That same evening Blaze Nolan had made up his mind to ride out to the JK
and tell Kelton the whole story of his alleged connection with Kendall
Marsh. He intended explaining everything; but lost his nerve before he
reached the ranch, and turned back to town. He heard the three men
singing in Bad News’s little office, and guessed rightly that they were
full of the cup that cheers.
He tied his horse in front of the post office and had just stepped up on
the sidewalk, when there came a thudding jar which seemed to shake the
buildings. It was not unlike a small earthquake. His horse swung
nervously around, jerking back on the tie-rope.
The jar must have been considerable, because the singers had stopped in
the midst of a cowtown song which had fifty verses and twice as many
choruses. Wondering what had happened, Blaze went slowly up the street,
starting past the front of the bank, when his bootheels crushed down on
broken glass.
He thought he heard a muffled voice in the alley, and stepped back. It
was pitch dark in that alley, but Blaze was so sure he had heard a voice
that he started down there blindly. It was not a wide alley and was not
over sixty feet long to where it opened out at the rear of the Medicine
Tree Bank.
It was lighter there, and Blaze saw a man. At least it looked like a
man, wearing white pants, and staggering around. Blaze went toward him,
and was just opposite the rear door of the bank, when another man seemed
to hurtle through the doorway, crashed into Blaze, who went to his
knees, grasping blindly at the other. Came a thudding blow on the head,
and Blaze went sprawling on his face, his two hands clutching some
object, which he fastened on to in the crash.
The heavy jar had knocked the chimney off the lamp in Bad News’s little
office, and had shaken them enough so that they realised something was
wrong.
“Earthquake,” declared Bad News. “I’ve felt ’em lotsa times.”
“Nothin’ like it,” objected Ole. “That was dinnymite, I tell yuh.”
They went outside and looked around. Several men were out on the
sidewalk in front of the War Dance, talking loudly over what it might
have been. A man left the post office and started up the street, but
stopped in front of the bank. After a few moments he came back down the
street to where the three men were grouped in front of Bad News’s
office. He was the blacksmith.
“One of the bank winders is busted,” he said. “Glass all over the
sidewalk up there.”
He spoke loud enough for the men in front of the War Dance to hear it,
and they strung out across the street, heading for the bank. This
information seemed to sober Bad News immediately.
“C’mon!” he snapped, and started running up the street.
Cultus Collins had felt the jar in the hotel, and he came down to the
street in time to join the crowd at the front of the bank. Speculations
were rife, when he reached the crowd. Bad News tested the front door and
found it locked.
“Let’s try the back door,” suggested some one, and the crowd filed
through the dark alley.
The rear door of the bank was open, and a few feet away from it they
found Blaze Nolan, lying flat on his face. He had been hit over the
head, but was regaining consciousness. Clutched in his hands was an old
gunnysack, which Bad News took away from him, by the light of matches,
and they found it heavy with a mixture of gold, silver and currency.
No one made any comments. Dangling the bag of money on one hand, Bad
News led the way into the dark bank. Some one found a lamp and lighted
it. The vault of the Medicine Tree Bank was merely a big safe, and now
its formidable front door hung drunkenly open from a heavy charge of
explosive.
“Don’t touch anythin’,” advised Cultus. “Send somebody for the bank
officials.”
“That’s right,” agreed Bad News. “Somebody go after John Freeman.”
A man ran out through the rear.
“F’r Gawd’s sake, look what we’ve got here!” exploded Tommy Simpson.
It was Alden Marsh, a smear of blood down one side of his face, sitting
limply in a chair. He was minus his pants and one boot. His eyes stared
blankly at the lamp, which was held in front of him.
“Can yuh beat that?” wondered Ole. “The robber wasn’t satisfied with a
gunnysack of money, so he took Marsh’s pants and one boot.”
“What were you doin’ in here?” asked Bad News.
Alden mumbled something unintelligible and licked his lips.
“Where’s yore pants?” asked Tommy.
“It was a secret,” whispered Alden foolishly.
“He’s been popped over the head,” said one of the men. “Look at the knot
on his cranium.”
Bad News went outside again, where Blaze was sitting up, and helped him
to his feet. Blaze seemed a little hazy and paid no attention to Bad
News’s questions. He staggered a little as he came in with Bad News, and
sat down in a chair beside Alden Marsh.
John Freeman came a few minutes later and surveyed the wreck. The safe
had been looted completely; not even a scrap of paper remained. He got
up from his examination and looked around the room.
“Here’s the sack of money, John,” said Bad News.
“I guess we better count it right now,” said the old man.
Some one held the lamp, while he dumped the contents out on a table and
made the count. Much of it was packages of currency, and, with the rolls
of coin, it did not require long to check it all over.
The total was a few dollars over sixteen thousand. They dumped it back
on the gunnysack.
“I think that is about what was in the safe,” said the old man.
“Then he didn’t get away with anythin’, eh?” grunted Bad News.
“Nothin’--except the stocks, bonds, mortgages and all the rest of the
papers in the safe.”
The men looked curiously at each other, but nothing was said. “What do
you know about this, Blaze?” asked Freeman.
“I know I got hit,” said Blaze painfully. “I felt the shock of the
explosion, and I walked on glass in front of the bank. Then I thought I
heard somebody down the alley; so I went down to see who it was. I saw a
man with white pants, and about that time I got hit.”
“Did the man with the white pants hit you?” asked Bad News.
“I don’t think so.”
“Then where in hell did yuh git the gunnysack with all that money?”
Blaze stared foolishly at him.
“You had a gunnysack, which contained sixteen thousand, Blaze.”
“I did? Where did I get it?”
“How did I get here?” asked Alden Marsh.
“I suppose somebody swatted you, too, eh?” said Tommy Simpson.
Alden looked down at himself curiously.
“I’ve lost m’ pants!” he grunted.
“At least yo’re sober, for once in yore life,” said Bad News.
“You better send to Broad Arrow for the sheriff,” Freeman advised Bad
News.
“Yeah, that’s true. I guess I better go after him myself. Will you take
charge of the money, John?”
“Yes.”
Judging from appearances, the door of the bank had been opened with the
delicate aid of an axe and a crowbar. The lock and one panel of the door
had been ruined.
“No use trying to repair it to-night,” said Freeman. “There’s nothing in
the bank to attract another robber.”
No one suggested holding Blaze or Alden Marsh. Bad News was only too
glad to head for Broad Arrow and notify the sheriff. Cultus went with
Blaze to the hitchrack, but neither of them discussed what had just
happened.
“Come out and see us, will yuh?” asked Blaze.
“Sure thing, Nolan; so long.”
Cultus went across the street to the War Dance Saloon, where everybody
was trying to decide on just who had robbed the bank. Alden Marsh had
gone home, minus his pants, and still a little hazy over it all. But he
was sober now.
Cultus tried to find out how Marsh lost his pants, but no one seemed to
know. But Cultus did find out that the impression was becoming general
that Blaze Nolan had robbed the bank. Not that he had done it alone,
because of the missing papers, but that he had either been injured in
the explosion and had fallen unconscious outside the door, or that his
accomplice had knocked him down and failed to take the sack of money.
“Blaze will be in jail inside of an hour after Buck Gillis gits here,”
declared a cowboy. “Unless Blaze is wise enough to hit for the tall
hills.”
“And him out on probation,” said another cowboy. “The way they’ll soak
him will be plenty.”
Cultus went back to his room, inclined to believe that the cowboy had
been right. But Cultus couldn’t shake the feeling that Alden Marsh was
mixed up in the deal in some way; either Marsh or the man who had taken
Marsh’s pants. And Cultus felt sure that Blaze would not be mixed up in
any deal with Alden Marsh. And while Cultus debated the thing in his own
mind, Terry Ione, clad in a full suit of robin’s-egg blue, bought drinks
for a girl in the War Dance Saloon and wondered what he could use to
take egg stain off his pants.
Instead of going after the sheriff, Bad News availed himself of the
telegraph, and within less than an hour after the robbery, Buck Gillis
received a wire, telling him some of the details and urging him to come
at once.
Buck Gillis knew that Kendall Marsh was at the hotel; so he immediately
told Kendall Marsh that his Medicine Tree Bank had been robbed. Together
they caught a freight train out of there at midnight, and when they got
to Medicine Tree they talked with Bad News, after which Marsh swore out
a warrant for Blaze Nolan, hired a rig at the livery stable and drove
out to the Triangle X.
Bad News was able to recite a fairly good running story of what had
happened. He told them of finding Alden Marsh, minus his pants, in the
bank, and how they had found Blaze Nolan and the sack of money just
outside the door.
“Looks like Blaze had made another mistake, eh?” observed Marsh.
“I’d hate to think so,” replied Buck. “Mebbe he can explain.”
“Let him explain in jail,” said Marsh. “I’ll send him back to the pen so
quick it would make your hair curl. Have him here to-morrow morning at
ten o’clock, Gillis.”
“You ain’t runnin’ _my_ office, Marsh. If I think the evidence is strong
enough, I’ll bring him in. If it ain’t, I won’t. If you swear out a
warrant, I’ll have to serve it, of course. And while yo’re talkin’ out
loud about it, you better ask yore kid where he lost his pants.”
“You don’t think he’d rob his father, do you, Gillis?”
“I’m not sayin’ what I think. But I’m goin’ out to talk with Blaze in
the mornin’.”
“Yes, and you bring him in, if I can get a warrant to-night.”
He managed to arouse a justice of the peace, who grumblingly wrote out a
warrant for Blaze Nolan, gave it to the sheriff, and went back to bed.
Buck cursed witheringly, berated Bad News, for want of somebody else to
berate, and slept the rest of the night on a single cot with Bad News.
Cultus saw the sheriff leave town the next morning, but did not know his
mission until he met Bad News, who told him about the coming of Kendall
Marsh and the writing of the warrant.
“Do you think Blaze had anythin’ to do with that robbery?” asked Bad
News. “It shore looked all twisted up to me. I can’t see head nor tail
to it.”
Neither could Cultus. A little later on he talked with Oscar, the
bartender, and Oscar told him about the eggs.
“What kind of pants did young Marsh have on?” asked Cultus.
“Kinda pale blue, I reckon. What do yuh reckon he done with ’em?”
Cultus didn’t know, but he wished he did.
“Sa-a-ay!” blurted Oscar. “I seen Terry Ione wearin’ the identical
colour suit. By golly, he shore was. Pale blue.”
“Did Marsh’s coat and vest match his pants?”
“He didn’t have no coat. No, by golly, he didn’t have anythin’ on to
match them pants. They was brand new. I ’member them creases down the
front. Ain’t it funny how yuh remember things like that? Huh? That egg
shore made a mess of ’em. You say there’s a warrant out for Blaze Nolan?
Kendall Marsh, eh? Hope they don’t git him.”
The bank was closed, as far as business was concerned, of course, but
John Freeman entertained the curious who went in to look at the smashed
safe. Cultus went in and looked it over. It was not the work of a
professional safe blower, although the job had been thoroughly done.
Cultus walked around the rear of the bank and through the alley, but if
there had been any evidence, the crowd had obliterated it thoroughly.
Freeman had made a fairly close check of the books, and stated that
little, if any money, had been taken, and that the papers were only
valuable to the bank itself.
The forenoon passed without any sign of the sheriff or Blaze Nolan, and
Bad News opined that Blaze had taken to the hills, with the sheriff
after him. It was a little after the noon hour, when Ole Olsen rode in
from the Bar Anchor, and found Cultus and Bad News eating dinner at the
Chinese restaurant.
Ole was almost incoherent. He gulped down a glass of water and rested
his two big hands on the table in front of Bad News.
“I--I found Buck Gillis down the road,” he panted. “He’s dead as a
monkey-wrench--shot!”
“You ain’t drunk, are yuh, Ole?” asked Bad News.
“No; you danged fool! I tell yuh, I found him--got a handcuff on one
wrist. I tell yuh he’s dead, Bad News! I didn’t touch him.”
“Are yuh shore it’s Buck?”
“Got Buck’s clothes on and his star, and it looks like Buck. I didn’t
ask him if he was Buck, you damn’ fool!”
“Must be old Buck,” said Bad News shakily. “I’ll get the doctor.” He
started to walk, but broke into a run, while Ole sat down and reached
for another glass of water.
“I never found a dead man before,” he said foolishly.
“Where was he shot?” asked Cultus.
“Down the road about a mile and a half.”
“I mean, where did the bullet hit him?”
“I didn’t look. Good gosh, I got off my horse and yelled at him, but he
didn’t move. I seen the handcuff on his left hand----”
“Where’s his horse?” interrupted Cultus.
“Along the road between here and town. I didn’t bother with it.”
Cultus left his unfinished meal and hurried down to the livery stable,
where he quickly saddled his horse. Ole carried the news to the War
Dance, and there was quite a parade down the road to where they found
Buck Gillis.
The doctor’s examination was brief. Buck had been shot twice, and either
bullet would have killed him. The doctor was rather annoyed when Cultus
insisted on helping him with the examination. On the sheriff’s left
wrist dangled the handcuff, the other cuff being open and still
containing the key. Cultus examined the wounds closely, but said
nothing.
After they loaded the body in the doctor’s buggy, Bad News asked Cultus
to ride with him to the Circle M ranch.
“Blaze got him cold,” said Bad News drearily, “and he’s prob’ly headin’
a long ways from here, but we’ll see what that danged half-breed has to
say about it.”
They found Jules Mendoza and his two men at the ranch, but they either
didn’t know anything about it or didn’t want to know. Jules said he
didn’t know the sheriff arrested Blaze.
“Me and Tony Gibbs and Mex Skinner go ’way this mornin’,” he said.
“Blaze stay here. We come back, Blaze gone. What happen?”
“The sheriff came here to arrest Blaze for robbin’ the Medicine Tree
Bank last night, and Blaze killed him on the way to town.”
Jules thought it over for several moments. Then: “Too damn’ bad, eh?”
“And they’ll hang Blaze for this.”
Bad News turned imploringly to Cultus.
“Can yuh imagine that, Collins? I guess we might as well go back to
town. Mendoza don’t know anythin’. Wait here while I talk to his two
hired centipedes.”
Bad News went down to the corral, where he questioned Tony and Mexico.
Jules shoved his hands inside his waistband, squinted thoughtfully at
Cultus, and said: “You friend of Blaze Nolan?”
“No,” replied Cultus. “I didn’t know him well enough for that. You have
to know a man a long time to find out if you are his friend, Jules.”
“I know Blaze long time. He’s my friend. You think Blaze rob bank?”
“_Quien sabe?_”
“He get much money?”
Cultus explained about Blaze being knocked unconscious, with the money
in his hands, and by that time Bad News came back.
“Tony and Mexico don’t know anythin’,” he grunted. “I reckon they’re not
lyin’; they wasn’t here. Let’s go back.”
As Cultus and Bad News mounted their horses Jules said to Cultus, “Come
see me sometime, _compadre_.”
“Shore,” smiled Cultus. “We’ll _habla Español_, eh?”
“_Bueno esta. Adios._”
“_Hasta luego._”