“You don’t think Tex was the one—” she hesitated.
“That tried to kill Jimmy?” Hashknife finished for her.
“Oh, Tex couldn’t do a thing like that, Hashknife!”
“No?” Hashknife smiled slowly. “Yuh don’t think so?”
Marion shook her head quickly.
“Not even if he was mad. He might be mad enough for a moment to kill
some one, but not to shoot from ambush.”
“Well,” grinned Hashknife, “I’ll have to mark Tex Alden off my list of
customers. It seems that Tex lost eight thousand dollars to Antelope
Neal, in a poker game. This was before we came here. Now I’ve been
wonderin’ how Tex could afford it.”
“Yes, I heard about it, Hashknife. Tex works on a salary—the salary of
a foreman—and he surely couldn’t afford to lose that amount of money.
In fact, I don’t see where he got it.”
“I know where he got it,” smiled Hashknife. “But I don’t see where
he’ll ever be able to pay it back.”
Further than that Hashknife would not say, although Marion was curious
to hear more about Tex Alden.
That evening Hashknife and Sleepy decided to visit Blue Wells, and
talked things over with Jimmy.
“We may be back late,” explained Hashknife. “There’s a two-barreled
shotgun in the house, and I saw some shells on a shelf in the kitchen.
You load that gun, Jimmy, and keep it handy. Lock all the doors, and
be sure that every curtain is down. I don’t look for any trouble, but
yuh never can tell.”
“I’ll take care of everything,” declared Jimmy. “And I’m not afraid.
If anybody comes fooling around here tonight, I’ll give them a
surprize. I’ll make it a point to keep awake.”
They rode to Blue Wells after dark that night, and found the three
boys fiom the AK at the Oasis. Being Saturday night, there was quite a
crowd in town, and the games were flourishing. Johnny Grant, Oyster
Shell and Eskimo Swensen welcomed Hashknife and Sleepy with open arms.
Tex Alden, Plenty Goode and Ed Gast were in from the X Bar 6. Tex was
cordial, and talked with Hashknife about the dynamiting. Hashknife
knew that Tex was wondering where Jimmy Legg was, and finally Tex
asked him if Marion wasn’t afraid to stay at the ranch with only the
Indian woman.
“Jimmy’s out there,” said Hashknife.
“Do yuh call that protection, Hartley?”
Hashknife smiled, but said nothing. He was thinking of Jimmy and the
short, ten-gauge Parker. Le Moyne and several of the men from the
Santa Rita mine were in town. In the course of the evening Hashknife
sat in on a poker game, in which Tex Alden, Plenty Goode, Johnny
Grant, Scotty Olson and Antelope Neal tried to outguess each other in
the pastime. Sleepy and Oyster Shell quarreled for hours over a
bottle-pool game, which was being refereed by Eskimo Swensen, who had
an injured hand, and was unable to play.
It was within an hour of daylight when Hashknife drew out of the poker
game. He had won enough to make it worth his while, and Antelope Neal
said he had never been more willing to cash in any man’s chips and
have his luck out of the game.
Sleepy was glad to go home.
“I’ve walked a hundred miles around that darned pool table,” he
declared, as they left the Oasis. “A pile of blankets will look like a
bank-roll to me.”
There was a cold breeze blowing as they rode back to the Double Bar 8,
and the crimson glow of the rising sun painted the crests of the
eastern hills, as they rode in at the stable and put up their horses.
“Well, it don’t look like any more dynamitin’ had been done since we
left,” observed Sleepy, as they walked across the patio toward the
rear door of the ranch-house.
“All is serene,” said Hashknife, and as he spoke Nanah came to the
doorway.
The Indian woman was a pitiful sight. Her face was streaked with
blood, her dress torn, and she staggered wearily.
“For —— sake!” gasped Hashknife. He took her by the shoulders. “What’s
wrong, Nanah? What happened to you? Where’s Marion and Jimmy?”
There was blood on her hair, and Hashknife could see that a livid welt
ran from her right temple and disappeared in her mop of disheveled
black hair.
“I do’ know,” she choked. “Men come,” she brushed her hand across her
eyes, as though to clear her vision. “Have rag on faces. Knock Jimmy
down. Take Marion, go that way.” She leaned one shoulder heavily on
Hashknife and pointed east.
“Yuh mean that masked men came and took Marion?”
She nodded dumbly. Hashknife led her to a chair and made her sit down.
The room showed signs of a struggle, and there were a number of blood
stains on the floor and walls.
“What does it mean, Hashknife?” queried Sleepy anxiously.
“Where’s Jimmy?” asked Hashknife. Nanah shook her head. She didn’t
know where he was.
“I hear much noise,” she said dumbly. “I come. Jimmy on floor. I run
to door. Man hit me.” Her hand went to her head. “I fall on floor. I
do’ know. I look from window, I see.”
“You saw ’em goin’ that way?”
“Yes.”
“How many men, Nanah?”
“I do’ know. I can’t see very good. Too much blood.”
“How long ago, Nanah?”
“I do’ know. Pretty sick in head.”
“She got an awful wallop,” said Sleepy. “Prob’ly got to the window,
saw ’em pullin’ out, and collapsed. What’s the program?”
Hashknife ran through the house and came back.
“The shotgun is gone,” he said. “They’ve taken Marion toward Broken
Cañon, but the devil only knows just where. Nanah, are you all right?
We’ve got to get help. You stay here.”
“Pretty good,” she said. “You go quick.”
They ran back to the stable and saddled their horses. The horses
seemed to sense the need of speed, and the two boys mounted on the
run. Sleepy stood in his stirrups, his lips opened in a soundless
yell. This was action. They swung around the point of a hill, heading
up through a swale, a mile or more from the ranch-house. Hashknife
spurred in close to Sleepy.
“Get the sheriff and all the boys yuh can get together, and head for
Broken Cañon, Sleepy. I’m goin’ back.”
Sleepy did not question him. He had spent too many years with
Hashknife to question any action of the tall cowboy. He merely nodded,
drew his hat down over his brow and headed for Blue Wells to gather a
posse, while Hashknife drew rein, turned around and went back.
The poker game had just broken up, when Sleepy dropped off his horse
at the door of the Oasis, and panted out his story.
“Good ——!” exclaimed Tex Alden. “There’s more than one
hole-in-the-ground in Broken Cañon! Let’s go!”
Scotty Olson, the sheriff, got his horse, and they rode out of Blue
Wells, nine strong; Olson, Sleepy, Tex, Gast, Goode, Johnny Grant,
Eskimo and Oyster Shell. There was nothing for them to work on, except
that Nanah had said that the men had gone toward Broken Cañon.