And then Kendall Marsh came to Painted Valley; came in the night and
went straight out to the Triangle X. He still wore a few strips of
adhesive plaster where the bullet had torn his scalp, but otherwise he
was in good shape. Marsh had no idea of who had fired that shot. He was
positive that Blaze did not do it.
And he appreciated Blaze’s motive in making his getaway from the house,
rather than to stay and be found by the police. Marsh was correct in his
surmise that Blaze did not stop to investigate the potency of that
bullet, took a chance that it was fatal, and had faded from sight. The
sheriff had not answered Marsh’s query regarding the whereabouts of
Blaze Nolan, nor had Blaze told him he was in Painted Valley; so Marsh
came to see for himself.
“Well, he’s here,” said Butch Van Deen, as they sat in the kitchen of
the Triangle X that night, while Chihuahua, the Chinese cook, prepared a
meal for Marsh.
“He’s stayin’ with that half-breed at the Circle M. I ain’t seen much of
him. The boys heard a hint that the cattlemen had a meetin’ to-night at
the JK ranch, but it was too late for any of us to sneak out and see
what it was all about.
“That gang is all suspicious of us, Marsh. Everybody in this valley
kinda look sideways at us.”
“Was Blaze Nolan at that meeting, Butch?”
“I dunno who was there. I don’t believe he was though. He ain’t so well
liked around here. They all know you bought that bank, and that their
mortgages are hogtied.”
“I’m buying the War Dance Saloon, Butch.”
“Yeah? That’s fine. And while yo’re here, I wish you’d step on yore kid.
He won’t take orders from anybody, and if somethin’ ain’t done, you’ll
have a first-class funeral in yore family. I’ve herded him as close as I
could. He started trouble with a lean, homely mug of a puncher down at
the War Dance, and got throwed out on his ear. I tried to interfere and
got knocked cold.”
“That’s a pretty honest statement, ain’t it, Butch?”
“I know when I’m whipped, Marsh; but that kid don’t. I can take care of
myself, and when I get whipped, I’ll admit it. I don’t say he could ever
do it again, but I won’t bet he couldn’t. Anyway, I’m not squawkin’ for
myself.”
“I’ll speak to Alden in the morning, Butch.”
“Speak, hell! Take a neck-yoke.”
Marsh smiled grimly. “I’m not in the habit of using a neck-yoke, Butch.
The boy is just a little wild, that’s all.”
“Yeah, and he drinks too much, talks too much, and he’s too previous
with a gun. He thinks he’s a little tin god. Don’t take my word for it,
Marsh; ask the rest of the gang. I’ve got as forked a bunch as ever
bunked together, and they’ll tell you that yore kid is a bad man and a
damned fool, all wrapped in one package.”
“He will outgrow it, Butch.”
“Jist like a cow outgrows her horns. Hey, Chihuahua, you slant-eyed
jughead! Food. _Nutrimiento pronto; sabe?_”
“Can do,” grinned the Chinaman.
“You look as though you’d been in a wreck,” observed Butch to Marsh.
“Somebody took a shot at me,” growled Marsh, and then he told Butch what
happened that night. Butch listened closely to the narrative.
“And you don’t know who shot yuh, eh?”
“I wish I did.”
“Somebody heard what you told Blaze Nolan, eh? Suppose it was somebody
from here?”
“That’s hardly possible, Butch. I suppose I’ve enemies outside of
Painted Valley.”
“Prob’ly,” dryly. “But didja ever stop to think that Blaze Nolan might
have tipped somebody off; so they could listen to yuh talk? Yuh say he
faded out, too. I’ll make yuh a bet that Nolan handed you a
double-cross.”
“No, I don’t believe that, Butch. Blaze ducked out because he had an
idea that I was killed. Yuh know what chance he’d have had with the
police. They’d have----”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Butch. “Harry Kelton and his sister were
away from here about ten days. It corresponds with the time you got
shot. Mebby Blaze Nolan sent them word.”
Marsh shoved back from the table, staring at Butch. Then he laughed
harshly, resting his elbows on the table.
“That’s damn funny,” he said. “I’ll bet you hit it, Butch. The police
found the tracks of two men and one woman in the soil beneath the little
balcony where they got into my house. One set of tracks was made by
Blaze Nolan.”
“And the other by Harry Kelton, eh?”
“And his sister. Butch, I’ll bet they heard what I said to Blaze Nolan
that night.”
“Yeah, and I’ll bet Blaze Nolan knowed they was there. That’s why that
meetin’ was held at the JK. Well, that’s a hell of a note, Marsh. You
better eat yore meal and use yore brains.”
“Who could have told them that Blaze Nolan was to be at my house, except
Blaze Nolan?” wondered Marsh aloud. “By God, that’s why he was late in
getting there. He gave them a chance to get there ahead of him. That’s
it! I’m a fool, Butch. He said he lost his money in a poker game.”
“And another thing,” said Butch ominously. “You better not be too
promiscuous around Medicine Tree, Marsh. If what we think is true,
you’ll hang up on the hot end of a bullet--and not a jury in Arizona
would convict the man who shot yuh.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Well,” drawled Butch, “I guess the kid inherited it.”
“Inherited what?”
“Nerve or ignorance, and yuh can take yore pick.”
The next day Hank North and Terry Ione came in from the Triangle X.
Marsh wanted all the information he could get regarding that meeting,
and he thought Hank and Terry might get more than Butch Van Deen. Hank
was a hard-faced, leather-skinned gent, with a crooked nose and a
lopsided mouth. If Hank had any conscience he kept it out of sight.
Terry was a small, wiry, dark-skinned individual, with a small black
moustache, white teeth. His nose had been flattened in his early youth
and refused to build a new bridge. His eyes were narrow and of no great
depth, and his lips seemed habitually to draw away from his teeth in a
mirthless grin. Two toughs, indeed, were Terry and Hank. Terry had been
born in Alberta, while Hank first saw the light in a dugout on the Rio
Grande. They were usually about three jumps ahead of a sheriff.
But their efforts to find out anything about the meeting were without
result. No one seemed to know anything about it. Terry and Hank had a
number of drinks with the bartender, Oscar Link, and the conversation
came around to the trouble that Butch and young Marsh had with Cultus
Collins.
“I jist looked for that to happen,” lied Oscar. “The minute I see Marsh
gettin’ tough with Collins, I says to myself, ‘Oscar, you watch the fun,
because this Collins is goin’ to make Marsh swaller his own heels.’”
“You knowed Collins, eh?” queried Hank.
“Me and him are old friends, from Yuma. Knowed each other for years. He
said, Oscar, I’m shore glad to see yuh up here,’ and then we went ahead
and talked over old times. And lemme tell yuh somethin’, gents; don’t
fool with that hombre. He’s jist like a paralytic stroke to anybody
foolin’ around.”
“Well, that’s fine!” grunted Terry, reaching for the bottle. “Bad man
from Yuma, eh? Hey! What the hell are yuh reachin’ for that bottle for?
I’m payin’ for this drink.”
“What’s the business of this here paralysis producin’ person?” asked
Hank interestedly.
“That’s Cultus Collin’s own business. You’ve been down around the
border, ain’t yuh? And you ain’t heard of Cultus Collins? Well, I dunno
what he’s doin’ here, except Harry Kelton said he was lookin’ for a
horse that some misguided gent rode north by mistake. It seems that
there was a scrap between the border officers and a bunch of smugglers,
one officer gettin’ killed in the fracas, and somebody headed north on
Collins’s horse. I shore feel sorry for that gent, if Collins finds
him.”
“Well, here’s regards,” said Terry, downing his drink. “This is a long
ways to come huntin’ a lost horse.”
“There’s the matter of a dead officer,” said Oscar.
“Plenty more officers,” grinned Hank, “but good horses is scarce.”
“That’s the stuff!” snorted Terry. “There’s too many officers for the
good of the country. If I had my way, there wouldn’t be any officers.
Prob’ly be a lot better off, at that.”
“Ain’t I ever seen you down around Yuma?” asked Oscar. “Yore face is
familiar.”
“You never seen me down around Yuma,” declared Terry.
“You ain’t got no brothers down there, have yuh?”
“Ain’t got no brothers nowhere, feller. And yuh don’t need to get so
damn’ personal.”
“Oh, thatsall right,” said the bartender quickly, “I wasn’t tryin’ to be
smart.”
“They only made one like Terry,” grinned Hank. “They seen it was a hell
of a bum mould; so they took it out and busted it over the back fence.
And yuh don’t need to snap at me, feller. I know yuh pretty well, and I
ain’t scared of yore bark. Yore folks was shore absentminded to ever let
yuh grow up. Pa strangled three that was better than you were, before he
ever let one grow up to a sheep dog.”
Terry glanced toward the door, where Cultus Collins was coming in, and a
laugh froze on his lips. Cultus merely glanced at the two men in front
of the bar, and sat down against the wall, behind a poker table, and
began reading a newspaper.
Terry took a deep breath and faced the bar, while Hank looked keenly at
him, wondering what had happened to take all the joy out of Terry.
“Little drink,” said Terry softly. “One more, and then we’ll head for
the ranch.”
They drank silently and turned toward the door.
“Yo’re quite a ways away from home, ain’t yuh?” asked Cultus.
Terry jerked around quickly, staring hard at Cultus.
“I guess yo’re mistaken, ain’t yuh?” he asked.
“How did you know I was speakin’ to you?”
“Well?” queried Terry coldly.
“Oh, nothin’ particular,” said Cultus easily. “I wasn’t tryin’ to scrape
an acquaintance with you; and you _are_ quite a ways from Mesquite City,
yuh know.”
Cultus shifted his eyes back to his paper, hunched down in the chair and
ignored Terry entirely. For several moments the Triangle X cowboy
studied Cultus Collins, his lips drawn back in a sneering grin. He
started to say something more, but Hank touched him on the arm, and they
went out together. The bartender sighed with relief.
“I shore thought there was goin’ to be trouble,” he said. Cultus glanced
at him and shook his head.
“A coyote never bites yuh when yo’re lookin’ at him, unless yuh got him
cornered; and that one had room to run.”
“That’s right. Say! I’ll betcha I’ve seen Terry Ione in Yuma.”
“You prob’ly have, Oscar.”
“I’ll betcha I have. I reckon this place is goin’ to change hands pretty
quick, and I’ll probably be back in Yuma, lookin’ for a job. I
understand that Kendall Marsh made Charley Long a proposition by mail,
and Charley’s goin’ to accept. The first thing yuh know, Marsh will own
everythin’ around here. He’ll probably fire me. Oh, well, there’s lotsa
jobs.”
“A good man can always get along, Oscar.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll be all right.”
Cultus soon left the saloon and went to the livery stable, where he got
his little horse. It was about four miles to the Circle M ranch, and
Cultus had never been there, but he decided to ride out and see what he
could find out about that stolen gray horse. The road led southeast for
a couple of miles, where it forked; the south road leading to the Circle
M, the east one to the Bar Anchor.