“Do you suppose that is why he tried to kill Clayton?”
“He? Who do you mean, Allenby?”
But Allenby refused to say. Harry went past them, his bandaged head
visible in the weak light, and went into the Elk saloon. He staggered
slightly, laughing loudly with the other men. Allenby left Hashknife
and went into the saloon.
* * * * *
Hashknife found Sleepy and together they went from place to place,
listening to the general talk. It was mostly whisky conversation, and
Hashknife did not feel that they were going to do anything rash. Later
on he found Swan River, visibly relieved.
“I think everythin’ will be all right,” he told them. “I’ve talked
with a few of them, includin’ Allenby, and they’ve all agreed to wait
until mornin’. I’ve promised to lead a posse out to the HB ranch after
daylight. If they--well, I dunno. Dang it, I’ve done the best I could,
Hartley.”
“Nobody can say that yuh ain’t been fair,” agreed Hashknife.
“Mebbe I’ve been too fair, Hartley. Still, I discount everythin’ that
happens, when there’s hate behind it. Christman hated old Hank Bell.
Mebbe Allenby bought that hate along with the ranch.”
“How did they happen to catch Bud Bell that time?” asked Hashknife.
“When they sent him to the penitentiary? That was a little over two
years ago. Allenby and Clayton--Clayton had only been here a few
months at that time--were ridin’ through the hills, lookin’ over the
stock.
“They were over near Two Men Cañon when they caught a glimpse of a
man, who kinda seemed to be misbrandin’ a couple of critters. Had ’em
roped and was heatin’ his iron, I reckon. Anyway, he seen ’em, too; so
he snaps out of the brush on his horse, and hits into the hills, with
Allenby and Clayton after him.
“He sure led ’em a merry chase, I guess. Allenby and Clayton got
separated, and after while they gives up the chase. Clayton circles back
to the two roped animals, and is lookin’ ’em over when Allenby gets
back. They’re both branded fresh with the HB iron, kinda rough-like, and
where the Half-Circle Cross ought to be, is a big spot burned over with
a hot dry-pan.
“The rustlers sure must ’a’ been nervous to burn over that much space in
ventin’ an ordinary brand. The HB ain’t very artistic, but there she is.
That was all the evidence against Bud Bell. Old Hank couldn’t ’a’ done
it, on account of bein’ crippled--and Sticky Clay was in a poker game at
the Elk all that afternoon, which was an alibi for him. So they sent Bud
up for stealin’ Half-Circle Cross stock.”
“Didn’t Bud have any defense at all?”
“How could he? Nobody would steal cattle for the HB. Yuh know, Bud
used to wear one of them five-gallon sombreros, with a wide band,
kinda studded with silver rosettes. Oh, yuh could see it a mile away,
glistenin’ in the sun. Anyway, both Allenby and Clayton testified
that this rustler wore no hat. Allenby says he was sure the man had a
hat when they seen him first, but that he was bareheaded when he made
his getaway.
“Allenby says he was too excited to remember just what kind of a hat
this man had on when they seen him first. But it kinda made things
worse for Bud. He’d naturally hide the hat, ’cause it was so well
known and easy to identify.”
“And they didn’t get close enough to identify him for sure?”
“Nope. But their evidence sure convinced the jury.”
“The Half-Circle Cross brands on the right shoulder, and the HB on the
right hip, don’t they?” asked Hashknife.
“Yeah. Bud sure vented a lot of space on the right shoulder of them two
critters.”
“No argument about ’em bein’ Half-Circle Cross animals?”
“There might ’a’ been, Hartley; but yuh could look real close and find
the old scars of the original brand. They’d ’a’ never showed up after a
few days, when the new burn healed. No, there was no question about ’em
bein’ Allenby’s stock.”
“And the vented spot was bigger than the old brand, eh?”
“----, yes; four or five times as big.”
“Uh-huh,” Hashknife grew thoughtful. “And yuh think there’s no danger of
anybody doin’ anythin’ rash tonight, Sheriff?”
“Nope. They’ll likely drink a lot of liquor and kinda gird up their
loins, but that’s about all. Will yuh ride out to the HB with us in
the mornin’?”
“Very likely. I reckon we’ll go back to the ranch and get a little sleep
now.”
Sleepy complained about leaving Moolock. It looked to Sleepy as though
there might be trouble, and he did not want to miss any of it. He
grumbled audibly, but rode out of town with Hashknife.
“I s’pose,” he said sarcastically, “that old folks like you have got to
have their sleep, Hashknife.”
“You betcha,” agreed Hashknife. “Do you know the way to the HB ranch?”
“I can find it, Hashknife. You--say, what’s the idea?”
“Goin’ visitin, Sleepy. Folks ought to be neighborly, hadn’t they?”
“The road runs kinda south-east; so we better swing to the left. What
are we goin’ to do out there? Didn’t Swan River say that he was----”
“Goin’ out there after daylight,” agreed Hashknife. “That’s the trouble
with the ordinary sheriff, Sleepy--they want to make a parade out of it.
They never find out anythin’.”
“What do you expect to find out, cowboy?”
“Parder, yuh never know what to expect. Anyway, we’re goin’ out thataway
and see what we’ll see. Probably won’t see anythin’--mebbe we will.”
“Uh-huh.” Dubiously. “What was the idea of all them questions about Bud
stealin’ cows and gettin’ sent to the pen?”
“Morbid curiosity, Sleepy. I just love to hear about grief and misery.”
“Oh, go to ----!” snorted Sleepy.
“Very likely--if there is such a place, Sleepy.”
It was about seven miles to the HB ranch from Moolock. The road wound
through the hills, with little regard for grades; a strange road to
the two cowboys, who only knew that somewhere along it was the HB
ranch-house. In fact, at the end of it was the ranch, as it did not
extend beyond.
There was no room yet, but the ribbon of road was easy to follow. The
last few miles they rode silently, only the muffled sound of the horses
in the dust to tell of their coming. The HB ranch buildings stood in
the wide flat at the mouth of a cañon, and their silhouette was plainly
visible from the road, which approached from a lower level.
No lights were visible, but Hashknife felt that somewhere around that
black bulk of buildings some one was watching. They dismounted and led
their horses away from the road into a clump of trees, which would
screen them from anyone passing on the way to or from the ranch.
“Got to get higher,” said Hashknife, as he led the way out of the trees,
keeping well away from the ranch, circling toward a rise of ground back
of the stable. They were forced to proceed at a slow pace for fear of
running into loose barb wire or other unknown difficulties.
At last they reached a point where they could look down on the group of
buildings, and here they sat down to wait. It was well after midnight
when they reached this point, and an hour later there was sufficient
moonlight to enable them to distinguish something of the buildings and
general contour of the surrounding country.
* * * * *
For a long time there was no sound, except the soft bawling of a cow
in the corral. Far out in the hills a coyote called mournfully, and
from the house came the short bark and growl of a dog. Then all was
still again. Hour after hour went past, while the two cowboys huddled
in the sage, unmoving, and worst of all, unsmoking.
The false dawn lighted the hills, and a chill wind swept down the
cañon, causing the two cowboys to sink lower into the protecting
brush. Suddenly Hashknife sat up. The dim figure of a man had crossed
the corral and faded into the shadows of the stable.
“Didja see him?” asked Hashknife softly.
“Yeah,” Sleepy shivered. “He went into the stable. Probably one of the
HB outfit doin’ his chores early. Of all the ---- fools on earth, we’re
the worst. Settin’ out here in the cold all night--there he goes back
again.”
The man crossed the corral again, going in the opposite direction. He
either went through a gate or crawled through the fence, and blended
with the shadows so well that they were unable to see him again. They
listened to see if they could hear him shut a door in the house, but
there was no sound.
After several moments the dog barked loudly, and from over on the side
of a hill came the snapping bark of a coyote. The dog, evidently under
leash, grew frantic with its barking; but the coyote did not respond.
Hashknife laughed softly.
“What’s so danged funny?” asked Sleepy.
“That coyote.”
“What in ---- is funny about a coyote?”
“Nothin’ in general, Sleepy; but that one prob’ly smokes cigarets and
packs a gun.”
“Yuh mean that it wasn’t a coyote, Hashknife?”
“That’s what I mean.”
“Aw, ----! Why would any man imitate a coyote thataway?”
“To make the dog bark.”
“Oh, yeah.” Sarcastically. Sleepy was chilled to the bone and aching for
a cigaret. “Why in ---- would he want to make a dog bark, if I may ask
yuh?”
“So that anybody would think he was barkin’ at a coyote.”
“All right, all right. Some day I’m goin’ to ask you a question and get
an intelligent answer.”
“And what then, Sleepy?”
“The shock will kill me.”
Hashknife laughed softly and got to his feet.
“Let’s sneak down there and see what that jigger was doin’. He never
went into the house; so I don’t figure he’s part and parcel of the HB
outfit.”
Cautiously they made their way down the hill and came in behind the
stable. Daylight was coming swiftly now, but there was no sign of the
man who had crossed the corral. They slid through the corral fence,
circled the interior until opposite the door of the stable, where they
again passed through the fence.
Part of a long, low shed blocked their view of the house.
“Wait here and keep watch,” whispered Hashknife. “I’m goin’ inside.”
Sleepy crouched against the fence, while Hashknife opened the stable
door and went inside. He was in there so long that Sleepy became
nervous. It was daylight now, and Sleepy felt like a burglar. He
turned his head and looked toward the road. Only a few hundred yards
away, coming up the road, was a big group of horsemen.
“That ---- sheriff’s posse!” snorted Sleepy. He ran to the stable door
to notify Hashknife, and met him coming out.
“Swan River and his men are here!” he blurted. “Whatsa matter, didja go
to sleep in there?”
Hashknife ran to the corner of the stable and watched the horsemen swing
in toward the house.
“C’mon,” he whispered, running straight back toward the hill, keeping
the stable between him and the ranch-house. Sleepy was at his heels,
and together they tumbled into a shallow washout behind some wild rose
bushes.
“We can get back to the horses by goin’ down this washout,” said
Hashknife. “Keep yore head down and c’mon.”
Swiftly they went down the narrow ravine, where the flood waters had
gouged out the soft silt, coming out at the upper edge of a large brush
patch, just above the thicket of cottonwoods.
It did not take them long to get their horses, swing back into the road
and head for the ranch-house. The posse was grouped at the ranch-house
door, talking to old Hank, Bud and Sticky Clay. Swan River had
dismounted and was leaning against the porch, but the rest of the crowd
were still in their saddles.
They turned to look as Hashknife and Sleepy rode up to them.
“Missed yuh in town, Sheriff,” said Hashknife. The sheriff nodded and
turned to Hank Bell.
“I’m not chargin’ yuh with anythin’, Hank. I want yuh to understand
that right here. There’s been so ---- much talk that I had an idea
that we ought to come out here this mornin’ and find out how much of
it was worth arguin’ about.”
Old Hank squinted at the posse, which was composed of Merton, Sepulveda,
Allenby, Sam Bass, Larry Neil, Forty Dollar, Lem Elder, Omaha Olsen and
Chet Hoban.
“Well,” said old Hank slowly, “what do yuh want to do?” He seemed
curiously meek, weary.
“Just to satisfy everybody, suppose we search the place,” suggested Swan
River.
Old Hank squinted closely at Swan River, as though wondering what they
expected to find.
“Go ahead,” said Bud slowly. “I reckon we can stand for that.”
Old Hank nodded in agreement, and the posse dismounted.
“We’ll help yuh, if yuh need us,” grinned Sticky Clay.
Old Hank threw open the front door, and the posse filed inside, led
by Swan River Smith. Hashknife and Sleepy did not go with them, but
sat down on the little front porch. It did not take long to search
the house, and then the posse split into two parts, to search the
stable and other outhouses. Hashknife followed now, and helped them
go over every inch of the place. For about an hour they stayed at
the HB, leaving no stone unturned in their efforts to uncover some
evidence.
But their time was wasted and they came back to their horses.
“Satisfied?” asked Bud.
Swan River nodded, as he swung into his saddle.
“Yeah, I’m satisfied, Bud--and I hope the rest are.”
The rest of them did not express an opinion. Allenby slumped in his
saddle, paying little attention to anyone during the ride back to town.
He had hoped to find June at the HB ranch.
“You never find girl there,” declared Sam Bass. “Bell’s no fool. We find
nothing there.”
“That’s the way I felt about it,” said Swan River. “If Bell did rob
the stage and steal the girl, he wouldn’t put her in a showcase for
us to look at. This idea of goin’ out in a crowd is all foolishness,
I tell yuh. Like Hartley said yesterday, this is a one or two man
job.”
“That’s right,” agreed Sam.
Allenby, Hashknife and Sleepy did not stop in Moolock, but rode on to
the Half-Circle Cross, intending to get breakfast at the ranch.
“I wish I knew what to do,” said Allenby wearily. “There is no clue,
nothing to work on. The sheriff is right, when he says that those
who stole June will not keep her where we can find her. If they want
money----”
“I don’t reckon they do,” said Hashknife.
“I know how yuh feel, Allenby. I _sabe_ how yore wife must feel about
it; but it’s somethin’ that can’t be helped right now. Did you see
anythin’ of Clayton, after he got shot last night?”
“No, I didn’t see him, but Harry did. He told Harry he was going to the
ranch. I think some one tried to kill him and that he was frightened
into leaving town.”
“Harry had a close call,” observed Sleepy.
Allenby nodded sadly, but did not express an opinion. It seemed as
though his hatred of the HB outfit had burned out, or had burned him
out. Mrs. Allenby came from the house to meet them, hoping that they
brought news, but was doomed to disappointment. She did not speak.
Allenby turned his horse over to Hashknife to unsaddle, and walked
to the house with her.
Hashknife and Sleepy stabled the horses and walked back to the
bunkhouse. Clayton was sitting on the porch of the ranch-house, smoking.
“Well, we’re just as wise as we were before we went to the HB,” said
Sleepy, stretching himself out on a bunk. “Lost one whole night’s sleep
and didn’t gain a darned thing. That was probably one of the HB outfit
that crossed the corral this mornin’.”
“I don’t hardly think so,” said Hashknife, yawning wearily. “It wasn’t
none of the HB outfit that barked like a coyote.”
“Aw shucks!” Sleepy did not believe that a man had barked like a coyote.
“Well, the dog barked,” reminded Hashknife.
“Yeah, the dog barked. He was tied up.”
“And if the coyote hadn’t barked, some of the HB would ’a’ come out to
see why the dog barked, wouldn’t they?”
Sleepy sat up and scratched his head thoughtfully.
“Yeah, I suppose so, Hashknife.”
“The coyote barked first, didn’t it? Then the man crossed the corral.
After he left the coyote barked closer, didn’t it? And the dog barked
again--at the coyote.”
“Well, what in ---- has the coyote got to do with it? What had the man
to do with it? You always make a lot out of nothin’, Hashknife. You
make me lose a whole night’s sleep, and then you make boogers out of a
man crossin’ a corral, or a coyote that sounds like a man. What good
did it do us, I’d ask yuh?”
Hashknife walked to the window and looked toward the house. Allenby was
sitting on the ranch-house porch, talking to Clayton, and there was no
one else in sight. Hashknife turned and came back to Sleepy’s bunk.
He reached inside his shirt and drew out two flat envelopes covered with
seals, which had been broken; two empty Manila envelopes, which had been
shipped as valuable packages by an express company. Sleepy took them in
his hands and looked them over.
“I had a awful time findin’ ’em in that barn,” said Hashknife, as he
took them back and slipped them back inside his shirt. “They were under
a currycomb and brush in a little box on the wall.”
“That’s some of the loot from the train robbery,” whispered Sleepy.
“They once held some of the loot,” corrected Hashknife.
“But the posse couldn’t find anythin’.”
“There wasn’t anythin’ left,” grinned Hashknife.