A Complete Novel by W. C. Tuttle
Author of “Hidden Blood,” “The Lovable Liar,” etc.
“Skeeter Bill” Sarg, newly elected sheriff of Moon River County, sat
awkwardly at his desk, squinting closely at a strange cowboy who was
perched on a chair opposite the sheriff.
This cowboy was not a stranger to Crescent City, but he was to Skeeter
Bill, who knew only a few of the riders in that part of the county. This
cowboy was of medium height, with black, curly hair cut rather short,
high cheek-bones, a slightly flattened nose and deep-set brown eyes. His
mouth was narrow, with rather prominent lips, his chin square, with
scarcely any depression between his lower lip and chin.
Sitting on his boot-heels, humped back against the office wall was
“Kaintuck” Kennedy, Skeeter Bill’s deputy, trying to roll a cigaret with
one hand. A pile of torn cigaret papers and spilled tobacco attested to
the fact that Kaintuck was not at all proficient.
Skeeter Bill picked up a silver dollar from his desk and looked at it
closely. To him it was a perfectly good dollar, a trifle new, but good,
honest coin of the realm. He looked back at the stranger.
“How can yuh tell?” he asked.
The strange cowboy smiled knowingly.
“Easy enough. I’ve tested a good many of ’em, Sheriff. That is only one
of many.”
“Uh-huh.”
Skeeter took several silver dollars from his pocket and handed them
across the table. Unhesitatingly the cowboy selected two of the dollars.
“Yuh mean to say that they’re bad?” asked Skeeter.
“Bad. Yuh might say, they’re both bad and good. In fact, they are almost
too good, Sheriff. Combination of lead, silver and glass. Oh sure, they
sound good. It would take an expert to detect them—but nevertheless they
are counterfeit.”
“Uh-huh. Where do yuh reckon they’re made?”
“Somewhere in Moon River Valley.” The man lowered his voice. “It has
taken the Government over a year to trace it to this valley. My work has
been confined to range cases, because I can qualify as a cowpuncher.
“I came here with the intention of working alone. It is not our policy
to take the local officers into our confidence until the actual arrests
are ready to be made. I have been working at the Tin Cup ranch for a
month, and before that I was at the Lazy H.
“But I seem to be up against a stone wall, Sheriff. That money comes out
of Moon River Valley, just as sure as eggs are eggs; but I am free to
admit that there isn’t a clue of any kind to work on.”
“Yuh said yore name was Frank Moran, didn’t yuh?”
“Yeah.”
“Pleased t’meetcha, Moran. That’s Kaintuck Kennedy over by the wall,
Moran. He’s my deputy.”