s goin’ to be a first-class lynchin’, Chet.”
+
+“And I’d have a ---- of a time tryin’ to tell my part of it, Kelly. Why,
+even a jury wouldn’t believe my story. All the evidence I’ve got is the
+fact that Barr Wyeth rode past me. That don’t make him a murderer--not
+in the eyes of a jury.”
+
+“Well----” hopefully--“I hope John the Baptist lives. To ---- with the
+eight thousand dollars. If he dies I’ll tear up the ---- mortgage.”
+
+They rode into town and stabled their horses. Several more cowboys were
+in the Buck Horn, including Pastry Pell, Windy Hart and Mark Ells. They
+crowded around and shot a volley of questions at Kelly, but he was able
+to give them little satisfaction.
+
+“I tell yuh she’s gittin’ to be a tough country,” declared Pastry Pell.
+“I’m figgerin’ to pull out and see if I can’t find a calm and serene
+locality. Who do yuh reckon shot the old man, Kelly?”
+
+Kelly shook his head.
+
+“I think it was a robbery.”
+
+“Killed old John the Baptist to rob him?” queried Pastry Pell. “Why,
+that ain’t----”
+
+“He had eight thousand dollars with him,” said Kelly.
+
+“For gosh sake!” exploded a cowboy. “Eight thousand!”
+
+Pastry Pell’s mouth remained open so long that one of the cowboys
+reminded him of the fact.
+
+“And it was gone?” queried Pastry.
+
+“Didja think they’d divide up with him?” snapped Kelly.
+
+“Sheriff got any idea who done it?” questioned Windy.
+
+“Yuh might ask him,” replied Kelly.
+
+“Is John the Baptist goin’ to die?” asked Pastry.
+
+“Now, ain’t that a ---- of a question?” complained Kelly, addressing the
+cowboys. “Is it any wonder that he got his face smashed?”
+
+“Aw, I never got it smashed for askin’ questions,” declared Pastry. “I
+got it for answerin’ questions that wasn’t asked.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bob Kern rode ahead and broke the news to Ma Fann. He expected her to
+faint or scream, but she was made of the fiber that bends much before
+it breaks. Swiftly she prepared a bed, while Bob heated water on the
+kitchen stove.
+
+The cowboys carried the old man into the house and put him on the bed,
+while Doctor Knowles laid out his shining instruments and prepared to
+remove the bullet.
+
+“Get Mrs. Fann away, can’t you?” asked the doctor of Bob Kern. “This
+ain’t going to be pretty to watch.”
+
+Bob went out into the kitchen and gently led Ma Fann out to the back
+porch.
+
+“Set down, Ma,” he urged. “There ain’t a thing yuh can do in there, and
+I want to talk with yuh.”
+
+She sat down beside him and he put his hand on her shoulder.
+
+“Ma, I want to tell yuh that somebody--the feller that shot John--stole
+eight thousand dollars out of his pocket.”
+
+She nodded slowly.
+
+“I was afraid of that, Bob. I knew he was going to get it today.”
+
+“Why didn’t he ask me or Splinter to go with him? My gosh, I’d ’a’ hired
+an army, Ma.”
+
+Ma Fann did not reply. Bob was rolling a cigaret and as he started to
+wet the edge of the paper with his tongue, his eyes seemed to focus on a
+spot a few feet away. He spilled the tobacco from the paper as he shoved
+away from the steps and peered down at the ground.
+
+“Who was here today, Ma?” he asked.
+
+“What do you mean, Bob?”
+
+He came back and looked down at her.
+
+“Ma, was Barr Wyeth here this mornin’?”
+
+She nodded slowly.
+
+“Yes. Just after you left, Pastry Pell came past here and stopped to
+talk a minute. He had been in a fight, I think. He only stopped a
+minute. Then, about nine o’clock, Barr came. I was out here and he
+rode around. He asked for John and I told him that he was in Bunch
+Grass.”
+
+“Did he act mad?”
+
+“No, I don’t think so, Bob.”
+
+“Nine o’clock, eh?”
+
+Bob glanced at his watch and put it back in his pocket.
+
+“Bob, you don’t think----”
+
+Ma Fann stopped with the question unasked, but Bob knew what she meant.
+
+“Who hit John yesterday, Ma?”
+
+She looked at him, her eyes filled with tears.
+
+“It was Barr Wyeth, wasn’t it?”
+
+She nodded, but did not look at him.
+
+“I thought so,” he said softly.
+
+“But that don’t mean ----”
+
+Ma Fann hesitated, trying to convince herself that Barr was innocent.
+
+“And John Fann was shot and robbed between nine and nine-thirty--two
+miles from here.”
+
+Splinter clumped out through the kitchen and came out on the porch.
+
+“Doc got the bullet,” he announced. “It’s a .44.”
+
+“And nine out of every ten six-guns in this valley are forty-fours,”
+said Bob sadly.
+
+“What does doc say about John?”
+
+“He dunno. Says there must ’a’ been some shock, but he don’t think it’ll
+be serious.”
+
+Ma Fann got up and went into the house.
+
+“She ain’t no quitter,” said Splinter. “By golly, she’s got more nerve
+than I have.”
+
+“Barr Wyeth was here this mornin’, lookin’ for John,” said Bob
+meaningly. “He pulled off down the road after that.”
+
+“Yeah?”
+
+Splinter shoved his hands into his overall pockets and rocked on his
+heels.
+
+“Well, Mister Wyeth, we’ll be right on yore trail. Let’s go and have it
+over with.”
+
+“Zasso?” Bob’s tone was sarcastic. “I suppose all we’ve got to do is to
+ride over there, ask Barr Wyeth for the money--and get it, eh? Then we
+accuses him of shootin’ John Fann and he’ll admit it. My gosh, that’s a
+simple way to settle things, Splinter.”
+
+“Barr Wyeth started out to kill Chet Gunning and John yesterday,” stated
+Splinter. “I heard the boys talkin’ about it. Barr hit John with the
+bar-bottle at the Buck Horn and then beat it for home. That’s where John
+got the busted scalp.”
+
+“I know,” nodded Bob, and went into the house.
+
+The cowboys were getting ready to leave and Bob went to Doctor Knowles,
+who was sitting beside the bed.
+
+“How long are yuh goin’ to stay, Doc?”
+
+“Until John regains consciousness,” replied the doctor. “Anyway, I shall
+be here several hours.”
+
+“Just so Ma ain’t left alone,” explained Bob. “Me and Splinter are goin’
+to town.”
+
+“I’ll stay until you get back,” assured the doctor.
+
+Bob went out the back way, spoke to Splinter and they went out to their
+horses. The other cowboys were already going down the road and Bob did
+not try to catch up with them.
+
+“Look for the bar-shoe, Splinter,” said Bob. “So dang much travel has
+likely wiped out the signs, but we’ll try and find where he turned off
+the road.”
+
+Here and there, for the first mile, they were able to find an occasional
+imprint of a bar-shoe, but beyond that the dust became deeper and all
+trace was lost. They spent some time in examining the spot where John
+Fann had lain, but so much trampling had erased every clue that might
+have been there.
+
+From there on they searched closely, but there was no sign of a bar-shoe
+to be seen.
+
+“If Wyeth was in Bunch Grass this mornin’, somebody must ’a’ seen him,”
+declared Bob. “Accordin’ to Kelly, nobody knew about the money, except
+Kelly, Judge Freeman and John himself. Barr didn’t know it. He never
+shot old John to get the money, but he must ’a’ found it afterwards. I
+reckon he can use it to good advantage.”
+
+They rode on into Bunch Grass. The cowboys had preceded them, and a
+crowd was gathered around the Buck Horn, listening to the latest news
+from the JHF. The sheriff was there, but was saying little. He was
+frankly worried over the whole thing, and was not sure that Kelly had
+believed his story.
+
+Numerous questions were shot at Bob and Splinter, but they were unable
+to improve upon the stories that had already been told. Windy and Mark
+were there, listening much but saying nothing. As usual, Pastry Pell
+had made himself the center of interest although he knew nothing,
+except from hearsay.
+
+“It ain’t for me t’ accuse anybody,” said Pastry, “but she ’pears as a
+open book t’ me.”
+
+“It sure would have to,” laughed Splinter, “and with letters a
+foot-high, if you was able to read ’em with your eyes. You look like
+you’d tried to bull-dog an engine.”
+
+“He talked too much, like he’s doin’ now,” said Windy meaningly.
+
+Pastry licked his lips and tried to think of a suitable answer, but
+decided to keep still.
+
+“John the Baptist was shot with a forty-four,” said Bob, “but that’s no
+clue at all. How many of us shoot a forty-four?”
+
+A check of the crowd showed that all except Pastry Pell and Splinter
+used that caliber gun; their guns were forty-five Colts.
+
+“Eight forty-fours and two forty-fives,” said Bob. “That’s about the
+average all the way across this range.”
+
+The talk became desultory and Bob caught a signal from the sheriff. In
+an off-hand way they drifted together and went across the street to the
+office.
+
+“What’s your idea, Kern?” queried the sheriff.
+
+Bob hesitated. He knew that the sheriff would immediately arrest Barr
+Wyeth if he told him that Wyeth had been at the JHF that morning. In
+Bob’s mind there was no doubt that Barr Wyeth had shot and robbed John
+Fann, but still he held back the information.
+
+“I ain’t got no idea, Chet,” Bob shook his head. “I seen the man ride
+away, but I’ll be danged if I could tell whether he was a big man or
+a little man, or whether he rode a black, brown, bay or a gray horse.
+They was kinda in the shadows, and you know how things look on a
+bird’s-eye view thataway.”
+
+The sheriff sighed with satisfaction. At least, Bob did not suspect him.
+
+“What about Barr Wyeth?” asked the sheriff.
+
+“What about him?” asked Bob innocently.
+
+“Aw ----!” The sheriff appeared peeved. “What are yuh tryin’ to
+do--protect him?”
+
+“Are you tryin’ to arrest him?”
+
+“No-o-o, not unless he’s guilty. Yuh see, he came to town yesterday to
+kill me and John the Baptist, but I took his gun away. He hit old John
+with a bottle and darn near busted his head. Under them circumstances,
+yuh’ve got to admit that it looks bad for Barr Wyeth, don’tcha?”
+
+“Too bad,” agreed Bob.
+
+“Whatcha mean, Kern?” quickly.
+
+“Nothin’. I don’t reckon there’s anythin’ for yuh to do but to arrest
+Barr and try him for it. Yo’re sure he done the job, ain’tcha?”
+
+“Nope--not sure enough. I thought I had enough evidence to shove him
+over for rustlin’, but you and Splinter and John the Baptist craw-fished
+out of the deal.”
+
+“Thasso?” grinned Bob. “Well, I reckon we’ll drift back to the ranch
+and kinda relieve the doctor. ’F yuh hear of any good evidence, lemme
+hear it, will yuh, Chet?”
+
+“I will, like ----!” retorted the sheriff.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Barr Wyeth was going from the corral to the house when Windy and Mark
+rode in that afternoon and motioned for him to stop.
+
+“Didja hear the news?” asked Windy.
+
+Barr shook his head.
+
+“Somebody shot John the Baptist this mornin’ and robbed him of eight
+thousand dollars.”
+
+Barr stared at them wonderingly.
+
+“You ain’t jokin’, are yuh, Windy?”
+
+“Honest to ----, I ain’t, Barr.”
+
+And then Windy proceeded to tell Barr all he knew about it.
+
+“About nine-thirty, eh?” mused Barr thoughtfully.
+
+“About that time,” agreed Mark, and added, “There’s a lot of talk goin’
+on, and I reckon they mean you, Barr.”
+
+Barr laughed shortly and a deep furrow grew between his eyes.
+
+“You wasn’t over there, was yuh, Barr?” asked Windy.
+
+Barr nodded.
+
+“Yeah, and that’s the ---- of it--I was.”
+
+“Does anybody know it?”
+
+“Yeah--Ma Fann.”
+
+“And she’ll head to Bob Kern.”
+
+“I reckon so. I must ’a’ left there just at the right time to meet the
+old man.”
+
+“You ain’t got no alibi?” queried Mark.
+
+“No. Ma Fann was the only one that seen me. I was back here at a little
+after ten o’clock, but that won’t help me with a jury.”
+
+“Maybe you better do a little runnin’,” suggested Windy. “If the old man
+dies--yuh can never tell what folks might do, Barr.”
+
+“If I run, it’ll look like I’m guilty.”
+
+“And if yuh stay you’ll look like a corpse,” added the practical Mark.
+“I’d run, y’betcha.”
+
+Barr turned and went to the house. Mrs. Wyeth had seen him conversing
+with the two punchers, and she knew from the expression on his face
+that something was wrong. He came up and put a hand on her shoulder.
+
+“Nell, your father was shot this mornin’ and robbed of eight thousand
+dollars.”
+
+“Shot?” she gasped. “Not dead, Barr?”
+
+“No, he’s alive. It happened in the cañon about half-past nine this
+mornin’.”
+
+“My God! Who did it, Barr?”
+
+Her face went white and she grasped him by the sleeve.
+
+“I reckon they think it was me,” he said softly, “and I can’t prove it
+wasn’t.”
+
+“You? Why, Barr, you couldn’t do that!”
+
+Barr shook his head.
+
+“No, I couldn’t, Nell; but you know what happened yesterday.”
+
+He drew away from her and leaned against the wall.
+
+“I’ve drank and gambled away the Lightning. Buck Kelly owns it--not me.
+I’ve been a ---- fool, Nell, and I reckon I’m gettin’ what’s comin’ to
+me.”
+
+“Don’t say that, Barr,” she begged tearfully. “How badly was my father
+hurt?”
+
+“I don’t know. Windy said he’d probably live. I don’t know much about
+it, Nell--only what they just told me.”
+
+“But can’t you prove that you didn’t do it, Barr?”
+
+“No,” Barr shook his head slowly, “I can’t, Nell; but I may be able to
+prove who did. There’s no use of me trying to alibi myself. I can see
+where I’m up against it good and strong, unless I can slap the deadwood
+on the man who did do it--and make him admit it.”
+
+“Have you any idea, Barr?”
+
+Barr smiled and nodded.
+
+“Yeah, I’ve got an idea, but I don’t know whether it’ll work or not. I’m
+goin’ to Bunch Grass and take a long chance on it, Nell.”
+
+“A long chance, Barr?”
+
+“Yeah--mighty long. Can’t wait here, don’t yuh see? Mebbe, it’s only a
+bluff, but a bluff is only good when yuh beat the other feller to it.”
+
+“But they’ll put you in jail, Barr.”
+
+“I don’t think so.”
+
+He went down the steps and turned to her.
+
+“If my bluff don’t work, Nell--” He hesitated and hitched up his
+belt--“I won’t go to jail, because I haven’t a Chinaman’s chance in
+there. I’m the same as convicted right now. Don’tcha worry about me
+nor about yore dad. He’s still alive and I’ve got a runnin’ chance.”
+
+She watched him saddle his horse and ride toward town; watched him in a
+dumb sort of a way, as if she had no interest in him any more. She
+could not realize that her own father had been shot; possibly fatally,
+and that Barr was believed to have done it. Windy and Mark were coming
+up to the porch and she stared at them, as if they were total strangers
+to her.
+
+“Where’s Barr goin’?” asked Windy, and she shook her head dumbly in
+reply to the question.
+
+“If he ain’t a darned fool, he’ll beat it into the hills,” declared
+Mark. “If the old man dies, which he’s liable to do----”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth swayed and collapsed on the porch.
+
+“You ---- fool!” wailed Windy. “The old man is her father!”
+
+They ran up the steps and looked at her. Her face was white and her body
+was very limp, as Windy tried to lift her.
+
+“Help me, yuh danged fool!” he grunted. “We’ve got to get her into the
+house.”
+
+They managed to get her on to a bed and placed a pillow under her head.
+
+“Now what do we do?” breathed Mark anxiously. “What do yuh give ’em in a
+case like this?”
+
+Windy scratched his head thoughtfully.
+
+“I dunno. Only two remedies I _sabe_ are horse-liniment and castor-oil.”
+
+“Don’t they pour water on ’em?”
+
+“Yeah. Go and git the bucket, Mark.”
+
+Mark departed to the kitchen to get a bucket of water, but Mrs. Wyeth’s
+eyes opened and she stared wonderingly around.
+
+“You jist take it easy, ma’am,” advised Windy. “Mark’s gone after the
+water-bucket.”
+
+“What happened?” she asked weakly. “Did I faint?”
+
+“Yeah, I reckon that’s what it was. How do yuh feel now?”
+
+“I’m all right now. I guess I just got dizzy.”
+
+Mark stopped in the doorway and set down his bucket of water.
+
+“Reckon yuh can git along all right now, ma’am?” asked Windy.
+
+“Yes, I am all right now. Thank you both very much.”
+
+“Yo’re welcome,” said Windy, and he and Mark went out through the
+kitchen, leaving the water-bucket.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Judge Henry Freeman was badly crippled in the legs from rheumatism, but
+was still able to continue his duties as district judge. He lived in a
+little house at the outskirts of Bunch Grass; prolific in his profanity,
+ready to argue anything from Blackstone to how to cure baldness, and
+smoking a very vile old pipe, which, when burning properly, sounded like
+eggs frying in a hot skillet.
+
+He was a small man, with a long nose, abnormally bright eyes and a
+broad forehead. His hair was very thin, except in the back of his
+neck, where it grew down over his collar and started back up again in
+an attempted curl, or possibly trying to loop-the-loop. On or off the
+bench his tongue was as pointed as a rapier, but none could say that
+he was not impartial in his decisions--and just.
+
+Just now he was hunched down in his easy chair, deep in thought. A few
+minutes before Buck Kelly had left him, after telling the latest news,
+and the judge was trying to digest the facts impersonally. Kelly had
+not told him which way the finger of suspicion was pointing, nor did
+he divulge the fact that the sheriff had gone out to try to save money
+for John the Baptist. And while the judge pondered, his housekeeper,
+Mrs. Letts, a very fleshy, middle-aged woman, admitted Barr Wyeth to
+the judge’s presence without advice from the judge.
+
+“Mister Wyeth would see you, judge,” she said, after Barr was already
+inside the room.
+
+“He would, would he?” retorted the judge. “My ----, woman, how many
+times do I have to tell you that--oh, well, go on out and let me talk
+to him in private. Sit down, Wyeth--go out, Mrs. Letts.”
+
+Mrs. Letts faded out and shut the door rather hard. The judge frowned
+and threw his pipe on the littered table.
+
+“Well?” He turned and faced Barr. “Go ahead.”
+
+“You heard about John the Baptist, judge?”
+
+“Umph! A little. Probably distorted. Always is. Never knew two men to
+tell the same story. Go ahead.”
+
+“Judge, I want to tell you a little story. Yesterday I had trouble with
+John Fann.”
+
+“Tried to kill him with a whisky bottle, didn’t you? I heard about it.
+Likely heard it all wrong. Go ahead.”
+
+“I thought I had killed him, judge. When I found that I hadn’t I--” Barr
+hesitated--“I was glad.”
+
+“Umph! Queer, ---- queer! Go ahead.”
+
+“I have hated John Fann, judge. He has said some mean things about me,
+and they hurt. You know I married his daughter against his wishes, and
+neither of us have ever been to see them since.”
+
+“---- foolishness!” growled the judge.
+
+“This mornin’,” continued Barr, “I rode over to the JHF to have a talk
+with John the Baptist. No, I didn’t go over there to quarrel with him,
+judge; I wanted to make peace with him.
+
+“But he wasn’t home; so I came back down the road, thinking that I’d
+come to town and find him, but decided not to. I rode out of the cañon,
+intendin’ to cut across the hills to my own ranch. I was takin’ my time,
+and after I got out of the cañon I got to thinkin’ that I’d better go on
+to town and find him.
+
+“I swung around the rim of the cañon, intendin’ to hit the road where
+it comes out into the valley, when I heard a shot. I didn’t think much
+about it right then, but before I hit the road a man rode past me, and
+he was sure goin’ fast.
+
+“I was back in the mesquite and he didn’t see me. I stopped and done
+a lot of wonderin’ why he was foggin’ along so fast. From where I was
+I could see a long ways down the road and this man kept lookin’ back.
+About half a mile below me the road curves to the right, and I seen
+this rider swing off the road and head into the mesquite.
+
+“I’ve just about made up my mind that it ain’t none of my business,
+when here comes another rider, goin’ just about as fast as the other
+one was. He busted past me and I watched him until he made the curve,
+still follerin’ the road. The last man was Bob Kern.”
+
+“What time was this?” asked the judge.
+
+“Between nine-thirty and ten o’clock.”
+
+“Umph!”
+
+The judge scratched his jaw and reached for his pipe.
+
+“Who was the first man?” he asked abruptly, turning his head as he
+reached for his pipe.
+
+“Chet Gunning.”
+
+“The sheriff?”
+
+Judge Freeman’s groping hand missed the pipe, and he sat down without
+it.
+
+“You mean to say that the sheriff----?”
+
+“I ain’t meanin’ to say anythin’, judge,” interrupted Barr quickly, “but
+those are the facts.”
+
+“But why in ---- would Chet Gunning shoot John Fann?”
+
+“There’s eight thousand dollars missing,” reminded Barr. “That mortgage
+on the JHF.”
+
+“Hm-m-m,” reflected the judge. “Bob Kern and Splinter Martin saw a man
+ride away from the place where they found John Fann. Could you prove
+that you were not that man?”
+
+Barr shook his head.
+
+“I can’t prove anythin’, judge.”
+
+“What size gun do you shoot, Barr?”
+
+“A forty-four.”
+
+“And John Fann was shot with a forty-four.”
+
+The judge reached for his pipe and began filling it, when Mrs. Letts
+knocked loudly and stepped into the room.
+
+“Mister Pell would like a word with the judge,” she stated stiffly.
+“He’s outside, and I would not let him into the front door without a
+word from you.”
+
+The judge grinned and sucked on his pipe.
+
+“The human bulletin-board again.”
+
+“He’s anxious to see you,” volunteered Mrs. Letts.
+
+“Send him in,” nodded the judge, and as Mrs. Letts went out he turned
+the oil lamp down so low that it threw the room into a half-light. Barr
+was partly hidden by the back of his chair and the judge motioned for
+him to turn still further away from the light.
+
+A moment later Pastry Pell opened the door and stopped on the threshold.
+
+“Judge, I jist wanted to tell yuh that the doctor has come back from
+the JHF, and he says that John the Baptist ain’t liable to live, and
+the sheriff has gone out to arrest Barr Wyeth, because there’s a lot
+of talk of a lynchin’, if old John dies, and the sheriff’s afraid the
+old jail ain’t strong enough to stop ’em if they start and----”
+
+Pastry stopped to catch his breath, and at this moment Barr Wyeth got up
+from his chair and looked at him.
+
+Pastry swallowed hard and his mouth formed an O.
+
+“F’r ----’s sake!” he gasped and went right back through the doorway. A
+moment later the front door shut with a crash.
+
+“That was the first time I ever heard Pastry Pell stop talking, when he
+had something to say,” declared the judge.
+
+“He said enough,” Barr was anxiously staring toward the door. “I wonder
+what I had better do, judge?”
+
+“Don’t ask me. Right now I’m legally unfit to even hear the case. I
+usually am, as far as that’s concerned; because everybody brings me
+their troubles just ahead of the court session, but if you want an
+honest opinion, Barr Wyeth--go a ---- of a long ways from here in the
+least possible time. That’s about all I can see for you to do.”
+
+“I wouldn’t have a chance in court,” declared Barr.
+
+“No, not a chance. You’ve been a ---- fool, young man.”
+
+“You don’t think I lied to you about the sheriff?”
+
+“No, but the jury would. You’re losing time, Wyeth.”
+
+Barr turned and went out of the door. He mounted his horse and sat
+motionless for a while. Beyond him were the yellow lights of Bunch
+Grass. Lights were twinkling in the windows of the scattered residences.
+Just across the way from him was a tumble-down sort of a home and a tall
+barn. He could hear voices.
+
+Two bulky objects were coming down the dusty street toward him and
+he instinctively moved his horse into the heavier shadows of an old
+cottonwood. It was two cows, and behind them came a boy, herding
+them. They turned in at the open gate and the boy panted wearily as
+he dragged the old, sagging gate shut behind them. A voice called to
+him from the house.
+
+“Aw, ma, I got here as soon as I could.” The boy’s voice was changing,
+and ended in a shrill treble. “Old Spot, the danged old tramp, was plumb
+over in Cherry Cañon. I’m goin’ to put a toggle on her, y’betcha.”
+
+“You hurry up and git ready f’r supper.” This in a woman’s tired voice.
+
+“Is pa there?” yelled the boy.
+
+“He’s eatin’ his supper, and if you don’t hurry----”
+
+“Did he hear the news?” The boy ignored the implied threat in his
+eagerness to dispense information. “Bud Newell told me that old man Fann
+was jist about to die, and that there’s sure goin’ to be a lynchin’ in
+Bunch Grass.”
+
+“You come in the house and quit screechin’ such things!”
+
+Came the rattle of a tin wash-pan, the splash of water, as the boy
+performed his evening ablutions. Then:
+
+“Ma-a-a! Say, ma--kin I go to it, if there is?”
+
+But there was no reply, and the door shut behind the excited youngster.
+
+“Even the kids,” muttered Barr aloud as he rode away from the
+cottonwood. “There’s only one place where I’m anywhere near safe, and
+I’m goin’ to take a chance.”
+
+He swung his horse and went slowly back toward the main road.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The lights were turned low in the JHF ranch-house living-room. Ma
+Fann sat close beside the bed, watching for any sign of returning
+consciousness in John Fann. Bob Kern sat on the floor against the
+wall, knees drawn up to his chin. Beside him lay an old magazine, the
+cover of it littered with match-stubs, ashes and the remains of many
+cigarets.
+
+Humped over in an old rocking-chair was Splinter, reading the endless
+list of testimonials in an old medical almanac.
+
+“Doc ought t’ be back pretty soon,” he said softly.
+
+“You’ve done said that a hundred times,” reminded Bob. “I dunno what he
+can do, if he comes.”
+
+“Is it goin’ to ache yuh any place, if I say it again?” queried
+Splinter. “And there’s lots of things that you can’t see.”
+
+Ma Fann smiled sadly. She was used to the good-natured bickering of the
+two cowpunchers. She knew that both of them were itching for action,
+and were only there to keep her company until the doctor came back from
+Bunch Grass.
+
+Suddenly Splinter threw up his head and glanced back toward the door.
+
+“Somebody comin’,” he stated and went to the door.
+
+He peered outside and grunted softly as footsteps sounded on the porch.
+Then, through the open door came Windy Hart, carrying a blanket-wrapped
+bundle in his arms, and behind him came Mark Ells, similarly burdened.
+They squinted around the room and advanced softly to a couch, where they
+placed their bundles.
+
+Every eye in the room had been upon them, but now they turned to see
+Nell Wyeth, standing in the doorway, her dark hair in a tangle about
+her white face. Ma Fann had got to her feet and was staring at the
+girl in the doorway.
+
+“Them is the kids,” Windy broke the silence, as he indicated the bundles
+on the couch. “C’m on, Mark.”
+
+They tip-toed out of the room and Nell Wyeth moved aside to let them
+pass. From one of the blanket-wrapped bundles came the soft wail of a
+child.
+
+“Ma, I had to come,” Nell Wyeth’s voice started bravely enough, but
+broke into a sob at the finish.
+
+Ma Fann was leaning forward toward her, seemingly half-dazed, hardly
+realizing that it was her daughter. Then she threw out her hands to
+her; the light of a mother’s love glorifying her tired old eyes, her
+face tense with emotion.
+
+“Then, why don’t you come, you poor kid?”
+
+Bob Kern did not look at them as they came together; he grasped Splinter
+by the sleeve, whirled him around and led him out of the house. They sat
+down on the steps, and Splinter swore piously.
+
+“What’sa matter, cowboy?” queried Bob. “You got a bad cold in yore
+head?”
+
+“I--I’ve got the same kinda hay-fever you’ve got,” retorted Splinter. “I
+reckon she didn’t think Ma wanted her?”
+
+“Ma,” said Bob softly, “Ma’s a dinger.”
+
+From the house came the sound of voices talking softly, excitedly.
+
+“Makin’ up for lost time,” said Bob. “Gotta lot to wau-wau about. I
+wonder what Barr Wyeth thinks about it?”
+
+Splinter laughed.
+
+“I was just thinkin’ about Windy and Mark,” he explained. “Think of
+them two salty old pelicans packin’ a baby per each plumb from the
+Lightnin’.”
+
+“More company comin’,” remarked Bob, “and it ain’t Doc Knowles.”
+
+A solitary horseman, indistinct in the moonlight, had turned off the
+main road and was riding up through the yard toward them. He dismounted
+fifty feet away and came slowly up to them. It was Barr Wyeth.
+
+Bob got to his feet. He did not know what Barr Wyeth’s intentions were,
+and was taking no chances.
+
+“I’m packin’ a white belt,” said Barr, using the old Indian peace
+greeting.
+
+“All right,” nodded Bob. “We’re takin’ your word for it, Wyeth.”
+
+Barr came closer and peered at the house.
+
+“How’s the old man?” he asked.
+
+“Lord knows.”
+
+“Still alive, though?” hopefully. “I just----”
+
+Barr stopped. He had heard his wife’s voice and he looked inquiringly at
+Bob.
+
+“She just got here,” explained Bob. “I dunno why she came. Windy and
+Mark packed the kiddies for her.”
+
+“I wonder if I could go in there, Kern?”
+
+“Well, I dunno why not.”
+
+Bob turned and walked up to the door with Barr close behind him. Ma
+Fann and Nell Wyeth were standing close to the bed, their arms around
+each other, looking down at John Fann.
+
+Then they both turned and looked at Barr, who was awkwardly twisting his
+sombrero and looking down at the floor.
+
+“Barr!” Nell Wyeth started toward him, but stopped. “Barr, I had to
+come.”
+
+“Tha’sall right,” he muttered. “So did I.”
+
+She crossed the room and took him by the arm.
+
+“Barr, the sheriff came just as we were ready to leave. He wanted to
+know where you were and I--I had to tell him that you were in town.”
+
+“Yeah, I was in town,” said Barr slowly, “but it never done me no good,
+Nell.”
+
+Splinter came in and shut the door.
+
+“I ain’t got much of a chance,” said Barr. “Folks have kinda got me
+convicted already; so I reckon I’ll just have to drift, if--” he
+glanced around at Bob and Splinter--“if you two ain’t goin’ to take
+the law in yore own hands.”
+
+Bob shook his head.
+
+“It ain’t for us to say, Wyeth--except that we’re sorry.”
+
+Barr smiled bitterly.
+
+“That sounds nice, Kern, and I ought to thank you, but I can’t help
+rememberin’ that you said that you’d see the day that Barr Wyeth was
+driven off this range, and that Nell would be sorry that she turned
+yuh down on account of yore crooked face.”
+
+Bob started forward, his hands clenched at his sides.
+
+“That’s a ---- lie, Wyeth!”
+
+“Is it?” Barr smiled crookedly. “Well, what’s the odds now. You hated
+me because I won your girl, Kern; and maybe I don’t blame yuh. After
+all, yore crooked face would have been better for her than my crooked
+soul.”
+
+“Barr, what are you saying?”
+
+Nell’s face was ashen and her hands clawed at his shoulders.
+
+“Well, I can’t say anythin’ worse about myself than Bob Kern and the JHF
+outfit have said about me.”
+
+Bob’s face was white with passion and his eyes gleamed yellow in the
+lamp-light, as he moved slowly toward Barr Wyeth. Barr moved back until
+he was against the wall near a window.
+
+“Wyeth,” Bob’s voice was icy cold, “I have never said a word against
+you--as God is my judge, but right now I’ll say that yo’re a
+yaller-hearted quitter. You ain’t got the guts to fight for yore wife
+and babies. You want sympathy, don’tcha? Well, yuh won’t never git it
+by hurtin’ yore wife’s feelin’s.”
+
+Barr laughed, but there was no mirth in it.
+
+“The hero makes his speech,” he said sarcastically.
+
+Behind them the door had opened slowly and they glanced back to see
+the sheriff framed in the doorway, a six-shooter in his hand. He was
+covering Barr Wyeth and paying no attention to the rest.
+
+“I follered your wife, Barr,” he said triumphantly.
+
+Bob relaxed and backed away. The sheriff shut the door with his foot.
+
+“I hate to do this, folks; but it’s my duty. Barr Wyeth, I arrest you
+for attempted murder and robbery.”
+
+Barr laughed, but did not move. The sheriff watched him narrowly, as he
+walked slowly forward.
+
+“Yore duty, eh?” said Barr slowly. “What was you doin’ in the cañon at
+the time the old man was shot and robbed?”
+
+“Me?” The sheriff stopped and the barrel of his gun wavered.
+
+“Yes, you!” snapped Barr. “My word won’t be worth a ---- against yours,
+but I want to tell you that you’ll never send me to the penitentiary for
+somethin’ you done yourself.”
+
+As Barr finished his accusation, he whirled and dived head-first out
+of the window, smashing the glass and splintering the frame. It was
+so sudden and so unexpected that for several moments no one moved.
+Then the sheriff turned and sprang to the closed door. Yanking the
+door open, he ran on to the porch.
+
+A man appeared to be just mounting a horse beyond the steps, and the
+sheriff was taking no chances now. His gun spouted fire
+once--twice--three times. The horse reared sideways, snorting wildly,
+but the rider swung on to the saddle, firing across the cantle at the
+sheriff. Twice his gun roared defiance at the sheriff, and then the
+horse whirled and sped away in the darkness.
+
+From the porch came the gasping cough and the sheriff sprawled back
+half-way through the door. Bob sprang outside, gun in hand, but only
+the diminuendo of galloping hoofs came to his ears. He turned back to
+the sheriff and lifted his head.
+
+“Hurt bad?” asked Splinter, moving in close.
+
+“Too dead to skin,” replied Bob softly.
+
+Ma Fann and Nell Wyeth moved over toward the door, dazed from the swift
+turn of events, and Bob turned to Mrs. Wyeth.
+
+“Barr had t’ do it, I reckon. I don’t figure that the sheriff had
+any right to start shootin’ thataway. There wasn’t nothin’ but
+circumstantial evidence, noways.”
+
+“He’s dead?” whispered Nell Wyeth, pointing at the sheriff. “Barr killed
+him?”
+
+“Yeah, he’s dead, I reckon.”
+
+Nell Wyeth turned and groped her way to a chair, where she sank down,
+staring with unseeing eyes at the carpet. Ma Fann went to her and knelt
+down beside the chair, while Bob and Splinter looked at each other
+across the body of the sheriff.
+
+“Doc ought to be here pretty soon,” said Splinter.
+
+“My ----, yore gettin’ to be some conversationalist,” observed Bob. “I
+hope he does come, so yuh can find a new remark to make.”
+
+Came the rattle of loose buggy-spokes, the gritting of iron-tired
+wheels, and the doctor drove his buggy team up to the front porch. Bob
+stepped across the sheriff’s body and met the doctor at the bottom
+step.
+
+Quickly he told the doctor what had happened, but before the tale was
+half-finished the doctor pushed past him and went inside. He knelt down
+beside the sheriff and gave a swift examination.
+
+“No chance, is there, doc?” asked Splinter.
+
+“No. Probably never knew what hit him.”
+
+Doctor Knowles got to his feet and turned toward the bed.
+
+“What’ll we do with him, doc?” asked Bob.
+
+“Take him to my office. We’ll have to hold an inquest.”
+
+The doctor turned back to the bed.
+
+“We’ll hitch up the wagon-team, Splinter,” said Bob, and then to the
+doctor. “Didja meet anybody on the road, doc?”
+
+“No.”
+
+The two cowboys went outside and down to the barn.
+
+“Wyeth’s a goner ---- sure,” observed Splinter.
+
+“Yeah, it looks like it,” agreed Bob wearily, “but I’d give a lot to
+know what he meant about the sheriff bein’ in the cañon at the time
+John Fann was shot. They’ll just about put the deadwood on Barr Wyeth
+now and lynch him.”
+
+“Could that ’a’ been the sheriff we seen leavin’ old John?”
+
+“Yeah, it could ’a’ been--but was it? The sheriff will never tell, and
+they won’t give Barr Wyeth a chance to tell his story, I don’t suppose.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The inquest over the remains of Chet Gunning drew the range people from
+even the remote parts of Bunch Grass Valley. The news had traveled
+swiftly, and the town of Bunch Grass seethed with saddle-horses and rigs
+of every description.
+
+Nell Wyeth was not called upon to testify, and Ma Fann was only called
+upon to corroborate Bob and Splinter’s testimony, after which she was
+hurried back to the bedside of John Fann, who was still unconscious.
+
+Doctor Knowles, who was also coroner, conducted the inquest, with the
+assistance of Andy Allard, who had automatically become sheriff. Andy’s
+jaw was badly swollen from an ulcerated tooth, which Doctor Knowles
+refused to extract, and he was altogether a miserable sheriff.
+
+The testimony was brief and the jury needed no deliberation to bring
+in a verdict to the effect that Chet Gunning had met his death from
+gun-shot wounds inflicted by Barr Wyeth, who was resisting arrest.
+
+Buck Kelly seemed to breathe easier now that the sheriff was out of
+the way. He was afraid that the sheriff might be called upon to tell
+the truth, and the truth might be damaging. The inquest made good
+business for him, and he was very well satisfied with the way things
+had turned out.
+
+Much liquor was consumed, and men who had never hesitated in speaking
+ill of Chet Gunning, now spoke glowingly of him; which is the way of
+humanity. Andy Allard growled like a wounded bear and insisted on
+talking with a finger in his mouth, telling disinterested listeners
+just where his teeth hurt the most.
+
+Bob Kern said little, although many questioned him after the inquest.
+He wondered deeply over Barr Wyeth’s accusation, and there grew a doubt
+as to Barr’s guilt. Buck Kelly had said that only three men knew of the
+mortgage--Judge Freeman, John Fann and himself. Judge Freeman was above
+reproach; Buck Kelly had not done it himself.
+
+Who else knew about it? Bob felt sure that robbery had been the motive,
+and the robber must have known of the mortgage money. Andy Allard came
+to Bob and drew him aside.
+
+“Awgl huh dawg docl glawf,” said Andy, with a forefinger shoved inside
+his aching mouth.
+
+“I’ll betcha,” agreed Bob seriously. “I knowed a man who died after
+havin’ a ulcerated tooth.”
+
+“Thasso?” Andy’s face grew grave. “My gosh! How long after, Bob?”
+
+“Six ’r seven years.”
+
+“Aw-w-w!” Andy grated his displeasure of such levity, and his forefinger
+prodded the point of pain. “Arr-r ug glawf-f-f duddang it!”
+
+“You ought t’ go to Russia,” said Bob. “Mebbe they can _sabe_ yore
+wau-wau--I can’t, Andy.”
+
+“Um-m-m,” said Andy painfully. “I wanted to ask yuh somethin’, Bob, but
+every time I start t’ ask it this ---- tooth starts hoppin’. Will yuh
+take the job as deppity like I was before I got all this responsibility
+wished upon me?”
+
+“Be a deputy-sheriff?”
+
+“Yeah. It ain’t no ---- of a good job, but somebody’s got to do it. Pays
+a hundred a month, Bob--and do yore own dodgin’. I’ve gotta catch Barr
+Wyeth, I suppose.”
+
+“And yuh want me to catch him, eh?” queried Bob.
+
+Andy nodded and caressed his jaw.
+
+“Yeah.”
+
+“Man huntin’ don’t appeal to me, Andy,” seriously.
+
+“Me neither,” confided Andy. “I’m takin’ a chance on Barr fillin’ me
+with lead, and if I do nail him alive, these snakehunters’ll want to
+lynch him and I’ll git leaded up in tryin’ to be a hero and protect
+him.”
+
+“Maybe he’ll leave the country, Andy.”
+
+“Yeah,” wearily, and the finger went back inside his mouth. “Awgl gosh
+dagl.”
+
+Bob left Andy talking to himself, and went in search of Splinter.
+Ordinarily Bob would have jumped at the chance to become a
+deputy-sheriff at one hundred dollars per month, but just now the job
+did not appeal to him.
+
+He found Splinter in the Buck Horn saloon, backed against the bar, tears
+running down his face. Splinter was gloriously drunk--crying-drunk. It
+was not often that Splinter looked upon the wine when it was red, but
+when he did he made a thorough inspection. Bob looked him over and went
+back to the hitch-rack. He took Splinter’s horse to the livery stable
+and rode back toward the JHF alone.
+
+At the spot where John Fann had been shot, he stopped his horse and
+tried to reconstruct the scene as he remembered it. John Fann had been
+shot from the left side of the road, or from the rear. He had evidently
+been allowed to pass the ambush and shot without any warning.
+
+Bob dropped his reins and walked back from the spot. On the left side of
+the road the brush grew heavy and there was plenty of cover to conceal a
+man and a horse. The ground was so dry that it was impossible for him to
+find the imprint of a man’s boot, but in the mold of a rotten log he
+found an imprint that caused him to shake his head. It was the print of
+a shod hoof--with a bar-shoe.
+
+Bob went back to his horse and swung into the saddle. If Barr Wyeth was
+innocent, why had he ridden into that thicket? To the right of the road
+there was little brush, but beyond that a fringe of timber extended up
+the side of the cañon. Bob rode slowly in that direction, crossing the
+narrow gravel-wash of the dry creek bed.
+
+An old cattle trail wound down through the timber, worn deeply from the
+passing of many animals, and Bob headed up this trail, watching closely.
+About half-way to the rim of the cañon he found another bar-shoe track,
+pointing up the trail.
+
+He rode out over the top, where the trail ended. Here was a wide
+level expanse, almost bare of grass, and the bar-shoe tracks were
+very plain: Here the rider had turned the horse around, possibly to
+look back into the cañon, but had turned around and headed straight
+toward the Lightning ranch.
+
+A flash of sunlight on metal attracted Bob’s attention and he dismounted
+to pick up an empty cartridge shell. A glance showed him that it was a
+forty-four caliber revolver cartridge shell.
+
+“Stopped here to look back,” mused Bob, “and reloaded his gun. Hm-m-m!”
+
+His brows drew down in a heavy frown, as he examined the cartridge
+shell. He drew his own gun, extracted a cartridge and tried to insert
+the empty shell, but it would not fit. Then he put the shell in his
+pocket, rolled a cigaret and started across the hills, trying to trail
+the tracks of the bar-shod horse.
+
+For about a mile the trail was plain to Bob, but a herd of cattle had
+obliterated it at the head of a cañon and Bob was unable to pick it up
+again. He was about to turn back toward the JHF, but an idea seemed to
+strike him and he rode back toward Bunch Grass town.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Splinter Martin was enjoying the fullness of things--mostly his own. He
+had quite recovered from his earlier melancholy outlook, wiped away his
+tears and had started out to do big things in the world.
+
+Splinter was fat, with the waddling walk of a duck, and he required much
+room. In fact, the Buck Horn was much too small for him; so he went into
+the street. The crowd had dwindled away and Splinter gazed reprovingly
+upon several cowboys who were just leaving.
+
+“Tha’s just m’ luck!” he wailed. “Nobody cares what b’comes of me-e-e!
+Gonna be lef’ all a-lone. Everythin’ goin’ out and nothin’ comin’ in.
+Oh, o-o-o-oh!”
+
+A strange cowboy riding a jaded gray horse passed him and dismounted
+at the hitch-rack. He was a skinny sort of a person, dust-covered,
+long-nosed and watery of eye. Splinter looked him over with approval.
+
+“Brother, we welcomes yuh,” greeted Splinter, with an expansive gesture.
+“The keys of our fair city are yours and they just held an inquest over
+the re-mains of the sheriff. Go as far as yuh like, but come back in
+time to have a drink.”
+
+The strange cowboy grinned widely and hitched up his belt.
+
+“What town is this, pardner?”
+
+“This here?” Splinter stumbled slightly and looked around at the street.
+“This here town is Bunch Grass. She’s rawhide warp and bob-wire fillin’;
+guaranteed not t’ bend, break, rust, rumble nor rattle. Take it ’r leave
+it, and no questions asked.”
+
+“You kinda like it, don’tcha?” grinned the cowboy.
+
+“Like it ----!” exploded Splinter. “I love it.”
+
+The cowboy laughed and considered Splinter.
+
+“Mebbe you can tell me where I’ll find the Ten-Bar-B outfit?”
+
+“Uh?” Splinter squinted thoughtfully, but shook his head. “It ain’t in
+no jog’fee I ever studied, pardner.”
+
+“You ain’t lived here long, have yuh?”
+
+“Ain’t I?”
+
+Splinter balanced himself carefully and pointed at the hills beyond the
+town at the foot-hills.
+
+“See them hills? Well, sir, when I came here that was the highest part
+of the Rocky Mountains.”
+
+“Yeah?” The cowboy grinned. “Shrunk, ain’t they?”
+
+“Shrunk ----! I wore ’em off driving cows across ’em. Let’s have a
+drink.”
+
+“All right.” The cowboy seemed willing enough. “I’m headin’ for the
+Ten-Bar-B.”
+
+“Many happy returns of the day,” said Splinter, “but I never heard of no
+Ten-Bar-B outfit.”
+
+They went into the Buck Horn and leaned against the bar. The stranger
+had a thirst, and after about seven man-sized drinks he tried to sing
+a song, but Splinter vetoed it sharply.
+
+“Don’t shing.”
+
+“Don’t shing?”
+
+“Not a shong.”
+
+“Aw right,” reluctantly. “I c’n shing good.”
+
+“Zasso? Where ’r you from, Mister Shinger?”
+
+“Wyomin’. And I’m lookin’ for the Ten-Bar-B outfit.”
+
+“You remin’ me of the feller that got on his horsh and went huntin’ for
+the moon,” grinned Splinter. “And the ---- thing fell on him.”
+
+“The moon did?” wonderingly.
+
+“No--the horsh.”
+
+“Aw-w-w, ----!” The stranger helped himself to another drink. “That
+Ten-Bar-B outfit’s near here.”
+
+“Is zasso?” Splinter wiped the back of his hand across his lips and
+reached for the bottle. “’F it is, it moved in this mornin’, pardner.”
+
+“My name’s Mellody.”
+
+“Oh, ex-cuse me. No wonder yuh wanted t’ shing. Mine’s Martin. Folks
+calls me Splinter ’count of my shape. Now Mister Mellody, since
+we’ve been properly introduced, I don’t mind tellin’ yuh that you’ll
+go cock-eyed tryin’ to find that Ten-Bar-B in Bunch Grass valley. It
+jist ain’t, tha’sall.”
+
+Splinter delivered this opinion and looked around, just as Bob Kern came
+in through the doorway.
+
+“Hey, Bob! C’m here. Want yuh to meet Mister Mellody, the whippoorwill
+from Wyomin’. Mister Mellody, this is Mister Kern, dangerous but
+passable.”
+
+Bob shook hands with the cowboy, who wanted to buy a drink, but Bob
+refused gracefully.
+
+“Mister Mellody,” said Splinter, “is lookin’ for the Ten-Bar-B ranch.”
+
+Bob smiled.
+
+“Never heard of it, Mellody.”
+
+“Thasso?” Mellody squinted down at the floor. “Tha’s real funny,
+y’betcha.”
+
+“Do we laugh at yuh or with yuh?” queried Splinter.
+
+“At me, I reckon. Yuh see, I’ve been workin’ for the Diamond-Dot outfit
+near Searchlight. Old man Himes owns the ranch, and he’s a slicker on
+buyin’ stock, y’betcha.”
+
+“Buys cheap, eh?” asked Bob.
+
+“Dang right. That’s how I finds out about this Ten-Bar-B outfit. The
+feller what owns it drives about three hundred head over into our
+range and sells most of ’em to old man Himes. He said that the range
+was plumb burnt out over here, and he was willin’ to sell cheap to
+git rid of ’em.”
+
+“Yeah?”
+
+Bob moved in closer and nodded to the bartender to set out the glasses.
+
+“Yeah,” nodded Mellody. “I had a run-in with old man Himes, and quit.
+This here Ten-Bar-B _hombre_ talked a lot about his place over here;
+so, when I got out of a job, I drifted over to see if he could use
+me.”
+
+“Said it was near Bunch Grass?” queried Bob.
+
+Mellody gulped his liquor and nodded.
+
+“Anyway, I sure as ---- understood it thataway.”
+
+“Didn’t say what his name was, did he?”
+
+“Smith. We all called him ‘Windy,’ for short, ’cause he talked quite a
+lot.”
+
+“There ain’t no Windy Smith around here,” said Splinter, shaking his
+head. “Leave it to Buck Kelly, if there is.”
+
+Buck was coming in behind the bar from the rear of the room, and he
+looked inquiringly at Splinter.
+
+“Here’s a pilgrim from Wyoming, Buck,” explained Splinter, “and he’s
+lookin’ for the Ten-Bar-B, which is run by Windy Smith. You ever heard
+of it?”
+
+Buck frowned and squinted at Mellody.
+
+“We’re provin’ it by you, Buck,” said Splinter, grinning.
+
+Kelly shook his head.
+
+“I never heard of the place.”
+
+“’S ---- funny,” Mellody shook his head and reached for the bar-bottle.
+“Anyway, I ain’t worried a heap. Mebbe I can git me a job.”
+
+“Would yuh know Windy Smith if yuh seen him?” queried Kelly.
+
+“Y’betcha. Well, here’s to yore old sun-bonnet.”
+
+Kelly drank with them and walked back to the poker game, where he sat
+down. Mellody was beginning to get very intoxicated and Splinter began
+to cry softly; so Bob made a sneak out the front door and started across
+the street, when Doctor Knowles drove up to the front of his office. Bob
+went over to him and the doctor was grinning widely.
+
+“John the Baptist woke up,” he informed Bob. “I was afraid it might
+have affected his mind, but he’s as clear as a bell. Had to swear at
+him to make him stay in bed.”
+
+“By golly, that’s fine!” applauded Bob. “Yo’re some doctor. Betcha
+some of them city doctors would ’a’ killed the old man. He didn’t say
+anythin’ about seein’ the feller that shot him, did he?”
+
+“He didn’t even know what happened to him, Kern. Don’t remember a thing.
+Was just riding along, when something hit him a terrible blow.”
+
+“Knows he got robbed, don’t he?”
+
+“Yes. I guess it hurt him more than the bullet, but he didn’t say
+anything.”
+
+“No, he wouldn’t beef about it,” agreed Bob warmly. “Are they goin’ to
+bury Chet Gunnin’ tomorrow, doc?”
+
+“Yes; in the afternoon.”
+
+“Will yuh do me a favor, doc?”
+
+“Why, I think so, Kern; what is it?”
+
+“Before yuh git ready to bury Chet, will yuh cut out one of them bullets
+and let me see it?”
+
+“Sure. What’s the idea, though?”
+
+“Kinda curious, doc. Yuh see, we don’t know just what did kill him. Them
+holes are there, but we dunno what is inside of him.”
+
+“I see,” admitted the doctor. “Well, that might be a good idea, Kern.
+I’ll have the bullets for you in the morning.”
+
+“That’s kind of yuh,” nodded Bob. “S’ long, doc.”
+
+Bob went back to his horse. He knew there was no use of trying to get
+Splinter to go back to the ranch, so he rode away alone, wondering who
+Mellody was and what or where was the Ten-Bar-B outfit. Bob knew every
+brand in the county, and there was no such iron used on any of the
+ranches.
+
+He rode back to the JHF and stabled his horse before going into the
+ranch-house to see John Fann. Nell Wyeth met him on the porch, anxious
+for the latest news.
+
+“Ain’t heard a word,” stated Bob softly. “Nothin’ been done yet.”
+
+She nodded dumbly and turned back into the house. John Fann was propped
+up in bed and he grinned widely at Bob.
+
+“Caused some excitement, didn’t I, Bob?”
+
+“Yuh sure did, John. How are yuh feelin’?”
+
+“I’m feelin’ fine.”
+
+“Well, you take it easy,” advised Bob, drawing up a chair. “Doc Knowles
+tells me that you ain’t got no idea who shot yuh.”
+
+John Fann shook his bandaged head.
+
+“Never knew I was shot until they told me.”
+
+“Been a lot of things happenin’,” observed Bob.
+
+Nell Wyeth had stopped near the center of the room, but now she turned
+and went into the kitchen. John Fann’s eyes followed her and he shook
+his head sadly.
+
+“Poor little girl. It’s a hard row of stumps for her, Bob.”
+
+“Yeah,” nodded Bob, “she ain’t had a square deal.”
+
+“Too much hate mixed up in it all,” sighed John Fann. “I have never
+said one word against Barr Wyeth, yet they hate me for the things I
+have said.”
+
+“That’s right,” agreed Bob. “Accordin’ to Barr, I’ve said some danged
+mean things against him and Nell, but I never said ’em, John.”
+
+John Fann shook his head thoughtfully and leaned back wearily on his
+pillow.
+
+“Where’s Splinter?” he asked.
+
+“He’s in town. The strain was too much for him, John.”
+
+“Drinking? I often wonder what would happen to Splinter if he didn’t get
+drunk once in a while. Did you boys bring in any of the stock yet?”
+
+“Not yet, John. There has been too much happening lately. Did you ever
+hear of the Ten-Bar-B outfit?”
+
+“No, I don’t think I ever did, Bob.”
+
+Bob explained about the cowboy from across the line, who was looking for
+such an outfit.
+
+“Must be a Wyoming register,” said John, “I don’t remember of ever
+seein’ it in the Montana register. Likely got his directions mixed.”
+
+“Yeah, I reckon he did,” agreed Bob doubtfully, “but the rest of his
+stuff kinda pointed toward this range. I’m goin’ to have another talk
+with him, if he don’t leave too soon.”
+
+Bob got up and turned back toward the door, as Ma Fann came out of the
+kitchen and joined him. She walked out to the horse with him.
+
+“Have they started hunting for Barr?” she asked softly.
+
+Bob shook his head.
+
+“I don’t think so, Ma. Andy wanted to give me the deputy job, but I
+didn’t take it. I wasn’t goin’ back to town tonight, but I think I
+will. Feller down there that I want to see.”
+
+“Nell’s almost crazy over it, Bob. She just walks around and don’t say
+anything, except to wonder what has been done. Find out everything you
+can, will you, Bob? And let her know about it?”
+
+“Yeah, I’ll do that, Ma. Barr’s had a good chance to make a long
+getaway, and I sure hope he keeps away.”
+
+Bob swung on to his horse and turned toward the gate just as Pastry
+Pell, his horse reeking from a hard run, swung off the road and galloped
+up to them.
+
+“Say!” he blurted. “Splinter shot that Wyomin’ cowboy a while ago, and
+they’ve got Splinter in jail!”
+
+“Splinter shot him?” exclaimed Bob. “Shot Mellody?”
+
+“Yeah, I think that’s his name.”
+
+“For ----’s sake, what for, Pell?”
+
+“Over a poker game. They was both drunk. Andy Allard put Splinter in
+jail.”
+
+“For Heaven’s sake, what will happen next?” said Ma Fann wonderingly.
+
+“A lot depends, Ma,” said Bob grimly. “I’ve got to see Splinter first.”
+
+“I’ll ride back with yuh,” offered Pastry Pell, but Bob had spurred
+his horse into a run and Pastry’s horse was in no shape to make the
+trip again at that speed.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bob was riding wild and with no purpose in his mind, except to hear the
+story from Splinter’s own lips. It was not like Splinter to do a thing
+like this, especially when he was drinking. Liquor only served to make
+Splinter more congenial. And Splinter did not care for poker.
+
+Bob jerked his horse to a panting stop at the Buck Horn, dismounted and
+strode inside. Buck Kelly was at the bar, talking to Andy Allard, and he
+squinted closely at Bob as he strode up to them.
+
+“Talk a little, Buck,” advised Bob hoarsely. “I want to get this whole
+story in a few words.”
+
+“Well,” Buck smiled faintly, “I guess I can tell it to you in a few
+words. The strange cowboy wanted to play poker and he sort of hoodled
+Splinter into the game. They were both drunk and I didn’t want to play
+with them, but they insisted.
+
+“Only a few hands were dealt, when Splinter kinda fumbled with the
+discards. The stranger called him for it and then Splinter went for
+his gun, or acted like he was goin’ to, and the stranger reached for
+his gun. Splinter shot first.”
+
+“And Splinter goes to jail for it, eh?” queried Bob.
+
+“Well--” Buck spread his hands helplessly--“the stranger accused
+Splinter of cheating, and Splinter drew first.”
+
+“Don’t blame me,” wailed Andy, “I had t’ do it. Between gun-fights and
+this ---- tooth of mine, I’ll be crazy in another day.”
+
+Bob squinted one eye at the mirror and rubbed his chin violently.
+
+“Can I have a talk with Splinter, Andy?”
+
+“Yeah--sure. I reckon he’s sobered up a lot. C’m on.”
+
+“Who else seen this shootin’, Buck?” queried Bob.
+
+“Well, I happened to be with them at the table; the bartender was up
+near the front window, and Pastry Pell was just comin’ in the back
+door.”
+
+“All right,” nodded Bob and followed Andy out the front door.
+
+“Was this Mellody person killed plumb dead?” asked Bob, as they crossed
+to the jail.
+
+“No, he ain’t dead yet, Bob; but doc says he ain’t got a chance in the
+world.”
+
+They went in through the sheriff’s office and Andy unlocked a cell door.
+Splinter was lying on a cot, smoking a cigaret; as unkempt a figure of a
+cowboy as could be imagined. His eyes were blood-shot, face dirty, but
+he grinned at Bob and motioned him to a stool.
+
+“You sure went and raised ----, didn’t yuh?” said Bob reprovingly.
+
+“That’s what they tell me,” agreed Splinter hoarsely, “but I don’t
+remember a danged thing, except--” He hesitated and closed his eyes
+for a moment. “Say, it’s ---- funny that I can’t even remember playin’
+poker.”
+
+“You must ’a’ been pretty drunk.”
+
+“Ke-rect. ’S a funny thing just the same.”
+
+Splinter dug down in his pocket and drew out a twenty-dollar bill and a
+few cents in change.
+
+“I had twenty-seven dollars when I started drinkin’. I figure I must ’a’
+spent about seven dollars f’r hooch. What in ---- did I buy poker-chips
+with? You know dang well that Buck don’t play against credit in his
+poker games.”
+
+“Yuh sure that’s all yuh had?” queried Bob.
+
+Splinter laughed wryly. “Cowboy, I ain’t no book-keeper, but I sure
+_sabe_ my own finances.”
+
+“But can’t yuh remember nothin’, Splinter?”
+
+“Not much. There was a poker game, Bob; I remember that much, and I
+remember settin’ down in a chair. Then I kinda remember that somebody
+came in and I heard Mellody speak to him.”
+
+Splinter shook his head helplessly.
+
+“Buck sure sells bad hooch. I remember that shot. It kinda woke me up,
+and the next thing I knowed I was bein’ slammed around, and then I’m in
+jail, with Andy explainin’ to me that I’ve killed Mellody.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” reflected Bob. “And Mellody spoke to somebody, did he?”
+
+“Aw-w-w, I’ll be ---- if I know, Bob. I think he did. You know how hazy
+things git when yuh drink a lot.”
+
+Bob turned to Andy--
+
+“You got Splinter’s gun, didn’t yuh?”
+
+Andy nodded slowly.
+
+“Yeah. One cartridge had been fired. It’s out in the desk, if yuh want
+to see it, Bob.”
+
+“Never mind. I’m goin’ over and talk with Doc Knowles. Take it easy,
+Splinter.”
+
+“That’s ---- good advice,” said Splinter dryly.
+
+Bob went up the street and into Doctor Knowles’ office, where he found
+the doctor in a chloroform scented atmosphere.
+
+“Is that cowboy still alive, doc?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, he’s alive yet, and I think he’ll pull out of it, but he sure had
+a close call, Kern. The bullet skidded on a rib and missed his heart.
+He’s tough. The shock of the bullet almost killed him. What’s got into
+this country?”
+
+Bob shook his head.
+
+“I dunno, doc. Didja take the bullets out of Gunnin’ yet?”
+
+The doctor opened a drawer of his desk and took out a crumpled envelope,
+from which he took two lumps of lead. One was badly battered, but the
+other was almost in its original form. Bob looked them over closely and
+handed them back to the doctor.
+
+“Keep ’em for me, will yuh, doc?” requested Bob. “Yuh never can tell
+when I’ll want ’em.”
+
+“Certainly. Did you see John the Baptist?”
+
+“Yeah, and he’s all hunkydory, doc. And yuh think that Mellody will pull
+through?”
+
+“Unless I’m badly mistaken. He’s unconscious yet from shock and loss of
+blood, but he’ll pull through. He was soaked with whisky and I guess he
+never felt the pain of it, but he’ll yelp when he wakes up.”
+
+Bob grinned and thanked him, as he went back to the street. Pastry Pell
+was just riding up to the hitch-rack and he waited for Bob to cross to
+him.
+
+“You sure ride fast,” grinned Pastry. “Your dust ain’t settled yet,
+Kern.”
+
+“No, and it ain’t goin’ to settle either,” said Bob meaningly.
+
+Pastry trailed him into the Buck Horn, and Bob went straight to the
+crowd around the poker table.
+
+“That cowboy ain’t dead, Buck,” he stated, “and Doc Knowles says he’ll
+live. I’ll buy a drink for the house.”
+
+Nobody refused the invitation, and they lined up at the bar.
+
+“Splinter was wonderin’ just how he stood in that poker game when it
+busted up,” stated Bob to Kelly. “He’s kinda hazy over it yet.”
+
+Kelly scratched his nose and grew very thoughtful.
+
+“Danged if I know, Kern. Splinter bought either five or ten dollars
+worth of chips, and I don’t know just how he stood. Anyway, I’ll give
+him a ten-spot, just to be on the safe side.”
+
+“Tha’sall right,” nodded Bob.
+
+“Is anythin’ bein’ done to catch Barr Wyeth?” questioned a cowboy.
+
+Kelly laughed.
+
+“I reckon everybody is waitin’ for the reward to be announced. Andy
+can’t get anybody to take the deputy job, and he ain’t got no jailer
+to take care of his prisoner now; so he’s kinda up against it.”
+
+“I’m goin’ to take that job,” announced Bob seriously.
+
+“You are?” laughed Kelly. “What’s the idea, Kern?”
+
+“Just want to show off, I reckon,” grinned Bob. “Mebbe somebody’ll take
+a shot at me, I dunno.”
+
+Andy Allard had come into the saloon in time to hear Bob’s declaration,
+and now he shoved his way to Bob’s side.
+
+“You mean that, Bob?” he asked anxiously.
+
+“Sure thing.”
+
+Andy did a double-shuffle and slapped Bob on the back.
+
+“Hurrah for our side! There’s fifteen hundred dollars reward for Barr
+Wyeth. The county offers a thousand and the State gives a measly five
+hundred.”
+
+“Dead or alive?” asked a cowboy.
+
+“For the arrest and conviction,” stated Andy. “Yuh can’t convict a dead
+man, can yuh?”
+
+Kelly laughed shortly.
+
+“Yuh might arrest him, but yuh never will convict him.”
+
+“Why not?” asked Andy.
+
+“After what he’s done?” queried Kelly. “You’ll have a ---- of a time
+savin’ him for trial.”
+
+“Maybe he never done it,” said Bob slowly.
+
+“That would be hard to prove.”
+
+“Yeah, it--might,” admitted Bob slowly. “Anyway, I hope this Mellody
+person lives.”
+
+“What do yuh know about him?” asked Andy.
+
+“Too danged little. It’s the things I want to know about him, Andy. I’m
+wonderin’ who told him that the Ten-Bar-B outfit was located here.”
+
+“Whatcha want to find them for?” asked a cowboy.
+
+“They sell their cows cheap,” explained Bob, “and I’d like to buy some
+stock cheap.”
+
+“Mebbe the jasper that robbed John the Baptist had the same idea,”
+suggested Andy.
+
+“I’ll ask him--some day,” smiled Bob, “and I don’t care whether he
+answers me or not. Let’s go over and talk to my drunken, gun-fightin’
+bunkie.”
+
+Bob and Andy started across the street, when Doctor Knowles came out of
+his office and motioned for them to come over there.
+
+“Mellody is conscious now,” he stated, “and perhaps he can answer a few
+questions if you’ve got anything important to ask him.”
+
+They followed the doctor into a bedroom at the rear of the house, where
+Mellody had been placed. He stared at the ceiling, muttering foolishly.
+
+“Delirious again,” grumbled the doctor. “He was all right a minute ago.
+Asked about Splinter and a man by the uncommon name of Smith.”
+
+“Yeah?” Bob was interested. “Say anythin’ else?”
+
+“No, not much. Didn’t remember getting shot, I guess.”
+
+Mellody’s clothes had been carelessly thrown on a chair, and one of the
+boots attracted Bob’s attention. He picked it up and looked it over. The
+boots were nearly new, but a chunk had been torn out of the edge of the
+sole, and above that, just at the bulge of the little toe, there was a
+decided crease in the leather.
+
+Bob handed the boot to Andy and called his attention to the damaged
+sole.
+
+“Looks like a bullet done that,” observed Andy. “It ain’t been done long
+ago either.”
+
+Bob tossed the boot back on the chair and turned to the doctor--
+
+“Let us know if he starts talkin’ sense, doc.”
+
+The doctor nodded and they went back to the street.
+
+“We’re goin’ back to the Buck Horn,” explained Bob, “and you let me do
+the talkin’, Andy.”
+
+“’F you don’t, I won’t know what we’re there for,” grinned Andy.
+
+There had evidently been much conversation regarding them, because the
+talk died quickly as they came in. Bob led the way over to the poker
+table and turned to Kelly.
+
+“Buck, will yuh fix the chairs like they was at the time of the
+shootin’? We’ll need this for evidence when Splinter comes to trial,
+don’tcha see?”
+
+“Sure,” agreed Kelly, and proceeded to place the chairs around the
+table.
+
+“You was facin’ the back door, eh?” said Bob. “Mellody was facin’ the
+front door and Splinter was kinda between yuh.”
+
+“Yes, that’s the way we were sittin’.”
+
+“Did Mellody fall backwards when he was shot?”
+
+“No-o-o, he fell forward on the table.”
+
+“I see,” muttered Bob, as he drew a chair away and peered under the
+table.
+
+Other men stooped and looked under the table, but Bob straightened up, a
+queer expression in his eyes.
+
+“I reckon that’s all I wanted to know, Buck,” he stated and turned
+toward the door.
+
+“What do you mean?” queried Kelly. “You talk like it wasn’t----”
+
+“Got a right t’ talk, ain’t I?” demanded Bob. “I’m a deputy-sheriff.”
+
+He laughed mirthlessly and went out the front door, while Andy plodded
+along behind him.
+
+“Whatcha find out?” asked Andy anxiously, as they crossed the street.
+“Lemme in on it, Bob.”
+
+“My ----, don’t bother me when I’m knittin’!” exploded Bob. “I might
+drop a stitch.”
+
+Bob went straight to a State map on the office wall and studied it
+closely. He drew a penciled line from Searchlight to Bunch Grass and
+compared it with the scale of miles on the map. Then he turned to
+Andy.
+
+“Say, we ain’t a ---- of a ways from Wyomin’, are we.”
+
+“That,” said Andy disgustedly, “is a ---- of a thing to hear yuh say,
+when I was looking to hear somethin’ worth listenin’ to.”
+
+“Well, it ain’t much,” agreed Bob, “but it’s one of the stitches. Didja
+ever consider that Comanche Cañon might be an easy pass across the main
+divide?”
+
+“I know danged well it is,” said Andy. “I’ve been up to the top, where I
+could look into Wyomin’. Why, it’s a railroad grade all the way. Betcha
+some day they’ll run trains through that pass.”
+
+Bob nodded and studied the map again.
+
+“What do we do now?” queried Andy.
+
+“Oh yeah.” Bob scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose we
+might as well go out and arrest Barr Wyeth.”
+
+“Zasso? Just like that, eh? Yuh don’t suppose that Barr Wyeth would stay
+in this country after he’d killed the sheriff, do yuh, Bob?”
+
+“No-o-o, I don’t reckon he would, under them circumstances.”
+
+“Then what do yuh mean?”
+
+“Andy,” said Bob thoughtfully, “a crook is like a calf; if yuh give
+’em enough rope they’ll tangle themselves. There ain’t never been an
+outlaw yet, if he was left alone long enough, that didn’t wind up his
+own little ball of yarn. Mebbe they figure that it’s hard luck that
+stops ’em; mebbe they can look back and see where a little mistake
+upset their game, and mostly always that little mistake was in goin’
+too ---- far.
+
+“That’s the trouble with ’em, Andy. The game looks so easy to beat that
+they pyramid their bets. When yo’re right, there’s an element of luck,
+but when yo’re wrong, yore luck is packin’ a hoodoo. The way I figure it
+is this: Crime is a payin’ proposition--for the devil.”
+
+Andy listened closely and nodded his head.
+
+“Yeah, I betcha yo’re right, Bob; but I don’t know a ---- thing yo’re
+talkin’ about. I _sabe_ the calf and the rope idea, but I dunno who
+yo’re referrin’ to.”
+
+“I ain’t sure myself,” grinned Bob, “but didn’t I say a lot of stuff,
+like a temperance orator?”
+
+“Yuh sure can use words, cowboy,” said Andy generously. “But I’d rather
+have yuh tell me what yuh was lookin’ for under Buck’s poker-table.”
+
+“Didn’t yuh see it?” queried Bob. “Yuh didn’t? There’s a bullet hole in
+the floor, Andy.”
+
+Andy rubbed his nose violently and caressed his sore jaw.
+
+“Uh-h-h-huh. That’s the same bullet that nicked that cowboy’s boot-sole,
+eh?”
+
+Bob nodded thoughtfully.
+
+“Yeah, the same bullet.”
+
+“Now,” said Andy wonderingly, “who in ---- tried to shoot him in the
+feet, Bob?”
+
+“That nicked sole was just a little mistake that the devil put in, Andy.
+I betcha he’s laughin’ right now.”
+
+“I’ll betcha he is, but I don’t know what for,” confessed Andy
+foolishly, as he got to his feet. “Let’s go and git some supper.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+After supper they ran into Windy Hart and Mark Ells, and Bob asked them
+what they were doing.
+
+“We’re still with the Lightnin’,” grinned Windy.
+
+“Runnin’ it on yore own hook?”
+
+“Well, yuh might say so,” agreed Windy. “We was goin’ to pull out,
+’cause there wasn’t nobody to pay us a salary nor to tell us what to
+do; but Buck Kelly sent that gabby-mouthed Pell out to tell us to
+stay on the job. I reckon Kelly is goin’ to take over the outfit.”
+
+“I s’pose,” nodded Bob seriously, and then, “Windy, I’m goin’ to ask you
+a question, and I hope you’ll answer it straight. Does Barr Wyeth ride a
+horse that wears a bar-shoe?”
+
+Windy hesitated over the answer and looked closely at Mark Ells, who
+rubbed his nose thoughtfully.
+
+“He did,” said Mark slowly. “That hammer-headed sorrel wore a bar-shoe.”
+
+“But that sorrel has been dead for a month,” stated Windy. “Got cut up
+in the bob-wire and we had to shoot him.”
+
+“I tell yuh where yuh can find the remains,” offered Mark. “Yuh know
+where yuh hit the wire fence this side of the ranch? She kinda angles
+along the hill? Well, that sorrel is in the first coulee off the road.
+Likely the coyotes have packed it mostly all away, but yuh might take
+a look.”
+
+“I’m sure obliged to yuh,” said Bob. “I sure am.”
+
+“First time I ever got thanked for a dead horse,” grinned Mark.
+
+“What’s this stuff about the reward for Barr Wyeth?” queried Windy.
+“Fifteen hundred, is it? Suppose they lynch him, who gets the reward?”
+
+“There won’t be none paid,” said Andy flatly.
+
+From there they went over to Doctor Knowles’ office to inquire regarding
+the condition of Mellody. The doctor took them back into the bedroom and
+they found Mellody fully conscious but very peevish.
+
+“By ----, I hope you jaspers ain’t tongue-tied,” he said painfully.
+“This ---- doctor won’t talk, except to tell me that I got shot in a
+poker game and that the _hombre_ that shot me is in jail. Is that
+right?”
+
+Bob nodded.
+
+“Yeah, that’s true, Mellody.”
+
+“Who shot me?”
+
+“Splinter--the fat cowboy you was drinkin’ with.”
+
+“Yeah?” Mellody’s eyes opened wide. “What fer?”
+
+“Don’tcha remember of accusin’ him of cheatin’?”
+
+Mellody wrinkled his brow and shut one eye as he squinted at Bob.
+
+“Did I? Well, by the mighty Missouri River, that’s queer hooch we was
+drinkin’. My ----, I must ’a’ been drunk! ’F anybody’d asked me, I’d
+’a’ said that the game hadn’t started yet.”
+
+“Thasso?” Bob grinned widely. “Then who did shoot yuh, Mellody?”
+
+“---- if I know--’cause I had my head turned.”
+
+“How many shots were fired?”
+
+“How in ---- do I know? I never heard any of ’em.”
+
+“Were you so drunk that you wouldn’t ’a’ heard a shot fired--if yuh
+hadn’t been hit?”
+
+“Not me. I never was so drunk that I couldn’t start runnin’ any old time
+they starts throwin’ lead.”
+
+“Then yuh don’t know whether Splinter shot yuh or not, eh?”
+
+Mellody shook his head.
+
+“I tell yuh I don’t know who shot me. He was awful drunk, I remember
+that; so drunk that he couldn’t get money out of his pocket.”
+
+“Who was you lookin’ at when you turned around, Mellody?”
+
+“I been wonderin’ about that myself. I was pretty drunk, and I might
+’a’ been mistaken, but I thought it was Windy Smith, the foreman of
+the Ten-Bar-B outfit.”
+
+“Who’s he?” queried Andy, but no one seemed able to explain.
+
+Bob nodded slowly and turned back to the door. It was dark outside, and
+half-way across the street to the Buck Horn they met Windy and Mark.
+
+“Gotta question to ask yuh,” said Bob, grinning. “What color horse has
+Barr Wyeth been ridin’ since his sorrel had to be shot?”
+
+“Sorrel,” grunted Windy. “They looked a little alike, but the one we
+shot was bigger.”
+
+“Thank yuh again,” grunted Bob and headed for the hitch-rack.
+
+“Where yuh goin’?” asked Andy.
+
+“Goin’ to take a little ride, boss. You stay here and keep your eyes and
+ears open. Tomorrow is Saturday and everybody in the country will be in
+town; _sabe_? It would be a ---- of a fine day to pull off a lynchin’.”
+
+Andy gawped after him as he rode away down the street, and turned back
+toward the office. Andy was a slow thinker, and had no idea what it was
+all about, but he had confidence in his new deputy.
+
+Bob rode straight to the place designated by Mark Ells, and had little
+trouble in locating the remains of the hammer-headed sorrel. There was
+little left except bones, but with the aid of matches he was able to
+find that all four shoes were still on the hoofs, and the right front
+hoof was shod with a bar-shoe.
+
+A coyote yapped at him from the side of the hill, and from back in
+the brushy coulee came the spitting snarl of a hunting bobcat that
+had probably been cheated of its prey. Bob swung back on his horse
+and headed into the hills toward the JHF ranch.
+
+He whistled unmusically between his teeth and grinned at the moon which
+was just peeping over the top of Blackfeet Pass.
+
+“My knittin’ is almost done, bronc,” he told his horse, “or mebbe it’s
+more like weavin’ a pattern so that both sides come out the same. A fool
+crook only looks after the big things, and the first thing he knows a
+little thing gets tangled in his spurs and trips him.”
+
+It was a long ways across the hills to the JHF, but Bob was in no hurry.
+It was nearly midnight when he rode down the slope behind the big barn
+and tied his horse to the corral fence. There was a faint light in one
+of the ranch-house windows, and Bob grinned as he noticed that this was
+in the spare bedroom.
+
+He went softly into the bunk-house and sat down beside a window,
+without lighting a lamp. The moonlight flooded the old ranch-house,
+and cast heavy shadows across the yard. A cow bawled sleepily and a
+big, gray owl drifted like a shadow across the moonlit space and
+faded into the cottonwoods behind the house.
+
+Then Bob saw a man come out of the shadows and stand looking toward the
+house. After a moment he walked boldly across the lighted space and up
+to the window, where he blended into the shadows.
+
+Bob stepped to the door and opened it a few inches. He heard the soft
+creak as the window was raised, but could hear no voices. Quickly he
+turned and went to a rear window, which he opened, and crawled outside.
+By circling the corral he could keep in the shadows of the barn until
+he came to the shadows of the cottonwoods.
+
+He went softly, taking plenty of time. The lamp had been extinguished
+now, but he could hear soft voices. Cautiously he circled the house
+until only the corner separated him from the man at the window. It was
+Barr Wyeth talking--
+
+“--last place they’d look for me, and I had to have food.”
+
+He was unable to hear Nell Wyeth’s reply, but she must have told him to
+come into the kitchen, because he said--
+
+“Anythin’, Nell, just so it’s food.”
+
+He stepped away from the window, came around the corner and ran into the
+muzzle of Bob’s six-shooter.
+
+He smothered a curse and his arms instinctively went up. Without a word,
+Bob stepped in and took Barr’s gun from its holster. The moonlight
+flashed on his badge and Barr saw it.
+
+“Turned sheriff to get me, eh?” he sneered.
+
+“Somethin’ like that,” said Bob coldly. “Turn around and head for the
+kitchen. Yuh don’t need to keep your hands up, Wyeth.”
+
+Nell Wyeth had unlocked the kitchen door and was putting food on the
+table when Bob herded his captive inside. She was only dressed in a
+night gown and her hair was hanging loosely around her shoulders.
+
+She stared at Bob and her hands went to her mouth, as if to stifle a
+scream. Barr sank down in a chair and stared at the floor. He was
+uncombed, unkempt and the lines of his face were graved deeply.
+
+“He turned deputy sheriff to get me, Nell,” said Barr in a flat voice.
+“He’s makin’ good.”
+
+The sound of voices had awakened Ma Fann and now she leaned in around
+the dining-room doorway, her night-cap awry, her old eyes heavy with
+sleep.
+
+“What in the world!” she exclaimed wonderingly.
+
+Bob said nothing, but he watched Barr closely. Nell turned away from the
+table and sank down in a chair, crying wearily.
+
+“Ma,” said Bob softly, “I reckon Barr Wyeth is hungry.”
+
+Barr lifted his face and stared at Bob.
+
+“A ---- of a lot you care, Kern.”
+
+“I s’pose,” said Bob sadly.
+
+“I’ll get him a meal,” said Ma Fann. “Just wait until I slip on some
+clothes. Nell, you better put on some, too.”
+
+Nell got to her feet and walked to the door, where she turned and looked
+at Bob.
+
+“You’re satisfied now, aren’t you?” she asked bitterly. “You are a very
+good prophet, Bob Kern.”
+
+“Yes’m,” nodded Bob, “I s’pose I am.”
+
+Neither of the two men spoke while Ma Fann was dressing. She had
+explained things to John Fann, who came out with her, his head still
+swathed in bandages. He looked at Barr Wyeth and shook his head sadly,
+but turned to Bob--
+
+“You are a deputy sheriff now, Bob?”
+
+“Yeah, I am, John. Took the job today.”
+
+“I suppose I’m already convicted,” observed Barr. There was a trace of
+his old sarcastic smile now.
+
+Bob nodded--
+
+“Yeah, I s’pose you’d call it that.”
+
+“Can you wait for me to make a pot of coffee?” asked Ma Fann.
+“Everything else is cold.”
+
+Barr drew his chair up to the table and attacked the food like a
+starving man.
+
+“Don’t make me wait for the coffee. I’d like some, y’betcha, but I can’t
+wait.”
+
+Ma Fann watched him for a moment, shook her head sadly and began
+preparing a pot of coffee. Nell came in and sat down across the table
+from Barr. She did not look at Bob, who had sat down, holding the
+six-shooter in his lap. He had put Barr’s gun in his own holster.
+
+“Splinter still in jail?” asked John Fann.
+
+“Yeah.”
+
+“Splinter?”
+
+Barr Wyeth turned and stared at Bob.
+
+“Did you put him in, too?”
+
+“Nope. Andy put him in for gunnin’ a feller in a poker-game. The man
+will get well.”
+
+“Well, I’ll have company, anyway,” observed Barr.
+
+“Barr, don’t talk like that!” Nell Wyeth’s voice was full of tears. “Oh,
+why did you come here tonight? We all thought you had left the country
+and was in a safe place.”
+
+“Our friend Kern didn’t,” said Barr bitterly.
+
+“Do you have to take him to Bunch Grass?” asked John Fann.
+
+“Yeah, I do, John,” nodded Bob. “Why ask me that?”
+
+“Knowing how the people feel about him,” said John, “don’t you think it
+is a little dangerous? And tomorrow everybody in the country will be in
+town, Bob.”
+
+“I reckon that’ll be all right, John.”
+
+Barr finished his meal and turned to Bob--
+
+“Well, let’s go, Kern, I’m ready.”
+
+“You ain’t runnin’ this party,” stated Bob, a half-grin on his face.
+“Yuh see, yo’re a dangerous person, and I’m waitin’ for daylight.”
+
+“What’s the idea?”
+
+“Bob, you don’t mean that, do you?” asked John Fann quickly. “Are you
+going to let every one----”
+
+“He wants to show me to everybody,” interrupted Barr. “Somebody better
+make him a banner to carry.”
+
+“Well--” John Fann shook his head--“I don’t know what it is all about,
+but you’re taking a big chance of having your prisoner taken away from
+you, Bob.”
+
+“Yeah, I s’pose,” nodded Bob sadly. “This is the first man I ever
+arrested, and yuh hadn’t ought to try and stop me from advertisin’ it,
+John.”
+
+John Fann squinted closely at Bob. He knew Bob too well to accept
+such a shallow excuse. There was something beside vanity connected
+with bringing Barr Wyeth into Bunch Grass in daylight, but John Fann
+did not know what it was.
+
+Ma Fann cleared away the dishes and food. On the shelf an old alarm
+clock ticked noisily. Each of the five people in the little kitchen was
+deep in his own thoughts. One of the babies cried fitfully and Ma Fann
+bustled out of the room. Barr Wyeth lifted his head and looked at his
+wife, but she was staring down at the table-cloth. He turned and looked
+at Bob Kern.
+
+“It’s goin’ to be hard on them,” he said softly, meaning the babies.
+There was no bitterness in his voice now.
+
+Bob smiled softly and eased himself in his chair.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+For half an hour the inhabitants of Bunch Grass carried water from all
+available wells, formed a bucket-brigade and did everything possible to
+save Doctor Knowles’ office and home, but to no avail.
+
+At five o’clock in the morning a cowboy, coming out of the Buck Horn,
+had seen the flames inside the house. Quickly he had sounded the alarm.
+The place was an inferno when enough men arrived to carry out Mellody,
+the wounded cowboy, who had been slightly scorched. The doctor’s desk
+and a few pieces of furniture had been saved, but the rest of it went
+up in the flames that threatened to sweep the whole town.
+
+No one knew the cause of the fire. Doctor Knowles swore that he had
+left no lamp burning, and at that time of the year there was no need
+of a fire, except for cooking purposes. Shortly after daylight the
+town began to fill up with people from the outlying districts, who
+made Saturday sort of a gala shopping day. They gazed upon the ruins,
+wished aloud that they had been there to see the blaze, and went on
+about their business.
+
+As usual, Pastry Pell was much in evidence and told a graphic story of
+the fire. He had been drinking, and as a result the stories were totally
+different. Buck Kelly’s trade started early, and the thirst-burdened
+cattlemen crowded the place to capacity.
+
+It had been decided that Chet Gunning’s funeral would be held that
+afternoon, and the conversation naturally turned to the excitement of
+the last few days. There was much argument over the robbery of John
+the Baptist, but that was secondary to the killing of the sheriff.
+
+“And there ain’t been nothin’ done to lay the deadwood on Barr Wyeth
+either,” declared “Butch” Fletcher, who owned the Flying-M outfit.
+“It’s a ---- of a note when a feller can shoot the sheriff and git
+plumb away without even havin’ anybody on his trail.”
+
+“Been wires sent to every sheriff,” said another cattleman, who was so
+badly crosseyed that no one could ever tell in which direction he was
+looking.
+
+“Might as well send ’em a Christmas present,” grunted Butch. “Catch him
+and string him up, that’s my motto.”
+
+Whisky began to percolate widely and it appeared that Chet Gunning was
+a bloodbrother to every cow-man in the town. A few more drinks, and all
+they lived for was revenge.
+
+It was about ten o’clock when a half-drunk cowboy floundered into the
+Buck Horn and blurted out news that sent every man in the place on a
+run for the door. Bob Kern was riding into town with Barr Wyeth, and
+just behind them came John the Baptist, Ma Fann and Nell Wyeth in a
+buggy.
+
+Andy Allard saw them, too. He darted back to Splinter’s cell, threw open
+the door and handed the surprized Splinter a Winchester rifle.
+
+“C’m on!” he blurted. “What in ----’s the use of havin’ a prisoner, if
+yuh don’t use him?”
+
+Splinter trotted out behind him and they raced up the street, shoving
+cartridges into the loading-gates of their rifles.
+
+The crowd from the Buck Horn had swung out into the street, and almost
+surrounded Bob and Barr. Andy and Splinter shoved their way through and
+waved the crowd back.
+
+Butch Fletcher shoved his way to the front.
+
+“Yuh might as well cave in and let us have him,” he declared. “It’ll
+save trouble and expense.”
+
+Most of the crowd were half-drunk and Bob knew they were in a dangerous
+mood, but he only grinned and shook his head.
+
+“Butch, yo’re a four-flusher,” he said slowly.
+
+“The ---- I am!” Butch snapped.
+
+He turned and looked at those about him.
+
+“Are we goin’ to let him get away with this kinda stuff?”
+
+“No!” yelled a voice at the rear of the crowd. “Git a rope!”
+
+“That sounded like Pastry Pell,” said Bob, standing up in his stirrups
+and peering over the crowd; but the owner of the voice had ducked.
+
+“Well, whatcha goin’ to do?” asked Andy impatiently. “I’m itchin’ to
+ruin the census.”
+
+“You fellers want to lynch him, don’tcha?” queried Bob.
+
+“We’re goin’ to lynch him,” corrected Butch.
+
+“Without givin’ him a chance to tell his story?”
+
+“What in ---- story has he got to tell?” demanded Buck Kelly. “This is a
+dead open-and-shut case.”
+
+“Still, he’s got a right to tell his side, ain’t he?”
+
+There were murmurs of approval.
+
+“Let him tell it,” agreed Butch. “We don’t have to believe it, do we,
+Kern?”
+
+“No,” Bob shook his head. “I ain’t askin’ yuh to believe it--just to
+listen, Butch.”
+
+“All right, let him go ahead and tell us,” agreed Butch.
+
+Barr looked questioningly at Bob. He had no defense--nothing to tell
+that would help his case in any way. The crowd moved in closer and
+ranged in sort of a semi-circle, so that all might see and hear.
+Directly in front of Bob and Barr was Buck Kelly, Butch Fletcher,
+Mark Ells.
+
+Pastry Pell had summoned up enough courage to shove his way to the
+front, and now he was at the edge of the circle to the right of the
+two mounted men.
+
+Andy and Splinter still held their rifles ready for action and watched
+the crowd.
+
+“Well, why in ---- don’t he talk?” asked one of the men. “He had so ----
+much to say, didn’t he?”
+
+“I know his story better than he does,” said Bob slowly, “so he won’t
+mind if I tell it for him. This story kinda dates back a little bit,
+gents. It starts with the stealin’ of JHF cattle by a man who rides a
+horse that wears a bar-shoe. We found a yearling with the JHF blotted
+and the Lightnin’ run on. That was Barr Wyeth’s start.”
+
+“That’s a good story,” applauded a cowboy.
+
+“Barr Wyeth hated John Fann,” continued Bob, “and that was a good
+excuse for him to steal JHF cattle. Chet Gunnin’ found out about the
+rustlin’ and the word kinda got to Barr Wyeth. Naturally, he gets mad
+and declares war. He tries to kill John Fann with a bottle of hooch,
+but missed a bull’s-eye by an inch.
+
+“Barr Wyeth drank and gambled away his ranch to Buck Kelly, and he needs
+money goshawful bad. John Fann mortgages his ranch to Buck Kelly for
+eight thousand dollars and starts home with the money, when he gets shot
+with a forty-four bullet and robbed of his money.
+
+“Barr Wyeth was in the cañon at that time, and the man who shot and
+robbed John Fann rode a horse that wore a bar-shoe. I know this, because
+I found where he had stood when he fired the shot and I trailed that
+bar-shoe over the rim of the cañon. Kinda looks like Barr Wyeth kept up
+the good work, don’t it?”
+
+The crowd grunted an approval. They were interested in this story,
+because the most of it was new to them.
+
+“It must ’a’ been Barr Wyeth,” continued Bob. “There were only three
+men, Buck Kelly, Judge Freeman and John Fann, who knew about the
+mortgage money. And I’ll tell yuh why John Fann drew that money. It
+was to help Barr Wyeth pay off his debts.
+
+“John Fann thought that Barr was stealin’ cows to try and pay off his
+debts, and he was goin’ to give Barr this money.”
+
+“How did Barr know that John Fann had this money?” asked Butch Fletcher.
+
+“That’s got me beat,” grinned Bob, and looked at the blank face of his
+prisoner.
+
+He turned and looked at the three people in the buggy. Nell Wyeth’s
+face was very white and she turned away, a look of loathing for his
+apparently deliberate speech of accusation. Ma Fann tried to smile
+at Bob, but it was a pitiful attempt to show that she still had
+confidence in him.
+
+“Then,” said Bob, turning back to the crowd, “there comes the shootin’
+of Chet Gunnin’. I seen a lot of that. Barr Wyeth accused Gunnin’ of
+havin’ a hand in the robbin’ of John Fann, but I don’t _sabe_ what he
+meant.
+
+“Anyway, Barr dove out through the window, Chet rushes out through the
+door and starts shootin’. Somebody plugs him twice and he’s dead.”
+
+Bob stopped and looked around at the circle of faces.
+
+“Barr Wyeth shoots a forty-four Colt gun, gents; remember this.
+There’s a certain party in Bunch Grass who delights in packin’ lies.
+Mebbe he can’t help it. Some folks can’t, especially if they want to
+start a conversation. I mean Pastry Pell.”
+
+All eyes turned to Pastry, who tried to back into the crowd, but they
+closed ranks and stopped him.
+
+“Yeah, he lied to Barr Wyeth about the JHF and he lied to the JHF
+about the Lightnin’. Now, we’ll get back to the cattle rustlin’.
+Over five hundred head of the JHF stock has faded away, and that’s
+some cows, gents. It’s a man-sized job to dispose of that many cows.
+Yuh can’t blot brands and get away with it. No sir, you’ve got to be
+slicker than that.
+
+“It had me fightin’ my head for a long time, but along comes a cowboy
+from Wyomin’ and hands me the key. He’s lookin’ for the Ten-Bar-B
+outfit. Ever hear of it?”
+
+The cattlemen shook their heads. It was not a known brand.
+
+“I didn’t _sabe_ it,” grinned Bob. “This puncher is looking for a job
+with that outfit. He said that the owner of that brand had driven a
+lot of stock over into Wyoming and sold ’em to the outfit he worked
+for. Sold ’em cheap, too. Said the range was burnt out over here.
+
+“This was the same puncher that Splinter was supposed to have leaded up
+in a poker game.”
+
+“Supposed to?” queried Kelly. “Whatcha mean, Kern?”
+
+“What I just said,” replied Bob softly. “Splinter was too drunk to shoot
+anybody. Mellody had a bullet in him and there’s one in the floor under
+the table, Buck. That bullet nicked Mellody’s boot.”
+
+“Well, whatcha drivin’ at?” asked Butch Fletcher.
+
+“Here’s what I mean,” said Bob coldly. “Wyeth’s horse that wore the
+bar-shoe has been dead a month. The shoes are still on its hoofs. Barr
+Wyeth is too wise to half-blot a JHF and smear on a Lightnin’ brand.
+Somebody knew of the bar-shoe and they didn’t know that Wyeth’s horse
+was dead. They bungled the brand-blottin’ to cover their own work.”
+
+“That’s just yore idea, ain’t it?” queried a cowboy.
+
+“Yeah, that’s right,” smiled Bob; “but yuh must remember that a rider of
+a bar-shoe horse shot and robbed John Fann. Yes sir, and they shot him
+with a forty-four bullet, but--” Bob fumbled in his pocket and drew out
+the cartridge shell he had found near the cañon rim--“here’s the shell
+of that cartridge. It’s swelled so it won’t fit a forty-four.”
+
+Bob held it up for them to see.
+
+“Gents, that shell was fired from a forty-five gun!”
+
+“What does that mean?” asked Kelly, a trifle nervously.
+
+“Just that and nothin’ more, Kelly,” replied Bob. “I’m tellin’ this tale
+as fast as I can. As I told yuh before, Barr Wyeth shoots a forty-four
+gun. The bullets that Doctor Knowles took out of Chet Gunnin’ were
+forty-fives.”
+
+“The ---- they were!” exploded Andy Allard. “I never knowed that.”
+
+“Here’s what happened,” explained Bob. “Somebody was just gettin’ off
+their horse in front of the JHF ranchhouse when Chet busts out and
+starts shootin’. They just naturally shoots back at him. Barr Wyeth
+couldn’t ’a’ fired them shots.”
+
+“Well, who in ---- did?” demanded Butch Fletcher.
+
+“You’d accuse me of guessin’, if I told yuh,” grinned Bob, “but I’ll
+tell yuh some more. This Mellody cowpuncher comes lookin’ for the
+Ten-Bar-B outfit, of which there ain’t no such an animal--not
+visible.
+
+“Accordin’ to Hoyle he ain’t supposed to come here after that
+ghost-outfit, and there’s certain folks who ain’t noways in favor of
+his comin’. He gets drunk and sets into a poker game, gents. Then he
+turns his head and sees the owner of the Ten-Bar-B outfit coming
+in.”
+
+Bob eased back in his saddle and his muscles seemed to draw taut.
+
+“Pastry Pell,” he said slowly, “you stay where you are.”
+
+Bob’s eyes drew down and he moved a trifle sideways in his saddle.
+
+“Gents, the man who stole JHF cows; the man who shot and robbed John
+Fann; the man who killed Chet Gunnin’ and the man who sold the Ten-Bar-B
+cows to the Wyomin’ outfit is the same man. If you take the JHF brand,
+make an O out of the J, make the F into a B and draw a bar in front of
+the O, you’ve got the Ten-Bar-B.”
+
+A murmur of astonishment came from the audience.
+
+“By ----, that’s right!” exploded Butch Fletcher. “Who----”
+
+“And this Mellody got shot because he recognized him,” gritted Bob.
+“There was two shots, gents. Splinter was so drunk that he never knew
+that they took his gun and fired it into the floor. The hole is there
+under the poker-table and there’s a notch in Mellody’s boot-sole.”
+
+“But who in ---- was it?” panted Andy, never taking his eyes off the
+circle.
+
+“A man who talked too much; a man who shoots a forty-five six-gun--our
+harmless friend, Pastry Pell!”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Pastry Pell’s gun had always been a joke in the Bunch Grass country,
+but his joke-gun was only part of his harmless make-up. Swiftly as Bob
+Kern could draw, he would have been far too slow, but Andy was watching
+closely and fired the Winchester from his hip.
+
+And almost over the spouting muzzle of that rifle, straight out of
+his saddle plunged Bob Kern, and his arms wrapped in a death-like
+grip around the body of Buck Kelly. They crashed back into the crowd,
+just as Pastry Pell spun on his heel and went face-down, riddled with
+bullets from the Winchester.
+
+The crowd dragged Bob and Buck to their feet, and Andy managed to snap
+handcuffs onto Buck’s wrists.
+
+“What did Buck have to do with it?” demanded Butch excitedly.
+
+“He was the brains of it,” panted Bob. “It took brains to figure that
+brand, Butch. I never suspicioned Buck until Mellody got shot. He shot
+Mellody because Mellody recognized Pastry as the owner of the Ten-Bar-B,
+and they knew the game was up.”
+
+Bob turned to Buck--
+
+“Pastry set fire to Doc Knowles’ house to try and get rid of Mellody,
+didn’t he?”
+
+“You know too ---- much now!” snarled Kelly.
+
+“Well, I reckon we’ll just use the rope pronto,” observed Butch. “No use
+delayin’ this, is there, gents?”
+
+“Wait a minute,” said Bob. “I saved you fellers from doin’ a ---- bad
+job, didn’t I? Well, let the law handle this case. There ain’t any of
+yuh so ---- perfect that you’ve got any right to hang a man.”
+
+“That’s right,” agreed a cowboy. “If yuh ever stop to assay
+yourself--eh, Bob?”
+
+Barr Wyeth came pawing his way through the crowd and clapped Bob on the
+shoulder.
+
+“I ain’t got words enough to say what I want to, Bob. Pastry Pell
+lived long enough to tell me that everythin’ you told ’em was true,
+and he said that Kelly always dealt a crooked game with me ’cause he
+wanted my ranch, and he told me that he had lied to me about you and
+John Fann. Kelly wanted to break the JHF and buy it cheap.
+
+“But Pastry told us that Kelly had nothing to do with shootin’ and
+robbin’ of John Fann. He heard John and Kelly talkin’ about it when he
+was washin’ his face near the door of Kelly’s office; so he thought
+he’d make a little money for himself. He thought it would help Kelly
+break the JHF.”
+
+“Yeah, and I ---- near done it, too,” mumbled Kelly. “But just to show
+yuh that I quit the game, I’m givin’ yuh back your notes, Wyeth. I
+don’t reckon I’ll have any use for a cattle ranch. Tear up John Fann’s
+mortgage. Now put me in jail and call it a day.”
+
+Andy and several of the cowboys led him to the jail, while others picked
+up the remains of Pastry Pell and carried him into the Buck Horn.
+
+John the Baptist, Ma Fann and Nell Wyeth were still sitting in the buggy
+in the middle of the street. Barr had walked over to them and now he was
+leaning on a wheel. None of them were talking, but all were watching Bob
+Kern, who was still standing in the street, thinking it over.
+
+“Bob Kern!” called Nell Wyeth.
+
+Bob lifted his head and his serious expression faded into a broad grin.
+He went slowly over, patted the buggy horse and adjusted the bridle.
+
+“Bob Kern, can you ever--” Nell Wyeth’s voice broke--“can you ever
+forgive me for what I’ve thought and said?”
+
+“Why did you do this for us?” asked Barr hoarsely. “You knew we hated
+you, Kern. I don’t understand.”
+
+“Well--” John Fann cleared his throat with difficulty--“Well, why don’t
+you tell them, Bob?”
+
+“I’ll tell yuh,” Bob grinned softly, as he rubbed the palm of his hand
+on the buggywheel, “I--I--John, you asked me to round up all the JHF
+cattle, and I’m lazy as the dickens, and I didn’t want to do it; so I
+stalled around, tryin’ to keep from workin’ and I couldn’t help findin’
+out things.
+
+“Yuh see, I wanted to come into town when there was a crowd; so that
+nobody would miss my oration. Tha’sall, I reckon. Laziness drove me
+to become a de-teck-itive.”
+
+Bob gave the wheel a final rub and turned away, going toward the
+sheriff’s office.
+
+“Bob!” called Ma Fann softly.
+
+He stopped and looked back.
+
+“Don’t you know it is wrong to lie, Bob?”
+
+Bob shuffled his toe in the dust and looked back at her seriously.
+
+“Yes’m, Ma, it sure is. Liars don’t never go to heaven.”
+
+He grinned widely and went on.
+
+“If _he_ don’t,” said Nell Wyeth softly, “it’s because there’s a better
+place than that.”
+
+John the Baptist picked up the lines and nodded his head.
+
+“I reckon we better be goin’ home. Get your horse, son.”
+
+“All right, dad,” said Barr, and headed for the hitch-rack.
+
+Bob Kern stood in the doorway of the office and saw them drive away, a
+look of unutterable sadness in his homely face. Then he shook his head,
+as if to drive away memories, and smiled softly to himself.
+
+[Transcriber’s Note:
+1: The three paragraphs starting with “Perhaps, she thought” are
+   shown as printed, though there is an apparent localized transposition
+   of the Barr Wyeth and Bob Kern characters.
+2: This story appeared in the January 10, 1924 issue of Adventure
+   magazine.
+]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78713 ***