SIM PIERCE BRINGS NEWS.
The cowboy jumped from his weary horse, loosened the cinches to give
the animal’s lungs greater freedom, and came into the office to wait
for the doctor.
The cowboy was excited, and tramped up and down, rolling a cigarette.
“You’re from Hank Phelps’ ranch?” asked the scout.
“That’s me,” was the answer. “My name’s Quiller, an’ I’ve worked fer
Hank for two years. He’s all right, Hank is.”
“How was Jake Phelps hurt?”
“Looks like he’d been hit on the head with a club er somethin’.”
“Then he wasn’t shot?”
“Not as Jeems an’ me could see. But I didn’t tarry long arter we
found Jake; I jest hustled right in arter the doc. There was some
queer things about Jake’s fix. The feller that swiped the pay-roll
money took Jake’s saddle along. What’s this I hear about Jake’s
havin’ a row with Nate Dunbar afore leavin’ fer home?”
“They had some words, Quiller,” answered the scout.
“I’m wonderin’--I’m wonderin’----”
Quiller was leaning against the counter, holding a lighted match to
his cigarette.
“You’re wondering,” spoke up the scout, “whether Nate Dunbar had
anything to do with what happened to Jake Phelps. Well, stop your
wondering. He didn’t.”
“But the’ was bad blood between ’em, wasn’t they?” went on the
cowboy, wrinkling his brows. “When they separated didn’t they both
say they’d git even with each other? An’ didn’t Dunbar hit the trail
right arter Jake did?”
“All that happened, yes. But that doesn’t prove anything against
Nate. I’m rather thinking that it makes the future dark for Red
Steve.”
Old Nomad jumped at that; and Quiller, the match going out without
lighting his cigarette, flung away the burnt firestick and groped in
his pocket for another.
“What about Red Steve?” demanded Quiller.
“He’s loose in the Brazos country,” answered the scout. “Benner was
going to bring him to Hackamore for the shooting of Ace Hawkins, but
Red Steve slipped away from the Circle-B ranch on foot.”
“On foot, hey? Then why didn’t Red Steve, if he done this, take
Jake’s hoss? Red Steve wouldn’t never hev let the hoss git away from
him arter he had nabbed the money.”
“Perhaps Red Steve had a horse already,” suggested the scout. “It’s
possible he picked up a horse without any gear, and that he took the
saddle to ride in.”
“It’s possible, I reckon.”
But it was plain that Quiller’s mind was running on Nate Dunbar.
Circumstances seemed to point more decisively in the direction of the
Star-A rancher than toward Red Steve.
“The man who took the money,” pursued the scout, noting the trend
of the cowboy’s thoughts, “was the man who look the saddle. Nate
Dunbar’s not a thief.”
“It’s hard ter tell what a man is when he makes a play o’ this kind.”
“And certainly Nate wouldn’t take the saddle. Why should he? He had a
good saddle of his own.”
This fact seemed to make some impression on Quiller. Before he could
express himself, however, the doctor came riding up in front. With
the doctor was Bloom and Sim Pierce, both ready for the trail.
“Come on, you there!” roared Bloom.
Quiller ran out, tightened his cinches, swung into the saddle, and
the four riders fared out of town at a gallop.
“See how it is, Nick?” queried the scout. “Already suspicion is
leveled at Nate Dunbar. You can gamble that Bloom will do everything
possible to make it bad for the boy. I reckon we had also better be
getting saddle leather between our knees.”
“Ter go whar, Buffler?”
“Why, to the H-P ranch. I want to watch this thing and find out just
what develops. We must keep in touch with every detail. It’s liable
to mean a whole lot for Nate.”
“Waugh! Ye’re shore right thar. But et’s Red Steve as turned ther
trick, ye kin take et from me. When’ll we ride?”
“Now.”
“Whoop! When ye tune up like thet, ye shore ketch me plumb whar I
live. Spurs an’ quirts an’ a call on Hank Phelps. This hyar peace
bizness is gittin’ some excitin’.”
Pinkney brought out their saddles and bridles. Bear Paw and old
Hide-rack seemed surprised at the sudden getaway. Probably, in
their brute minds, they had been expecting an all-night stay in the
comfortable corral.
“It beats the nation,” remarked the scout, when he and his old
pard were galloping along the trail, “what beastly luck comes Nate
Dunbar’s way.”
“Some fellers,” commented old Nomad, “tumbles inter bad luck jest as
nacherly as some others tumbles inter good. Nate’s shore gittin’ his
share o’ misfortun’s hyar on ther Brazos.”
“And to have this happen,” frowned the scout, “just when we were
having such good success as peace commissioners!”
“Ain’t thet allers ther way?” answered the trapper. “Did we ever
start out ter do a sartin thing thet some other thing didn’t butt in
on us? Thet sorter bizness comes so frequent, Buffler, et ort ter be
expected. But, say!”
“Well?”
“Sarcumstances does look mighty bad for Nate, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Ef Red Steve hes got er hoss, an’ er saddle, an’ a wad o’ dinero, he
won’t hang eround ther Brazos. He’ll git ter whar he kain’t be found.
Then, ef he does thet, how aire we goin’ ter prove it was him, an’
not Nate, as done ther trick fer Jake Phelps?”
“It’s a hard proposition we’re facing,” said the scout gloomily. “But
Nate may be able to prove an alibi.”
“How?”
“Oh, in a dozen ways. Suppose he met some one riding his way? That
man might give information that would clear Nate. We’ve got Nate’s
side of this to hear yet. Just now, it looks as though he and Lige
Benner would have to work shoulder to shoulder.”
“Fer why?”
“Why, because Benner will be suspected of complicity in what happened
to Ace Hawkins, same as Nate will be suspected in the matter of Jake
Phelps. The capture of Red Steve will help out both of them.”
“Thet’s so. A good head is a heap better fer a feller, any time, than
a pair of guns. Let’s don’t fergit thet Pard Hickok is camped on Red
Steve’s trail. Mebby Hickok hes got hands on Red Steve by this time.”
“I’m hoping he has had some success.” The scout pointed to a rapidly
approaching cloud of dust in advance of him and Nomad. “Some one
coming this way,” said he.
As the rider approached, and the faint wind whipped the dust aside,
the pards made out that it was Sim Pierce.
“Sim’s in somethin’ of er hurry,” muttered Nomad. “What d’ye reckon
he’s got on his mind?”
“We’ll know in a few moments,” answered the scout grimly.
As Sim Pierce’s horse came nose to nose with Bear Paw and Hide-rack,
Sim drew to a halt.
“This here’s luck an’ no mistake!” exclaimed Sim.
“What’s the matter, Pierce?”
“I was pikin’ fer Hackamore ter find ye, Buffler Bill. Findin’ ye on
the trail this-a-way saves considerable time.”
“What have you to tell me?”
“A hull lot. I don’t know principally whar ter begin.”
“How about Jake?”
“He’s in bad shape, but he ain’t cashed in. They’re took him on ter
the ranch.”
“What does the doctor think?”
“He dunno what ter think. Mebby Jake’ll pull through, an’ mebby he
won’t. An’ nobody knows what ter think about the way he was hurt.
’Pears like some’un come up behind him an’ hit him over the head with
the handle of a quirt. An’ yit thar’s things about it which don’t
make it look like that, neither.”
“Can’t Jake talk?”
“Nary, he kain’t. He jest lays quiet an’ limp, with his eyes
closed--more’n two-thirds acrost the divide, if I’ve got any savvy
about sich things. But all this ain’t what I want ter tell ye.”
“Then get down to cases, Sim,” urged the scout, “if it’s important.”
“Waal, it sure is important. When Bloom, an’ the doctor, an’ Quiller,
an’ me got ter whar Jeems had Jake stretched out on the grass, thar
was five other cowboys from the H-P ranch thar. Bloom’s a pill. He’s
talkin’ all the time as how it must ’a’ been Nate Dunbar who done the
bizness fer Jake. Them cowboys ketches fire right off. ‘If Dunbar’s
at the Star-A,’ they says, ‘we’ll git him; an’ he won’t last long
when we do git him.’ With that the five of ’em wheels around an’
starts fer the H-P ranch, ter pick up another bunch o’ punchers, I
opine, an’ ride fer the Star-A ter git Nate. Bloom, although he’s
sher’ff an’ ort ter stand up fer the law, never says ay, yes, er no
ter ’em, but lets ’em go on. That’s what was kerryin’ me back ter
town ter see you, Buffler Bill. Thar’ll be a swarm o’ H-P cowboys
comin’ down on the Star-A folks bymby, an’ somebody like you ort ter
be out thar.”
Sim Pierce’s news was intensely disquieting.
“Since Bloom won’t do his duty,” said the scout, “it’s up to us to
take care of Nate. We’ll change our minds about riding for the H-P
ranch, Nick,” he added, “and strike a bee line for the Star-A.”
“I’ll go with ye,” declared Sim Pierce. “Mebby ye’re goin’ ter need
me.”
“We may need all the men we can muster,” answered the scout. “This
affair has taken an angle that may result in a world of trouble for
our friends at the Star-A.”
The horses were turned from the trail and headed toward another part
of the Brazos.
Buffalo Bill wished to spare Mrs. Dunbar as much as possible, so he
and the trapper, and Pierce slowed their gait when close to the ranch
and rode up slowly. They saw Nate out near the corral, heating an
iron to brand a “dogie.” Dick Perry was with Nate. The calf was bound
and lying on the ground, and the two ranchers were leaning against
the corral fence, talking. The coming of the scout and his companions
aroused their curiosity.
“Well, well!” laughed Nate, “this is almost too good to be true,
Buffalo Bill. I thought you weren’t going to get back here before
to-morrow?”
“Something has happened that brought me here, Nate,” answered the
scout, dismounting and turning Bear Paw over to Nomad to be cared for.
“You’ve been riding pretty fast, it looks like,” spoke up Perry.
There was anxiety in his voice. Ever since he had been fighting the
cattle barons, he had never known when or how the lightning was going
to strike. Very little was needed to arouse his apprehensions.
“I was in a hurry, Perry,” the scout answered. “Nate,” and he turned
to the younger of the two ranchers, “what did you do on the way back
from town?”
“Do?” echoed Dunbar; “why, I just rode. What else was there to do?
I picked up that stray calf on the way, and snaked it along for
the last mile. You’ve got me guessing, Buffalo Bill. What’s gone
crossways?”
“Did you ride the Star-A trail all the way?” asked the scout.
“Didn’t I tell you I would?”
“Yes. You didn’t follow Jake Phelps, did you?”
Protest flashed in Nate’s eyes.
“What’s the use of asking me such a question, amigo?” he demanded. “A
promise to you is a promise. I haven’t seen Jake Phelps since he rode
away from the front of the hotel.”
“I could have made affidavit to that!” exclaimed the scout, with a
feeling of relief.
“But what’s this all about?” put in Perry.
“Well, Jake Phelps was badly hurt on the way from Hackamore to the
H-P ranch. Two cowboys, coming into town from the ranch, found his
horse, racing for home without a saddle. A little farther along the
trail they found Nate, saddle and money gone, sprawled out on the
ground.”
Perturbation was written large in the faces of Dunbar and Perry. They
stared at the scout and then at each other. For a moment no one spoke.
“Was--was he killed?” asked Nate finally, moistening his dry lips
with his tongue.
“No,” said the scout, “but he was in pretty bad shape. The doctor
doesn’t know whether he’ll pull through or not. The worst part of it
is, he’s unconscious and can’t tell what happened to him. The longer
he remains unconscious, Nate,” the scout answered kindly, “the worse
it becomes for you. Of course, none of us believes you had anything
to do with what happened, but Bloom is no friend of yours, and Bloom
is with the H-P outfit now.”
Again was there a silence. Nate threw a look toward the house where
his bride of a few days was busy with her household work. His lips
twitched. Presently he pulled his revolver from its holster and
handed it out to Buffalo Bill.
“Examine that, amigo,” he begged. “Every chamber is loaded--not a
bullet missing. I haven’t touched the gun since I put it up in the
office of the Delmonico Hotel.”
The scout waved the weapon away.
“Your bare word is enough for me,” said he, “and for the rest of your
friends. Anyhow, Nate, it wasn’t a bullet that caused the trouble for
Jake Phelps.”
“What was it?”
“The handle of a quirt, or a club of some sort.”
“I hadn’t a quirt with me,” protested Nate. “As for a club----”
He changed ends with the revolver and looked at the handgrip absently.
“This,” said he, “is the only club I could have used. Does it look as
though I had used it?”
He held it up.
“This is tough,” muttered Perry. “If it isn’t one thing with us, it’s
another, right along. My boy,” and he laid a hand on Nate’s shoulder,
“that quarrel with Jake Phelps was bad business for you.”
From this it appeared that Nate had already told Perry of what had
taken place in the hotel office.
“A quarrel of any kind is always bad business,” dropped in the scout,
“but what makes this particularly bad for Nate is the fact that Jake
was knocked down and robbed on the trail. There are those in town
who overheard the last words spoken by Nate and Jack Phelps. Those
last words were threats. Nate left town very soon after Jake rode
away. That also is known.”
Anger rose in Dunbar’s eyes and flamed in his face.
“But who dares call me a thief?” he cried. “If I followed Jack Phelps
to have it out with him, would I have taken his dirty money? Would I
have used a club when I had a gun handy? As a matter of fact, could I
have got close enough to him to use a club before he would have sent
a bullet into me? Why don’t people use a little reason? Great guns!
They might give me credit for not being such a fool!”
“Maybe Lige Benner is back of this in some way?” suggested Perry.
“No,” said the scout, “Benner is not back of it,” and he went on to
tell how the owner of the Circle-B ranch had come to the hotel and
made his peace with the Star-A ranchers through the scout.
This line of talk brought Red Steve prominently to the fore.
“Et was Red Steve as done et,” declared the old trapper. “He laid fer
Jake. Mebbyso he knowed Jake had the pay-roll money. Red was plannin’
ter git out o’ the kentry, an’ the money would shore come handy fer
him.”
“It was Red Steve!” declared Perry.
“Admitting that it was Red Steve,” said Dunbar, “the same thing
would apply to him that applied to me. How could he ever get close
enough to Jake to hit him over the head with a club. It don’t sound
reasonable. There’s something more back of it.”
“It all depends,” qualified the scout, “on the lay of the land at the
place where the attack on Jake was made. If there were bushes where
Red Steve could lie concealed----”
“Thar warn’t,” spoke up Pierce. “It was flat kentry, whar the attack
was made, an’ nothin’ but grass. Thar warn’t no place whar a feller
could hide. How Red Steve ever done it is a myst’ry, but he sure done
it someway.”
“It was Red Steve, of course,” averred Buffalo Bill. “Where are the
rest of my pards, Perry?”
“They’re out looking for Red Steve,” answered Perry; “they left
pretty soon after you struck out for town.”
“The baron and Little Cayuse went with them?”
“Yes.”
“Then we are short-handed and no mistake,” muttered the scout.
“Short-handed for what?” asked Dunbar.
“Tell him, Sim,” said Buffalo Bill, “just as you told me.”
Sim Pierce told about the five cowboys who had started back to
Phelps’ ranch with the evident intention of increasing their numbers
and coming to the Star-A after Nate. Dunbar’s face blanched. But it
was not fear for himself that suddenly raced through him. He was
thinking of Hattie.
“Dick,” said he, turning to his father-in-law, “you take Hattie at
once and go with her to some safe place where----”
“No,” interrupted Perry, his face set and hard, “Hattie and I will
stay right here. If the H-P cowboys come they’ll find us at home.
Hattie can use a gun as well as anybody, and there’ll be trouble if
the Phelps outfit try to take you out of the house.”
Old Nomad walked over to Perry and gripped his hand.
“Perry,” he said approvingly, “ye’re the clear quill. I allers knowed
et, but ther fact never stuck out o’ ye same as now. We’re all goin’
ter stand by Nate. I’m only sorry a heap thet Wild Bill, the baron,
an’ Leetle Cayuse ain’t hyar ter help out. But,” and the old trapper
swept his grim eyes over the group, “we’re quite er sizeable handful,
I reckon.”
“Go in and tell your wife, Nate,” counseled Buffalo Bill. “She must
know all about this, and it’s better to have it come from you. Tell
her not to be alarmed, for the chances are good that Red Steve is
going to be captured by Wild Bill. Pard Hickok, you know, has made
a vow that he’ll lay Red Steve by the heels. Ace Hawkins befriended
Hickok, and that means that our pard will do his best to have the law
avenge him. The principal thing is to keep the Phelps outfit from
doing anything rash until Red Steve is located and brought in--or
until Jake Phelps recovers his wits and tells the truth about what
happened to him.”
Nate started for the house to perform his disagreeable duty. The
scout would have spared Mrs. Dunbar the details, if he could, but
Perry’s decision to stay with her and see Nate through the gathering
storm made it necessary for the girl to be told everything.
“Nick,” said the scout, “I want you and Pierce to watch the trails.
Get out a little way from the ranch house, and when you see the
cowboys coming, rush in with the news.”
Nomad and Pierce departed at once. Perry went thoughtfully over to
the fire, picked up the white-hot branding iron and seared the calf
with the Star-A brand; then he released the animal and it darted
away into the timber.
“No matter what happens, Buffalo Bill,” said Perry, with deep
feeling, “your generous aid will always be remembered and
appreciated. What we should have done without you and your pards,
during our troubles here, is more than I know. But all our other
troubles were small compared with this.”
“You’ll pull through this flare-up with ground to spare, Perry,”
asserted the scout. “Don’t lose your nerve, now, of all times. I----”
The scout broke off abruptly. There was a thump of hoofs along the
trail, swiftly approaching. A moment later a pinto pony with a small
rider broke into sight and headed for the corral.
“Cayuse!” exclaimed the scout. “This is better than I hoped for.”