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diff --git a/78713-0.txt b/78713-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2ca5b29 --- /dev/null +++ b/78713-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4565 @@ +*** 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 *** |