“Well, I ain’t goin’ to jist walk off the job and tell her to do her own
damn cookin’--but I might as well.”
Omaha sat on the chip pile, his old pipe sagging from one side of his
mouth, and considered Tony Riecho and Dave Elkinson, two of the Star A
cowboys.
“Yo’re a fair cook,” said Tony seriously.
“Fair--hell! I’m as good as they ever git. That there Austin woman don’t
know food, _she_ don’t. She says to me, ‘Some cavyar for dinner, some
thin soup, and I want the filly meyon rare.’ Git that, will yuh, yuh
damn dogie-dodgers? I dunno what she wants, but yuh say ‘yes’m’ when she
talks, y’betcha. Then I sneaks around to Miss Betty, and I asks her what
in hell is cavyar. Know what she said? ’Course yuh don’t. She said it
was feesh aigs.”
“You lyin’, Omaha?” said Dave.
“Cross m’ heart, and I hope to die. Feesh aigs! In this country?”
“I ain’t never seen no fish eggs,” said Tony.
“I didn’t even know they laid eggs. What kinda fish?”
“What’s filly meyon?” asked Dave. “That’s a new one on me.”
“Sounds like horse meat,” replied Omaha disgustedly. “Filly!”
“I’ve et horse meat,” said Tony. “It ain’t bad. But the question
is--what are yuh goin’ to cook for ’em?”
“Thin soup,” sighed Omaha. “Imagine thin soup. I’ll jist take some of my
regular soup and strain her through a flour sack.”
“You better go find a fish nest,” advised Dave. “I’ll ask Cal about
butcherin’ that Wagonrod filly he bought last month. She’s lame,
anyway.”
“Well, I ain’t huntin’ no feesh nests,” declared Omaha, gathering up
some wood. “I dunno what in hell them wimmin came here for, anyway.
The girl is all right. What’s an abysmal brute?”
“Somethin’ to eat?” asked Dave.
“I dunno. Miss Betty said I was a abysmal brute for treatin’ the steak
the way I done.”
“You do kinda leather ’em up,” suggested Tony maliciously. “Where’d Cal
and Austin go this mornin’?”
“Over to Silver Bar,” Omaha told him. “The old lady is gettin’ sore as
hell. She wants to see Hal, and they don’t seem to be able to find the
danged fool. And she’s still sore about bein’ robbed. She says one of
them diamonds was worth five thousand dollars.”
“Which one?” asked Dave.
“How’d I know? I never got ’em. Well, I s’pose I better git back on the
job. If you fellers happen to run on to a feesh nest----”
“Well, we might,” grinned Tony. “You better ask Cal about that filly
meat.”
Mrs. Austin was both discouraged and disgusted. It was not what she
had expected. The Star A ranch house had always been the abode of
men. It lacked any refinements. The beds were hard, the food coarse.
Betty did not complain, but, of course, Betty was young, romantic.
Perhaps the cowboys were handsome, in a rough way, but Mrs. Austin
was long past the romantic age.
“Unwashed creatures,” she called them. “Why, they do not even talk our
language.”
“Picturesque,” sighed Betty, seated on the front steps, and trying to
make friends with a pup, half wolf, half collie.
“Ignorant to the point of dumbness,” declared her mother.
“Cal Sands is not ignorant, mother.”
“Sinister, rather.”
The pup ran away and squatted behind a bush, which was too small to hide
it.
“Typical of the country,” said Mrs. Austin, meaning the pup. “Do you
notice his fear of us? And yet he has no fear of the cowboys. I suppose
it is because they are all primitive.”
Betty nodded slowly. “Primitive. I shouldn’t be at all surprised to see
one of the cowboys wearing one of our diamonds strung around his neck to
keep away evil.”
“He would be mightily disappointed in the efficacy of the charm,”
replied Mrs. Austin, with unconscious humour.
Betty laughed softly. “The value would probably not appeal to him.
Perhaps he imagines he has a silver ring and a flat brilliant.
Square-cut diamonds and platinum are seldom seen in this country.”
Mrs. Austin sighed deeply. “Betty, what has gone wrong with your
father?”
“Wrong?”
“Yes--wrong. And why doesn’t he find Hal. It is ridiculous to think they
cannot find him. He says it is because Hal did not know we were coming
out here. But I haven’t lived all these years with Frank Austin without
knowing him. He is worried sick over something. If they do not find Hal
in a very short time, I shall search for him myself.”
“If dad and Cal Sands are unable to find him----” began Betty.
“But are they?” interrupted Mrs. Austin quickly. “They have gone back
to Silver Bar to-day, presumably looking for Hal. Yesterday they were
down at Indian Wells. To-morrow--where?”
“I do not believe there is anything to worry about,” said Betty. “Hal is
a man--not a little boy.”
“Well, something is decidedly wrong,” sighed Mrs. Austin. “This wretched
place gets on my nerves. That ignorant cook! Oh, I could just scream at
sight of his food. Beef cooked to a cinder, soapy-looking boiled
potatoes, saffron biscuits.”
“And,” added Betty solemnly, “he admitted to me that he is the best chef
in Arizona.”
“Chef! That man is an incendiary. He doesn’t even hold a good thought
for raw food. But he is on a level with the rest of the place. No
electricity, no gas, no plumbing. Baths are unknown. Look at your
father. Must have a bath and a shave every day--now look at him.”
“Reverting to form,” smiled Betty. “You must remember, dad got his start
in this environment.”
“Did he?” snorted Mrs. Austin, who considered snorting the height of
vulgarity.
“Didn’t he, mother?”
“He came from San Francisco with a few head of cattle--and met me. If
you mean, he came from down here--yes.”
“I never heard about that,” said Betty interestedly.
“I never considered it worth discussing.”
“And you married daddy right then? How romantic! But didn’t he ever come
back down here?”
“After we were married he came down here for a few days to settle up his
affairs.”
“Daddy was a cowboy, was he not?”
“Yes, I suppose he was.”
“And you have always been happy and prosperous.”
“Just remember, young lady, we did not live happy and prosperous on what
he could earn as a cowboy.”
“Possibly not. But has he owned this ranch all those years?”
“Not at all. He purchased this ranch about ten years ago--against my
wishes. He had an idea of retiring to a cattle ranch after a few years.”
“Does he still feel that way about it, mother?”
“I suppose he does. But there will only be one retirement in the Austin
family, I can assure you of that. I wouldn’t live down here for all the
cattle in Arizona.”
“No,” said Betty thoughtfully. “I was wondering who a certain cowboy
might be. We met him down in Silver Bar--on the street. And again we
saw him in Keno City, after the robbery. He was with an older cowboy.
He had blue eyes and rather auburn hair--nice-looking cowboy.”
“I did not notice him, because I am not interested in cowboys.”
“He was nice-looking.”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Austin said severely, “he is the one who took our
rings.”
“He didn’t look like a criminal,” Betty protested.
“Very few criminals do--until after they are caught,” dryly. “However,
we are not going to be here much longer. If your father feels that he
must stay, all well and good--but I am not going to stay. I shall talk
with him to-night, and in any case, we shall go to Silver Bar or Indian
Wells not later than to-morrow evening, and take the first train back
to San Francisco.”
“Without seeing Hal?”
“It doesn’t appear that Hal cares to see us.”
“But surely, mother, he doesn’t know we are here. Hal isn’t that kind.”
“Pshaw! Everybody knows we are down here.”
“I am afraid not, mother. There are no newspapers to spread the news,
and I do not believe the name of Austin means as much here as it does
at home.”
“Well,” the bearer of that name stated resignedly, “that doesn’t affect
the situation in the least. We go home to-morrow.”
If Mrs. Austin was suffering from contact with the country, Frank Austin
was also suffering, but in a different way. The knowledge that Hal had
deliberately murdered a man was the greatest shock he had ever felt. It
had been a bitter dose to swallow, but once down he blinked dazedly and
wondered how it could be handled to ensure complete concealment of the
crime.
It was true that Nolan, the sheriff, because of Austin’s prominence,
had declared it a case of self-defence. But the coroner would know
that the man had been shot in the back, and unless this man had been
fixed by Nolan, there was always danger of a leak.
Austin asked Sands if he was personally acquainted with the coroner.
“Yeah, I know him,” admitted the foreman. “Name’s Edwards. I don’t know
him very well, of course. He’s the doctor of Silver Bar.”
“And,” said Austin miserably, “it is seldom that a man, shooting in
self-defence, shoots a man in the back.”
“That’s true,” nodded Sands. “I never thought of that.”
“What about the inquest?” demanded Austin.
“That’s right. We’ll go over there to-morrow.”
“I was just wondering,” said Austin slowly, “if a little money would
help to--you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” replied Sands quickly, “it might help a hell of a lot. Nolan is
all right, I think, but I can’t swear for the coroner.”
“How much?”
Sands laughed shortly. “Well, I don’t want anybody to hold yuh up on a
deal like this, but--you make the amount to suit yourself.”
“Will you help me handle the deal?” the moneyed man pleaded. “You know
them better than I do, Cal. They probably wouldn’t want cheques. I can
draw on the bank. Yes, I think it would be better than paying by
cheque.”
“Cash always looks better than a cheque--and yuh can’t trace a dollar.”
“That’s it! We’ve got to be cautious, Cal.”
So here they were, in Silver Bar, ostensibly looking for Hal. Austin
drew five thousand dollars, split it in two parts, and gave it to
Sands to buy silence from the sheriff and coroner. Sands came back
and reported that all was well, but Austin sat out the coroner’s
inquest, perspiring at every pore during the testimony, especially
when the doctor took the stand and testified that the deceased had
died from the effect of two revolver bullets. But the doctor did not
mention whether they had been fired from behind or in front.
The sheriff testified that the killer, known as Windy, a cowboy from
the Flask River country, had fired in self-defence, became panicky and
headed out of the country. The sheriff, having seen the shooting, did
not bother to go after the man.
Austin left the inquest, shaky but relieved. There had been no mention
of Hal Austin, for which Frank Austin was duly thankful, and for which
he thanked Cal Sands profusely.
“That’s all right,” said the foreman. “The boys send their thanks for
the money, and yuh don’t need to worry about anythin’.”
There had been two strangers at the inquest--Goober Glendon and Johnny
Wells. No one seemed to notice them at the back of the room, until the
inquest was over, when Sands and Sheriff Nolan saw them. Nolan’s jaw
hardened as he realised that Goober and Johnny had been in that saloon
on the night of the shooting, and consequently had heard him say it
was Hal Austin who did the shooting.
Nolan didn’t know what these two might do; so he hunted around until he
found Sands, and drew him aside, mentioning the presence of Goober and
Johnny.
“I saw ’em,” said Sands. “Glendon is an old friend of Austin; so that’s
all right.”
“What are they doin’ here, anyway, and who are they?”
“That’s all I know about ’em. Glendon used to be a Texas Ranger, and he
was afterward an Association detective. Kinda funny, at that. They’re
here the night of the shootin’. Next day there’s a stage robbery, and
these two were in Keno City when I got over there. Yesterday Austin and
me met them down near Indian Wells--and here they are in Silver Bar.”
“Yeah,” nodded Nolan, “and them two was in the saloon after the
shootin’, when I left Hal’s gun on the card-table. Well, I’ve never
found that gun. I asked Wilson about it, but he never took it.”
“They’re both wearin’ guns,” Sands observed.
“Yeah, but did they take Hal’s gun?”
“Hm-m-m-m-m. They might bear watchin’, Nolan.”
“Where’s Hal?”
“Indian Wells, I reckon. Well, we’ve got to start home.”
“How long are the Austin family goin’ to stay with yuh?” the sheriff of
Silver Bar asked.
“_Quién sabe?_ Not long--if the old man ever has an understandin’ with
Hal. If I don’t see yuh before, I’ll be over to start the Austin family
on their back trail.”
Goober and Johnny were rather amused at the inquest, although they knew
the sheriff would protect Hal in the matter. “That sheriff is a born
liar, Johnny,” said Goober, when they were back on the street again.
“He put the deadwood on some poor puncher that ain’t ever been there,
prob’ly. But it’s all right. I’ll betcha Austin knowed that Hal should
have been present, even if it was self-defence. I could see the sweat
on Austin’s nose all durin’ the meetin’.”
They went up the street, sauntering slowly, and were passing the front
of a bank, when some one called Goober’s name. They stepped back and
entered the bank, where a gray-haired man stepped from behind a grilled
gate and thrust out his hand to Goober.
“Ed Cates!” exclaimed the old cowboy. “By golly, how are yuh, Ed?”
“Goober Glendon, you old rascal!”
They stood and grinned at each other for several moments.
“Banker, eh?” grunted Goober.
“Yeah,” boomed the gray-haired Cates. “I’ve been here for years, Goober.
I’ve often wondered what ever became of you.”
“Well, I’ll be darned!” Goober’s eyes swept the little banking
establishment. “Still, you allus was good at figgers, Ed. You ain’t
changed much. Hair’s a little grayer than formerly, thasall.”
“Same with you, pardner.”
“Well, mebbe I shrunk a little. Kinda weather-beaten, Ed. Oh, yeah, I
forgot. Meet m’ pardner, Ed. His name is Johnny Wells. Johnny, this is
one of my old friends, Ed Cates.”
They smiled and shook hands.
“A different greetin’ than Frank Austin gave yuh,” observed Johnny.
“Ain’t it?” Goober chuckled.
“What about Austin?” queried the banker, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, he jist got kinda high-toned,” grinned Goober. “Didn’t remember
me--much.”
“I know. Frank is pretty rich these days, Goober. He was in to see me
this morning.”
“Yeah? Renewin’ old acquaintances, Ed?”
“Well, I wouldn’t quite put it that way. He cashed a cheque for five
thousand dollars. Chicken-feed for him, I suppose.”
“No brains,” grinned Goober. “A couple enterprisin’ boys knocked him off
for a thousand dollars, and took a couple diamond rings from the wimmin.
And now he lines his pockets with more _dinero_ for ’em to get.”
“I heard about that robbery. By the way, that was his wife and daughter,
wasn’t it? I saw them that morning. Nothing like that, when we knew him,
eh, Goober? Wasn’t he married to a Mexican woman?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you happen to come back to this country, Goober?”
“Lookin’ around. Me and Johnny teamed up down in Yuma. Johnny was
thinkin’ of joinin’ the army to see the world. I asked him if he had
seen all of this country, and he said he hadn’t. I says, me and you
better git used to Arizony before we start takin’ in too much
territory; so here we are.”
A man came in to see Cates; a cattleman, possibly forty years of age,
black hair, black eyes, a crooked nose. His lower lip sagged from a
white scar, which bisected the lip and curled down across his chin.
Cates called him Terrill. He looked sharply at Goober and their eyes
met. Terrill’s features did not change, but his eyes widened quickly,
snapped almost shut, like a man who faces a flashlight.
“I’ll see yuh again, Ed,” said Goober calmly.
“Be sure and do that, Goober. Glad to have met you, Wells.”
“Thank yuh,” said Johnny, and they walked out, going down to the front
of the hotel.
“You knowed that feller Terrill,” said Johnny.
“Knowed him?” Goober snorted. “Of course I knowed him. Notice that lip?
I done that with the barrel of a six-gun, the dirty sidewinder. Terrill,
hell! His name is Bart Walker. Now, what’s he doin’ up here, wearin’ the
name of Terrill?”
“Killer?” asked Johnny.
“Shore ’nough. Had his own gang down near Laredo--four of ’em. I had ’em
dead to rights one time. Walker played dead, until my gun was empty, and
then tried to take me alive. I’d been hit twice, but I had three of his
men down and one gone out through a winder, when up gits Walker,
coverin’ me with his gun; so I flung mine at him and knocked him cold. I
seen him down, with the blood spurtin’ from his lip and chin, and then I
went out. But Walker got away, prob’ly thinkin’ I was dead.”
“Wanted to take yuh alive an’ kickin’, did he?”
“Yeah, sacrificed his own men for a chance to cut off my ears, I s’pose.
I’d shore like to know what he’s doin’ around here.”
“He’ll probably pull out now that you recognised him.”
“Not that _malo hombre_.”
Discreet questioning at one of the bars brought out the fact that
Terrill owned the 7 Bar 7 cattle outfit, located about five miles
northwest of Silver Bar, near the road to Keno City. He had owned it
about three years, and hired two cowboys. It seemed that Terrill was
well liked and minded his own business.
“That’s all right,” Goober told Johnny. “If he’s on the square, I’d be
the last one to annoy him. Ain’t none of us old-timers but what lives
in glass houses. But jussasame, I keep my eye peeled on Bart Walker.”
“Is he wanted anywhere, Goober?”
“No, I don’t reckon he is. Men ain’t usually ‘wanted’ down in that
country. They either git out or git planted. Walker got out. Of course,
I dunno where he’s been since that time, except the three years he’s
been around here.”
Seated at the window of the hotel lobby, they saw Terrill cross the
street from the bank, mount his horse, and ride out of town.