The Taylor hearing was more or less of a farce, but it left Apostle
Paul, Buck and Peeler, the half-breed, high and dry in the Blue Wells
jail until the next term of court. Old Judge Parkridge, near-sighted,
more than slightly deaf, a mummified old jurist, set their bail at one
thousand dollars cash, each—bail which no one would furnish.
There was no evidence against them, except the fact that they had the
dog, and that they could not prove that they had spent the night on
Yellow Horn Mesa. So they were formally charged with train robbery and
held until the next session of court, which would not be held for
three weeks.
Apostle Paul Taylor cursed the judge, who could not hear it, and went
back to the jail, followed by Buck and Peeler. Marion was
broken-hearted, but did not show it. She sat down in the sheriff’s
office and tried to reason out just what to do. The Double Bar 8 could
not afford to hire men, and she could not do the work alone.
The sheriff did not try to solace her. He was tongue-tied in her
presence. Then Tex Alden showed up. He had not been at the hearing,
but had been told all about it.
“That’s sure tough, Marion,” he told her. “I’ll tell yuh what I’ll
do—I’ll send some of my men down to run the ranch for yuh, and it
won’t cost yuh a cent.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Alden.”
Tex colored quickly. It was the first time she had ever called him
“Mr. Alden.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked quickly. “What have I done?”
“You know what you did,” she retorted. “Please don’t bother yourself
about my affairs.”
Tex stared at her wonderingly.
“Well, for gosh sake!” he blurted. “Hm-m-m-m! Whatsa matter now?”
But Marion turned away from him and stared out through one of the
dirty windows. Tex whistled softly and walked outside. He stopped,
turned, as if to go back, but changed his mind and went on up the
street, whistling unmusically between his teeth, his brow furrowed.
Lee Barnhardt, the lawyer, was coming from his office, and met Tex in
front of the general store.
“Wasn’t that a —— of a verdict, Tex?” he asked
“Verdict? Oh, yeah.” Tex looked thoughtfully at the lean-faced
attorney. “I’m wonderin’ who’ll run the Double Bar 8 until after the
trial, Lee?”
“I don’t know; never thought about it, Tex. Say, did you hear about
that AK tenderfoot getting shot last night?”
“Legg?”
“Yes. Some one shot him last night, almost in front of the hotel.”
“Yea-a-ah? Kill him?”
“No,” Barnhardt laughed. “Skull was too hard, I guess. He had been
standing there, talking with Marion Taylor, and just after she went
into the hotel, some one shot him. But he was able to ride back to the
AK; so I guess he’s all right.”
Tex took a deep breath and looked back toward the sheriff’s office.
Marion was coming up the street. He turned to Barnhardt.
“I hadn’t heard about it, Lee. I left just after the trainmen had
identified the dog.” Tex turned on his heel and went across the
street, disappearing in the Oasis saloon.
Marion joined Barnhardt and they walked to his office. The girl did
not like Barnhardt, but her father had engaged him to handle their
defense. Hashknife and Sleepy had talked with several of the cowboys,
and it was their opinion that none of the cattle outfits would put on
extra men until the round-up.
Hashknife went to the sheriff’s office and had a talk with Scotty
Olson. Hashknife had heard the cowboys talking about the Double Bar 8,
and the fact that there was no one, except the girl, to run the ranch.
Hashknife explained to the sheriff that he and Sleepy would be willing
to run the Double Bar 8, at least until the round-up started, and
without wages.
“What’s the idea?” queried Scotty. It looked fishy to him.
“Merely helpin’ out,” smiled Hashknife. “It’ll save us a hotel bill,
and we might as well be workin’ as settin’ around a saloon.” Scotty
smoothed his mustaches and admitted that it would be a great help to
the Taylor family.
“C’mon in and meet Apostle Paul,” suggested the sheriff.
Hashknife followed him to the cells and was introduced to Marion’s
father, who scrutinized Hashknife closely, when the sheriff explained
what Hartley and his partner were willing to do.
“I thought mebbe Tex Alden would help us out,” said the old man.
“Yuh can hang that idea up in the smokehouse,” said the sheriff. “Tex
met yore daughter a while ago, and she kinda snubbed him up real
short, Paul.”
“Yea-a-ah? Well, I’ll be ——! See if yuh can get holt of her, Scotty.”
The sheriff left Hashknife with Taylor, while he found Marion. The old
man had little to say to Hashknife, and the conversation dragged
heavily until the sheriff brought her in and introduced her to
Hashknife.
“Did Tex offer to help us out?” asked Taylor.
Marion nodded quickly.
“He did; and I refused his offer. And he knows why I refused it, Dad.”
“Gosh a’mighty—why?”
“I can’t tell you now.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I jist wanted to know if he did. Mr. Hartley and his
pardner offer to help yuh run the ranch at least until the round-up
starts, and it shore looks generous—comin’ from strangers.”
“It certainly is generous!” exclaimed Marion. “Dad, I think I can get
Nanah to stay with me.”
“That’ll be fine. I’m much obliged to yuh, Hartley, and I’ll not be
forgettin’ this favor. We’re shore up agin’ a hard deal. How soon can
yuh go out to the ranch?”
“I broke a State record on saddlin’ a bronc once,” grinned Hashknife.
“Our animals are in the livery-stable, and I know Sleepy is plumb
willin’ to give up that bed at the hotel.”
“Then we’ll all ride out together,” said Marion. “My horse is there
too.” Hashknife found Sleepy at Moon’s store and introduced him to
Marion. Lee Barnhardt was there, and heard Hashknife explain to Sleepy
that they were going to run the Double Bar 8. The lean-necked lawyer’s
brows elevated momentarily, and he wondered why Tex Alden hadn’t
handled that end of the deal.
Sleepy went with Marion to get the horses, while Hashknife secured
paper and envelopes from Moon, and wrote a letter. Lee Barnhardt sat
on a counter across the room, and wondered who this tall cowboy might
be. Lee did not believe in philanthropy, and he wondered just why
these two cowboys should offer to work the Double Bar 8 for nothing.
He watched Hashknife, who hunched over the counter, taking much time
over the composition of his letter.
Lee moved over to that counter and bought some tobacco he did not
need. Hashknife sealed the letter and began directing the envelope.
Lee walked slowly past him, getting a flash of the address on the
letter, which was directed to Leesom & Brand, Attorneys at Law,
Chicago.
If Lee Barnhardt expected to find any clue to Hashknife’s identity, he
could hardly find it in the address of a letter, but he smiled queerly
as he walked to his office and sat down, twiddling his thumbs.
But it was not a pleasant smile, and his head sunk into his collar
until the wattles of his wry-neck protruded. For about ten minutes he
sat thus, totally absorbed in his own thoughts, which were finally
broken by the entrance of Tex Alden, who had been depleting the stock
of the Oasis saloon until he fairly reeked with alcoholic fumes.
“What do you know about them two fellers goin’ out to the Taylor
ranch?” he demanded of Barnhardt.
“Eh?” Lee looked up quickly. “Oh, yes. What about ’em?”
“That’s what I want to know, by ——!”
“You’re sore about something, ain’t you, Tex?”
“Yo’re —— right I am! Who authorized them two punchers to run that
place?”
“Well, I didn’t. It wasn’t any of my business. Tex, you don’t need to
get drunk and come roaring into my office. I never sent them out
there. It seems to me that Miss Taylor was perfectly willing to have
them go out there. And they talked with old Apostle Paul. Don’t hop
me; hop them.”
“Hop, ——!” Tex leaned on the desk and glared at Barnhardt.
“Go to it, Tex. Hop anything you want to, but leave me out. Did you
offer to run the ranch for her?”
“I did, —— it!”
Lee smiled at Tex’s flushed face.
“What did she say?”
“None of yore —— business!”
“Mm-m-m-m! Must have been a good reason.”
“Who are these strange punchers?”
Lee shook his head.
“How would I know? They’re going to run the Double Bar 8 for nothing.
Rather charitable for a pair of strangers, don’t you think, Tex?”
“Too —— charitable.”
“That’s my opinion. But I don’t know a thing against ’em.”
“Know anythin’ for ’em?” bluntly.
“Not a thing, Tex. Marion is a mighty pretty girl, and—”
“Drop that!” snapped Tex angrily. “Leave her out of it.”
“Oh, all right. But she didn’t talk as though she hated either of
them. I heard her talking to them in Moon’s store a while ago.”
Tex’s black eyes snapped angrily.
“I want to know a few things,” he said evenly. “I’m no —— fool!”
“Well, you’ll not find out anything from me, because I don’t know
anything to tell you, Tex. I’m no judge of human nature, but I’d go
easy with those two men. I don’t think you can scare ’em. They’ve
probably got a reason for running the Taylor ranch—for nothing.”
“They can’t scare me, by ——!”
“They probably won’t try,” smiled Barnhardt. “Anyway, they have no
reason for trying to scare you. Tex, does their names mean anything to
you?”
“Their names? Hartley and Stevens? Not a —— thing.”
“Ask Plenty Goode about it?”
“What would he know about ’em, Lee?”
“Do you remember one night out at the X Bar 6, just after Goode had
hired out to you, and I was there? We were talking about rustlers and
horse-thieves, and Goode told us some of the things that happened in
the Modoc country. He lived at Black Wells, I believe. Don’t you
remember the names now, Tex?”
“Lee, I believe yo’re right. What was it he called the tall one?”
“Hashknife.”
“That was it! But are these the same men, Lee?”
“I heard the tall one called by that name a while ago.”
“Huh! What do yuh reckon they’re doin’ over here?”
Lee smiled crookedly.
“I dunno, Tex; but it has probably got something to do with the train
robbery. And if I had held up that train, I’d sure hate to have these
men on my trail. Ask Goode more about them, Tex.”
Tex nodded slowly, thoughtfully. Suddenly he jerked ahead, his eyes
boring into Barnhardt.
“Why should I worry about ’em? They can’t hang anythin’ on to me, by
——!”
“Oh, all right,” sighed Lee. “I know I’d like to have that eight
thousand dollars back from you. You better give it to me pretty quick,
because I can’t cover it up very long.”
“Why can’t yuh? The round-up count can be long. You handle all the
business for the X Bar 6, and you can add those cattle to your report.
They don’t know the sale was made.”
“Compound a felony, eh? Turn crook for you, Tex?”
“Turn ——! Listen, Lee.” Tex leaned across the desk and poked a finger
at Lee’s nose. “Yo’re as crooked as a snake in a cactus patch. You’d
double-cross yore best friend for a dollar. Don’t swaller so hard! I
mean what I’m tellin’ yuh. You told me about that Santa Rita pay-roll,
because you wanted yore cut out of it, and yo’re sore because yuh
didn’t get it.
“I haven’t any eight thousand dollars —— yuh; I ain’t got no way to
get eight thousand dollars. And what’s more, I don’t think I’d give it
to yuh if I had it. Now, roll that up in some tar-paper and smoke it.
Any old time you start playin’ saint to my sins, yo’re goin’ to get in
wrong. Now, think it over.”
Tex surged away from the desk, and went out, scraping his spurs
angrily, while Lee Barnhardt looked after him, gloomy-eyed, his lips
compressed tightly. Finally he sighed and shook his head.
“Lee, your sins are finding you out,” he said softly. “That poor fool
is trying to bluff you—and he almost did.”