“Hashknife, who searched that box on the wall?”
Hashknife grinned widely and shook his head.
“Swan River Smith did. These Moolock outlaws ain’t fools, cowboys. Now
will yuh believe that a man barked like a coyote, Sleepy?”
“----, I’d believe that they buzzed like a rattler, if you say so. Right
now I’m in the right frame of mind to believe anythin’. Have yuh got any
clue, Hashknife; anythin’ to work on? Oh, ----, you wouldn’t say so, if
yuh had a million clues.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a clue--but I can’t tell yuh what it is.”
“All right. Keep me in ignorance.”
“Don’t blame me for what nature done to yuh, Sleepy. Let’s snore a few
lines, whatcha say? Mebbe we’ll need it.”
“I can always do that, pardner. Sleep is m’ first name.”
* * * * *
While Hashknife and Sleepy slumbered in the bunkhouse, Allenby told
Clayton about their failure to secure any evidence against the HB
outfit. He told of the search and of Hank Bell’s willingness to have
them search the place.
“He’s no fool,” grumbled Clayton. “He’s been expecting trouble for a
long time, and he surely wouldn’t take a chance on having any
incriminating evidence in sight. If he and his outfit robbed that
stage and kidnapped June, they wouldn’t take her to the ranch.”
“No, I suppose not, Clayton. Have you any idea who shot at you?”
“Not in the least,” Clayton shook his head, as he felt of his bandaged
chest, where the bullet had scored his breastbone.
“You haven’t had any trouble with anyone, have you?”
Clayton shook his head again quickly.
“Not a bit of it. The only person who might have done it would be that
fellow Clay, who shot Harry.”
“Did you have any trouble with Clay?”
“Not a bit. I just thought perhaps he might be sore at all of us. I
have been out here so much that they seem to think that I am one of
the Half-Circle Cross outfit.”
“I suppose so,” said Allenby dubiously. “Still, it is hardly reasonable,
Clayton. Sticky Clay is a gunman, and I don’t think he would try to
murder you in cold blood.”
“Well, pick a more likely man to suspect,” Clayton was angered a little
over Allenby’s insistence. “I’ve thought about it until I can’t arrive
at any conclusion. Perhaps that bullet was intended for Hartley. It did
not miss him far.”
“That might be possible, too. Where is Harry?”
“He went back to town this morning after breakfast. Did Hartley and
Stevens ride with the posse?”
“They got there after we did. What time did they leave here this
morning?”
“They didn’t sleep here last night.”
“Didn’t they? That’s queer. Swan River Smith said they had gone back to
the ranch. They didn’t stay in Moolock.”
“Well, they didn’t stay here,” declared Clayton. “Harry and I slept in
the bunkhouse.” He turned his chair and looked at Allenby, as he lowered
his voice-- “Do you know much about those two men?”
Allenby nodded slowly.
“I know what Freeman told me. He said that Hartley was the shrewdest
cattle detective that ever wore a gun. I am not going to question what
they do, Clayton. If they wanted to tell the sheriff that they were
coming here to the ranch last night, and went elsewhere--that is their
business.”
“But you did not hire them as detectives?”
“I did not. But I told them both that my former offer of five thousand
dollars for a conviction still stands, and that they could do as they
pleased while on the job.”
“Well, that’s different,” nodded Clayton. “I just didn’t understand the
arrangement. I think I’ll go back to town and see if anything new has
turned up. Want to go along?”
“Not now, Ed.”
Allenby went into the house, while Clayton, deep in thought, went to the
stable, saddled his horse and rode toward Moolock.
The cook at the Half-Circle Cross did not believe in cooking and serving
meals in the middle of the afternoon, but he made an exception in the
case of Hashknife and Sleepy. “Wood-tick” Wylie was an old camp-cook,
sour of disposition, crippled in both knees with rheumatism, and filled
with indignation at the way the United States was run by those at
Washington.
“’F I was the Gover’nor of this danged state, I’d have troops in here,
by jin!” he told Hashknife confidentially. “C’n yuh imagine sich a
condition of affairs? C’n yuh? I can’t. Somebody steals a girl. M’ ----,
they ort to be torn limb from limb.”
Wood-tick shredded a helpless biscuit by way of illustration.
“Yeah, yore right,” admitted Hashknife. “You sure do mingle a wonderful
egg, old timer.”
“Don’t I? When it comes to aigs, I know more than the first hen what
laid one. I had a chance to cook f’r Teddy Rosenfeld once. Ain’t they
doin’ nothin’ to try and retrieve that girl? Best danged girl yuh ever
seen, too. Allenby don’t do nothin’ much. Helpless as ----.
“Her ma is in there--” he lowered his voice and came closer--“she’s in
there lookin’ at June’s pitcher. Jist lookin’ at it, mind yuh. Acts like
June was dead. Yes, sir, she ain’t et nothin’ since yest’day. Got a good
appetite, too--most of the time. ----’s hinges! Wish I was sheriff of
this ---- county. I’d shore run somebody a ragged race.”
“Kinda hard for the sheriff to get somethin’ to work on,” said
Hashknife, his mouth filled with egg.
“Work on! M’ ----, I’d make somethin’ to work on. Who shot at Clayton?
Nobody knows, eh? Sticky Clay smoked up Harry, did he? By the muddy
Missouri River, this here county is gittin’ as salty as Utah. Want more
aigs? Got a slew of ’em. No?”
“Seems kinda funny to me that none of the other women folks around this
county have come in to weep with Mrs. Allenby,” observed Sleepy.
“Ain’t nothin’ funny about it,” denied Wood-tick. “Allenby is to blame
for it all. He’s been so danged uppity, thassall. He ain’t never fit
in with reg’lar folks. Thinks he’s worth more than they are. ----, yuh
can’t do that.”
“Don’t make friends, eh?” Thus Hashknife.
“Don’t make nothin’ but money.”
“And somebody steals the profits, eh?”
“They shore do. I kinda think that some folks don’t believe that Allenby
lost as much stock as he says he has; but he’s lost it all right. It’s
killin’ him by inches. Allenby don’t think no more of a dollar than he
does of his family--or not much more, anyway.”
Hashknife pushed away from the table and began rolling a cigaret.
“They tell me that he don’t give his family much to spend.”
“Much, ----! Nothin’.”
They thanked Wood-tick for the meal and went outside. Mrs. Allenby was
standing on the front porch, looking off across the hills, shading her
eyes. Hashknife studied her for a moment, before going around to the
porch. She lowered her hand away from her eyes and looked at Hashknife.
“I--I was just looking,” she said simply.
“Yes’m,” he nodded. “The hills are kinda pretty this time of day.”
“Pretty?” She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t notice--much.”
“Where is Mr. Allenby?” he asked.
“I think he went to town.”
“Oh, yeah, I suppose he did.”
“I wish Harry would come home. He stays away most of the time these
days. Where do you suppose June is?”
“I dunno, ma’am. It’s all kinda mixed up. Clayton was goin’ to marry
June, wasn’t he?”
Mrs. Allenby stared at Hashknife, and a little color came back to her
white cheeks.
“Who told you that?” she asked.
“I don’t remember. It wasn’t a secret, was it, Mrs. Allenby?”
“No, I--I don’t know.” She shook her head slowly. “Mr. Allenby
wouldn’t----”
“He didn’t want Clayton for a son-in-law, eh?”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, he didn’t, Mrs. Allenby. Would you want him?”
“Mr. Clayton?”
“Yeah.”
“Why--I--what right have you to ask me a question of that kind?”
“Mrs. Allenby, I don’t want to pry into your secrets; but I’ve got to
know a few things. If you want your daughter back----”
“Oh, but I do!” Mrs. Allenby gripped the porch-post and stared at
Hashknife. “I would sacrifice anything to get June home again.”
“Sure yuh would. You’ll get her, ma’am; but you’ve got to have a lot of
patience. Now, I want you to answer me this: Does June want to marry
Clayton?”
She turned away, shaking her head.
“All right. But you’ve done quite a lot to convince her that she ought
to marry him, ain’t yuh?”
Mrs. Allenby turned quickly and stared at him.
“What makes you say that?” she asked hoarsely.
“Because it is true,” Hashknife knew that his guess had been correct.
“Now you are goin’ to tell me why you wanted June to marry Clayton.”
“How did you find out these things?” Mrs. Allenby’s face was white, but
her voice did not tremble now. “Who told you?”
“Nobody, ma’am. Mebbe I read it in the clouds. I just want yuh to tell
me why yuh promoted Clayton.”
“Promoted him?”
“Well, somethin’ like that. Go ahead and talk about it.”
For several moments Hashknife was afraid that she was going to rebel.
Finally she sat down in a rocking-chair near him, and he knew that the
point was won.
“It was the wrong thing to do,” she began slowly. “But you do not know
my husband. His one ambition is money. All his life he has been a slave
to money. No, I am not complaining, nor excusing myself. I did wrong,
and I will admit everything I have done.
“Ed Clayton has wanted to marry June ever since he first came here to
buy cattle. June did not seem to care for him. Mr. Allenby liked him
as a cattle-buyer, but he did not want him to marry June.
“I did not dislike Ed Clayton. He was a gentleman, until----”
Mrs. Allenby shook her head sadly.
“At any rate he asked Mr. Allenby for June’s hand, and was refused. It
did not seem to make any difference to Clayton. He told me about it
all, and asked me to intercede for him. I knew it was useless. When Mr.
Allenby makes up his mind to a thing, nothing can change him.
“I told Mr. Clayton that it would not help his case in any way. He and
Harry were great friends; so Harry came and asked me to help Clayton
out. Harry liked Clayton, who always had money. You know, Harry never
has any money. His father does not believe in giving children money--and
he does not realize that Harry and June have grown up.
“Later I began to hear stories about Harry. They said that he was
drinking and gambling. I know that his father heard the same stories,
but he merely laughed and proved to me that it was all lies, because
Harry had no money to drink and gamble with.
“Ed Clayton knew that I idolized my children. He knew that I would go to
any length to help them. So one day he came to me and asked me to see if
I couldn’t help him win June. I gave him the same answer. He did not get
angry, nor did he threaten; but he did show me receipts for borrowed
money, a total of five thousand dollars, signed with Harry’s name.
“Clayton had loaned Harry all that money. Clayton knew what Mr. Allenby
would do, if he knew that Harry had done such a thing. But Clayton did
not threaten me. He just pointed out the fact that some one must pay
that money. He had loaned it in good faith.
“He said to me--
“‘Mrs. Allenby, I love June more than anything in the world, and I will
try to make her happy. I feel sure that a little urging will win for me.
And, in that event, I will give you these receipts, and everything will
be forgotten.’
“That is why I tried to--oh, I know it was all wrong, but----”
“Yeah, it was all wrong, Mrs. Allenby,” agreed Hashknife.
“But my urging did not help--” Mrs. Allenby was crying now--“and I am
glad. It would have been like selling my June. I realized it afterward,
but at that time I could only see what might happen to Harry, don’t you
see?”
“Yeah, I see,” Hashknife got to his feet. “I’m sure obliged to yuh,
ma’am. This here is a secret between us.”
“Oh, I hope so,” she said wearily. “I don’t know why I told it to you.”
“Thasall right, ma’am,” smiled Hashknife, as he walked back to the
bunkhouse, where he joined Sleepy.
“What was you and the lady chawin’ about, Hashknife?” asked Sleepy.
“Arguin’ about raisin’ chickens. She favored Plymouth Rocks and I held
out for Rhode Island Reds.”
“And she cried for her side, eh? Yeah, I seen her wipe her eyes. You can
lie faster than I can, Hashknife.”
* * * * *
Hashknife grinned and headed for the stable, where they saddled their
horses and started for town. They found Forty Dollar at the sheriff’s
office, bewailing everything.
“Swan River has led out another posse,” he told them. “He’s got Allenby,
Sepulveda, Merton, Omaha and Hoban with him, and they’re headin’ toward
Tecoma. Dunno where in ---- they’re goin’, but they’re goin’, thassall.
Swan River made me stay here, dang his old hide. Said somebody had to
protect the office.”
He did not get much sympathy from Hashknife and Sleepy; so he paraded
the rest of his woes, thusly:
“Ed Clayton is drunk and wants to fight somebody, the big brute. Harry
Allenby is drunk enough to brag again, and he wants to help Clayton
whip somebody, and there ain’t nobody around here to accommodate ’em.
Pinon Meade might fight the two of ’em, if he got drunk enough; but
Clayton, alone, is twice as big as Pinon. So there yuh are. On account
of my official position I can’t fight ’em. Any news of the lost girl?”
Hashknife grinned at Forty Dollar’s woes and shook his head.
“No news, Forty. You heard anythin’?”
“How the ---- could I, settin’ here all the time?”
Forty Dollar borrowed Hashknife’s Durham and rolled a cigaret.
“It ain’t none of my business,” he said pointedly, “but I was just
wonderin’ where you two fellers were when we rode up to the HB this
mornin’.”
Hashknife lifted his brows slightly, but his expression remained the
same. Then a smile wreathed his lips.
“What makes yuh ask that question, Forty?”
“Curiosity. We was late gettin’ started, and we sure did whang ---- out
of our horses all the way. We never passed yuh on the road, and when yuh
came up to us, yore horses wasn’t even breathin’ hard.”
“Forty Dollar,” grinned Hashknife, “yore a born detective.”
“Yeah? Well, I do notice some things. I kinda had a hunch that you
fellers was pokin’ around. Swan River wondered why yuh wasn’t there
to join the posse, and I told him that you wasn’t the kind to run in
packs.”
“I reckon that’s true,” laughed Hashknife. “Swan River didn’t say when
he’d be back, did he?”
“He didn’t know. Everybody expects him to be headin’ a searchin’ party;
so he’s doin’ it. He was just ready to start when Allenby rode in; so
they took him along. I reckon Clayton didn’t know they were goin’.
Anyway, he didn’t go along.”
They invited Forty Dollar to go over to the Elk saloon with them, but he
declined. Swan River had told Forty Dollar to stay at the office, which
meant in town, but Forty Dollar translated it literally, and gloried in
his martyrdom.
Harry Allenby was at the Elk, still wearing his bandage, which was
slightly disarranged, and he was more than partly drunk. Hashknife
took him aside and advised him to go home, but Harry would have none
of Hashknife’s advice.
“You ain’t runnin’ my business,” he told Hashknife angrily. “I do as I
---- please.”
“That’s yore whole trouble,” said Hashknife. “Yo’re just a fool kid,
without brains enough to pound sand into a rathole. You go on home and
quit spendin’ money that don’t belong to you.”
The shot went home. Harry’s eyes blinked for a moment and he had
difficulty in swallowing; but he tried to bluff.
“What in ---- do you mean by that?” he demanded.
“You know what I mean, Harry. If you want me to tell it, I’ll tell it
loud enough for every one to hear.”
“Who told you that?” Harry’s voice was hoarse with anxiety.
“Who told me what?” asked Hashknife.
“That--that--” Harry hesitated, trying to clear his thoughts. “That I
was spending money that didn’t belong to me,” he finished lamely. “It’s
a lie, anyway.”
“It’s the truth, kid,” Hashknife spoke softly and with conviction. “Yore
mother wants yuh to come home.”
“Aw, ----!” Harry turned away and walked outside.
For several minutes he stood on the porch of the saloon, thinking it
over, but decided that he didn’t want to go home; so he walked up to
the White Horse saloon and went inside.
There were few men in the Elk. Three cowpunchers were playing a game of
freeze-out at one of the tables, while “Snowy” Garnette and a railroad
contractor were playing two-handed stud. Hashknife and Sleepy drifted to
the pool-table and began playing bottle pool.
Their game was about half finished when Harry came back, and with him
was Ed Clayton. Clayton had been drinking, but he was not drunk. He
and Harry had a drink together, and were at the bar when Hashknife and
Sleepy put up their cues.
Hashknife noticed that both of them were serious, and as Hashknife
approached the bar Clayton stepped in front of him. In spite of
Hashknife’s height, Clayton was half-a-head taller, and weighed at
least fifty pounds more.
“Who in ---- told you that I loaned Harry money?” asked Clayton angrily.