“Looks like it, Mike.”
“You think Tex Rowland kill Tucson Charley?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Um-m-m.”
Mike John inhaled deeply, letting the smoke curl slowly out of his wide
nostrils. Then--
“If Tex Rowland give Tucson Charley letter--Tex Rowland kill Tucson
Charley, so Tucson no tell where Tex hide.”
“By ----, that so!” Mose said explosively.
Bill got to his feet, a grin on his lips.
“Mike, have you got two good saddlehorses handy?”
“Two ---- good pinto. You want.”
“Bring ’em out, will yuh? We’ll slap our hulls on ’em, Slim. I reckon
our broncs are about run to a frazzle.”
The two breeds trotted down to the corral where several painted horses
were dozing in the shade, while Slim and Bill yanked the saddles off
their sweat-stained animals and let them drift away loose.
“How in ---- did you know that Big Jim and Pablo had a quarrel, Bill?”
queried Slim wonderingly.
“I didn’t. Those breeds are like children, Slim. I just had a hunch that
they might have had a quarrel, but I didn’t ask Mike and Mose if they
had; I said they had. If I’d ’a’ ask them the question, we’d never found
out a thing.”
“Where are we goin’ now?” asked Slim.
“Back to Antelope, cowboy. When I get an idea I’ve got to run it plumb
ragged, right away, or I might forget what it was.”
“All right, pardner,” grinned Slim. “Lemme in on the bloody details
enough so I’ll _sabe_ when to yank m’ gun.”
“You’ll know when I do, Slim. Here’s the spotted broncs.”
* * * * *
The arrival of the sheriff and the two cowpunchers from the RMP caused
plenty of excitement in Antelope. Biddy Toole shoved the doctor into a
livery-rig, and they went out of town in a flurry of dust while the
sheriff quickly swore in a posse to search the hills for Della Marsh.
The shooting of old Rory McPherson was only a detail compared with the
kidnapping of Della Marsh. She was well-known in Antelope, and the
sheriff had no trouble of getting more riders than he needed to fill up
his posse. In fact, there were several independent detachments started
out on their own hook, impatient to put a hangman’s knot under the left
ear of the man, or men, who would steal a woman.
Big Jim was not in town, having left an hour or two previously for his
ranch. McHague and Failing were there, but making no move to assist in
the search. Failing was still half-drunk. The dogs had been locked in a
store-room at the hotel, where ever and anon they lifted their voices
in wailing lamentations.
Slim and Bill met the sheriff and posse a few miles out of town, but
only stopped long enough to ask the sheriff the exact spot where old
Rory had been found, before galloping into town and leaving their
horses at the Fashion hitch-rack.
The town seemed deserted. There was no one, except the bartender and
a couple of drunken old bar-flies, in the Fashion, and the bartender
welcomed some one to talk to, bewailing the fact that he was too fat
to straddle a horse and join the posse.
Failing and McHague started to come into the place, but McHague caught
sight of Bill Smith and changed his mind. Failing came on in and joined
them at the bar.
“Lots of excitement in the old town,” he observed. “I never seen folks
get so excited over anythin’ in my life.”
“Mebbe you ain’t lived very long,” said Bill slowly. “Anythin’ is liable
to happen to yuh, if yuh live long enough. Are you McHague’s hired man?”
“I’m employed by the prison--not by McHague.”
“What’s your job around the prison?” asked Slim.
“Oh, kinda general work. I take care of the dogs most of the time. I’m a
trainer of bloodhounds. Whatcha drinkin’?”
They named their choice and the conversation lagged for a while. Then
Bill Smith got another idea:
“Bloodhounds must be kinda queer critters, Failing. They ain’t noways
savage, are they?”
“Nossir. Bloodhounds are the kindest thing yuh ever seen.”
“Well,” Bill laughed softly, “what’s to stop a man from just adoptin’
one when they’re after him?”
“You sure could, if they were turned loose; but we work ’em on a leash
all the time.”
“Oh, that’s the idea, eh? And they can trail anybody by just sniffin’
somethin’ that the person has wore, can’t they?”
“They sure can. Them two dogs are the best you ever seen. I’ve got ’em
locked up in that little buildin’ back of the hotel. Can’t take a chance
with dogs as valuable as them two. Whatcha drinkin’?”
Bill winked at Slim, and when Failing was not looking they poured their
drinks into a cuspidor. Round after round of drinks followed that one,
until Failing became goggle-eyed and boastful. Slim and Bill became more
sober, while the bartender spoke feelingly of ---- fools, who would pay
good money for whisky and not drink it. But Failing did not pay any
attention. He was having a good time.
“I sure reckon that you’ve got a fine pair of dogs,” agreed Bill Smith,
after Failing had almost exhausted his vocal cords in describing some of
their feats.
“I didn’t think so much about ’em, at the time,” he explained. “Dogs are
just dogs to me, don’tcha know it? But after listenin’ to you, I’d sure
like to see ’em ag’in.”
“Well, ----, come on!” gurgled Failing, shoving himself away from the
bar. “I’ll show ’em to yuh. I c’n tell yuh lo’s of things ’bout dogs.
I’m--I’m shome dogger, y’betcha.”
“Oh, that’s understood,” said Bill. “You’re a wizard. I betcha you know
a lot more about dogs than the dogs know about themselves.”
“I don’t wan’ to brag, y’understand,” explained Failing. “I’m modesht, I
am; but--c’mon.”
They followed him across the street, assisting him in keeping right side
up. There was no sign of McHague, for which Bill was grateful. Failing
led them to the rear of the hotel and fumbled with a key until Slim took
it away from him and unlocked the door.
The two bloodhounds proceeded to climb all over their keeper and he
sat down in the middle of the floor, slapping weakly at them. Slim
shut the door behind them, laughing at the drunken Failing trying to
protect himself from the dogs.
Then Failing gave it up as a bad job, stretched out on the floor and
proceeded to snore raucously. The two dogs sat down on their haunches
and looked sadly at him. They merely glanced at Bill, as he snapped
the leashes on to their collars, but seemed willing to follow him.
“What’s the idea?” asked Slim.
“We’re goin’ to swipe these dogs, Slim. We’ll likely have to pack ’em in
our arms when we get on our broncs.”
“I getcha,” snorted Slim. “We use ’em to trail Della, eh?”
Bill hesitated. There was one thing he had overlooked.
“We’ve got to have somethin’ that she wore, Slim.”
“By golly, that’s right, Bill! Say, she used to work at that little
female’s hat-store just down the street, and mebbe they’ve got somethin’
there. You wait here, while I take a look.”
Slim was back in a few minutes, highly elated.
“I got her old apron,” he grinned. “The little female wanted to talk
about it, but I didn’t have time. Now what do we do?”
“Get out of town. I hope to gosh that nobody sees us.”
They locked the door behind them, leaving Failing snoring peacefully.
The dogs were willing to go fast, but the two cow-punchers snubbed them
up close and went carefully back to the street.
There was no one in sight; so they hurried over to the hitch-rack and
untied their horses. Both animals objected strenuously to having the
bloodhounds hoisted upon them, but the two men were not concerned with
the likes and dislikes of the two pinto horses.
As they swung into their saddles some one yelled at them from down the
street, and they turned to see McHague running toward them from the
hotel, waving his arms.
“Aw, ----!” snorted Slim, shifting the dog’s weight to his left hand and
arm. “I s’pose I’ll have to kill this jigger.”
“There’s Big Jim ridin’ in,” chuckled Bill Smith, nodding toward the
lower end of the street. “----, we might as well have advertised our
departure.”
McHague was still coming, swearing at them for being a pair of thieves.
The two pintos twisted and whirled around, anxious to run.
_Wham!_
Slim’s bullet splatted into the dust in front of McHague, and went
_pouee-e-eing_ down the street. McHague stopped so quick that he almost
fell on his face. Slim threw up his gun again, but McHague did not wait
to see where the next shot would strike.
He whirled and went galloping down the street, losing his hat at the
first jump. Slim yipped softly and sent another bullet straight down
the street, over McHague’s head. McHague gave one long leap ahead,
ducked sidewise and fairly fell over the sidewalk into an alley.
Then the two cowpunchers whirled their pinto mounts around and went
galloping out of town, hanging on to the bloodhounds, which threatened
to leave them at every jerk of the running horses.
“Yuh missed him both shots, Slim,” yelled Bill, as they swept out
through the hills.
“Practise makes perfect,” laughed Slim joyously. “Mebbe I won’t miss him
next time.”
Big Jim lost no time in riding up to McHague, who was sitting up in the
alley, swearing bitterly. His pants were split at the knees and both of
his hands were filled with splinters from the old sidewalk.
“They stole my hounds!” he howled at Big Jim. “That ---- friend of Tex
Rowland’s swiped my dogs, so I couldn’t use ’em in trailin’ Tex. By ----
I’ll send ’em both up for this.”
Big Jim did not sympathize with McHague, who talked rather disjointedly
about what he was going to do. Finally he bewailed the fact that the
sheriff was out hunting for a kidnapper and that there was nobody to
rescue his dogs.
“What in ---- are you talking about?” demanded Big Jim.
“Didn’t you hear about it?” queried McHague. “An old jigger named
McPherson got shot and they can’t find his daughter. The whole ----
town, including the sheriff, is huntin’ for her.”
Big Jim grunted, swung off his horse and strode into the saloon, where
he secured the rest of the information from the bartender, who was more
than willing to tell all he knew. Big Jim’s jaw tightened as he turned
and strode outside.
McHague was waiting outside for him. Big Jim considered him for a
moment. Then:
“Go to the livery-stable and get a horse and saddle!” he barked. “Tell
’em to give you a good horse. Ask the stable-man to lend you a pair of
chaps, too.”
McHague trotted toward the stable while Big Jim went into the bank, and
came out in a minute carrying two rifles in scabbards. He swung on to
his horse, rode down to the stable and helped McHague get ready. A few
moments later they galloped out of Antelope, heading toward the northern
part of the range.