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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78926 ***
+
+
+                   Hashknife and Sleepy return to try
+                         THE LUCK OF SAN MIGUEL
+
+                    A Novelette of the Arizona Range
+
+                            by W. C. Tuttle
+
+
+It was the last day of the fall roundup, and the sun was only an hour
+high above the Oregon hills. Cowboys were unsaddling at the corral,
+laughing, joking, looking forward to the evening in town, when with
+pockets full of money they might woo the goddess of the green cloth and
+drink enough to cut the alkali from their dry throats.
+
+Over in front of the bunkhouse squatted Dell Stewart, foreman and part
+owner of the Double Circle, a huge bundle of currency in his gnarled
+hands, ready to pay off the boys in cash. Dell smiled a trifle wistfully
+as he looked at the money. He knew where it would go. Those wild-riding
+punchers would not keep it long.
+
+Dell thought they should, because winter was coming on; but he knew they
+would not. They would spend it on wine, women and cards, caring little
+for tomorrow. Now they were heading toward him, and he began paying them
+off. It was a simple operation. No payroll, no signatures. Each man
+accepted his wages, bobbed his head in acknowledgment, grinned and
+headed for the bunkhouse.
+
+The last man from the corral was Blue Snow. In garb he was little
+different from the rest of the punchers, except that he wore leather
+batwing chaps, instead of the woolskins. Perhaps his hat was a bit
+higher in the crown, his boots shorter.
+
+In height he was about five feet eleven inches, rather slender,
+narrow-waisted, but with good shoulders. He stopped between the corral
+and the foreman, removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve,
+disclosing a well-shaped head and a mop of curling brown hair, badly in
+need of trimming. His eyes were a frosty blue, his nose well shaped;
+thin lips and a stubborn chin. He was only twenty-four, but looked
+older.
+
+A string of wild geese were honking high overhead, and he stopped to
+watch their flight southward. Finally he came on, dangling his big
+Stetson in his right hand.
+
+“Geese startin’ early,” he remarked. “Looks like an early winter, Dell.”
+
+“Pretty good sign, Blue,” replied the foreman, as he handed the cowboy a
+number of bills and a letter.
+
+“Got it in town this afternoon,” he said, indicating the envelope.
+
+Blue stuffed the money in his pocket and opened the letter. For several
+moments after reading it he stared rather blankly, a queer, tight
+expression at the corners of his mouth.
+
+“A letter from the Old Man,” he said slowly.
+
+“Your father?”
+
+“Yeah. Read it.”
+
+The foreman took the letter, noted that it was from Sunset, Arizona. The
+letter read:
+
+    Come home, son. Seymour showed me your letter. I hope you get
+    this one, because I need you down here. They’ve about busted me.
+    Come home.—Your Dad.
+
+The foreman handed the letter back, but stopped to glance at the
+address.
+
+“Your name’s Blucher, eh? That’s why they call you Blue?”
+
+“That’s the reason, Dell.”
+
+“Goin’ home?”
+
+Blue sat down on the steps, rested his elbows on his knees, as he idly
+shaped and reshaped his big hat. One of the punchers yelled at him:
+
+“Hurry up, Blue. We’re pullin’ out pretty quick.”
+
+But Blue did not answer him. He turned to the foreman.
+
+“I reckon I will,” thoughtfully. “I ain’t heard from the Old Man for six
+years. Couldn’t hear, ’cause I never wrote, and he didn’t know where I
+was. About a month ago I got to thinkin’ about him; so I wrote to the
+banker in Sunset, askin’ him how the Old Man was gettin’ along.
+
+“This is the answer—askin’ me to come home. You know, Dell—” Blue took a
+deep breath— “I never expected the Old Man to ask me home. Me and him
+had a quarrel six years ago. I was eighteen—knowed it all. There was a
+girl—daughter of a man Dad didn’t like.
+
+“Lookin’ back, I can see a stringy sort of a kid, with a stub nose and
+red hair—lotta red hair. She was sixteen. I dunno what I was thinkin’
+about, when I went and asked her dad to let me marry her. I didn’t drink
+at that time; so I reckon I was plain loco.
+
+“Well—” Blue grinned shyly—“he kicked me off the porch, and I lit on my
+head in a rose bush. When I got out of there, her dad was gone back in
+the house, but the girl was on the porch. She asked me if I was hurt. I
+was all scratched up and I hit my head on a rock, but the hurt wasn’t in
+scratches and bumps. She said to me:
+
+“‘I don’t think pa likes you—but I do. Let’s run away and get married.’
+
+“Well, that looked like the only thing to do. I went back home, and Dad
+cornered me. He wanted to know about the scratches and bumps; so I told
+him how I got ’em, and I also told him we were goin’ to elope.
+
+“Then he sat me down in a chair and told me plenty—and I told him
+plenty. I told him he was a damned old fool, Dell. He got kinda white
+and walked away from me. That night I packed my warbag, saddled my own
+cayuse and pulled out. Oh, I’ve been plenty sorry over what I called
+him. Many and many a time I’ve wished t’ God I hadn’t said that.
+
+“He’d kill a man for sayin’ that to him. If it hurt him, it hurt me jist
+as much—mebbe more. I worked my way up to Portland and got me a job in a
+wholesale house, where I stuck for a year. But you can’t make a stock
+clerk out of a puncher. I went over to eastern Montana and Dakota,
+worked back into southern Idaho, always punchin’ cows. Went down in
+Colorado for a spell, but finally came up here. Every cent I own is what
+you jist gave me; but it’s enough for me to get home on. I’d like to
+stay and work for you, Dell, but I realize that your regular hands are
+plenty to handle the work for the winter.”
+
+“That’s right,” admitted Dell. “I like you, Blue. You’re a top hand and
+you won’t have no trouble landin’ plenty jobs. But if I didn’t have a
+darn man, and you was askin’ for a job, I’d—well, I’d rather see you
+pull out for Arizona. You’re the only son?”
+
+“Yeah. Mother died when I was twelve. There’s jist the Old Man and me.”
+
+“You ought to be together, Blue. When are you pullin’ out?”
+
+“Right now.”
+
+“Sandy is goin’ in with the buckboard pretty quick.”
+
+“Fine. I’ll bale up my saddle and throw it in the back.”
+
+“And wake up in the mornin’ broke?” asked the foreman.
+
+Blue shook his head quickly.
+
+“There’s a train to the Coast at eight o’clock—and I’ll be on it.”
+
+The foreman held out his hand and they shook solemnly, gripping tightly.
+
+“Good luck to you, Blue Snow.”
+
+“Same to you, Dell Stewart—all th’ time.”
+
+“There’s one of them big seamless sacks under my bunk, and there’s a
+sack needle stickin’ in the wall near the winder.”
+
+“Thank you, Dell.”
+
+“Write?”
+
+“Shore.”
+
+“Huh! Mebbe so. I’ll have heart disease, if you do.”
+
+“I’ll kill you inside six months.”
+
+“So long, pardner.”
+
+“_Hasta luego, compadre._”
+
+It was a simple leave-taking. Dell went back to the ranch-house, while
+Blue found the sack, baled his saddle inside it, and threw the bale into
+the back of the buckboard which Sandy McKeown was taking to town. The
+other cowboys pulled out ahead of them, whooping their way to town, six
+miles away.
+
+“Leavin’ the country?” asked Sandy, eyeing the baled saddle.
+
+“On the eight o’clock train for the Coast.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” dubiously. “I’ve started six times m’self, Snow—and I ain’t
+never got as far as the depot yet. Allus wanted t’ go back to Iowa. Born
+there.”
+
+“Been back since you was born?”
+
+“Left there when I was six, and I’m fifty. Gawd, ain’t it funny how the
+call of home comes to you at times? Git in. You won’t git past the first
+saloon, but I admire your resolutions.”
+
+But Blue Snow fooled them. He went straight to the depot, bought a
+ticket through to San Francisco, and sat in the little depot until the
+eight o’clock train came along. He did not even tell the boys goodby—he
+did not dare. It was the first time in six years that he had not led the
+hilarity of pay night.
+
+Blue Snow was drifting home.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was several days later, and Jerry Falconer was also heading home;
+coming back from a trip to Phoenix, where she had been to purchase her
+trousseau. Jerry had been properly christened Geraldine, but no one in
+Sunset City, except the minister, ever called her Miss Geraldine.
+
+Jerry was rather tall, slender, with a wealth of copper-red hair. Her
+eyes were as blue as the Arizona skies, a straight nose, tilted a
+little, and a laughing mouth that almost drove the cowboys to
+distraction. A vote would have proved her the most beautiful girl in San
+Miguel Valley, by long odds.
+
+Jerry was twenty-two, rode like a cowpuncher, swore like one, when the
+occasion demanded it, and did not admire her own reflection in a mirror.
+In other words, Jerry was not vain, detested adulation and wished she
+had been born a boy.
+
+Her father objected to her going alone to Phoenix, but she went. The
+town of Sunset City did not cater to prospective brides. William
+Falconer, owner of almost everything worth while in San Miguel Valley,
+swore by all the Arizona gods that no daughter of his could ever make a
+trip alone to Phoenix to buy wedding clothes. It is presumed that all
+the gods of Arizona threw him down in favor of Jerry. Now she was on her
+way back, bringing a trunkful of clothes.
+
+It had been a wonderful experience for the girl, except that once in
+awhile she would think calmly about the coming wedding. And when she did
+think of it, her eyes clouded a little and she wondered. She had known
+Ed Reed three years, two of which he had been foreman of her father’s
+Double Diamond outfit. And for three years he had made love to her.
+
+Reed was thirty, a big, handsome man in a swarthy way, and capable.
+Jerry was forced to admit that Reed was capable, that he was good
+looking. There were other good looking men in the valley, but none dared
+cut in, as they said, on Ed Reed. Perhaps Jerry did not realize this.
+She was not egotistical. Perhaps the lack of suitors had given her
+rather an inferiority complex. Ed Reed or nothing—and Jerry did not want
+to be an old maid.
+
+She arrived at the town of San Miguel late in the evening, without
+sending word to her father at Sunset City, which was eighteen miles away
+on a stage line. She would take the Sunset stage the next morning and
+have her father send in a conveyance to Sunset City after her arrival
+there.
+
+She stayed all night at the San Miguel hotel, and was at the stage
+station at nine o’clock, where old Chub Needham was loading the
+old-fashioned vehicle. Chub had known Jerry since she was a little girl.
+Chub was sixty, bow-legged, bald-headed, with a long nose and little
+gimlet eyes above an enormous gray mustache.
+
+The wind was blowing a gale and the old man’s eyes were so full of sand
+that he rubbed them tearfully before recognizing her.
+
+“Dag-gone!” he grunted. “Hello, Jerry. Got back safe, eh? Purty hat you
+got on. Gawd, every time I look at you, I cuss m’ age. Goin’ up with me?
+Yea-a-ah? Windy, eh? That was your trunk I jist packed on, wasn’t it?
+Uh-huh. Wind’s goin’ to be hell up along them Rattlesnake grades. Ol’
+dust is pretty deep, and this wind will shore fog plenty. As much as I’d
+like to have you ridin’ with me, I s’pect you better ride inside this
+trip.”
+
+Jerry nodded, realizing the wisdom of Chub’s prophecy regarding the dust
+and sand along the grades. A man came from the office and handed Chub a
+sawed-off Winchester shotgun, which Chub proceeded to load, while the
+man talked to him in low tones. The old driver nodded and tossed the gun
+up on the high seat, before opening the door for Jerry.
+
+“If the wind dies down, I’ll ask you up on the seat,” he told her.
+
+“Thanks, Chub.”
+
+“Got a lotta sense,” mused the old man to himself, as he climbed up on
+the seat, kicked off the brake and spoke sharply to his four horses.
+“Lotta damn’ women would insist on settin’ here outside. Jerry’s got
+plenty o’ sense, y’betcha. Almost as much sense as a man.”
+
+It was none too comfortable inside the old stage. Dust filtered through
+the creaking doors, and the old springs were worse than none on the
+rough road. The windows were too dirty for Jerry to see through, but she
+did not mind that.
+
+They struck the grades and began climbing. It was really a one-way road,
+with an occasional turn-out here and there. Off to the right was
+Rattlesnake Cañon, and at times there was a perpendicular drop from the
+narrow grade to the bottom, hundreds of feet below.
+
+The Hairpin turn was the bad one, circling one arm of the cañon.
+Rounding a cliff, the road doubled back for nearly a half mile, made a
+sharp turn to the left and ran back, paralleling itself for about half a
+mile, where it again turned to the right. From the cliffs, where it made
+the right-hand turn, across to the point where it again turned to the
+right, it was not over four hundred yards on an air line. In other
+words, the road made a loop of over a mile to progress four hundred
+yards.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+While the stage was yet a quarter of a mile from the cliff turn, a man
+climbed off the road on the upper side, crouched down in the rocks and
+remained there until the stage had gone past and disappeared. Then he
+climbed down again and continued walking up the hill.
+
+It was Blue Snow, a bit disheveled, badly in need of a shave, limping a
+little in his high-heeled boots. Blue had arrived early that morning on
+a freight train—broke. He had underestimated the amount of money
+necessary to bring him home from the North, and a poker game in Frisco
+town had reduced him to the necessity of beating his way for the last
+few divisions.
+
+But Blue did not mind that part of it. He was still too proud to ask any
+favors. He had been away from the valley for six years, and it was
+against his nature to let anyone know he had come back broke. He did not
+know that Chub Needham was still driving the Sunset stage, until he saw
+that familiar face. He was almost at the point of yelling to Chub to
+give him a ride, but thought better of it. No use advertising the fact
+that he had started walking.
+
+Blue was in no hurry. It was eighteen miles to Sunset City, and three
+miles more to his father’s Bar S Bar ranch. He would circle Sunset City.
+
+“I’ll have a fine pair of feet by the time I get home,” he decided
+painfully, as he reached the cliff turn and stopped in the shade.
+
+He could see the dust from the stage across the cañon. In fact, the
+stage had left a dust screen behind it all the way around the Hairpin.
+Blue sat down on a rock and rolled a smoke. Tobacco was running low, so
+he made a skimpy cigaret. The wind was still blowing, but he was out of
+the dust. He could not see the stage; he decided it had made the turn
+over there. Off came his boots, and he sighed with relief as he removed
+his socks.
+
+“Ain’t been barefoot for years.” He grinned to himself. “Mebbe I’ll bust
+a few toes, but anything is better than blisters on your heel.”
+
+He leaned back, smoking thoughtfully, working his toes in the cooling
+breeze. Suddenly he sat up straight. From far across the cañon came the
+echoing report of a shot. Blue squinted thoughtfully. No hunting around
+there. Farther back in the hills, perhaps—
+
+Then came two more reports, their echoes blending, banging back and
+forth from the sides of the cañon.
+
+“That’s danged queer,” muttered Blue. Nothing to be seen, except some
+buzzards circling high over the cañon. “Nobody on the stage, except old
+Chub. What would he be shootin’ at, I wonder?”
+
+Blue got to his feet and tucked his boots under his arm. He had only
+taken a few steps, when two more shots echoed across the gorge.
+
+“Sounds like Fourth of July,” he told himself. “Mebbe some of the
+natives got their calendar mixed up a little. Anyway, I don’t suppose it
+means much. Mebbe old Chub met a bear on the road and it wouldn’t give
+him the right-of-way.”
+
+But it was not a bear that met the Sunset stage that morning. As old
+Chub swung his four horses around the curve at the finish of the
+Hairpin, a masked man was on the edge of the grade, covering the driver
+with a six-shooter. With a grunted oath the old man threw on the brake,
+swung back hard on the lines, stopping the team short, caught the tight
+lines between his knees and lifted his hands.
+
+“Git down,” ordered the masked man hoarsely.
+
+Old Chub dismounted slowly, wondering if it was worth while for him to
+resist. He was debating the advisability of this, when the man stepped
+over and took Chub’s revolver from his holster.
+
+“Open the door,” growled the man, and Chub obeyed.
+
+Jerry, knowing nothing of what had taken place, and thinking that Chub
+was inviting her to ride outside with him, stepped out of the doorway
+and down on the step. Seeing the masked man she stopped short and took a
+deep breath.
+
+“Git down,” said the man harshly.
+
+“You better, Jerry,” advised Chub a little shakily, and Jerry obeyed.
+
+The man seemed to study her closely through the eye holes of his mask.
+She was evidently a problem he had not taken into consideration. Finally
+he said—
+
+“Turn around and walk back the way you came, miss.”
+
+Jerry glanced back along the grade.
+
+“You mean I—”
+
+“That’s right—walk. Jist keep on walkin’.”
+
+“You better, Jerry,” said old Chub softly.
+
+Jerry shut her lips tightly and looked at the masked man, who swung the
+muzzle of his gun to cover her.
+
+“Git goin’,” he said roughly. “It’s the safe thing for you to do.”
+
+And Jerry obeyed. A few yards took her out of sight, but she kept going.
+It was possibly five minutes later that the first shot was fired, and
+Jerry stopped, turned around and went back. A foolish thing to do,
+perhaps. Then came the two shots, and she stopped. Her eyes were full of
+dust, and she was wearing pumps which were already full of sand.
+
+She sat down on a rock beside the road and emptied the pumps, after
+which she wiped the dust out of her eyes. Then came the second shots.
+Jerry did not know how many shots had been fired; the echoes confused
+her. There might have been a dozen shots, as far as she was able to
+determine, because the echoes seemed to come from every direction.
+
+She sat there for quite awhile, but finally decided there was no sense
+in her walking back toward San Miguel; so she headed in the direction of
+Sunset City. The stage was not where she had left it; but farther around
+the turn, on a straight piece of grade, she found it.
+
+The stage had been left, blocking the road, with the horses headed into
+the rocky wall at one of the few turn-outs.
+
+Slumped sidewise on the seat, his head and one arm flung over the side,
+was old Chub Needham, his sightless eyes staring down at the dusty road,
+a round blue hole through his left temple, his face smeared with blood.
+The old driver of the Sunset stage had taken his last ride.
+
+Jerry spoke to him, but she knew he would never answer. She did not know
+what to do, standing there on the edge of the narrow grade, her clothes
+whipping in the wind. The four horses seemed contented, the lines
+wrapped around the brake. Jerry went around to look at them from the
+right-hand side. Her intention was to drive the stage to Sunset City.
+She had never driven four horses, but she felt capable of doing it.
+
+But the dead driver was sprawled on the seat, one foot over the side.
+She was afraid to touch him for fear he might topple off, and she did
+not feel able to take him off the seat and put him inside the stage.
+Anyway, she remembered that the sheriff and coroner should see him
+first.
+
+She was in the angle between the team and the cliff when Blue Snow came
+into sight. Jerry saw him as he came around the curve. She did not
+recognize him, and she was unable to say just why she did what she did;
+but before he saw her, she stepped inside the stage and softly closed
+the door. The window on the left hand side was nearly opaque with dirt,
+but she saw and recognized him, as he came up and stared at old Chub
+Needham. Blue was still carrying his boots.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+After a long look at the dead driver he sat down near the edge of the
+grade and slowly replaced his boots. Jerry watched him through the dirty
+window. Blue seemed at a loss what to do. He scanned the road, the
+surrounding hills, studied the depths of the cañon and finally rolled
+another cigaret. He seemed to take it for granted that the inside of the
+stage was empty.
+
+Jerry Falconer was the “stringy sort of a kid, with a stub nose and red
+hair” that Blue had told Dell Stewart about in the Northwest. She had
+told Blue she would wait for him until the end of time, and here she was
+with her wedding clothes, getting ready to marry another man within a
+week.
+
+“Why didn’t you write to me?” she whispered, her nose against the pane.
+
+Blue spat reflectively, hitched up his overalls and climbed up over the
+right front wheel. Jerry could tell by the jerking of the stage that
+Blue was doing something with the body, and she was afraid he might
+intend putting it inside the stage.
+
+But Blue had no intentions of that kind. He swung the body around on the
+seat, found a length of rope, which he looped around the body and tied
+to the back of the seat. Then he carefully swung the team away from the
+wall, kicked off the brake and headed for Sunset City.
+
+Fifty feet farther along the grade the leaders shied to the left, and
+Blue jammed on the brake. It was the mouth of a little side cañon,
+cutting back from the grade. It was almost overhung by a giant manzanita
+bush, to a limb of which had been tied a sorrel horse, saddled and
+bridled.
+
+And lying at the base of the manzanita, one booted foot almost in the
+wagon rut, was the body of a man, face down, arms outstretched, the
+right hand half clutching at a heavy Colt revolver.
+
+Swinging the leaders farther in against the wall, Blue set the brake
+solidly, fastened the lines and climbed down, his heart pounding wildly.
+Even with the man’s face obscured, Blue knew who it was. The man’s hat
+was off, and there was a huge mop of gray hair, which Blue remembered so
+well.
+
+He leaned against the wheel, sick at heart. Finally, with a choking sob,
+he went ahead and knelt beside the body, turning it over tenderly. He
+had not been mistaken—it was his father. Blue got to his feet,
+staggering a little. He did not hear Jerry Falconer leave the stage, did
+not know she was within miles, until she said—
+
+“Blue, what happened?”
+
+He turned and looked at her, but she was staring at the body. There was
+no greeting of any kind. It was as though they had never been apart.
+
+“That’s Dad,” he said chokingly.
+
+“Yes, I know,” she replied. “What happened?”
+
+“The horses shied,” he said, “and I saw him there.”
+
+“He—he’s dead, Blue?”
+
+“Yes. He’s been shot.”
+
+Blue rubbed his eyes and stepped over by the rocky wall, looking at his
+father, his lips twisted strangely. The sorrel horse moved nervously,
+jerking back on the tie-rope. Finally Blue turned to Jerry.
+
+“Old Chub is dead,” he told her.
+
+“I know.”
+
+He looked closely at her for several moments, at the stage, back to her.
+
+“Where did you come from, Jerry?”
+
+“I was on the stage all the way from San Miguel. The holdup man made me
+get out and walk back. Where did you come from?”
+
+“I—I was walkin’ home from San Miguel. Jist got back, you see.”
+
+“Did we pass you on the road?”
+
+“I hid, when the stage came along.”
+
+“Oh.”
+
+“You’ve changed, Jerry.”
+
+“But you recognized me.”
+
+He nodded slowly.
+
+“I guess I would—any time. Well,” he continued, turning back to the
+body, “I guess there’s nothin’ to do, except take him back. If you’ll
+open the stage door—”
+
+Picking up the body of his father, he carried it over and placed it
+inside the stage. He took the gun and dropped it beside the body. Old
+Chub was a more difficult proposition, but he managed to lower him to
+the ground, then place the body inside the stage.
+
+For several moments he leaned against the wheel, his face buried in his
+arms, breathing heavily. Then he helped Jerry to the seat, climbed up
+beside her, gathered up the reins and drove slowly along the narrow
+grade.
+
+“I’m glad you came back,” said Jerry simply.
+
+“I’m glad I did,” he replied. “Dad said he needed me.”
+
+“I saw him about two months ago and he said he had never heard a word
+from you, Blue.”
+
+“He hadn’t—at that time. I came as soon as I heard from him. I’ve been
+all over the Northwest country, Jerry. Never stayed long in one place.
+Do you remember a song old Graveyard Jones used to sing about ‘a
+rambling wreck of poverty and a son-of-a-gun to boot’? That’s me. Broke
+flat. I came to San Miguel on the deck of a box car, without enough
+money to pay my stage fare to Sunset City. Walked and dodged—dodged so
+folks wouldn’t know I was too danged poor to ride. It’s funny I’m
+tellin’ you this. You see, I never intended tellin’ it to anybody,
+except Dad. You don’t look like my old Jerry. I’ve thought of you a lot,
+but it wasn’t about a beautiful young lady. No, sir, it was about a lean
+lookin’, red-headed kid. I can see you yet, Jerry; the day your dad
+booted me off into the briars. Remember it? I said I’d come back some
+day and get you. But you can discount all that—now. I couldn’t even take
+myself away, unless I walked.”
+
+“I remember it,” said Jerry. “We had wonderful ideas, Blue.”
+
+“Kids do,” sighed Blue. “I reckon your dad did the right thing.”
+
+Blue’s voice was strained, unnatural, but he wanted to talk; wanted to
+forget as much as possible. Later on he would be able to think calmly,
+but not now. Suddenly he remembered he had left the horse tied to the
+manzanita bush, but it was too late to go back. He would ask someone to
+go after it.
+
+“Things haven’t changed much around here since you left,” said Jerry.
+
+“You’ve changed.”
+
+“I don’t feel any different.”
+
+And then they struck the downgrade to Sunset City, where it required
+considerable concentration on the part of the driver to swing the four
+horses around the narrow turns and keep the rear end of the stage from
+parting company with the team.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sunset City had been in existence about thirty years, and as some cowboy
+wag had said, “The only paint they ever had in the town was when a war
+party of Apaches came in and swiped the postmaster’s hair.”
+
+There was one main street, bordered closely by false-front buildings,
+which in turn were bordered with wooden sidewalks, undulating to conform
+with the doorways of the buildings, none of which were on the same
+level.
+
+The total vote of Sunset City was less than two hundred, but it was the
+county seat and of great importance in San Miguel Valley. William
+Falconer was the big man of the valley, financially and politically,
+somewhat of an egotist, hard-headed and inclined to domineer.
+
+He owned the Double Diamond cattle outfit and was a director of the
+Sunset City Cattlemen’s Bank. Falconer made an effort to control the
+politics of the valley and probably did to some extent. He boasted
+openly of his own honesty and was somewhat flattered when anyone
+referred to him as “Honest Bill” Falconer.
+
+But, big as he was in his own estimation, he hated two men—Jim Snow,
+father of Blue Snow, and Jeff Blondell. The trouble with Jim Snow dated
+back to the time when Snow swore out a warrant for the arrest of
+Falconer, charging that the Double Diamond had stolen three horses from
+him, alleging that the brands had been altered. Reed swore they were
+part of a shipment received from Texas. Snow swore to shape, color and
+markings, and said that the brand had been altered so as to be
+unreadable; but the judge declared the evidence insufficient for a
+conviction.
+
+Freed by the court of any and all blame in the matter, Falconer still
+hated Jim Snow for even hinting that the Double Diamond would do such a
+thing.
+
+His hate against Jeff Blondell was of a different nature. No one knew
+much about Blondell. He drifted into Sunset City on a horse about a year
+previous to the homecoming of Blue Snow. Blondell was of medium height,
+swarthy of skin, with a broken nose, a cruel mouth and habitually
+bloodshot eyes. He was typically a tough cowpuncher, a mighty drinker
+and an inveterate gambler.
+
+Sunset City looked upon him with a certain suspicion at first. He put up
+at the livery stable, apparently too short of cash to afford a hotel
+room. He did not get a job, but graduated from the stable to the hotel,
+wore better clothes and seemed to acquire a little money. He was not a
+good poker player, but a consistent one, and drank steadily, paying in
+cash. Gradually he became one of the men about town.
+
+But Blondell did not like William Falconer. He heard Falconer reciting
+his own virtues one day, after a few drinks, and Blondell remarked
+openly that he would not trust any man who bragged of his honesty.
+Falconer was indignant, but he did not awe the broken-nosed gentleman
+from nowhere.
+
+“Crooks speak for themselves,” said Blondell recklessly. “Honest men let
+their deeds do the speakin’.”
+
+And these words, spoken in the presence of possibly a dozen men, galled
+the soul of William Falconer. He went to Singer Sanderson, the sheriff,
+and told him to keep an eye on Blondell. Singer found out why, and was
+amused.
+
+It did not take much to amuse Singer Sanderson. Neither did it take much
+to amuse Smoky Woods, Singer’s deputy. There was little reason to watch
+Blondell. No crime had been committed.
+
+In fact, it had been a long time since the sheriff’s office had done
+more than tack up reward notices and serve notices in civil suits. There
+had not been a prisoner in the jail for over a year.
+
+Old Graveyard Jones did not like Falconer; neither did he like
+Blondell—but he did like Jim Snow. Graveyard was nearly seventy, looked
+sixty and acted twenty—a tough, wiry old rascal, who handled his own
+little outfit alone and feared neither man nor devil.
+
+“That there Blondell is a danged parachute,” he declared.
+
+“What’s a parachute?” queried Singer Sanderson.
+
+“Don’tcha know what a parachute is? It’s a feller that lives off’n his
+feller men.”
+
+“You mean a parasite,” corrected one of the gamblers in the Sunset
+Saloon.
+
+“I mean a parachute,” snorted Graveyard. “A parasite is only a small
+form of the animile.”
+
+It just happened this day that Graveyard Jones and Smoky Woods sat on
+the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office, lying to each other, as
+usual. Graveyard claimed to have been a member of the Royal Northwest
+Mounted Police at some remote time, while Smoky claimed the Texas
+Rangers as his alma mater. Both of them lied, and they both knew it, but
+it made for conversation.
+
+“I ’member one mornin’,” said Graveyard reminiscently, “when the general
+calls me into his office. This was in Vancouver. He says to me—
+
+“‘Graveyard, I’m askin’ you to do somethin’ that I wouldn’t even do
+m’self, but she’s got to be done for the honor of the force.’
+
+“Well, I knowed it was somethin’ terribly particular, but I didn’t
+quail.”
+
+“You didn’t what?” asked Smoky gloomily.
+
+“Quail.”
+
+“Oh, quail. Didn’t you mean duck?”
+
+“I said quail and I meant quail, Smoky.”
+
+“Go ahead.”
+
+“Well, he says to me, ‘Graveyard—’”
+
+“Jist a minute. Did they call you Graveyard at that time?”
+
+“Shore. He says, ‘Graveyard, there’s a dirty murderer hidin’ out on the
+bank of Athabasca. Go git him or die in the attempt.’ Jist like that he
+said it.”
+
+“And you died.”
+
+“I got m’ man, that’s what I done. I allus got m’ man. I borrowed me a
+couple dogs and I—”
+
+“Bird dogs?”
+
+“Man hunters.”
+
+“Oh, yea-a-ah. You mentioned quail, so I thought—— Go ahead, Graveyard.”
+
+“It was about nine o’clock in the mornin’ when I started, and I was up
+at the lake about sundown; so I—”
+
+“Athabasca Lake?”
+
+“Shore. It was about sundown—”
+
+“Let’s make it some other lake. I heard you tell this one before, and I
+been lookin’ at a map of Canada. She’s pretty close to a thousand miles
+from Vancouver to Athabasca Lake, on a air line.”
+
+“Smoky, I didn’t travel no air line,” said Graveyard sadly, “and as far
+as you lookin’ up that lake on a map—how old was that there map?”
+
+“Not over a couple years, anyway.”
+
+“There you are,” triumphantly. “Couple years, eh? You go find a map
+that’s about fifteen, twenty years old. That there country changed a
+hell of a lot in that len’th of time.”
+
+“Oh, shore, I realize that. I ’member one time when I was down on the
+Pecos River, trailin’ some Mexican hoss-thieves—”
+
+“Here comes the stage,” interrupted Graveyard. “Mebbe it’s a lucky thing
+for them Mexican hoss-thieves.”
+
+Smoky got up and yawned heavily.
+
+“Did you get your man on Athabasca Lake?”
+
+“Nope,” grinned Graveyard. “I caught him next day at the upper end of
+Hudson’s Bay.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+They walked across the street, as the stage drew up in front of the
+postoffice. Several others had come up to meet it, but no one seemed
+aware that old Chub was not driving until the horses stopped and Blue
+Snow climbed down among them. Jerry remained on the seat.
+
+Graveyard was the first to recognize Blue.
+
+“Hyah, kid?” he grunted. “Where did you come from, anyway?”
+
+“Hello, Graveyard,” softly; and then to the crowd, “Where’s the
+sheriff?”
+
+“What’s wrong?” asked Smoky, shoving forward.
+
+“Plenty. You’re Smoky Woods, ain’t you? I’m Blue Snow.”
+
+“That’s right,” said Smoky. “Blue Snow. You’ve changed a lot. But what’s
+gone wrong? How come you’re drivin’ the—”
+
+Blue opened the door of the stage, and the crowd surged forward to see
+the two dead men inside. A cowboy ran across the street to get the
+sheriff, who came running over, questioning the cowboy. The sheriff paid
+no attention to Blue Snow until he discovered that one of the dead men
+was old Chub. Someone told him Blue Snow brought in the stage.
+
+By that time a goodly portion of Sunset City was there, and among them
+was Charles Seymour, the tall old banker. Someone helped Jerry down, and
+she went into the postoffice to escape the crowd.
+
+They took the bodies out and a doctor examined them carefully. Blue had
+nothing to say until the sheriff asked for an explanation.
+
+“Better talk at your office,” suggested Blue, and the sheriff nodded.
+
+“How much does Miss Falconer know?” asked Smoky.
+
+“Better bring her along,” replied Blue.
+
+Smoky brought Jerry to the office, and the sheriff shut the door against
+the crowd. Blue detailed everything he knew, and Jerry told her part of
+it, which corroborated what Blue had told them. Their story was already
+told, when the doctor and the banker came over to the office. The doctor
+was carrying a package in his hand. Smoky let them in, and the doctor
+placed the sealed package on the table.
+
+“This package was inside the shirt of Jim Snow,” he said. “I found it in
+making my examination.”
+
+The sheriff looked at it, examined the unbroken seals and the address.
+
+“This is yours, ain’t it?” he asked the banker, who nodded gravely.
+
+“Unless I’m badly mistaken that package contains twenty thousand
+dollars’ worth of negotiable bonds,” he said.
+
+“You found that inside my father’s shirt?” asked Blue.
+
+“Yes,” nodded the doctor.
+
+The banker cleared his throat harshly.
+
+“We found the receipt book in old Chub’s pocket. There were two packages
+receipted for at San Miguel. The other one contained ten thousand in
+currency.”
+
+“Jim Snow didn’t have it, eh?” queried the sheriff.
+
+The banker shook his head.
+
+“Didja examine the strong box?”
+
+“Hardly a strong box,” said the banker. “It never was locked. In case of
+a holdup, they would take box and all. No, it was empty.”
+
+Smoky Woods turned from the window.
+
+“Here comes Falconer,” he said.
+
+“Let him in,” grunted the sheriff, and in a moment William Falconer, the
+big man of San Miguel Valley, came in.
+
+He was a big man, physically, slightly gray, hard-featured, with
+greenish gray eyes deeply set under heavy brows. He nodded shortly to
+the men and turned to Jerry.
+
+“Why didn’t you send word of your arrival? A nice mixup, this seems to
+be.”
+
+Jerry merely smiled at him, and he grunted angrily. Turning around, he
+looked at Blue Snow quizzically.
+
+“Came back, eh?”
+
+“Yeah,” replied Blue softly.
+
+“Uh-huh.” Turning back to the sheriff, “Well, what’s happened, outside
+of two men dead?”
+
+“Ten thousand dollars missin’, it seems.”
+
+“Missing, eh? Bank money?”
+
+“Bank money,” echoed the banker. “We found the twenty thousand worth of
+bonds inside Jim Snow’s shirt, but the money is gone.”
+
+Falconer was puzzled. The sheriff told him what Blue Snow had explained,
+and Jerry recited what she knew about it. Falconer drew the sheriff
+aside and they talked confidentially for several moments, after which
+the sheriff came back to Blue Snow.
+
+“You won’t mind us searchin’ you, will you, Snow?” he asked.
+
+Blue flushed hotly and was about to argue, but finally shook his head.
+The search was fruitless.
+
+“I reckon that’s all for you, Snow,” said the sheriff. “You’ll be around
+here for awhile?”
+
+“I expect to,” replied Blue coldly, and walked outside.
+
+Falconer turned to Jerry and questioned her closely.
+
+“Jerry, how much time elapsed after the stage stopped, until you got out
+and saw Blue Snow with the body of his father?”
+
+“I don’t know. Perhaps it was a full minute.”
+
+“What was he doing, when you saw him?”
+
+“He was standing there, looking down at the body.”
+
+“Did he have anything in his hand?”
+
+“I didn’t see anything.”
+
+“Did he leave you and walk around the other side of the stage, out near
+the edge of the grade?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You didn’t see any package on the seat, after you got up there with
+him?”
+
+“No, I did not see any package.”
+
+“Are you figurin’ he might have pitched the package over the grade?”
+asked the sheriff.
+
+“It is missing,” replied Falconer. “Money hasn’t wings.”
+
+“All right,” growled the sheriff. “We’ll search every place he might
+have throwed it away.”
+
+“You don’t think Blue Snow had anything to do with that missing money,
+do you?” asked Jerry.
+
+“You bet he did!” snapped her father angrily.
+
+“Wait a minute,” drawled the tall sheriff. “You don’t know any more than
+the rest of us, Falconer. It ain’t square to accuse a man thataway.”
+
+“Don’t be a fool, Sanderson. Jim Snow held up the stage. He and old Chub
+fought it out, both of them dying. Blue Snow found his father, and it’s
+a hundred to one shot that he found that currency. Blue is nobody’s
+fool. Even if he wasn’t crook enough to want that money, he’d get rid of
+it to protect the old man’s name. Of course, he never found the package
+inside the old man’s shirt, or that would have disappeared too.”
+
+“I don’t believe it,” said Jerry firmly.
+
+Falconer laughed harshly, but made no reply.
+
+“We’ll make that search right away,” said the sheriff. “I don’t reckon
+there’s any more talking to be done.”
+
+“As far as I’m concerned, no,” replied Falconer.
+
+“We will take the two bodies down to my place,” said the doctor.
+
+One of the boys brought in the two guns from the stage, and an
+examination showed that Jim Snow’s gun had been fired three times,
+Chub’s twice. They were both single-action Colt weapons, Snow’s being
+a .45, while Chub’s was a .38.
+
+The sheriff turned to Jerry.
+
+“How many shots did you hear, Miss Jerry?”
+
+“I can’t say how many. The echoes—”
+
+“I know. Maybe Blue counted ’em. Could you swear that the robber who
+made you walk back from the stage, was Jim Snow?”
+
+“He was masked,” said Jerry.
+
+“I know that, but the size of him, the clothes—”
+
+“I haven’t the slightest idea,” smiled Jerry. “It was the first time
+anyone ever pointed a gun at my head.”
+
+Sanderson grinned.
+
+“I don’t blame you; I know how it feels.”
+
+As he and Smoky went to the office they passed Blue Snow, who was
+standing at the edge of the sidewalk. Sanderson stepped up to him.
+
+“How many shots did you hear?” he asked.
+
+“I think there were five.”
+
+“That’s right. Your father shot three times and old Chub fired twice.”
+
+“I didn’t have any gun,” said Blue bitterly. “I pawned mine in Frisco;
+so you can’t hang me for doin’ any shootin’.”
+
+“Nobody wantin’ to hang you, Snow.”
+
+“That’s great. Didja expect me to have that money in my pocket?”
+
+“I didn’t.”
+
+Blue smiled grimly.
+
+“I reckon Falconer did.”
+
+“Well, I wouldn’t let that git me down, if I was you.”
+
+“Ain’t nobody goin’ to get me down, Sanderson.”
+
+“That’s the stuff.”
+
+“The Old Man wrote me that he was gettin’ a bad deal down here—so I came
+down to help him. I reckon I came too damn’ late.”
+
+The tall sheriff squinted thoughtfully.
+
+“Said he was gettin’ a bad deal?”
+
+“That’s what he said.”
+
+“Who was givin’ him a bad deal?”
+
+“That’s what I came to find out.”
+
+“Uh-huh. Well, I dunno anythin’ about it. Your dad was close mouthed,
+you know.”
+
+“He was a square shooter.”
+
+“I know it, and I’m sorry as hell about this deal. I liked him and I
+liked old Chub.”
+
+“And they’ve always been friends,” added Blue.
+
+“Shore have. Well, I’ll see you later, Blue.”
+
+“Goin’ to see if you can find where I threw that money?”
+
+The sheriff turned his head and looked back at Blue, but did not reply.
+
+“He’s no damn’ fool,” chuckled Smoky Woods.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was late in the evening in the town of Gates Ajar, forty miles east
+and across the San Miguel range from Sunset City. Gates Ajar consisted
+of a little depot, a saloon, with possibly six rooms on the second floor
+for transients, a combination store and postoffice, and a section house.
+
+It was too small to show on the map, and passenger trains only stopped
+on a flag. The only light in the town at this time in the evening was in
+the saloon, where a smoky old lamp hung a few feet above the faded green
+cover of a poker table. There were four men at the table, two dressed in
+range clothes; the bartender in shirt sleeves, bareheaded; the fourth
+was a thin-featured man, with a closely cropped gray mustache, wearing a
+gray business suit.
+
+He was drinking steadily, and seemed peevish over a run of bad luck.
+Several times he had torn his cards across and demanded a new deck. The
+stakes were fairly high, and an observer might have noted that the other
+men were, in the parlance of the initiated, whipsawing him at every
+turn.
+
+The man was not a clever player or he would have realized that it was
+three men against one, but the one man was getting more intoxicated all
+the time, playing recklessly. It was also apparent that a small town
+bartender and two cowboys were in no financial condition to be playing
+for such stakes.
+
+It was about the time when the gray-suited man emptied his billfold to
+purchase more chips that two cowboys rode into Gates Ajar, and guided
+their horses to a hitch rack across the street from the saloon.
+
+One man was tall and thin, astride a tall gray horse, and the other was
+stocky, broad of shoulder, riding a chunky sorrel. They dismounted and
+stood on the short length of wooden sidewalk in front of the postoffice
+and store.
+
+“This must be Gates Ajar,” remarked the short one. “What a name for a
+town!”
+
+The tall one laughed softly, throatily.
+
+“Probably named by a psalm singer, Sleepy. One light in the place, and
+that’s over a poker table, unless my eyes deceive me; and unless I’m
+badly mistaken, Jack Wilson will be under that lamp.”
+
+“Beyond the shadder of a doubt, as the lawyers say. Anyway, they’ll know
+if this is Gates Ajar, and where we can stable these broncs.”
+
+As they stepped off the sidewalk and started for the saloon, both men
+stopped short—the sound of a revolver shot thudded within the saloon.
+There was a sudden commotion in the place, a sharp exclamation, a
+confusion of voices. Came the sound of another shot, the tinkle of
+shattered glass, and the bar was in darkness.
+
+The two cowboys stood rooted to the spot, staring toward the dark
+saloon. It was possibly twenty seconds later that a match flared, as
+someone tried to light a lamp. The two cowboys went toward the doorway
+and, as they stepped up on the wooden sidewalk, they heard the drumming
+crescendo of running horses, heading away from town.
+
+They stepped inside; the lamp flared up. The fat bartender, his forehead
+beaded with perspiration, placed the lamp on the poker table and looked
+at them shakily. The gray-suited man was sprawled near the table, a
+chair lying across his legs.
+
+“What happened?” asked the tall cowboy calmly, his level gray eyes
+fastened on the frightened face of the bartender.
+
+The bartender licked his dry lips, rubbed the palms of his hands on his
+hips and looked down at the figure on the floor.
+
+“God!” he said softly. “Must ’a’ got him dead center.”
+
+The tall cowboy stepped over and swung the man on the floor around to
+where the light would fall on his face.
+
+“Jack Wilson,” he said.
+
+“That his name?” asked the bartender, and the tall one nodded.
+
+“Didn’t you know him?” queried the short cowboy.
+
+The bartender shook his head quickly.
+
+The tall one had been making a swift examination, and now he stood up.
+
+“Who shot him?” he asked sharply.
+
+“I didn’t know ’em,” replied the bartender. “Couple punchers. Came in
+this evenin’. Poker game and plenty whisky. Accused one of ’em of
+stealin’ a card.”
+
+The bartender cut his sentences short, taking a deep breath between.
+
+“Is he dead, Hashknife?” asked the short one.
+
+“Not yet. Is there a doctor around here?”
+
+“Up at San Miguel. That’s thirty-five miles up the line. No doctor
+around here.”
+
+Two more men came in. One was only partly dressed. He was the postmaster
+and storekeeper, and the other worked in the store for him. They had
+heard the shots. The bartender explained what had happened, but they
+made no comment.
+
+“Did you know this man?” asked the storekeeper, addressing the tall
+cowboy.
+
+“Yeah. His name is Jack Wilson, and he’s a buyer for Kinnear & Company,
+Kansas City. We came here to meet him tonight. We saw him day before
+yesterday at Clinton, and he told us to meet him here, because he was
+shippin’ a bunch of cattle, and we were to go East with him.”
+
+“Shippin’ a bunch of cattle from here?” queried the storekeeper. “Kinda
+funny.”
+
+“What’s funny about it?”
+
+“Whose cattle?”
+
+The bartender laughed shortly.
+
+“I guess he drank so much he imagined he was shippin’ from here. There
+ain’t a shipment of beef around here.”
+
+From far down the line came the shrill whistle of an engine. The tall
+one turned to the storekeeper.
+
+“We’ve got to get this man to a doctor, and if that train stops here—”
+
+“Freight,” said the other man, looking at his watch. “It’ll stop for
+water.”
+
+The bartender secured a blanket, and with it as an improvised stretcher,
+they carried the wounded man up to the little depot, where the conductor
+let them place him in the caboose. As they placed him carefully on a
+wide seat, some papers slid from a pocket of his coat, and the tall
+cowboy picked them up. One was a telegraph blank, folded, and was
+apparently a telegram which he had written but not sent.
+
+    KINNEAR & CO, KANSAS CITY.
+
+    SHIPPING ONE HUNDRED CROSS EIGHTY-FOUR AND WILL SHIP AGAIN NEXT
+    WEEK FROM SAN MIGUEL IF POSSIBLE.
+
+                                                             —WILSON
+
+“I dunno whether he wanted that one sent or not,” said the tall cowboy,
+as he borrowed a pencil from the conductor. He wrote another telegram on
+the back of an envelope.
+
+    AL KINNEAR, KINNEAR & CO, KANSAS CITY.
+
+    JACK WILSON PROBABLY FATALLY SHOT STOP RUSHING HIM TO DOCTOR AT
+    SAN MIGUEL SO ADVISE ME THERE AT ONCE.
+
+                                                  —HASHKNIFE HARTLEY
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+He handed this telegram to the conductor and asked him to send it from
+San Miguel as soon as they arrived. “We’ll be there some time tomorrow,”
+he told the conductor, and a few moments later the train clanked away
+from Gates Ajar.
+
+Hashknife Hartley and Sleepy Stevens, his stocky companion, went back to
+the saloon, where they found the bartender mopping up the floor.
+
+“I shore hate for a thing like that to happen,” he puffed. “Kinda ruins
+trade. Gives a place a bad reputation.”
+
+“Keep thousands away,” smiled Hashknife. “You didn’t know those two
+cowboys, eh?”
+
+“Never seen ’em before. Couple of drifters.”
+
+The bartender did not look at Hashknife, as he denied knowing the
+killers. He had encountered the steady gaze of those level gray eyes
+just after the shooting, and they made him feel uncomfortable. Hashknife
+leaned back against the bar, a tall, lanky figure, lean of face,
+generous of nose and with a wide, thin-lipped mouth. His big sombrero
+was tilted back on his head; his long fingers deftly rolled a cigaret.
+
+Both men were clad in well-worn batwing chaps, worn boots and battered
+hats. Their belts were handmade, fitting perfectly to the sag of their
+holstered guns. Sleepy Stevens’ features were blocky—jaw square, blue
+eyes encased in grin wrinkles. He seemed to be smiling with the world—or
+at it.
+
+“Kinda funny about this Wilson goin’ to ship from here,” said the
+bartender, as he took his pail and mop behind the bar.
+
+“Uh-huh,” replied Hashknife thoughtfully. “Did he ever ship from here
+before?”
+
+“I never did see him around here.”
+
+The bartender turned to the back bar and replaced some glasses.
+
+“Who owns the Cross 84?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“The what?” asked the bartender, turning quickly.
+
+“The Cross 84.”
+
+“Oh, I dunno much about brands around here. Don’t remember seein’ any.”
+
+“Uh-huh. The man who was shot had a telegram he was goin’ to send East,
+and it said he was shippin’ a hundred head of Cross 84. I thought mebbe
+he was shippin’ from here.”
+
+“Couldn’t have been here.”
+
+“Prob’ly not. How about a room for the night?”
+
+“I can fix you up.”
+
+“Stable for a couple broncs?”
+
+“Back of here’s a little stable you can use.”
+
+They put up their horses and went back into the saloon. The bartender
+took them to an outside entrance, where they mounted some rickety stairs
+and went down a narrow hall to a small room. The bartender lighted a
+lamp. It was an end room, the one window looking out toward the little
+depot.
+
+“Ain’t much,” said the bartender, “but you can’t expect much here.”
+
+“This is all right,” smiled Hashknife.
+
+“Can do,” grunted Sleepy, pulling off his boots.
+
+The bartender left them, and they heard him go down the creaking stairs.
+Hashknife sat down on the foot of the bed, thinking deeply. Sleepy
+looked at him curiously.
+
+“Funny deal, eh?” he said.
+
+“That’s right,” nodded Hashknife. “I’ll bet anythin’ the bartender knows
+who shot Wilson. He might have been packin’ a lot of money. One of the
+men shot him, and they had plenty time to rob him before one of ’em was
+wise enough to shoot out the light. Shot it out before anybody had a
+chance to see who they were. The bartender was prob’ly in on the deal.”
+
+“He’s got snaky eyes,” mused Sleepy. “He’d never identify ’em. Unless
+Wilson lives, we’ll never know who shot him.”
+
+“Yeah, and it’s a hundred to one shot that Wilson don’t live. That
+bullet hit him just above the heart. I doubt if he’s alive now.”
+
+Sleepy finished undressing and crawled into bed. Hashknife fumbled in
+his vest pocket and took out an empty tobacco sack.
+
+“You got any Durham?” he asked.
+
+“That’s the sack I let you have, Hashknife; I’m all out.”
+
+Hashknife sighed and got off the bed.
+
+“I’ll go down and see if the bartender’s got any. Be back in a minute.”
+
+He went down the hall in the dark and picked his way down the stairs to
+the outside door, which was slightly open. There were voices out front,
+and he stopped at the doorway. Two men seemed to be in low-toned
+argument on the sidewalk, and he recognized the bartender’s voice.
+
+“I tell you I don’t know who shot him. They was a couple—”
+
+“You said that before, and I don’t believe it even this time.”
+
+“I wouldn’t lie to you, Jeff.”
+
+“You’d lie to your own father. Why didn’t you stop ’em?”
+
+“It was all so danged quick. They shot out the light, and—well, come in
+and see that lamp, if you don’t believe me.”
+
+“What about them two waddies that showed up right away and sent the man
+to San Miguel?”
+
+Ensued a fairly complete description of Hashknife and Sleepy.
+
+“They said they was to meet Wilson here and help him take a shipment of
+cattle East,” said the bartender.
+
+“You don’t know their names?”
+
+“Nope. I heard the short one call the tall one Hashknife.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“Don’t yell. I tell you they’ve just—”
+
+“What was that name again?”
+
+“Sounded to me like Hashknife.”
+
+“The hell you say!”
+
+There was a period of silence, broken only by the soft scruffing of
+soles on the wooden sidewalk. Then the bartender said softly—
+
+“What about ’em?”
+
+“What you don’t know won’t hurt you. This is a hell of a mixup, if you
+ask me.”
+
+“You stayin’ all night?”
+
+“I shore ain’t—if you’ve got a fresh horse to let me have.”
+
+“There’s my brown mare back in the stable. There’s a couple broncs in
+there that belong to them two strangers, but my mare is in the rear
+stall.”
+
+“All right. I’ll swap back with you in a few days. S’long.”
+
+Hashknife heard the man go around the building, while the bartender went
+into the saloon. Hashknife slipped out and followed around the building.
+He hoped to get a good look at this party, but the man brought out the
+brown mare, switched his saddle from the back of another animal, stabled
+the one he had been riding, and left town, traveling west. In the dark
+Hashknife was unable even to get an idea of the man’s size.
+
+He went back around the building and entered the saloon, just as the
+bartender was ready to put out the light and close the place. He was a
+bit startled at sight of Hashknife, but the tall cowboy’s alibi for
+being down there seemed to satisfy him. He sold Hashknife a quantity of
+tobacco, closed the saloon and followed him up the stairs.
+
+“I live in the bridal suite,” he grinned, as he stopped at a door,
+holding a lighted match in his fingers. Then, apparently as an
+afterthought, “I plumb forgot to have you boys register for your room.
+It’s the law, you know.”
+
+“Put us down as the Smith brothers,” said Hashknife seriously.
+
+“Oh, all right—thanks.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hashknife told Sleepy what he had heard, and the next morning they took
+a look at the bay horse in the rear stall. It was wearing a Cross 84
+brand.
+
+“Kinda makes me figure that the bartender is a liar in the first
+degree,” grinned Hashknife. “I dunno what it’s all about, but there’s
+somethin’ danged crooked about it. I wish I knew who the stranger was.
+He shore knowed me by name.”
+
+“Nothin’ strange about that,” laughed Sleepy.
+
+Hashknife nodded gloomily, as he leaned against the stable door. He did
+not desire notoriety. In fact, he desired nothing more than to be unsung
+and uncursed. Just to be known as a cowboy, trying to get along. But,
+looking down their twisting back trail, which led up and down the West,
+from Alberta to Mexico, he realized the truth of Sleepy’s remark.
+
+Hashknife, christened Henry, son of an itinerant minister of the Gospel
+in northeastern Montana, started early in life as a cowboy, drifted from
+his home range and eventually worked his way down to the cattle outfit
+after which he received his nickname. Born with a keen mind, a love of
+adventure, and an overwhelming desire to see what was on the other side
+of a hill, he met Dave—Sleepy—Stevens, another drifting cowboy, and they
+rode away together one spring morning, following the trail of Fate.
+
+At times they would handle a case for the cattle associations, clear up
+the case and ride on, refusing further assignments. They did not care to
+be under orders from anyone. Again, they would work a few weeks on some
+cattle ranch, draw enough money to replenish their outfit, and ride on.
+Always the other side of the hills called to them.
+
+Both of them had known Jack Wilson for years, and when they met him in
+Clinton it was not difficult for him to talk them into going East with
+his shipment of cattle. They needed a change. But that deal was all off
+now, and Sleepy realized that fate had dumped them into trouble again.
+With the tenacity of a bulldog, Hashknife would dig up and cling to
+every shred of evidence, until he proved who shot Jack Wilson. Sleepy
+did not analyze anything, but he had a dogged faith in Hashknife’s
+ability, a ready gun and the nerve to use it.
+
+The bartender was still in bed when they saddled their horses and headed
+up the road which led to San Miguel. They had heard of the San Miguel
+Valley, but neither of them had ever seen it.
+
+There was not a town between Gates Ajar and San Miguel, and at times the
+road was little better than a trail. It was nearly three o’clock in the
+afternoon when they arrived at San Miguel. Hashknife inquired at the
+depot regarding the telegram to Kinnear & Company, and found a reply
+waiting for him.
+
+    VERY SORRY ABOUT WILSON STOP ADVISE FURTHER AS HIS FAMILY LIVES
+    HERE STOP WILL YOU HANDLE DEAL FOR US AND BUY ONE HUNDRED FIFTY
+    HEAD BEEF IN SAN MIGUEL VALLEY STOP AM WIRING SAN MIGUEL BANK TO
+    COVER PRICE STOP ADVISE AT ONCE STOP WOULD SURE BE GLAD TO SEE
+    YOU AGAIN
+
+                                                         —AL KINNEAR
+
+The depot agent directed them to the doctor’s house, where they had
+taken Wilson, but told them he feared Wilson was dead when he arrived.
+The doctor confirmed this, and Hashknife wired Kinnear again to wire the
+doctor a disposition of the body, and also accepted the order to
+purchase the one hundred and fifty head of beef animals in San Miguel
+Valley.
+
+Hashknife also wrote out what he knew about the shooting and gave it to
+the doctor to forward to the sheriff, as Gates Ajar was not in the same
+county as San Miguel. The old doctor seemed to be an active source of
+information, and he gave Hashknife and Sleepy a résumé of what had
+happened to the stage between San Miguel and Sunset City, two days
+previous.
+
+He had his information from Sanderson, the Sunset City sheriff, who had
+been in San Miguel, and who had searched every likely spot for that
+package of money between Sunset City and the point where the stage had
+been stopped.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy spent the night in San Miguel, and Hashknife made
+discreet inquiries regarding the Cross 84, but no one seemed to know
+anything about the brand.
+
+The next morning they headed for Sunset City. Hashknife remembered what
+the doctor had told them, and was able to find the spot where the holdup
+and double killing had taken place.
+
+“Not much mystery about this deal,” said Sleepy. “Holdup man kills the
+stage driver and is killed himself.”
+
+“And,” added Hashknife solemnly, “the holdup man, just before he died,
+swallered the ten thousand dollars worth of currency, and the coroner
+forgot to perform an autopsy.”
+
+“Yeah, I forgot about that,” said Sleepy. “But wasn’t the son of this
+here deceased bandit mixed up in it?”
+
+“Shore. He came all the way from Oregon to take the money and throw it
+over the grade.”
+
+“Aw, hell!” snorted Sleepy. “You never believe anythin’ you hear.”
+
+“And only half that I see, pardner. Mistakes are the easiest things in
+the world to make.”
+
+“Uh-huh. Well, I’m glad we’re only down here to buy cows.”
+
+“I’d almost forgot the cows.”
+
+“I’ll remind you of it every little while.”
+
+About a mile north of Sunset City, along the main road, was the old
+cemetery, surrounded by a broken-down fence, grown up with weeds, many
+of the wooden headstones sagging drunkenly. As Hashknife and Sleepy came
+in sight of the cemetery they noticed four men standing close together
+at a new grave, while a short distance away from them was a woman on
+horseback.
+
+“If that’s a funeral, it shore ain’t well attended,” said Hashknife, and
+by mutual consent they swung off the road and came up along the old
+fence.
+
+The four men were Blue Snow, Graveyard Jones, Smoky Woods and the
+Reverend Mr. Oscar Sundborg. The lady on the horse was Jerry Falconer.
+As they rode up, the minister closed his Bible and motioned for
+Graveyard and Smoky to fill the grave.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+He turned from the grave, replacing his hat, but Blue Snow spoke to him
+and he stopped. Blue took a bill from his pocket and handed it to the
+minister, who apparently started to refuse, thought better of it, and
+pocketed the money. He was a sallow blond, with a weak chin and a
+certain air of sanctimony. The two cowboys had seen Blue give him the
+money, and as he went past them, Sleepy said seriously—
+
+“What’s salvation worth around here, Parson?”
+
+The minister stopped and looked sharply at them, a trifle belligerently,
+perhaps, but turned away and walked slowly down to the road. The girl
+had heard Sleepy’s remark and was looking at the two cowboys when Blue
+Snow came up to her.
+
+“Jerry, I want to thank you for comin’ here,” he said. “It was mighty
+kind of you.”
+
+“He was always nice to me,” she said simply. “I don’t see why folks act
+as they do.”
+
+“I guess you can’t blame ’em,” he replied slowly. “I hope your dad won’t
+be mad about you comin’ out here.”
+
+“I don’t see what difference that could make to him.”
+
+“I shore hope it won’t, Jerry.”
+
+“Don’t worry about that part of it. I’ll be going now.”
+
+“Goodby, Jerry, and thanks a lot.”
+
+“You’re welcome.”
+
+She rode past the two cowboys at the break in the fence, and they
+watched her ride down to the main road, turning toward town.
+
+“Gosh!” exploded Sleepy softly. “Beautiful red hair.”
+
+Blue had gone back to the grave, where he talked with Graveyard and
+Smoky. Blue’s horse was tied at the far side of the cemetery, and as
+soon as the grave was filled he shook hands with the other two and went
+to his horse. Hashknife dismounted and walked over to the grave. Smoky
+leaned on his shovel, perspiring copiously, while old Graveyard tried to
+arrange a crude headboard. A deputy sheriff’s badge attracted
+Hashknife’s attention when he looked at Smoky.
+
+“You’re the first Arizona deputy I ever seen actin’ as a sexton,” he
+said.
+
+“Somebody had to do it,” replied Smoky. “You’d think the old man had
+cholera, instead of bullets, the way folks act. There ain’t a damn one
+of us so good we can’t shovel dirt in on top of a bandit. I like that
+girl’s nerve. Her old man and the old man we jist planted have been
+enemies for a long time. He’ll prob’ly give her hell for comin’ to the
+funeral.”
+
+Hashknife smiled at Smoky.
+
+“I dunno the details, pardner. You see, we just got here.”
+
+“There ain’t much details,” said Graveyard, wiping his hands on his
+overall-clad knees. “Jim Snow held up the stage, pulled a gun fight with
+the driver, and they both got killed. They buried the driver this
+mornin’ and this place was filled with folks. This afternoon we buries
+old Jim—and you saw the crowd. That was his son who jist rode away.”
+
+“Who was the lady?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Smoky grinned widely.
+
+“She’s Jerry Falconer. Her dad owns most of this country, and he shore
+hated hell out of poor old Jim Snow. Mebbe Jim hated him plenty, too.
+You see, that money was for the bank, and Falconer jist about owns the
+bank. He owns the Double Diamond outfit. Lots o’ folks think Jim Snow
+stuck up the stage to git some of Falconer’s money.”
+
+“I heard about that in San Miguel. Do you know anythin’ about a Cross 84
+outfit around here?”
+
+“Ain’t none,” replied Graveyard, spitting at a lizard. The deputy shook
+his head.
+
+“How much of an outfit does young Snow own?”
+
+“Remains to be seen.”
+
+“The reason I asked you was because I’m buyin’ cattle for Kinnear and
+Company of Kansas City and I need a hundred and fifty head of good
+beef.”
+
+“Where’s Wilson?” asked Graveyard slowly.
+
+“Somebody killed him over at Gates Ajar day before yesterday.”
+
+“The hell you say!” snorted Smoky. “Who killed him?”
+
+“Nobody seems to know. His body is at San Miguel now.”
+
+“Well, I’ll be terror-stricken!” exclaimed Graveyard. He shoved his
+hands deeply in his overall pockets and squinted at Hashknife.
+
+“And you’re takin’ his place, eh? Hundred and fifty head of beef.” He
+turned his head and looked closely at Smoky. “I’ll betcha Blue Snow can
+jist fit you out with them there beef critters.”
+
+Smoky grinned widely, started to say something, but changed his mind.
+
+“Did Wilson ask you to do this here buyin’ for him?” asked Graveyard.
+
+“He didn’t live long enough. I wired his boss, who happened to be a man
+I knew several years ago, and he wired me to do this buyin’ in place of
+Wilson. You boys knew Wilson pretty well, eh?”
+
+“Pretty well,” agreed Graveyard solemnly.
+
+“Anythin’ against him?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“No-o-o,” drawling.
+
+“No-o-o-o-o,” echoed Smoky, scratching his chin violently. “Graveyard,
+you better get hold of Blue and let these gents talk beef with him. My
+name’s Woods—Smoky Woods, deputy sheriff. This here gent is Graveyard
+Jones.”
+
+“Mine is Hashknife Hartley,” grinning, as they shook hands. “The gent on
+the horse is Sleepy Stevens. C’mon over, Sleepy, and meet Smoky Woods
+and Graveyard Jones.”
+
+In the meantime Jerry rode back to town. Ed Reed and Falconer were
+standing together in front of a store, and Reed tied Jerry’s horse. She
+knew her father was angry and that Reed was not at all pleased.
+
+“Kinda funny—you goin’ out to the graveyard,” said her father coldly.
+
+“It was anything but funny,” said Jerry.
+
+“Folks will probably have plenty to say about it.”
+
+“It wasn’t hardly the thing to do,” added Reed. “Not under the
+circumstances, Jerry.”
+
+“Circumstances have nothing to do with it,” replied Jerry coldly.
+
+“Buryin’ a murderer and a thief,” said Reed.
+
+Jerry flared quickly. Stripping off her glove, she took off a ring and
+handed it to Ed Reed.
+
+“That will end any right you might think you had to criticize my morals,
+Ed.”
+
+And with that parting shot, Jerry walked past them and entered the
+store. Reed glowered at the ring, his lips shut tightly, while William
+Falconer almost exploded.
+
+“Damn women! Her mother was thataway, Ed. You let me handle it, will
+you? I’ll make her take back that ring. My Gawd, everythin’ is ready for
+the weddin’—and this had to happen!”
+
+Reed smiled sourly.
+
+“Young Snow is behind this. I happen to know she saw him here yesterday,
+and they talked quite awhile.”
+
+“The hell she did! I’ll stop that, too. I’ll—”
+
+“She’s of age.”
+
+“She’s my daughter. Don’t you want her?”
+
+“I was goin’ to marry her, wasn’t I?”
+
+“Well—” angrily— “I wouldn’t let no son of a murderin’ thief beat me out
+of my girl, I’ll tell you that.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Falconer turned and walked into the store, leaving Reed alone, looking
+at the tiny gold circlet and small diamond in his big hand. He shut his
+fist tightly and walked across the street to the Sunset Saloon, where he
+drank several glasses of raw whisky. He was there when Hashknife,
+Sleepy, Graveyard and Smoky came in. Smoky nodded to Reed, but old
+Graveyard did not even look at him. Graveyard and Smoky were carrying
+their pick and shovel.
+
+“Got him planted, eh?” queried Reed sarcastically.
+
+“We buried him,” said Smoky slowly.
+
+Graveyard turned his head and shot a venomous glance at Reed.
+
+“Blue paid the preacher,” said Smoky, “so there wasn’t any charity mixed
+up in the deal.”
+
+Jeff Blondell came in, and Smoky introduced him to Hashknife and Sleepy.
+He accepted a drink, inquiring casually about the funeral. Hashknife
+looked Blondell over, taking note of the broken nose, cruel mouth and
+mean eyes, and filed him mentally as a bad actor. Blondell wore his gun
+low on his thigh, the bottom of the holster tied down to a rosette of
+his chaps.
+
+A little later Hashknife walked down to the office with Smoky and met
+Singer Sanderson, the tall sheriff. Hashknife told him about the
+shooting of Wilson, the cattle buyer. Sanderson knew Wilson. Smoky told
+Hashknife who Reed was, and that Reed was engaged to marry the girl who
+had been out at the cemetery.
+
+Hashknife asked about Blondell.
+
+“_Quien sabe?_” replied the sheriff. “Been here quite awhile, acted like
+he was broke when he came, but got money from somewhere. Don’t work,
+pays his bills and plays poker most of the time. As far as we know, he’s
+on the square, and he minds his own business.”
+
+A little later Hashknife and Sleepy stabled their horses and secured a
+room at the Sunset City hotel. Old Graveyard was still at the saloon,
+getting more intoxicated all the time. Finally he flourished his pick
+dangerously near the polished top of the bar and announced—
+
+“Gentlem’n, I’m goin’ and shell shome cows.”
+
+“Whose cows?” asked the bartender.
+
+“Bar S Bar cows, ’f it’s any of your business.”
+
+Ed Reed pricked up his ears.
+
+“Yesshir,” nodded Graveyard owlishly, “I’m goin’ shell cows to Kinnear,
+an’ ’f I ain’t, I’m a liar. Goin’ shell hunner’n fif’y head. Gimme
+’nother drink, and then I’m goin’ shellin’ cows.”
+
+“There ain’t even a buyer in the Valley,” said the bartender.
+
+“Zazzo? Huh! Hell of a lot you know. He was in here with me. Wilshon got
+killed in Gates Ajar, and thish is new buyer. Well, here’s m’ regards,
+an’ may you all die from a fishbone in your windpipes.”
+
+Graveyard swallowed his drink, took a tight grip on his pick and
+staggered out to his horse. Ed Reed scowled thoughtfully, went outside
+and saw Hashknife and Sleepy entering the hotel. He sauntered over, and
+met them outside a little later.
+
+“Are you the new buyer for Kinnear?” he asked Hashknife, who nodded.
+
+“My name’s Reed—foreman of the Double Diamond outfit.”
+
+“Yeah. Glad to meetcha, Reed. What’s on your mind?”
+
+“You need a hundred and fifty head of beef?”
+
+“Somethin’ like that.”
+
+“All right, we can fix you out.”
+
+“That’s fine—but I’ve kinda halfway made a deal.”
+
+“With Graveyard Jones?”
+
+“Well, it ain’t his beef, but—name’s Snow, I think.”
+
+Reed laughed harshly.
+
+“Never mind him. I doubt if Snow could sell you that many head right
+now, and even if he could— Lemme tell you somethin’. The Double Diamond
+has always furnished Kinnear with beef. In fact, we had an agreement
+with Wilson to buy nothin’ but Double Diamond in the Valley.”
+
+“And if he bought from anybody else?” suggested Hashknife.
+
+“We’d find another market—and we’re the biggest cattle raisers in this
+part of the State.”
+
+“In other words, you hogged the show,” said Hashknife coldly.
+
+“We delivered the goods.”
+
+“What other buyers come in here, Reed?”
+
+“None. It wasn’t worth their while.”
+
+“Nice little game of freeze-out, eh?”
+
+Reed shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Call it that, if you want to; but if you’re so dead set on buyin’ some
+Bar S Bar stock, I’d advise you to wire Kinnear and tell ’em the
+situation out here.”
+
+“They probably don’t know it,” agreed Hashknife.
+
+“What do you mean by that?”
+
+“Al Kinnear is a mighty square shooter.”
+
+“Square shooter or not, he wouldn’t cut off his own nose. Think it
+over.”
+
+Reed turned and walked back across the street. Hashknife grinned softly
+and looked at Sleepy, who was looking at Reed’s broad back.
+
+“Well, what do you think of that?” grunted Sleepy.
+
+“I think I’ll look over some of them Bar S Bar beeves.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Old Graveyard was not too drunk to remember what he was to do, and early
+the following morning Blue Snow came in to see Hashknife. Smoky Woods
+introduced them. Blue explained that he had no way of knowing much about
+the Bar S Bar cattle, but he did want to make a sale.
+
+“Things have been pretty rotten around here,” he said. “The Double
+Diamond have hogged everything, kept buyers away from us, until the
+Circle J and our outfit are just about broke.”
+
+“I heard somethin’ about that,” smiled Hashknife. “How about Jones’
+cattle? If you can’t furnish all the hundred and fifty, why can’t he run
+in some of his?”
+
+“He could,” said Blue eagerly. “He’s goin’ to help me round up mine, and
+if you can wait a couple of days—”
+
+“Shore—we’ll wait.”
+
+Hashknife was willing to wait, because he wanted to know more about
+things in San Miguel Valley. Smoky was a good source of information, and
+in one day Hashknife had a fairly complete history of the valley. Smoky
+showed Hashknife the two revolvers used at the holdup, still containing
+the empty cartridges. Jim Snow’s gun, a .45, contained three empty
+shells, while Chub’s was a .38 and contained two empty shells.
+
+Blue Snow had told of hearing the five shots fired. Old Chub had been
+hit once, and Jim Snow twice. Hashknife examined the guns closely, a
+queer expression in his gray eyes.
+
+“You never found that package of currency, eh?” he asked.
+
+“Nope. Me and Singer hunted every place along the grades, too. Pshaw, I
+reckon every puncher in the country has sneaked down there and looked.
+Old Falconer kinda wants to arrest Blue Snow, but he’s scared he’ll
+never get that money back if he does. If Blue hid it, he’ll never tell.
+Queer kid, that Blue Snow. He wanted us to give him the old man’s gun. I
+dunno—mebbe we ought to do it.”
+
+“You keep that gun,” said Hashknife quickly. “Keep ’em both.”
+
+“What for? The case is—”
+
+“Lock ’em up in the safe, Smoky.”
+
+“Huh?” Smoky eyed Hashknife quizzically. “In the safe? F’r gosh sake,
+what good are they now?”
+
+“You keep ’em where nobody can get at ’em.”
+
+“Well, I’ll tell Singer what you said, but—what do you know, Hashknife?”
+
+“This case ain’t closed, Smoky.”
+
+Smoky told the sheriff what Hashknife had said, and the sheriff took the
+two guns out and looked them over carefully.
+
+“Funny idea,” he commented. “Ain’t a thing about them two guns. What’s
+the tall feller got under his hat, anyway?”
+
+“He says the case ain’t closed, and for us to keep them guns hid.”
+
+“He’s a queer sort of a jigger—” thoughtfully. “Well, we’ll foller his
+hunch; lock ’em in the safe. I just saw Falconer and Reed ride in, and
+Falconer had blood in his eye. Mebbe he’s sore about Snow gettin’ a
+chance to sell some stock.”
+
+“I shore hope Snow sells ’em.”
+
+Falconer did have blood in his eye, and he went straight to the little
+law office of Henry Van Dorn, who handled the affairs of the Double
+Diamond. Henry was five feet six inches tall, and weighed two hundred
+and thirty pounds, stripped. He was about forty years of age, nearly
+bald, very florid and always short of breath.
+
+When Falconer came from the office he joined Reed at the store, and they
+talked together for awhile. Hashknife and Smoky came across the street
+from the Sunset Saloon, and Reed spoke to Hashknife.
+
+“Hartley is your name, ain’t it? I want you to meet Mr. Falconer.”
+
+Falconer merely nodded, not offering to shake hands, and came quickly to
+the point.
+
+“I understand you are thinking of buying some cattle from Snow.”
+
+Hashknife nodded shortly, wondering what Falconer might have to say.
+
+“Before I went too far with that deal, Hartley, I’d look at it from a
+legal point of view. Those cattle belong to the estate of Jim Snow, and
+until that estate is settled Blue Snow can’t touch a single head.”
+
+“I forgot about that,” smiled Hashknife. “However, I think Graveyard
+Jones will be able to fill my order with his brand.”
+
+Falconer laughed heartily.
+
+“Graveyard Jones! He hasn’t that many.”
+
+“Kinda stuck, ain’t I?” grinned Hashknife. “Well, how about your brand?”
+
+“Come out and talk it over at the ranch.”
+
+“All right—tomorrow.”
+
+“Suits me. Are you goin’ to buy for Kinnear all the time?”
+
+“I dunno.”
+
+“Well, you come out tomorrow and we’ll talk beef.”
+
+Hashknife realized that Falconer had the best of the argument, and that
+Blue Snow had no legal right to sell the Bar S Bar cattle. It would be a
+bitter dose for Blue Snow, but he would have to swallow it.
+
+That afternoon Hashknife and Sleepy rode out to Snow’s ranch, and found
+old Skipper Franklyn, the cook and housekeeper of the Bar S Bar. Skipper
+was seventy, skinny as a rail, with one single lock of hair on his
+scalp. He was a little man, hawk-faced, with huge gnarled hands, a
+pessimistic view of life and a wonderful flow of profanity.
+
+“Knowed you the minute I clapped eyes on you,” he told Hashknife. “Blue
+described you perfect. You’re the buyer, ain’tcha? Git down, both of
+you. Blue is out, runnin’ down some dogies—him and that ancient mummy of
+a Graveyard Jones. C’mon in and rest up.”
+
+They followed him into the little ranch-house and sat down on an old
+horsehair sofa, from which the hair was protruding in spots.
+
+“We’ve had a lotta damn’ grief around here,” offered Skipper. “Suppose
+you heard ’bout Jim Snow gittin’ killed. Yea-a-a-ah, Jim got leaded
+plumb t’ heaven. Lotta folks think he went the other way, but I knowed
+him better than they did.”
+
+Skipper wiped away a rheumy tear and picked up his old cob pipe.
+
+“You don’t think he robbed the stage?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Robbed hell! No! Jim Snow was headin’ for San Miguel. Not that he ain’t
+justified, if he did stick it up. That there damn’ Falconer outfit have
+jist about ruint everythin’ for anybody else around here. They broke
+Jim, and they broke Graveyard Jones. We’re hangin’ by the skin of our
+teeth. ’Course I’m sorry old Chub got killed. The Lord giveth and the
+Lord taketh away. If you don’t believe it, look at m’ teeth. I started
+out in life with a perfectly good set, now look at the damn’ things.
+Only three in m’ head, and they never touch. For the last ten year I’ve
+been jist punchin’ holes in m’ grub.”
+
+“You look healthy,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+“Healthy? Say, I can flop half the smart punchers in this country, even
+if I was a old bull skinner when they was still wearin’ three-cornered
+pants.”
+
+“You’ve been around here a long time, eh?”
+
+“Long? My Gawd! They built them San Miguel hills since I come here. This
+wasn’t no valley in them days. Fact of the matter is, the lowest part of
+this valley was a hill in them days. Yessir, I’ve been here a long
+time.”
+
+“You’ve seen a lot of changes,” sighed Sleepy.
+
+“Changes? Well, I’ve seen all there is.”
+
+“You knowed the cliff dwellers, eh?” said Sleepy innocently.
+
+“Know ’em? Huh! I showed ’em where to build their mud shacks.”
+
+Sleepy subsided, while Skipper filled his pipe.
+
+“I’m sorry I didn’t find Snow here,” said Hashknife. “I just discovered
+that it wouldn’t be legal for Blue Snow to sell me any Bar S Bar.”
+
+“Mind repeatin’ that ag’in?”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hashknife explained the legal difficulty, and Skipper exploded with
+wrath. “That’s Falconer! Darn his sneakin’ skin!”
+
+“I’m sorry, but he’s right. I shore wanted to buy Snow’s cattle.”
+
+“And now you can’t do it. Gawd, that’ll be hard on the kid.”
+
+“Did Jim Snow leave any will?”
+
+“’Course not. He never knowed he was goin’ to git killed.”
+
+They sat around for an hour or more, listening to Skipper’s opinion of
+things in general, and Blue Snow rode in alone. His horse was played
+out, and Blue was minus his smile, as he shook hands with Hashknife and
+Sleepy.
+
+“Graveyard went home,” he told Skipper.
+
+Skipper nodded and indicated Hashknife.
+
+“He brought some damn’ bad news.”
+
+“Falconer dug up a legal snubbin’ rope on you,” said Hashknife. “Until
+this estate is settled, you can’t even sell a horn off one of your
+cows.”
+
+Blue scowled for a moment, but nodded slowly.
+
+“That’s right. Anybody ought to know that much. But it don’t matter,
+Hartley. Me and Graveyard have shore covered a lot of territory, and we
+dug out less than a hundred Bar S Bar. And none of ’em fat enough for
+beef. There must be a lot more in the hills, but they’ve probably
+drifted on to the north range.”
+
+“And Graveyard ain’t got enough for a shipment?”
+
+“Not as many as we have. I reckon we’re stuck; but I want to tell you
+I’m shore obliged to you for offerin’ to take our beef. It was a lot
+more than this man Wilson ever done, as far as I can learn.”
+
+“Falconer owned him,” growled Skipper.
+
+“Did Falconer ever try to buy you out?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Skipper shook his head violently.
+
+“Not him! He’d freeze us out first. Jim Snow has been hangin’ on by the
+skin of his teeth. What can you do? Kinnear gits the cream of this
+country. We could herd out to San Miguel and give the things away, I
+suppose, or kill ’em here, feed ’em to the coyotes and sell the hides.
+Either way, we’d lose our shirt on the deal.”
+
+Hashknife understood the situation. It was not the first time that a big
+outfit had declared a boycott on small stock raisers.
+
+“Mind tellin’ me what you know about that holdup, Snow?” asked
+Hashknife.
+
+“There’s nothin’ to tell,” said Blue gloomily.
+
+“You heard the shots fired, didn’t you?”
+
+Blue nodded and explained how he happened to be on the grades, and his
+reasons for not wanting to be seen.
+
+“There was one shot fired,” he said. “Pretty quick after that there were
+two shots fired fairly close together. I suppose it was more than a
+minute before the other two sounded.”
+
+“You found the driver on the seat, dead?”
+
+“Yeah, sprawled on the seat.”
+
+“After you got up on the stage, could you see the other body—the body of
+your father?”
+
+Blue shut his lips tightly for a moment.
+
+“No, I didn’t see it until the horses shied a little. He—he was lying at
+the mouth of that little gully, and his horse was tied to a bush just
+beyond him. You couldn’t see him from where I first got on the stage.”
+
+“Did you have a gun with you at the time?”
+
+Blue reached in his pocket and handed Hashknife a pawn ticket on a San
+Francisco loan office.
+
+“I needed the money worse than I did a shootin’ iron,” he said.
+
+“What the hell are you—a detective?” asked Skipper suddenly.
+
+Hashknife grinned slowly.
+
+“I’m buyin’ cows for Kinnear.”
+
+“You shore ask a lot of questions,” growled Skipper.
+
+They rode back to Sunset City and stabled their horses. Sleepy did not
+ask Hashknife any questions, but he knew his tall partner was doing much
+heavy thinking. They found Smoky Woods at the sheriff’s office and sat
+down with him to discuss the cattle situation. Smoky was mad over the
+deal, as he wanted, so he said, to have the trust broken.
+
+A commotion had started over in front of the Ace-High Saloon, on the
+east side of the street, and the three men went out quickly. Several men
+were in front of the saloon, and among them were Ed Reed and Jeff
+Blondell. Blondell was mopping his face with a handkerchief and Reed was
+removing his coat.
+
+“Oh, oh!” grunted Smoky. “Somethin’ has gone wrong.”
+
+Blondell threw the handkerchief aside and stripped off his coat. Both
+men had removed their belts and guns. More men were hurrying up the
+street toward the saloon. There was no preliminary action. Reed, the
+larger of the two, lunged straight at Blondell, swinging both fists. No
+boxer was Reed—just a slugger. For a moment it seemed that he had
+Blondell pinned against the wall of the saloon, but he got away,
+snapping Reed’s head back with a short left to the jaw. Perhaps the blow
+had more effect than it seemed, because Reed turned awkwardly, dropping
+his guard, and Blondell lashed out with a straight right punch, which
+seemed to catch Reed square on the point of the chin. Reed’s shoulders
+thumped against the wall, and he slithered down to the sidewalk, knocked
+cold.
+
+Blondell put on his coat, picked up his handkerchief and came past the
+sheriff’s office, heading toward the Sunset Saloon. His nose was
+bleeding a little.
+
+Gradually Reed regained consciousness, but even after he got back on his
+feet he staggered weakly. One of the men put on his belt, while another
+held his coat and, after a short conversation, Reed went to his horse
+and rode back past the sheriff’s office, heading toward the Double
+Diamond.
+
+One of the men came over to the office, grinning widely. He did not know
+what the fight was about. Reed and Blondell had been drinking together,
+he said. Neither of them was drunk. Suddenly Reed smashed Blondell on
+the nose, knocking him down. The men got them outside, where they
+decided to fight it out with their hands.
+
+“I reckon Blondell got revenge,” grinned Smoky.
+
+“That was a sweet punch,” laughed the man.
+
+“Have they been enemies long?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Hell, they’ve been good friends all th’ time. This shore was a quick
+turn.”
+
+Ed Reed went straight to the Double Diamond, feeling a bit sick. It was
+the first time he had ever been knocked out, and the dose tasted bitter.
+And to be knocked out by a smaller man! The Double Diamond ranch-house
+was a rambling old building, nestled away in a grove of ancient live
+oaks—a picturesque old place, with flagged walks and thick walls.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The bunkhouse, built within the patio, was of adobe, but the rest of the
+buildings were of frame construction, weathered to a neutral tone. The
+Double Diamond hired six cowboys, exclusive of Reed the foreman. An old
+Chinese cook had been at the ranch since Falconer had acquired it. He
+and Marie, an old Yaqui squaw, ran the house and kitchen. There was no
+servant problem at the Double Diamond.
+
+Reed stabled his horse, went to the well beside the stable and washed
+his face. His jaw was swollen a little, but he had no marks, for which
+he was thankful. Marks might require explanation.
+
+Jerry was out in the patio, playing with a pair of black kittens, when
+her father came out to her. He had been in a vile humor ever since she
+had given Ed Reed back his ring. He watched her for awhile, his hands
+shoved deep into his pockets, lower lip protruding thoughtfully. Then—
+
+“When are you and Ed goin’ to get married?”
+
+Jerry placed one of the kittens on a bench and turned to her father.
+
+“Am I supposed to answer that question, Dad?”
+
+“You bet.”
+
+“Never.”
+
+“Oh, don’t be foolish. Just because he didn’t like to see you—”
+
+“Let’s not discuss Ed Reed.”
+
+“Well, we’re goin’ to, just the same. Everybody knows by this time that
+you turned him down, and he’s sick about it. He never did anythin’
+wrong.”
+
+Jerry stroked the kitten thoughtfully.
+
+“The matter is settled as far as I am concerned, Dad.”
+
+“Yea-a-ah? I suppose the return of Blue Snow settled your mind, eh?”
+
+“Blue Snow had nothing to do with it.”
+
+“And after you went and bought a lot of weddin’ clothes and—”
+
+“I can make them over.”
+
+“I’m not kickin’ about the money you spent.”
+
+Jerry laughed shortly.
+
+“Well, I’m glad that is settled.”
+
+“It is not settled. You’re not givin’ Ed a square deal. Folks are
+talkin’. They know you was—that you got stuck on Blue Snow years ago.
+They know I kicked him off the ranch. Now, he’s back, and you bust up
+with Ed. You know what they’re sayin’, don’tcha? They say you’re still
+stuck on Blue Snow.”
+
+“You can’t shoot folks for thinking,” said Jerry slowly.
+
+“You ought to—for thinkin’ that way. Son of a murderin’ thief.”
+
+Jerry shut her lips tightly and her hair seemed to flame up from the
+roots.
+
+“That is what Ed Reed called him,” she said. “You are parroting Ed Reed.
+Why don’t Ed go and say that to Blue Snow? I’ll tell you this much—I’m
+not in love with Blue Snow—but I detest Ed Reed.”
+
+Jerry picked up the kitten and went into the house, her father looking
+after her, a scowl on his brow. Slowly he turned his head and saw Reed
+in the patio gate. Reed had heard what Jerry said. He came in and the
+two men looked at each other.
+
+“I reckon I talked too much,” said Reed glumly, “and as far as that
+goes, you talked too much just now. Let her alone. You can’t drive
+Jerry.”
+
+“Damn it, you can’t even lead her,” growled Falconer. “What happened to
+your jaw, Ed?”
+
+Reed felt of his swollen jaw. No use lying about it.
+
+“I smashed Blondell in the nose today. He mentioned the fact that I
+wasn’t goin’ to get married. He wanted to fight it out, so we went out
+on the sidewalk. I guess I slipped—” lamely. “Anyway, he—aw—it didn’t
+amount to much. It’s a little sore.”
+
+“Kinda swelled. Did you see anythin’ of the buyer?”
+
+“They rode in just before the fight, and I think they went out to tell
+Snow that the deal was off.”
+
+“Did they see the fight?”
+
+“I dunno.”
+
+Reed sighed deeply and felt of his chin.
+
+“This deal has got me all unhooked,” he said miserably. “I know what
+they are sayin’. I don’t want to start any trouble around here, and
+today I got to thinkin’ I’d go away for awhile—until it’s forgotten.”
+
+Falconer nodded grimly.
+
+“I know how you feel, Ed. It might be a good thing.”
+
+“I think it is the only thing I can do to keep out of trouble. If you
+don’t mind givin’ me a layoff, I’ll pull out tomorrow mornin’. Mebbe
+I’ll be back in a couple weeks—mebbe a month. It all depends.”
+
+“Sure, that’s all right. Where’ll you go?”
+
+“I dunno. Mebbe I’ll pull west, cross the Divide and—”
+
+“Why not go down to Phoenix or over on the Coast to some big town?”
+
+“No, I don’t want big towns. I dunno where I’ll go. But I’ll let you
+know where I stop.”
+
+“All right, Ed; I’ll give you a check tonight.”
+
+“Thanks.”
+
+Falconer watched the hunched shoulders of his foreman go out through the
+patio. He felt genuinely sorry for Reed. A vacation would do him good.
+Falconer decided that he would personally help select the hundred and
+fifty head of beef for Kinnear & Company. He felt better, until he
+thought of Blue Snow.
+
+“If she wants to love him, she better love him at a distance,” he told
+himself. “I kicked him off this ranch once, and I’ll do it again if he
+ever sticks his nose inside the place.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jeff Blondell had nothing to say about the fight. His nose, already
+misshapen, showed little signs of having been hit by Ed Reed. That
+evening Hashknife had a chance to see the six cowboys from the Double
+Diamond. Smoky pointed them out—Harry Bond, Dick Lasher, Molly Malone,
+Terry McQueen, Bun Parker and Matt Sullivan.
+
+McQueen was a wild-eyed sort of puncher, and Hashknife felt that he had
+seen McQueen before. Malone was small, scrawny, hatchet-faced, with mean
+eyes and bad teeth. The rest of the crew were ordinary looking fellows,
+out for a few drinks and a whirl at the games. Smoky introduced McQueen
+and Malone to Hashknife, but they did not linger long with him. Malone
+asked Smoky about the fight between Reed and Blondell. He said he had
+only heard Reed’s version and wanted the straight dope on it.
+
+“Where’s Reed tonight?” asked Smoky.
+
+“Too sore to come in,” grinned Malone. “I think he’s goin’ away tomorrow
+for a trip.”
+
+“Business?”
+
+“Naw,” grinned Malone. “You know his girl throwed him down, didn’t you?
+Well, he’s kinda sour on the world, sore at everybody in it, and he’s
+goin’ to go away for awhile.”
+
+“I heard she ditched him,” said Smoky. “Wonder what was the trouble.”
+
+“Another man, I reckon—owner of the Bar S Bar.”
+
+“Whatcha know about that?” grunted Smoky, as Malone walked away.
+
+“He seems like a good kid,” replied Hashknife.
+
+“Yeah, he’s all right; but Falconer never would let Jerry marry him.”
+
+“How old is this lady?”
+
+“Well, I s’pose about twenty.”
+
+“And she’s got red hair.”
+
+“Uh-huh.”
+
+“Want to make a little bet with me, Smoky?”
+
+Smoky shook his head.
+
+“I never thought about her age, and I done forgot about that red hair.
+I’ll jist keep my money, pardner.”
+
+“I thought you was goin’ to try and find out who shot Wilson,” said
+Sleepy that night as they were going to bed. “You ain’t done a thing.”
+
+“I’m not worryin’ myself about the man who killed Wilson,” said
+Hashknife. “Do you remember on jist what part of that horse’s anatomy we
+saw the Cross 84 brand?”
+
+“You mean over at Gates Ajar? Right shoulder.”
+
+“Good! I thought it was, but I wasn’t sure.”
+
+Hashknife still had Wilson’s telegram, which was to notify Kinnear &
+Company that he was shipping one hundred Cross 84. Where was he going to
+ship those cattle, wondered Hashknife? The telegram stated that he would
+try and ship again next week from San Miguel. The mysterious man who had
+ridden in late at Gates Ajar was riding a Cross 84 horse, and Hashknife
+wondered if this was merely a coincidence.
+
+“What’s the Cross 84 got to do with this deal?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“Because,” replied Hashknife, “there ain’t a Cross 84 in this State. I
+looked at the brand register at the sheriff’s office. Wilson was going
+to ship Cross 84 beef, according to this telegram, and next week he
+expected to ship from San Miguel. We were goin’ to meet him in Gates
+Ajar and help nurse a train of cows to Kansas City. Either Wilson was
+crooked, or he had a touch of sun, ’cause nobody knows of that Cross 84
+outfit.”
+
+They went out to the Double Diamond the next morning and had a talk with
+Falconer. The big cattleman was inclined to be domineering, possibly
+because he thought he had an advantage, and wanted more than the market
+price. Hashknife knew prices and he knew cattle, which Falconer soon
+found out.
+
+“Kinnear asked me to buy this beef,” said Hashknife. “There wasn’t any
+prices mentioned, but they wouldn’t expect me to offer you a bonus. As
+far as I’m personally concerned, it don’t make any difference whether I
+buy your cows or not, Falconer.”
+
+“I don’t have to sell to Kinnear,” retorted Falconer warmly.
+
+“That leaves us deadlocked. I’ll wire Kinnear in a few days and tell him
+what happened. If he wants to pay you more than he does anybody else—”
+
+“Well, I wouldn’t quarrel over a few dollars, Hartley. I’ve always sold
+to Kinnear; so I reckon we can get together. How soon do you want ’em?”
+
+They settled the details of delivery at San Miguel, and went back to
+Sunset City, where Hashknife wrote a wire to Kinnear and gave it to the
+clerk at the stage station to send from San Miguel. Later in the day
+some of the Double Diamond cowboys were in town, and one of them told
+Smoky that Ed Reed had started on a vacation.
+
+Blue Snow and old Graveyard came in that afternoon. Both men looked
+tired, as they dismounted at the sheriff’s office. Singer Sanderson was
+at the office, and Blue sat down with him. Blue had his father’s papers,
+showing the roundup reports for two years, which he spread out on the
+sheriff’s desk. The fall count showed five hundred and eighty-seven head
+of Bar S Bar cattle, sixty head of horses. The spring count only showed
+three hundred and ten head of cattle and forty horses.
+
+“What’s the answer?” queried the sheriff.
+
+“Shrinkage,” said Blue bitterly. “Right now I’ll bet there ain’t over a
+hundred head of Bar S Bar cows in these hills, and—well, I won’t swear
+to the horses, but there ain’t no forty head left.”
+
+“Looks kinda funny,” nodded the sheriff.
+
+“Dad knew it, Sanderson. He wrote me that he was gettin’ a bad deal.”
+
+“Who from?”
+
+Blue shrugged his shoulders and looked up at Hashknife, who was in the
+doorway.
+
+“Do you think your cows have been stolen?” asked the sheriff.
+
+“They’re gone. Cattle usually stay around their own range, unless
+somebody takes ’em away. Hello, Hartley—” nodding to Hashknife.
+
+“Well, what’s to be done about it?” queried the sheriff.
+
+“I dunno. I thought I’d let you know what it looks like. I’ve got to see
+a lawyer about the ranch. You knew the Double Diamond stopped me from
+sellin’ beef to Hartley, didn’t you?”
+
+“I heard they did. What lawyer are you goin’ to get?”
+
+“Van Dorn, I reckon.”
+
+“He’s attorney for Falconer.”
+
+“Yeah, I know he is; but he’s a square shooter.”
+
+“That’s true.”
+
+“Well, he better shoot square with me,” said Blue coldly, as he picked
+up his papers. “I didn’t know how things were goin’ down here with Dad,
+or I’d have been here sooner. The Bar S Bar is goin’ to belong to me
+now, and I’ll stop losin’ stock, if I have to feed a few rustlers to the
+buzzards.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Blue left the office and went to find Van Dorn. The sheriff was going to
+San Miguel on a matter of business, and Hashknife wrote out a telegram
+to Al Kinnear and gave it to the sheriff to send.
+
+    HAVE YOU BOUGHT MANY CROSS EIGHTY-FOUR BRAND AND WHERE WERE THEY
+    SHIPPED FROM STOP ANSWER AT ONCE AS IT IS IMPORTANT.
+
+                                                            —HARTLEY
+
+The sheriff brought the reply back with him the following morning, and
+it read:
+
+    PLACE NAMED GATES AJAR STOP HAVE BOUGHT TWO HUNDRED SEVENTY-FIVE
+    HEAD.
+
+It was signed by Al Kinnear. Hashknife smiled grimly and pocketed the
+telegram. This was evidence that the Cross 84, whatever it consisted of,
+was near enough Gates Ajar to use that station as a shipping point.
+
+“This is how it looks to me,” he told Sleepy. “Wilson was as crooked as
+the rest of the bunch. He bought stolen cattle cheap, probably payin’
+cash, instead of a check, and kept the difference. The man who rode that
+Cross 84 bronc was the man who was to make the sale—but he was late.
+Wilson got into a poker game with a couple punchers, prob’ly two of the
+gang, while he was waitin’ for the main jasper to show up; and they
+framed to kill him for the cash in his pocket.”
+
+“And the bartender was in on the deal, eh?”
+
+“To the extent of trade, prob’ly—mebbe hush money. He knew who done the
+killin’, but he wouldn’t tell. He couldn’t afford to tell.”
+
+“Don’tcha think Wilson was one awful fool to want to hire me and you?”
+
+“Mebbe Wilson wasn’t such a fool, at that. Lookin’ at it from a
+cold-blooded angle, mebbe me and you wasn’t supposed to ever leave Gates
+Ajar.”
+
+“Oh!” grunted Sleepy softly. “I never thought of that.”
+
+“We’ve stopped quite a lot of rustlin’, Sleepy.”
+
+Blue Snow came in that afternoon; he was at the lawyer’s office when
+Jerry Falconer came in, driving a spanking gray team and a newly painted
+buckboard. Hashknife saw Blue Snow come from the office of Van Dorn and
+meet Jerry in front of the stage station, where they stood and talked
+for possibly fifteen minutes.
+
+A little later Hashknife met Jerry in a store.
+
+“Dad said if I saw you to invite you and your friend out to supper,” she
+said. “You see,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “Dad wasn’t so
+sure about your credentials; so he sent a wire to Kinnear the other
+day.”
+
+“Yeah?” curiously.
+
+“I guess he is satisfied now. Anyway, he wants to talk with you.”
+
+“All right, Miss Falconer,” grinned Hashknife. “We’ll be out.”
+
+“Come out tonight. Dad likes to talk.”
+
+“Well, we can do that—and thanks.”
+
+“Supper about six o’clock, but come before that, won’t you?”
+
+“Sure. We’re always ahead of the supper bell, ma’am.”
+
+He and Sleepy rode out about five o’clock, and Falconer welcomed them
+warmly. He did not evade mentioning the wire to Kinnear, but showed them
+the reply.
+
+    HASHKNIFE HARTLEY BUYER FOR US STOP IF YOU’VE GOT ANY
+    HORSETHIEVES RUSTLERS OR GUNMEN IN YOUR COUNTRY THEY WILL
+    STAMPEDE STOP BEST REGARDS TO HIM AND SLEEPY STOP YOU CAN BANK
+    ON HIS INTEGRITY
+
+                                                         —AL KINNEAR
+
+Hashknife grinned widely.
+
+“That sounds like Al. We worked together, before he got into the meat
+business.”
+
+“That telegram interested me,” said Falconer, as they sat down in the
+big living room of the ranch-house.
+
+“In what way?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“About the horsethieves and rustlers. The sheriff was out here today,
+and we had quite a talk. Now, I don’t want you to misunderstand me,
+Hartley. There has always been bad blood between me and Jim Snow. He’s
+dead now, and his son will probably take his place. I’ve no use for the
+boy. Jim Snow accused me of stealin’ his horses. That wasn’t true. It
+hit me hard, bein’ called a thief; so I blocked him from sellin’ his
+beef. I wanted to break him, and I think I just about put him on the
+rocks. You’ve heard about it, I reckon.”
+
+“Yeah, I heard quite a lot about it.”
+
+“All right. Blue Snow has been makin’ a rough count, since you tried to
+buy his cattle. He showed the sheriff a roundup tally for last fall and
+this spring. And—” Falconer shut his jaw tightly for a moment—“that
+count shows a big shortage. It revives that old gossip, I tell you! Blue
+Snow might just as well accuse me of stealin’ his damn’ cows!”
+
+Hashknife eyed him closely.
+
+“What has this to do with me, Falconer?”
+
+“Would a man in my position steal cows?”
+
+“Well,” Hashknife half closed his eyes thoughtfully, “you might as well
+steal ’em as to keep him from realizin’ on ’em. Accordin’ to my views, a
+boycott is the same as a steal.”
+
+“You’re pretty damn’ frank with your views, Hartley.”
+
+“You asked my opinion.”
+
+“But I never stole his cows.”
+
+“I never said you did. What have you got against Blue Snow?”
+
+“Against him!” exploded Falconer. “He’s like the old man. I—I had a lot
+of trouble with him,” he finished weakly.
+
+Hashknife grinned widely.
+
+“He thinks a lot of your daughter.”
+
+“Yeah? What do you know about that part of it?”
+
+“What I’ve heard.”
+
+Falconer leaned back in his chair.
+
+“Well, I dunno,” wearily. “Jerry was to have married Ed Reed, my
+foreman, this week. Everythin’ was fixed. Why, Jerry even went to
+Phoenix and bought her weddin’ clothes. She was on her way back—on that
+stage, when it was held up. Now she won’t marry Ed. It busted him all
+up, and he’s gone away for awhile. Couldn’t stand it. You see, everybody
+knew about it, and he thought they was laughin’ at him. He’s a serious
+sort of a feller.”
+
+“Do you think Blue Snow had anythin’ to do with that?”
+
+“I don’t know. Jerry refuses to give any reason. I sent Blue Snow a note
+today, warnin’ him to keep away from here.”
+
+“Do you think that was the right thing to do, Falconer?”
+
+“That was _my_ business.”
+
+“Oh, shore. But put yourself in his place; what would you do?”
+
+Falconer scowled at Hashknife for several moments.
+
+“If you thought a lot of the girl, and you knew she thought a lot of
+you—” suggested Hashknife.
+
+“We won’t discuss that part of it.”
+
+“It’s worth discussin’. If I was you, I’d ask Snow to come up here and
+have a talk about it. Let your daughter in on the discussion.”
+
+“Not a damn’ bit of it! His father murdered a man, robbed the stage.
+Why, that currency belonged to me, I tell you! Either Blue or his old
+man got that money. And you ask me to let—— You’re crazy, Hartley.”
+
+“Suppose his father hadn’t killed that stage driver, hadn’t stolen that
+money—”
+
+“No supposin’ about it—he did.”
+
+“Outside of that, the boy is all right, eh? You merely disliked him
+because he loved your daughter.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“That closes the incident. Let’s talk about somethin’ else.”
+
+“I’m willin’. Every time I talk about it, I get sore.”
+
+The conversation switched to shop talk of the cow country. The cowboys
+finished their supper, and went out. Hashknife heard Malone tell
+Falconer that he and Terry McQueen were going to town, and wanted to
+know if he wanted them to get anything at the store.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The old Chinese was a good cook, and the visiting cowboys thoroughly
+enjoyed the supper. Jerry seemed in good spirits, laughing and talking
+with Hashknife. Falconer eyed her closely. For the last few days she had
+been rather quiet, and this was a decided change.
+
+After supper she went with them to the living room and played a few
+pieces on the organ. Falconer wanted to talk; wanted to tell how he had
+made a success of his business, and Jerry left the three men together to
+smoke and talk. Hashknife was sitting near a window opening on the
+patio, and he saw Jerry pass the window.
+
+From the bunkhouse came the tinkling of a mandolin, the deeper strumming
+of a guitar. Falconer talked on and on, occasionally stopping to fill
+his pipe. Neither Hashknife nor Sleepy were interested, but were obliged
+to listen patiently.
+
+It was nearly nine o’clock when Falconer finished.
+
+“I reckon we’ll be driftin’ back,” said Hashknife, getting to his feet.
+
+Falconer protested, got their promise to come back again, and called to
+Jerry.
+
+“She’d want to tell you good night,” he said, as they walked out to the
+patio.
+
+Jerry stepped up on the porch as they came out.
+
+“I thought you was up in your room,” said her father.
+
+“It was too warm, Dad.”
+
+“It is warm tonight. Hartley, I’ll call one of the boys to bring your
+horses.”
+
+“Never mind that, Mr. Falconer,” replied Hashknife.
+
+He turned to thank Jerry for their evening at the ranch, when something
+seared across his cheek, thudded into the wall behind them, and from
+somewhere close at hand came the report of a gun. None of them saw it
+flash.
+
+Hashknife flung Jerry away from the light of the doorway, sprang out at
+right angles from the steps, drawing his gun. The shot had come from
+somewhere in the patio. The cowboys were running from the bunkhouse,
+questioning.
+
+Hashknife was hunched low, heading for the angle of the patio, where a
+big oak tree threw a heavy shadow. A man was trying to get over the
+wall. Hashknife heard the scrape of his clothes, the thump of a boot.
+
+“Stop where you are,” ordered Hashknife, and the noise ceased.
+
+“Got him?” asked a cowboy hoarsely.
+
+“Got somebody,” replied Hashknife, as the man stepped away from the
+shadow, his hands half raised.
+
+It was Blue Snow. They led him over to the house and took him inside.
+Jerry’s face was white, her eyes wide with fright. Falconer’s eyes
+narrowed and his voice was vibrant with anger, as he faced the young
+cowboy.
+
+“Murderin’ folks must kinda run in your family, Snow,” he said.
+
+“I never fired that shot,” replied Blue evenly.
+
+“Where’s your gun?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Didn’t bring one.”
+
+“Probably threw it away,” said a cowboy. “We’ll take a lantern and see
+if we can find it.”
+
+They ran to get the lantern. Hashknife’s right cheek was bleeding a
+little and he mopped away the blood with a handkerchief.
+
+“I guess we’ll take you to town, Snow,” said Falconer. “I suppose that
+bullet was meant for me.”
+
+“I never fired that shot,” repeated Blue. “I never had a gun with me.”
+
+“Right now is the time to settle this proposition,” said Hashknife. He
+turned to Jerry. “This is like gettin’ a tooth pulled; it’ll hurt for a
+minute. Today you met Blue Snow in town and you asked him to come out to
+see you tonight. Mebbe he asked to come. Anyway, that doesn’t matter.
+You knew your father would be busy talkin’ to us; so that fixed the deal
+up fine. Blue crawled over the patio wall near that tree, and you met
+him out there in the dark. That’s your business—not mine, but I want to
+get it all straight. How about it, Snow?”
+
+Blue looked at Jerry, his lips shut tightly.
+
+“That is all true,” said Jerry softly.
+
+“Damn’ fine business!” snorted Falconer.
+
+“Now,” continued Hashknife, speaking to Blue, “after Jerry left you—she
+could see me through that window, and she knew her father would be busy
+until I got up—what happened?”
+
+“I watched her go to the house and meet you. Then I started to climb
+over the wall, and that shot was fired from just outside the gate. It
+wasn’t over thirty feet from me. I saw a little of the flash. Well, it
+kinda stunned me. I didn’t know what was wrong. But I decided that my
+best bet was to get out of there; so I—well, you stopped me, Hartley.”
+
+“That’s a pretty good story to make up in a short time,” said Falconer.
+
+“And I’ll bet big odds that it’s true,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Why would I shoot at Hartley?” asked Blue.
+
+“Maybe you didn’t,” said Falconer.
+
+“Why would I shoot at you?”
+
+“I warned you to keep away from here, Snow.”
+
+“Yeah, I got your note. I suppose it was from you. You see, you forgot
+to sign it—or was you afraid to sign it?”
+
+“I reckon you knew who it was from.” Falconer turned to Jerry. “You’ve
+made a nice mess of things, haven’t you?”
+
+“You can drop that,” said Blue coldly. “I insisted on comin’.”
+
+“She didn’t have to let you.”
+
+The cowboys came back in, carrying a lantern.
+
+“We can’t find any gun,” said Matt Sullivan. “There’s none in the patio,
+and he couldn’t throw it very far over the wall.”
+
+“That part of it’s all settled,” said Hashknife. “Snow never had any gun
+and he never fired the shot.”
+
+“If he didn’t, who did?” demanded Falconer. “You’re too danged quick to
+exonerate him, Hartley.”
+
+“Well, I was the only one who got marked.” Hashknife laughed.
+
+Terry McQueen and Molly Malone came back from town, and the cowboys met
+them outside the house, telling them what had happened. McQueen gave
+Falconer the mail.
+
+“You boys didn’t meet anybody between here and town, didja?” asked
+Hashknife.
+
+“Not a soul,” replied McQueen. “We rode slow all the way back, but we
+never seen nor heard anybody.”
+
+“Where’s your horse, Snow?” asked Hashknife, and Blue grinned.
+
+“I’ve got him staked out in the brush.”
+
+“You may as well ride back with us.”
+
+Falconer swore under his breath, but did not protest. He turned away,
+when Blue shook hands with Jerry.
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Hartley,” she said, as she shook hands with him. “You
+saved the day.”
+
+“The day ain’t all saved—yet; but we’ve made a start.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Blue had little to say as they rode back toward town, but when they
+parted he shook hands with both of them.
+
+“I was a fool to go out there,” he said. “But I shore was lucky to have
+you there to square the deal for me, and I appreciate what you did. If
+you can ever use me for anythin’, yell my name. I’ll have a gun with me
+next time.”
+
+“I may need you, Snow. _Hasta luego_.”
+
+“_Buenas noches, caballeros._”
+
+“Who do you reckon fired that shot?” asked Sleepy, as they went on.
+
+“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
+
+“He’s a good shot.”
+
+“How do you figure that out?”
+
+“Takin’ a chance on pickin’ you out of that group at that distance, and
+in a bad light.”
+
+“It shore was too close for comfort. Well, they’ve showed their hand,
+whoever they are, Sleepy. Too danged much publicity. We’ll either have
+to change our names or get out where nobody ever heard of us. Scared,
+cowboy?”
+
+“Tremblin’ all over.”
+
+They went to the Sunset Saloon, and Hashknife tried to find out what
+time Malone and McQueen left town, but no one seemed to have paid any
+attention to the hour they left. The sheriff listened to what happened
+at the Double Diamond, but did not seem to have any theory to offer,
+except that Falconer had lots of enemies, and that the shot might have
+been intended for him.
+
+Blondell heard Sleepy telling Smoky about the shooting, and came over to
+Hashknife, questioning him about it. Hashknife told him what he knew of
+the affair. Blondell had no comments to make, and Hashknife wondered
+what Blondell’s interest might be. He did not trust Blondell, but he
+found that Blondell had been around the saloon all evening, which was
+enough alibi to clear him of any hand in the matter.
+
+Blondell was somewhat of a mystery to every one, but Sunset City had
+become used to him. To Hashknife he was a sinister figure, getting a
+living from somewhere—but where? What kept him in Sunset City? According
+to all Hashknife could learn about him, he seldom left town. It seemed
+that Blondell drank plenty of liquor, but kept a silent tongue in his
+head.
+
+“If Blondell ain’t wanted some place, I’m a Chinaman’s uncle,” Hashknife
+decided. “And, if I’m wise, I’ll keep an eye on Mr. Blondell.”
+
+Hashknife found that Blondell was in Sunset City at the time of the
+stage robbery; so that excused him. In fact, as far as Hashknife could
+discover, Blondell’s only fault lay in the fact that he came there
+broke, got money in some mysterious way, and continued to get it. He
+minded his own business. His fight with Ed Reed was the first time he
+had been in any trouble in Sunset City. He never mentioned what it was
+about, but the general opinion was that Blondell had joked Reed over
+losing his girl.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy rode out to the Bar S Bar ranch the next morning,
+and found Graveyard Jones there with Blue and Skipper.
+
+“Well, they haven’t killed you off yet,” smiled Blue.
+
+“Give ’em time,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+There were a couple of Bar S Bar horses in the corral, and Hashknife
+took a look at the brand. The brand itself consisted of a short bar, a
+large S and another short bar. Hashknife called Blue over to him and
+they stopped beside a light sorrel, on which the brand showed plainly.
+
+“What didja want?” asked Blue curiously.
+
+“Watch this.”
+
+Hashknife drew his forefinger through the first bar, continued the S to
+an 8, and drew two lines on the last bar. Blue scowled thoughtfully.
+
+“Do that again, will you, Hartley?”
+
+Hashknife did it over again.
+
+“Makes it a Cross 84, don’t it?” queried Blue. “Why—”
+
+“Somebody,” said Hashknife softly, “has been sellin’ Cross 84 beef to
+Kinnear, and shippin’ ’em from Gates Ajar.”
+
+“Yea-a-h?” Blue hooked his thumbs over his belt, as he studied the lean
+face of Hashknife. “Are you sure of that?”
+
+Hashknife showed him the wire from Kinnear.
+
+“That was an answer to my wire, askin’ him about buyin’ Cross 84.”
+
+“So that’s where the Bar S Bar has been robbed, eh? They took ’em over
+the range, altered the brands and shipped ’em as Cross 84. Well, I’m
+goin’ to Gates Ajar, Hartley.”
+
+“Wait a little while, pardner. I—I don’t think the time is ripe. There’s
+a lot of Cross 84 beef over there right now, but they can’t ship ’em.
+It’ll take quite a while to dig up another buyer. Let things drift for
+awhile, and we’ll go with you.”
+
+“Does the sheriff know about this?”
+
+“Nope.”
+
+Old Graveyard was all excited. He wanted to go right over to Gates Ajar
+and hang somebody. Skipper insisted that he would go along and tie the
+knot.
+
+“We’ll go when Hartley gives the word,” stated Blue. “I’m backin’ his
+play from now on. Has this deal got anythin’ to do with somebody takin’
+a shot at you last night, Hartley?”
+
+“I’m afraid it does.”
+
+“Do you think somebody in San Miguel Valley rustled our cattle?”
+
+“Somebody in San Miguel Valley took a shot at me. I don’t reckon any of
+them Gates Ajar rustlers would ride plumb here to shoot me. How easy is
+it to get across that range?”
+
+“Easy as shootin’ fish,” replied Graveyard. “All open country to
+Antelope Pass, and a good trail through to the other side. Why, you
+could almost drive a wagon over there, without no road. The railroad
+aimed to come through and take in this valley, but they finally went
+straight north and swung around to San Miguel.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Blue decided to go back to town with them, and they went to talk with
+the sheriff. Hashknife took a pencil and outlined the Bar S Bar, showing
+the sheriff how simple it would be to alter it to a Cross 84.
+
+“But we’ve got to keep this quiet,” said Hashknife. “If there’s any
+slip, we’ll never get ’em for the job. They could dig out, leave the
+cattle and we’d be holdin’ the sack.”
+
+“That’s true,” replied the sheriff. “But what’s our best move?”
+
+“Do you know the sheriff of the county over there?”
+
+“I do. His name is Dick Redman, and I’m not surprised that they were
+able to ship stolen cattle in his county.”
+
+Hashknife laughed softly.
+
+“I wondered what kind of a person he was. You see, he should have served
+me and Sleepy with a subpena to appear at the inquest over the body of
+Wilson. Mebbe he passed it up cold.”
+
+“Knowin’ who killed him,” nodded Sanderson, “he prob’ly would.”
+
+Old Graveyard came in later and he went to supper with Hashknife, Sleepy
+and Blue. The old man was wearing his gun. Blondell came in to supper,
+nodded to them and sat down at the back of the room. Hashknife noticed
+that Blondell watched the front windows fairly close, and wondered if he
+was looking for somebody.
+
+Before they finished eating Terry McQueen, Molly Malone and Matt
+Sullivan came in to eat. From their conversation it developed that that
+was payday at the Double Diamond, and they were out to celebrate. As
+Hashknife and his party went outside, they met Harry Bond, Dick Lasher
+and Bun Parker, the other three punchers from the Double Diamond.
+
+“Ain’t nobody killed you yet, I see,” remarked Harry Bond laughingly.
+
+“Not yet,” replied Hashknife. “How’s everythin’, boys?”
+
+“Finer’n frawg hair,” said Bun Parker. “Falconer’s comin’ in tonight.”
+
+“He allus comes in to pack us home,” laughed Lasher, as they entered the
+restaurant.
+
+Smoky had eaten earlier in the evening and he met them at the Sunset
+Saloon. Sleepy and Blue started a pool game, and the others sat down to
+watch the play.
+
+Blondell came back from the restaurant, watched the play for awhile, and
+sat down against the wall. At times he eyed Hashknife speculatively, his
+sombrero low over his sullen eyes; again he would watch the front of the
+building.
+
+“Nervous,” decided Hashknife.
+
+The boys came back from the restaurant, and soon a sizable poker game
+was in progress, but Blondell made no move to get into it. A little
+later Falconer came in. He seldom drank, but tonight he asked Hashknife
+to join him at the bar. He nodded coldly to Blue Snow.
+
+“You asked somebody about the Cross 84 brand, didn’t you, Hartley?” he
+asked.
+
+Hashknife nodded, wondering what this would lead to.
+
+“Today I ran across a horse with that brand, out near my place.”
+
+“Well?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“It was the first time I ever saw that brand, and I knew you inquired
+about it.”
+
+“Oh, yeah. When Wilson was shot he had a telegram written out. It hadn’t
+been sent, I reckon. He mentioned the Cross 84, and I was curious to
+know where that brand was located. It didn’t matter.”
+
+Falconer laughed.
+
+“I thought I was bringin’ you some news. The boys made another search
+this mornin’, but they couldn’t find any gun. It begins to look as
+though Blue Snow had nothin’ to do with that shot in the dark.”
+
+“I knew he didn’t.”
+
+Falconer sighed deeply over his drink and shook his head.
+
+“I don’t _sabe_ women,” he confessed. “I had a run-in with Jerry after
+you left.”
+
+“She’s got plenty red hair,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Her mother had it, too. I wish Jerry would marry Ed Reed. He’s been
+like a son to me. I could trust him with everything.”
+
+“She will marry Blue Snow,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Over my dead body!”
+
+“Yeah? Well, it ain’t no killin’ matter.”
+
+“I can’t see what there is about that damn’ kid. Reed was worth a
+million like him.”
+
+“That might all be true—and when you married Jerry’s mother, there was
+probably a lot of men worth a million of you.”
+
+Falconer shoved his empty glass across the bar, and studied himself in
+the mirror of the back bar for several moments.
+
+“I never looked at it that way, Hartley. Mebbe there was. But damn it,
+all I want is for Jerry to get a good man, and I don’t like Snow’s
+reputation. He’s a drifter. His father murdered a man I liked and stole
+a lot of money.”
+
+“That’s a queer way to look at it, Falconer. There’s nothin’ in
+heredity—not that kind. If your father had been a horsethief, would you
+give yourself up to the sheriff? You let the girl pick her man. She’s
+got to live with him.”
+
+“He’s got nothin’.”
+
+“What did you have before you got married?”
+
+“Things are different now,” _evasively_.
+
+“I’ll bet you couldn’t pay the preacher.”
+
+Falconer’s eyes widened a little, as he stared at Hashknife.
+
+“Who told you that?”
+
+“A good guess, wasn’t it?”
+
+Falconer laughed shortly.
+
+“I was afraid for a minute that you was a mind-reader. I was thinkin’
+the same thing.”
+
+They both smiled, and Hashknife ordered the drinks.
+
+“I like you, Hartley,” said Falconer slowly. “I don’t believe we’d hitch
+very long, because you speak right out; but—mebbe I need it. I want you
+to come out tomorrow and look at the beef I’ve got for you.”
+
+“All right.”
+
+“It’ll take all one long day to drive to San Miguel.”
+
+“Kinnear didn’t say anythin’ about bein’ in a hurry; it’s all right.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Blondell got up from his chair, stopped and looked at the poker game for
+a few moments, and sauntered past them, going to the door. Hashknife was
+standing with his back to the bar, leaning back on his elbows. He saw
+Blondell stop in the doorway, looking at the lights across the street.
+Then he stepped down the few inches to the sidewalk—stopped short.
+
+From the right-hand side of the doorway came the report of a revolver
+shot. Blondell did not move for several moments. He seemed to hunch his
+shoulders a little, took one slow backward step, then fell half into the
+saloon.
+
+Hashknife was the first man to reach the doorway. He stepped over
+Blondell and ran to the corner. The alley was dark. Men were picking
+Blondell up, carrying him back into the saloon. Men were running from
+the restaurant, from the stores. A cowboy went running from the saloon,
+heading for the doctor.
+
+They stretched Blondell out on the floor. Hashknife quickly cut away his
+coat and shirt. The bullet had struck him on the right side just below
+the armpit, and apparently had ranged straight through.
+
+“Bad?” queried Falconer nervously.
+
+“I think he was killed instantly,” replied Hashknife. “Probably went on
+through his heart. The doctor can easily tell.”
+
+The old doctor’s examination was brief. He shook his head, closed his
+case and dusted off the knees of his trousers.
+
+“The man is dead,” he said crisply. “He never knew what hit him.”
+
+Hashknife sighed and looked down at the battered features of their
+mystery man, wondering if he would ever know what the mystery was.
+Someone got a blanket, and four of the cowboys carried the body into a
+back room, where they placed it on a table.
+
+The cowboys took a drink and stood around thoughtfully. It had ruined
+their payday. The sheriff and Smoky came just before the body was taken
+out.
+
+“What can I do?” Smoky asked helplessly. “No use runnin’ around in the
+dark.”
+
+“Not a bit,” replied Falconer. “You wouldn’t know which way to go.”
+
+“Damn’ queer thing,” muttered Terry McQueen. “Who would kill Blondell?”
+
+“Shoot a man in the back,” growled Malone. “Gawd, he never had a
+chance!”
+
+“Don’t anybody know anythin’ about Blondell?” asked Hashknife. “He must
+have some relations somewhere—somebody who would like to know.”
+
+“He never told anybody,” said the bartender. “I’ve known him ever since
+he came here, but he never talked. Drunk or sober, he kept still. Allus
+wore a gun. Never smiled much.”
+
+“Did he ever go away for any length of time?”
+
+“Kept a horse in the livery stable, but he didn’t ride much.”
+
+“What brand was on that horse?”
+
+McQueen and Malone looked quickly at Hashknife.
+
+“I dunno the brand,” said the bartender.
+
+“It was a Double Diamond,” said McQueen. “Reed sold it to him.”
+
+“I remember that,” said Falconer. “It belonged to Reed. He told me he
+had sold it to Blondell. He also sold Blondell a saddle.”
+
+McQueen nodded, and the boys returned to the poker table, trying to
+force their interest back to cards.
+
+Falconer went across the street to the biggest store, and Hashknife
+wandered up the street a way, where he sat down on the edge of the
+sidewalk. He wanted to think, to try to puzzle out why anyone would try
+to kill him, and why someone had killed Blondell. Who was Blondell and
+what had he done, he wondered? Did Blondell know someone was looking for
+him? He had acted nervous.
+
+Why did Malone and McQueen look at him so quickly when he asked what
+brand Blondell’s horse wore? All the Double Diamond cowboys were in the
+saloon; so none of them could have fired the shot. It would be difficult
+to connect Blondell with rustling operations over around Gates Ajar.
+
+Every one agreed that Blondell had had no trouble with anybody, with the
+exception of his fight with Reed. Reed was gone from the Valley. Anyway,
+their fight was nearly even. Both men had been knocked down. In fact,
+Reed probably hurt Blondell worse. It was not a matter to commit murder
+over; so Hashknife discarded any thought of that incident.
+
+As he sat there in the dark he saw two men go diagonally across the
+unlighted street above him. They reached the sidewalk and went on to the
+front of Van Dorn’s little law office. Hashknife heard them unlock the
+door and go in, closing the door behind them. The shade was nearly down,
+but he saw the sudden glow of light, as they lighted a lamp.
+
+There had been nothing furtive about their movements; merely a couple of
+men going into a law office. But something urged Hashknife to go and see
+what it was all about.
+
+“That’s a funny hunch,” he told himself, as he got to his feet. “I must
+be gettin’ jumpy.”
+
+He pulled his hat tighter—there was a little wind—and went slowly down
+the sidewalk. For several moments he stood listening, but could hear no
+sound from within the office. As he stepped in closer, the lamp was
+extinguished, and a moment later a man came out so suddenly that he was
+almost against Hashknife before the cowboy could move.
+
+There was a startled curse, and a revolver was fired so close to
+Hashknife’s face that the powder burned him. Instinctively he ducked low
+and flung himself forward, clawing at the man with both hands. He
+collided with him and they crashed back against the building; but before
+Hashknife could get his balance, the man swung at his head with the gun;
+overswung a little, and his hand and gun butt came down squarely on
+Hashknife’s head.
+
+The blow was sufficient to knock the puncher to his knees, and in a daze
+he heard the man running. Someone was yelling over near the saloon,
+probably unable to tell where the shot had been fired. Hashknife sat
+there long enough to get back his scattered senses, swore at himself for
+getting knocked down, and finally got back to his feet. He balanced
+himself against the door frame and lighted a match, before opening the
+door.
+
+On the sidewalk were several papers and a letter in a legal size
+envelope, and Hashknife picked them up. Stepping into the office, he
+lighted the lamp.
+
+Someone had seen him light the match, and several men came running over
+from the saloon. Hashknife unconsciously shoved the papers into his
+pocket and looked down at Van Dorn, the fat attorney, who had been
+struck over the head, and was just beginning to recover. The men crowded
+in. Van Dorn’s small safe in the corner of the room was wide open, and
+several papers were scattered about the floor.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sheriff came striding in, and Hashknife turned to grin at him.
+
+“What’s goin’ on here?” demanded the sheriff. “Who hit Van Dorn?”
+
+Hashknife rubbed his sore head and tried to remember just what had
+happened. Van Dorn gaped vacantly at the crowd, a trickle of blood
+running down his nose. He rubbed it off with a pudgy forefinger and
+looked at it.
+
+“Mebbe the fat feller knows,” suggested Hashknife.
+
+“Somebody socked you?” asked Sleepy anxiously.
+
+“Sat me down real quick,” grinned Hashknife. “Powder burned me a little,
+too, when his gun went off in my face.”
+
+“What happened to you, Van Dorn?” asked Falconer nervously.
+
+Two of the cowboys helped Van Dorn to a chair, and one of them mopped
+his head with a handkerchief.
+
+“He—he hit me on the head,” said Van Dorn foolishly.
+
+“Who hit you on the head?” asked the sheriff.
+
+“A man.”
+
+“Who hit you, Hartley?”
+
+“Same party,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+Van Dorn looked at the open safe, his brows knitted thoughtfully.
+
+“That is funny,” he muttered.
+
+“Remember what happened?” asked Falconer.
+
+“Why, yes, I remember now.”
+
+He rubbed his head for several moments.
+
+“Someone knocked on the door of my house. I went to the door, and there
+was a masked man. He threatened me with his gun, warned me not to talk,
+and made me go with him. I—I didn’t know what to do. He brought me down
+here and told me to open my safe. I tried to explain that there wasn’t
+any money in the safe, but he made me open it. And then—I guess he hit
+me.”
+
+“What do you know, Hartley?” queried the sheriff.
+
+“Well, I saw ’em go into the office,” replied Hashknife. “I dunno why I
+came over here. It was just a hunch. I was tryin’ to hear what was bein’
+said in there, when the light went out and a man stepped out so quickly
+he almost bumped into me. He fired his gun in my face, and when I
+grabbed him, he socked me over the head.”
+
+“What was in your safe, Van Dorn?” asked Falconer.
+
+“Only private papers,” painfully. “Not a cent of money.”
+
+“It looks as though he had taken all of ’em, except these,” picking up a
+few and placing them on the desk.
+
+Van Dorn was not attentive. His head was his chief concern, and he did
+not seem interested in any investigation.
+
+“You better see a doctor,” advised Falconer. “Want to go to his office,
+or have him come up to your place?”
+
+“I think I’ll go home; I’m sick.”
+
+“How’s your head, Hashknife?” asked the sheriff.
+
+“Oh, I didn’t get hit so hard,” grinned the tall cowboy.
+
+Most of the crowd went back to the Sunset Saloon, where they crowded
+around the bar and asked one another foolish questions. A murder and a
+robbery gave them food for conversation. But Hashknife was not
+interested in their arguments. His hunch was working again, and that
+hunch told him to keep out of the light.
+
+He went past the hotel entrance and stopped at the corner. From there he
+could hear the voices over in the Sunset Saloon. Several men were in the
+hotel office, talking things over. Hashknife knew there was a rear
+entrance to the upper floor of the hotel; so he went cautiously around
+to the rear, halting at the corner.
+
+Someone was back there. He could hear him crossing the yard. It was too
+dark to distinguish objects very well, but he was sure he saw a shadowy
+figure going up the outside stairs. Of course, it might be someone
+connected with the hotel.
+
+Moving cautiously, he reached the bottom of the stairs and climbed up to
+the open door. Peering down the dark hallway he could see a faint glow
+of light from the front stairway, and could hear the dull buzz of
+conversation from the office.
+
+Slowly he went down the hall to his door, halting against the wall. He
+knew the door was partly open, because he could feel the draught. It was
+evident that the window was also open. It had been shut when he left,
+and the door had been locked. But the door would be a simple matter for
+anyone with a pass key or a piece of bent wire. Still, the fact remained
+that the door was partly open and also the window.
+
+“Queer,” said Hashknife to himself. “If somebody wanted to bushwhack me
+in my room—why leave the door and window open?”
+
+These thoughts flashed through his mind, as he flattened against the
+wall near the door, and the answer came in the smashing report of a
+revolver shot.
+
+_Wham! Wham! Wham!_ Three more shots, the flashes lighting the hall. A
+space of two or three seconds, followed by another shot—another. Six
+shots in the space of ten seconds.
+
+Another shot, a choking grunt, and a man stumbled out of the room,
+backing erratically in the dark. Hashknife dived into him, like a
+halfback making a flying tackle, and they went crashing down along the
+wall. Quickly Hashknife caught his arms, but the man made no effort to
+free himself.
+
+Men were running up the stairs, and one came crowding from the rear,
+carrying a lamp. Hashknife called for them to hurry. Sleepy, the sheriff
+and Blue Snow were there. They had been looking for Hashknife. He let go
+of his captive and got to his feet.
+
+The man was of medium height, swarthy, black haired. He blinked at the
+light, his lips shut tightly. More men came down the hall, and among
+them was Falconer. They were all trying to question Hashknife, who knew
+little more than they did. He went into his room, which was acrid with
+burned powder, found a match and lighted the lamp.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lying against the wall, his head almost against the window sill, was Ed
+Reed. He was still alive, but hit hard. Hashknife picked up his gun, as
+Falconer shoved forward, his jaw sagging.
+
+“Ed!” he almost shouted. “Ed, what happened? My God, are you hurt bad?”
+
+“Bring the other feller in here,” ordered Hashknife, and they carried
+him in, placing him near Reed. The two wounded men stared at each other,
+blinking in the light.
+
+“What’s it all about, Hartley?” asked Falconer. “Can’t you talk, man?”
+
+Hashknife laughed harshly.
+
+“They got their wires crossed, I reckon. Both of ’em layin’ for me, and
+they got each other.”
+
+No one made any comment. Hashknife swung out the cylinder of Reed’s gun
+and removed an empty shell. Glancing at it quickly, he turned to the
+sheriff.
+
+“Go and get the gun Jim Snow used.”
+
+“I’ll get it,” said Smoky quickly. “You stay here, Singer.”
+
+“You’re pretty damn’ smart, Hartley,” said Reed painfully.
+
+“Not very. Why did you kill Jeff Blondell and rob Van Dorn’s safe?”
+
+“You don’t know, eh?”
+
+“Not yet.”
+
+Reed laughed hoarsely.
+
+“You’ll never know from me.”
+
+“You stole Bar S Bar cattle and altered the brand to Cross 84.”
+
+“Did we? Prove it, damn you!”
+
+Hashknife smiled queerly and turned to the other man.
+
+“You’re the man who killed Wilson, eh?”
+
+The man said nothing. Perhaps he was too sick to deny anything.
+
+“Didn’t Wilson play the game accordin’ to your rules?”
+
+“Tell him nothin’,” groaned Reed. “He don’t know a damn’ thing.”
+
+“Let’s see if I don’t. One of you was delegated to kill me tonight. It
+wasn’t settled jist where the killin’ was to be done; so this friend of
+yours decided to pull it off here in my room, but didn’t tell you, Reed.
+Evidently he wanted to keep under cover. You killed Blondell, and you
+recognized me when we tangled in front of Van Dorn’s office. Mebbe you
+thought I recognized you. Anyway, you made a guess that your friend had
+missed out on his end of the deal; so you came huntin’ me.”
+
+At that moment Smoky came in, bringing Jim Snow’s six-shooter. Hashknife
+opened the gun and examined the empty cartridges, comparing them with
+the one from Reed’s gun.
+
+“That cinches you, Reed,” he said. “Your gun is loaded with the same
+brand of cartridges that you used to kill Chub Needham and Jim Snow. For
+fear that somebody might hear those shots and wonder who fired all of
+’em, you put two empty shells in Snow’s gun, makin’ three, with the one
+he shot at you.
+
+“Blue Snow thought he heard five shots. I figure there was six, and that
+two were fired so close together that it sounded like one. Chub never
+fired a shot, but you shot his gun in the air twice. Your first shot
+killed Chub instantly. A moment later Jim Snow came in sight, headin’
+for San Miguel. You swapped shots together, and you hit him. Then you
+shot again real quick, and he went down.
+
+“But you made a mistake when you put them other shells in Snow’s gun.
+The firin’ pin on his gun hits dead center, while the pin on your gun
+hits low on the cap. You stuffed that package of bonds inside Snow’s
+shirt and kept the money for yourself.”
+
+“That’s what Blondell said,” mumbled the other man. “He said Reed done
+that job and never split with—”
+
+“Shut your damn’ mouth,” groaned Reed. “You yaller dog!”
+
+“What’s the good of it? We’re cinched. Get a doctor, will you?”
+
+“Who tried to kill me the other night at the Double Diamond?” asked
+Hashknife.
+
+“Reed,” replied the other man. “Rotten shot. I told him—”
+
+“Wait a minute. Who stole the Bar S Bar cattle?”
+
+The man laughed shakily. He was getting weak from loss of blood.
+
+“Hundred head at the old Ox-Bow ranch near Gates Ajar. Me and Reed
+and—Blondell.... Find the rest if you can.”
+
+“What about Wilson?”
+
+“He got ’em for half what they was worth.”
+
+“And you didn’t sell the last time, eh? You killed him and took all his
+cash.”
+
+“Have it your own way.”
+
+“You dirty quitter!” grated Reed, but the other man did not hear him—he
+had fainted.
+
+Falconer’s face was white, his lips set in a grim line. He would have
+staked his life on Reed’s honesty.
+
+“Somebody better get the doctor,” said Hashknife. “I don’t think he’ll
+be of much use to either of ’em, but we better get him. Now, Reed, tell
+us why you cracked that safe?”
+
+“I’ll see you in hell, first, you dirty snooper!”
+
+Hashknife had shoved his hands deeply into his pockets, and now his
+right hand came out, holding the few crumpled papers he had picked up in
+front of Van Dorn’s office. He looked at them curiously. One was a large
+envelope, apparently containing a single sheet of paper, and on the
+outside was written in ink, JEFF BLONDELL—PRIVATE.
+
+Some of the men moved in closer, wondering what was coming next. Reed
+saw the envelope and his face twisted curiously as Hashknife tore it
+open, taking out the single sheet, folded once. Swiftly he read it. Reed
+tried to move, groaned hollowly and sank back.
+
+“Will you quit now?” asked Hashknife, but Reed refused to answer.
+
+Hashknife turned to the crowd.
+
+“Listen to this letter, folks:
+
+    “To be opened and read only in case I disappear or am killed in
+    a mysterious way. This is my agreement with Van Dorn, who knows
+    nothing about the contents of this letter.
+
+    “My name is Henry Blondell Jeffries. Two years ago I was
+    released from the Montana State Penitentiary, where I served a
+    full term of five years for train robbery. While in the
+    penitentiary I met a convict named Reed Haskell, who was serving
+    twenty years for robbery and manslaughter.
+
+    “Reed Haskell is Ed Reed, foreman of the Double Diamond outfit.
+    He and another convict named Tony Blackburn slugged a guard and
+    escaped. They both know of this letter, which I use as a
+    safeguard. Either one of them would kill me like a snake, if
+    they wasn’t afraid this letter would be read.
+
+    “Reed Haskell, or Ed Reed, as he is known here, is paying well
+    for what I know, and if you doubt my word, they can easily
+    identify him at the pen.—HENRY BLONDELL JEFFRIES, OR JEFF
+    BLONDELL.”
+
+“And there you are,” finished Hashknife.
+
+The crowd was silent. Reed was staring at the floor, eyes nearly shut.
+
+“I suppose your friend is Tony Blackburn, eh?” queried Hashknife.
+
+Reed nodded shortly, as the doctor came in, carrying his valise.
+
+“One thing more,” said Hashknife. “The night Wilson was killed, wasn’t
+it Blondell who came over there, ridin’ a Cross 84 horse?”
+
+Reed nodded again.
+
+“He wanted all the money, I suppose?”
+
+“The dirty rat,” whispered Reed. “He had me cinched.”
+
+The crowd moved out to give the doctor more room. Falconer took Blue
+Snow by the arm and they moved down to the hotel office with Hashknife.
+
+“I’ll make good on them stolen cattle, Blue,” he said. “I reckon your
+father was right. I’m sorry as hell—and that’s all I can say.”
+
+“That’s enough,” said Blue slowly. “I’d like to ride out and tell Jerry
+what happened.”
+
+“Fine. She’ll understand. You see, she’s got a lot more sense than her
+dad.”
+
+Blue turned to Hashknife and they shook hands silently. Falconer watched
+Blue go striding out through the door, his chin in the air for the first
+time since he came back to Sunset City.
+
+“He’ll do well,” said Falconer softly. “Blue knows cows.”
+
+“Knows girls, too,” said Hashknife seriously. “It’s a danged lucky thing
+he came back to this country—lucky for both of you.”
+
+Falconer nodded slowly.
+
+“Yea-a-ah, a mighty lucky thing for me and mine, Hartley. But the
+luckiest thing in the world that ever happened for all of us was when a
+long legged puncher came down over the Rattlesnake Cañon grades, lookin’
+for a shipment of cows.”
+
+“And tried to bust the trust.”
+
+“It’s busted, Hartley.”
+
+Smoky came in from the street, still excited.
+
+“Terry McQueen and Molly Malone pulled out south, just after all the
+shootin’ took place,” he panted. “The bartender saw ’em go.”
+
+“I wouldn’t chase ’em,” said Hashknife slowly. “They’ll be dodgin’ all
+their life, anyway.”
+
+Falconer put a hand on Hashknife’s shoulder.
+
+“Hartley, I need a foreman, and I need two more men. You’re not a
+regular buyer. Hang your hats at the Double Diamond—you and Sleepy. One
+of these days I’ll want to step out, and I want a good man to run the
+business.”
+
+Hashknife squinted thoughtfully over his cigaret.
+
+“Well, I’ll think it over, Falconer. Will you see that Kinnear gets a
+good break on them beeves? You know what I mean.”
+
+“I shore will. But—”
+
+“Thank you kindly; and I’ll let you know about the other.”
+
+Some of the men were coming down the stairs, talking, arguing. Hashknife
+stepped outside, where Sleepy was standing beside one of the porch
+posts, holding the reins of their two horses. Without a word they
+mounted and rode down the street, passing out of Sunset City in the
+darkness.
+
+“I dang’ near accepted a job,” said Hashknife.
+
+“No!”
+
+“Yeah.”
+
+“I seen Falconer talkin’ with you. This deal kinda knocks his horns off,
+don’t it?”
+
+“Complete.”
+
+“Which way, cowboy?”
+
+“Lemme see. North is San Miguel, east is Gates Ajar. What’s south?”
+
+“A lot of tall hills.”
+
+“Good—we’ll go south.”
+
+And they went down through the darkness of San Miguel Valley, chap knee
+rubbing chap knee, while the distant stars seemed to tumble down over
+the tops of the southern hills, which beckoned them on to see what was
+on the other side. What had just happened was all in a day’s
+work—tomorrow was merely another day.
+
+
+[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in Adventure Magazine,
+November 1, 1929. It is believed to be in the public domain in the
+United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78926 ***