A QUESTION OF IDENTITY
Johnny sauntered into Quayle's barroom and leaned against the bar,
talking to Ed Doane. An hour or two before he had finished his dinner,
warned his outfit again about the early start on the morrow, advanced
them some money, and watched them leave the hotel for one more look at
the town, and now he was killing time.
"What do you think about Kane's?" asked Ed carelessly, and then looked
up as a customer entered. When the man went out he repeated the
question.
Johnny cogitated and shrugged his shoulders. "Same as you. Reg'lar
cow-town gamblin'-hall, with th' same fixin's, wimmin', crooked games,
an' wise bums hangin' 'round. Am I right?"
A group entered, and when they had been served they went into the hotel
office, the bartender's eyes on them as long as they were in sight. He
turned and frowned. "Purty near. You left a couple of things out. I'm
not sayin' what they are, but I _am_ sayin' this: Don't you ever pull
no gun in there if you should have any trouble. Wait till you get yore
man outside. Funny thing about that--sort of a spell, I reckon--but no
stranger ever got a gun out an' workin' in Kane's place. They died too
quick, or was put out of workin' order."
Johnny raised his eyebrows: "Mebby no good man ever tried to get one
out, an' workin'."
"You lose," retorted Ed emphatically. "Some of 'em was shore to be
good. It's a cold deck--with a sharpshooter. There I go again!" he
snorted. "I'm certainly shootin' off my mouth today. I must be loco!"
"Then don't let that worry you. I ain't shootin' mine off," Johnny
reassured him. "I'm tryin' to figger----"
A voice from the street interrupted him. "Hey, stranger! Yore outfit's
in trouble down in Red Frank's!"
Johnny swung from the bar. "Where's _his_ place?" he asked.
"One street back," nodded the bartender, indicating the rear of the
room. "Turn to yore right--third door. It's a Greaser dive--look sharp!"
Johnny grunted and turned to obey the call. Walking out of the door, he
went to the corner, turned it, and soon turned the second corner. As he
rounded it he saw stars, reached for his guns by instinct, and dropped
senseless. Two shadowy figures pounced upon him, rolled him over, and
deftly searched him.
Back in the hotel Idaho stuck his head into the barroom. "Seen Nelson?"
he asked.
"Just went to Red Frank's this minute--his gang's in trouble there!"
quickly replied Ed.
"I'll go 'round an' be handy, anyhow," said Idaho, loosening his gun as
he went through the door. Rounding the first corner, he saw a figure
flit into the darkness across the street and disappear, and as he
turned the second corner he tripped and fell over a prostrate man. One
glance and his match went out. Jumping around the corner, he saw a
second man run across an open space between two clumps of brush, and
his quick hand chopped down, a finger of flame spitting into the night.
A curse of pain answered it and he leaped forward, hot and vengeful;
but his search was in vain, and he soon gave it up and hastened back to
his prostrate friend, whom he found sitting up against the wall with an
open jackknife in his hand.
"What happened?" demanded Idaho, stopping and bending down. "Where'd he
get you?"
"Somethin' fell on my head--an' my guns are gone," mumbled Johnny.
"I--bet I've been robbed!" His slow, fumbling search revealed the
bitter truth, and he grunted. "Clean! Clean!"
"I shoved a hunk of lead under th' skin of somebody runnin'--heard him
yelp," Idaho said. "Lost him in th' dark. Here, grab holt of me. I'll
take you to my room in th' hotel. Able to toddle?"
"Able to kill th' skunk with my bare han's," growled the unfortunate,
staggering to his feet. "I'm goin' to Kane's!" he asserted, and Idaho's
arguments were exhausted before he was able to have his own way.
"You come along with me--I want to look at yore head. An', besides,
you ought to have a gun before you go huntin'. Come, on. We'll go in
through th' kitchen--that's th' nearest way. It's empty now, but th'
door's never locked."
"You gimme a gun, an' I'll know where to go!" blazed Johnny, trembling
with weakness. "I showed my roll in there, like a fool. Eleven
hundred--h--l of a foreman _I_ am!"
"You can't just walk into a place an' start shootin'!" retorted
Idaho, angrily. "_Will_ you listen to sense? Come on, now. After you
get sensible you can do what you want, an' I'll go along an' help you
do it. That's fair, ain't it? How do you know that feller belongs to
Kane's crowd? May be a Greaser, an' a mile away by now. Come on--be
sensible!"
"Th' SV can't afford to lose that money--oh, well," sighed Johnny,
"yo're right. Go ahead. I'll wash off th' blood, anyhow. I must be a
holy show."
They got to Idaho's room without arousing any unusual interest and
Idaho examined the throbbing bump with clumsy fingers, receiving frank
statements for his awkwardness.
"Shucks," he grinned, straightening up. "It's as big as an egg, but
besides th' skin bein' broke an' a lot of blood, there ain't nothin'
th' matter. I'll wash it off--an' if you keep yore hat on, nobody'll
know it. I reckon that hat just about saved that thick skull of yourn."
"What did you see when you found me?" asked Johnny when his friend had
finished the job.
Idaho told him and added: "Hoped I could tell him by th' yelp, but I
can't, unless, mebby, I go around an' make everybody in this part of
th' country yelp for me. But I don't reckon that's hardly reasonable."
"Yo're right," grinned Johnny. "Well," he said, after a moment's
thought, "I don't go back home without eleven hundred dollars, U. S.,
an' my guns; but I got to send th' boys back. They can't help me none,
bein' known as my friends. Besides, we're all broke, an' they're needed
on th' ranch. If I _knowed_ that Kane had a hand in this, I'd cussed
soon get that money back!"
"Yo're shore plumb set on that Kane idear."
"I showed that wad of bills in just two places: Ed's bar, an' Kane's
joint."
"Ed's bar is out of it if nobody else was in there at th' time."
"Only Ridley, Ed, an' myself."
"Somebody could 'a' looked in th' window," suggested Idaho.
"Nobody did, because I was lookin' around."
"If you go in Kane's an' make a gunplay, you'll never know how it
happened or who done it; an' if you go in, without a gunplay, an' let
'em know what you think, some Greaser'll hide a knife in you. Then
you'll never get it back."
"Just th' same, that's th' place to start from," persisted Johnny
doggedly. "An' from th' inside, too."
Idaho frowned. "That may be so, but startin' it from there means to
end it there an' then. You can't buck Kane in his own place. It's been
tried more'n once. I ain't shore you can buck him in this town, or part
of th' country. Bigger people than you are suspected of payin' him
money to let 'em alone. You'd be surprised if I named names. Look here:
I better speak a little piece about this part of th' country. This
county is unorganized an' ain't got no courts, nor nothin' else except
a peace officer which we calls sheriff. It's big, but it ain't got
many votes, an' what it has is one-third Greaser. Most Greasers don't
amount to much in a stand-up fight, but their votes count. They are all
for Kane. We've only had one election for sheriff, an' although Corwin
is purty well known, he won easy. Kane did it, an' when anybody says
'Corwin,' they might as well say 'Kane.' He is boss of this section.
His gamblin'-joint is his headquarters, an' it's guarded forty ways
from th' jack. His gang is made up of all kinds, from th' near decent
down to th' night killer. When Kane wants a man killed, that man don't
live long. Corwin takes his orders before an' after a play like this
one. Yo're expected to report it to him. Comin' down to cases, th' pack
has got to be fed, an' they have got to make a killin' once in a while.
Even if Kane ain't in on it direct, he'll get most of that money across
his bar or tables. To wind up a long speech, you better go home with
yore men, for that ain't enough money to get killed over."
"Mebby not if it was mine!" snapped Johnny. "An' I ain't shore about
that, neither. An' there's more'n money in this, an' more than th' way
I was handled. Somebody in this wart of a town has got Johnny Nelson's
two guns--an' nobody steals _them_ an' keeps 'em! I got friends, lots
of 'em, in Montanny, that would lend me th' money quick; but there
ain't nobody can give me them six-guns but th' thief that's got 'em.
I'm rooted--solid."
"All right," said Idaho. "Yo're talkin' foolish, but cussed if I don't
like to hear it. So me an' you are goin' to hog-tie that gang. If I get
Corwin in th' ruckus, I'll be satisfied."
"Yo're th' one that's talkin' foolish," retorted Johnny, fighting back
his grin. "An I'm cussed if _I_ don't like to hear it. But there's this
correction: Me an' you ain't goin' to bulldog that gang at all. _I_
am. Yo're goin' to sprawl on yore saddle an' light out for wherever
you belong, an' stay there. Yo're a marked man an' wouldn't last th'
swish of a longhorn's tail. Yore brand is registered--they got you in
their brand books; but they ain't got mine. I'm not wearin' no brand. I
ain't even ear-notched, 'though I must 'a' been a 'sleeper' when I let
'em put this walnut on my head. I'm a plain, ornery maverick. Think I'm
comin' out in th' open? I don't want no brass band playin' when I go to
war. I'm a Injun."
"Yo're a little striped animal in this town--one of them kind that's
onpleasant up-wind from a feller," snorted Idaho. "How can you play
Injun when they know yo're hangin' 'round here lookin' for yore money?
Answer me that, maverick!"
"I'm comin' to that. Can you get me an old hat? One that's plumb wore
out?"
"Reckon so," grunted Idaho, in surprise. "Th' clerk might be able to
dig one up."
"No, not th' clerk; but Ed Doane," corrected Johnny. "Now you think
hard before you answer this one: Could you see my face plain when you
found me? Could _they_ have seen it plain enough to be shore it was me?"
Idaho stared at him and a cheerful expression drifted across his
face. "I'm gettin' th' drift of this Injun business," he muttered.
"Mebby--mebby--cuss it, it _will_ work! I couldn't see nothin' but a
bump on th' ground along that wall till I lit a match. I'll get you a
hat an' I'll plant it, too."
Johnny nodded. "Plant anythin' else you want that don't look like
anythin' I own. Be shore that hat ain't like mine."
Idaho raised his hand as a sudden tramping sounded on the stairs.
"That yore outfit?" he asked as a loud, querulous voice was heard.
Johnny went to the door and called, whereupon Arch waved his companions
toward their quarters and answered the summons, following his foreman
into the room. Johnny was about to close the door when Idaho arose and
pushed past him.
"We been talkin' too loud," whispered the departing puncher. "You never
can tell. I'm goin' out to sit on th' top step where there's more air,"
and he went on again, the door closing after him.
Johnny turned and smiled at Arch's expression. "You boys leave at
daylight on th' jump. I got to stay here. You can say I'm waitin' for
th' chance to pick up some money--buyin' a herd of yearlin's cheap, or
anythin' you can think of. Anythin' that'll stick. You'll have plenty
of time to smooth it out before you get back home. I want you boys to
scratch up every cent you've got an' turn it over to me. Any left of
that I gave you after supper?"
"Shore--quite some," grinned Arch. "We had better luck, down th'
street. You must be aimin' to get a-plenty yearlin's, with that roll
you got. What are _we_ goin' to do, busted?"
"I want a couple of Colts, too," continued Johnny. "You won't need any
money. Th' waggin is well stocked--an' when you get back you can draw
on Arnold."
"We was goin' to stop at Highbank for a good time," protested Arch.
"Have it in yore old man's hotel an' owe it to him," suggested Johnny.
"Have a good time in my old man's place!" exclaimed Arch. "Oh, _h--l_!"
He burst out laughing. "That'll tickle th' boys, _that_ will!" The
puncher looked searchingly at his foreman. "Hey, what's all th'
trouble?"
Johnny thought it would be wiser to post his companion and crisply told
what had happened.
Arch cleared his throat, hitched up his belt, and looked foolish but
determined. "It's been comin' rapid, but I got it all. Yo're talkin' to
th' wrong man. You want to fix up that story for th' ranch with some
soft-belly that's ridin' that way. Better send a letter. We're all
stayin' here. _Fine_ bunch of----"
"You can help me more by goin' back like nothin's happened,"
interrupted Johnny. "Th' ranch won't be worryin' me then, an' if you
stayed here it might give th' game away. Besides, one man can live
longer on th' money we got than four can, only have a quarter of th'
chance to drink too much, an' only talk a fourth as much. That's th'
natural play, an' everythin' has _got_ to be natural."
"That's th' worst of havin' a smooth face," grumbled Arch, ruefully
rubbing his chin. "If I only had whiskers, I could shave 'em off an' be
a total stranger; but I don't reckon I could grow a good enough bunch
to get back here in time."
Johnny laughed, his heart warming to the puncher. "Take _you_ a year
or two; an' there's more'n whiskers needed to hide from a _good_ man.
There's little motions, gait, voice--oh, lots of things. You can help
me more if you go north. See Dave Green, tell him on th' quiet, an' ask
him to send me down a couple hundred dollars. He can buy a check from
th' Doc, payable to George Norton. There's a bank in this town. He's to
send it to George Norton, general delivery."
"Dave will spread it far an' wide," objected Arch. "He tells all he
knows."
"If he did," smiled Johnny, "it shore would be an eddication for th'
man that heard it. He talks a lot--an' says nothin'. If he told all he
knew, h--l would 'a' popped long ago on them ranges. I'm only wishin'
he could get a job in Kane's!"
"Gosh!" exclaimed Arch. "Mebby he can. He's a bang-up bartender."
Johnny shook his head and laughed.
"Well, I reckon you know best," said Arch. "If you say so, we'll go
home--but it hurts bad as a toothache. An' as long as we're goin', we
can start tonight--this minute."
"You'll start at daylight, like honest folks," chuckled Johnny. "Think
I want Kane to sit down an' figger why a lazy outfit got ambitious all
at once? An' th' two boys that lend me their guns want to be ridin'
close to th' waggin, on its left side, until they get out of town. I
don't want anybody noticin' they ain't got their guns. Mebby their
coats'll hide 'em, anyhow. But before you do anythin' else, get me a
copy of that weekly newspaper downstairs. There's some layin' around
th' office. Shore you got it all?"
Arch nodded, and his foreman opened the door. Idaho glanced around
and then went down the stairs and through the office, stopping at the
bar, where he held a low-voiced conversation with the man behind it.
Ed looked a little surprised at the unusual request, but Idaho's
earnestness and anxiety told him enough and he asked no questions. A
few minutes later, after Idaho had disappeared into the kitchen, Ed
told the clerk to watch the bar, and went up to his room, and dropped
several articles out of the window before he left it again.
When Idaho had finished scouting and planting the sombrero, a broken
spur, and a piece torn from a red kerchief, he went into the barroom
and grinned at his friend Nelson, who leaned carelessly back against
the wall; and then his eyes opened wide as he saw the size of the roll
of bills from which Johnny was peeling the outer layer. For two hours
they sat and played California Jack in plain sight of the street as
though nothing unusual had occurred, Johnny's sombrero pushed back on
his head, the walnut handle of one of his guns in plain sight, his
boots not only guiltless of spurs, but showing that they never had
borne them, and his faded, soiled, blue neckerchief was as it had been
all day. His mood was cheerful and his laughter rang out from time
to time as his friend's witticisms gave excuse. To test his roll, he
pulled it out again under his friend's eyes and thumbed off a bill,
changed his mind, rolled it back again, and carelessly shoved the
handful into his pocket.
Idaho leaned forward. "Who th' devil did _you_ slug?" he softly asked.
"Tell you later--deal 'em up," grunted Johnny, a sigh of satisfaction
slipping from him. It had been one of Tex Ewalt's maxims never to be
broke, even if carefully trimmed newspapers had to serve as padding,
and in this instance, at least, Johnny believed his old friend to be
right. The world finds bluff very useful, and opulence seldom receives
a cold shoulder.
At daylight three horsemen and a wagon went slowly up the little
street, two men sticking close to each other and the vehicle, and soon
became lost to sight. Two or three nighthawks paused and watched the
outfit, and one of them went swiftly into Kane's side door. Idaho drew
back from the corner of the hotel where he had been watching, nodded
wisely to himself, and went into the stable to look after his horse.
The little outfit of the SV stopped when a dozen miles had been put
behind and prepared and ate a hurried breakfast. As he gulped the last
swallow of coffee, Arch arose and went to his horse.
"Thirty miles a day with a waggin takes too long," he said. "One of you
boys ride in th' waggin an' gimme a lead hoss. Nelson's a good man,
an' it's our job to help him all we can. I can do it that way between
sleeps, if I can keep my eyes open to th' end of it. By gettin' a fresh
cayuse from my old man at Highbank, I'll set a record for these parts."
Gardner nodded. "Take my cayuse, Arch. I'm crucifyin' myself on th'
cross of friendship. Cook, give him some grub."
Ten minutes later Arch left them in a cloud of dust, glad to get away
from the wagon and keen to make a ride that would go down in local
history.
After breakfast Johnny sauntered into the barroom, nodded carelessly to
the few men there, and seated himself in his favorite chair.
"Thought mebby you might be among th' dear departed this mornin',"
remarked Ed carelessly. "Heard a shot soon after you left last night,
but they're so common 'round here that I didn't get none excited. Have
any trouble in Red Frank's?"
"You better pinch yoreself," retorted Johnny. "You saw me an' Idaho
settin' right in this room, playin' cards long after that shot. I
was upstairs when I heard it. Didn't go to Red Frank's. Changed my
mind when I got around at th' side of th' hotel, an' went through th'
kitchen, upstairs lookin' for Idaho. What business I got playin' nurse
to four growed-up men? A lot they'd thank me for cuttin' in on their
play."
"Did they have any trouble?"
"No; they wasn't in Red Frank's at all--anyhow, that's what they said.
Somebody playin' a joke, or seein' things, I reckon. Seen Idaho this
mornin'?"
"No, I ain't," answered Ed sleepily. "Reckon he's still abed. Say,
was that yore outfit under my winder before dawn? I come cussed near
shootin' th' loud-mouthed fool that couldn't talk without shoutin'."
Johnny laughed. "I reckon it was. They was sore about havin' to go
home. Know of any good yearlin's I can buy cheap?"
Ed yawned, rubbed his eyes, and slowly shook his head. "Too close to
Ridley. Folks down here mostly let 'em grow up an' sell 'em to him.
Prices would be too high, anyhow, I reckon. Better hunt for 'em nearer
home."
"That's what I been doin'," growled Johnny. "Well, mebby yo're right
about local prices an' conditions; but I'm goin' to poke around an' ask
questions, anyhow. To tell you th' truth, a town looks good to me for
a change, 'though I'm admittin' this ain't much of a town, at that.
Sorta dead--nothin' happens, at all."
"That's th' fault of th' visitor, then," retorted Ed, another yawn
nearly disrupting his face. "Ho-hum! Some day I'm goin' out an' find me
a cave, crawl in it, close it up behind me, an' sleep for a whole week.
An' from th' looks of you, it wouldn't do you no harm to do th' same
thing." He nodded heavily to the other customers as they went out.
"I'll have plenty of time for sleep when I get home," grinned Johnny.
"I got to get some easy money out of this town before I think of
sleepin'. Kane's don't get lively till dark, does it?"
Ed snorted. "Was you sayin' easy money?" he demanded with heavy sarcasm.
"I was."
"Oh, well; if you must, I reckon you must," grunted the bartender,
shrugging his shoulders.
"A new man, playin' careful, allus wins in a place like Kane's, if he's
got a wad of money as big as mine," chuckled Johnny, voicing another
maxim of his friend Tex, and patting the bulging roll in his pocket.
Ed looked at the pocket, and frowned. "Huh! Lord help that wad!" he
mourned.
"It's got all th' help it needs," countered Johnny. "I'm its guardian.
I might change it for bigger bills, for it's purty prominent now.
However, that can wait till it grows some more." He burst out laughing.
"Big as it is, there's room for more."
"Better keep some real little ones on th' outside," suggested Ed
wisely. "You show it too cussed much."
"Do you know there's allus a right an' a wrong way of doin'
everythin'?" asked his companion. "A man that's got a lot of money will
play safe an' stick a few little ones on th' outside; but a man that's
got only little bills will try to get a big one for th' cover. One is
tryin' to hide his money; th' other to run a bluff. Wise gamblers know
that. I got little bills on th' outside of mine. You watch 'em welcome
me."
Despite his boasts, he did not spend much time in Kane's, but slept
late and hung around the hotel for a day or two, and then, one morning,
he got a nibble on his bait. He was loafing on the hotel steps when he
caught sight of the sheriff coming up the street. Corwin had been out
of town and had returned only the night before. Seeing the lone man on
the steps, the peace officer lengthened his rolling stride and headed
straight for the hotel, his eyes fixed on the hat, guns, kerchief, and
boots.
"Mornin'," he said, nodding and stopping.
"Mornin'," replied Johnny cheerily. "Bright an' cool, but a little
mite too windy for this hour of th' day," he observed, watching a
vicious little whirlwind of dust racing up the middle of the street. It
suddenly swerved in its course, struck the sheriff, and broke, covering
them with bits of paper and hurling dust and sand in their faces and
mouths. Other furious little gusts sent the light débris of the street
high in the air to be tossed about wildly before settling back to earth
again.
"Yo're shore shoutin'," growled Corwin, spitting violently and rubbing
his lips. "Don't like th' looks of it. Ain't got no love for a sand
storm." He let his blinking eyes rest for a moment on his companion's
boots, noted an entire absence of any signs of spur straps, glanced at
the guns and at the opulent bump in one of the trouser pockets, noted
the blue neckerchief, and gazed into the light blue eyes, which were
twinkling at his expression of disgust. "D--n th' sand," he grunted,
spitting again. "How do you like this town of ourn, outside of th'
dust, now that you've seen more of it?"
Johnny smiled broadly. "Leavin' out a few things besides th' dust--such
as bein' too quiet, dead, an' lackin' 'most everythin' a town should
have--I'd say it is a purty fair town for its kind. But, bad as it is,
it ain't near as bad as that bed I've been sleepin' in. It reminds
me of some of th' country I've rid over. It's full of mesas, ridges,
canyons, an' valleys, an' all of 'em run th' wrong way. Cuss such a
bed. I gave it up after awhile, th' first night, an' played Idaho cards
till I was so sleepy I could 'a' slept on a cactus. After that, though,
it ain't been so bad. It's all in gettin' used to it, I reckon."
The sheriff laughed politely. "Well, I reckon there ain't no bed like
a feller's own. Speakin' of th' town bein' dead, that is yore fault;
you shouldn't stay so close to th' hotel. Wander around a little an'
you'll find it plumb lively. There's Red Frank's an' Kane's--they are
high-strung enough for 'most anybody." The momentary gleam in his eyes
was not lost on his companion.
"Red Frank's," cogitated Johnny. Then he laughed. "I come near goin' in
there, at that. Anyhow, I shore started."
"Why didn't you go on?" inquired the sheriff, speaking as if from
polite, idle curiosity. "You might 'a' seen some excitement in there."
"Somebody tried to play a joke on me," grinned Johnny, "but I fooled
'em. My boys are shore growed up."
"How'd yore boys make out?"
"They said they wasn't in there at all. Reckon somebody got excited
or drunk if they wasn't tryin' to make a fool out of me. But, come to
think of it, I _did_ hear a shot."
"They're not as rare as they're goin' to be," growled the sheriff. "But
it's hard to stop th' shootin'. Takes time."
Johnny nodded. "Reckon so. You got a bad crowd of Greasers here, too,
which makes it harder--though they're generally strong on knifeplay.
Mexicans, monte, an' mescal are a bad combination."
"Better tell yore boys to look sharp in Red Frank's. It's a bad place,
'specially if a man's got likker in him. An' they'll steal him blind."
"Don't have to tell 'em, for I sent 'em home," replied Johnny, and
then he grinned. "An' there ain't no man livin' can rob 'em, neither,
for I wouldn't let 'em draw any of their pay. Bein' broke, they didn't
kick up as much of a fuss as they might have. I know how to handle my
outfit. Say!" he exclaimed. "Yo're th' very man I been lookin' for, an'
I didn't know it till just this minute. Do you know where I can pick up
a herd of a couple or three hundred yearlin's at a fair figger?"
Corwin shook his head. "You might get a few here an' there, but they
ain't worth botherin' about. Anyhow, prices are too high. Better look
around on yore way back, up on some of them God-forsaken ranges north
of here. But how'll you handle a herd with yore outfit gone?"
His companion grinned and winked knowingly. "I'll handle it by buyin'
subject to delivery. Let somebody else have th' fun of drivin' a lot
of crazy-headed yearlin's all that distance. Growed-up steers are bad
enough, an' I've had all I want of them for awhile. Well," he chuckled,
"not havin' no yearlin's to buy, I reckon I've got time to wander
around nights. Six months in a ranchhouse is shore confinin'. I need a
change. What do you say to a little drink?"
Corwin wiped more sand from his lips. "It's a little early in th' day
for me, but I'm with you. This blasted wind looks like it's gettin'
worse," he growled, scowling as he glanced about.
"It's only addin' to th' liveliness of yore little town," chuckled
Johnny, leading the way.
"We ain't had a sand storm in three years," boasted the sheriff, hard
on his companion's heels. "I see you know th' way," he commented.
Johnny set down his empty glass and brought up the roll of bills,
peeled the outer from its companions, and tossed it on the bar. "You
got to take somethin' with us, Ed," he reproved.
Ed shrugged his shoulders, slid the change across the counter, and
became thoughtfully busy with the arrangement of the various articles
on the backbar.
Corwin treated, talked a few moments, and then departed, his busy brain
asking many questions and becoming steadily more puzzled.
Ed mopped the bar without knowing he was doing it, and looked at his
new friend. "Where'd you pick _that_ up?" he asked.
"Meanin'?" queried Johnny, glancing at the windows, where sand was
beating at the glass and pushing in through every crack in the woodwork.
"Corwin."
"Oh, he rambled up an' got talkin'. Reckon I'll go out, sand or no
sand, an' see if I can get track of any yearlin's, just to prove that
you don't know any thin' about th' cow business."
"Nobody but a fool would go out into that unless they shore had to,"
retorted Ed. "It's goin' to get worse, shore as shootin'. I know 'em.
Lord help anybody that has to go very far through it!"
Johnny opened the door, stuck his head out and ducked back in again.
Tying his neckerchief over his mouth and nose, he went to the rear
door, closed his eyes, and plunged out into the storm, heading for the
stable to look to the comfort of his horse. Pepper rubbed her nozzle
against him, accepted the sugar with dignity, and followed his every
move with her great, black eyes. He hung a sack over the window and,
finding nails on a shelf, secured it against the assaults of the wind.
"There, Pepper Girl--reckon you'll be right snug; but don't you go an'
butt it out to see what's goin' on outside. I'm glad this ain't no
common shed. Four walls are a heap better than three today."
"That you, Nelson?" came a voice from the door. Idaho slid in, closed
the door behind him with a bang, and dropped his gun into the holster.
"This is shore a reg'lar storm; an' that's shore a reg'lar hoss!" he
exclaimed, spitting and blowing. He stepped toward the object of his
admiration.
"Look out!" warned Johnny. "She's likely to brain a stranger. Trained
her that way. She'll mebby kill anybody that comes in here; but not
hardly while I'm around, I reckon. Teeth an' hoofs--she's a bad one if
she don't know you. That's why I try to get her a stable of her own.
What was you doin' with th' six-gun?"
"Keepin' th' sand out of it," lied Idaho. "Thief-proof, huh?" he
chuckled. "I'm sayin' it's a good thing. Ever been tried?"
"Twice," answered Johnny. "She killed th' first one." He lowered his
voice. "I'm figgerin' Corwin knows about that little fracas of th'
other night. Did you tell anybody?"
"Not a word. What about yore outfit?"
"Tight as fresh-water clams, an', besides, they didn't have no chance
to. They even left without their breakfast. But I'm dead shore he
knows. How did he find it out?"
"Looks like you might be right, after all," admitted Idaho. "I kept
a lookout that mornin', like I told you, an' th' news of yore outfit
leavin' was shore carried, which means that somebody in Kane's gang was
plumb interested. How much do you think Corwin knows about it?"
"Don't know; but not as much now as he did before he saw me this
mornin'," answered Johnny. "When he sized me up, his eyes gave him
away--just a little flash. But now he may be wonderin' who th' devil it
was that got clubbed that night. An' he showed more signs when he saw
my money. Say: How much does Ed know?"
"Not a thing," answered Idaho. "He's one of my best friends, an' none
of my best friends ask me questions when I tell 'em not to. An' now I'm
glad I told him not to, because, of course, you don't know anythin'
about him. No, sir," he emphatically declared; "anythin' that Corwin
knows come from th' other side. What you goin' to do?"
"I don't know," admitted Johnny. "I got to wrastle that out; but I _do_
know that I ain't goin' out of th' hotel today. It looks like Californy
Jack for us till this blows over. Yore cayuse fixed all right?"
"Shore; good as I can. Come on, if yo're ready."
"Hadn't you better carry yore gun in yore hand, so th' sand won't get
in it?" asked Johnny gravely.
Idaho looked at him and laughed. "Come on--I'm startin'," he said, and
he dashed out of the building, Johnny close at his heels.