“Can we see Ben?”
“Sure thing, yuh can. He don’t know yo’re comin’, but I’ll bet he’ll be
glad to see yuh all. Hartley’ll take care of yore things.”
Hashknife was glad to get them out of his way, while he loaded the
baggage. He drove the team down to the sheriff’s office and waited for
them to finish their visit. They were in there quite a while, and had
nothing to say when they climbed into the two-seater and headed for the
ranch.
Lanpher rode with Hashknife on the front seat, and after they were out
of the town he asked--
“Well, what have you found out, Hartley?”
“We’ve found out that a man’s life ain’t worth a plugged dime, Lanpher.
As far as the rustlers are concerned, they’re as safe as ever. We can’t
find out a thing. I’m with the Circle Cross and Sleepy is with the
Tomahawk; but we’ll both be cowboy angels pretty soon, I reckon.”
“But they do not know what you are doing here,” protested Lanpher.
“Don’t they? That’s fine,” Hashknife laughed softly. “There’s been a
leak somewhere, Lanpher. They sure do know us. You didn’t wire anybody,
did yuh?”
“No, I did not. I was willing to let you two run this to suit
yourselves, Hartley. I wired Trainor that we were coming, but that is
the only wire I have sent him since you were at my home.”
“It’s sure got me fightin’ my head,” admitted Hashknife.
“What do you make of the case against Ben?”
“Well, it looks to me like another Fantom Rider deal, and Ben accidently
happens along and gets the blame for it. He didn’t kill Smoky Cole.”
“I want to thank you for that,” said Mrs. Lanpher brokenly. “It is good
to think that someone besides us believes him innocent.”
“Cassidy is very bitter,” said Lanpher, after a long pause. “He cursed
me in the jail a while ago. He seems to blame me for what has happened
to him, but I had nothing to do with it. The sheriff told me that
Trainor was crippled.”
“Yeah, I forgot to tell yuh that. A horse stepped on him.”
“Too bad. What do you think of the Circle Cross?”
“Dunno yet. Looks like a rich ranch.”
“Rich! Say, you’d be surprized to know what that ranch has already
cost me, Hartley. I’d sell out in a minute, if I could get back what
I’ve spent on it.”
“I’ll betcha. Hills are pretty tonight, ain’t they?”
They drove up to the ranch-house and Trainor hobbled out to meet them,
with the aid of a cane. Hashknife unloaded the baggage and placed it on
the porch, while they went into the house.
Then he drove to the barn, unhitched the horses, stabled them and went
to the bunk-house where he found Buck and Poco snoring a duet. Buck had
a half-empty whisky-bottle on a chair beside his bunk, and one of his
boots had been placed upside down over a bunk-post.
Hashknife rolled a cigaret and sat down on the edge of his bunk to
remove his boots. Poco stirred, sat up, his eyes filled with sleep. He
squinted at Hashknife, grunted a hoarse greeting and slumped back on to
his pillow. One of Poco’s hands was exposed and Hashknife noticed that
there was a circle of whang-leather around his wrist. He looked closer,
when he saw that a leather thong ran from the wrist under the blanket,
and was drawn taut.
Poco’s cartridge belt was hanging from the bunk-post, and over this
was hung a coat, but when Hashknife crossed to the table to light his
cigaret from over the chimney of the oil-lamp, he was able to see that
the holster was empty.
Hashknife went back, undressed and blew out the lamp. He sat on the edge
of the bunk for a long time, but finally crawled between the blankets
and placed his six-shooter under the blanket beside him.
“Poco is scared of somethin’,” mused Hashknife. “He’s got his six-gun
linked to him--and a feller don’t anchor himself to a thing like that
to keep from fallin’ out of bed. Dang him, I’d like to trade talk with
him. But I reckon he’s scared like everybody else--and me included.”
* * * * *
“Buck is goin’ over to the Flyin’ M to see old man Shappee for me, and
Poco is goin’ to drive an extra team to town; so we can get rid of this
livery-outfit. You can go with Buck, if yuh want to, or yuh can stay
here and see what yuh can do about fixin’ up the fence of the brandin’
corral.”
Trainor had hobbled down to the barn, with the aid of a cane; and was
talking with Hashknife while Poco and Buck harnessed the teams.
“Well, yo’re the boss,” smiled Hashknife. “I’ll go with Buck if yuh say
so; but it don’t take two men to pack a message. Mebbe I better fix up
that fence.”
“Whatever yuh want to do, Hartley. Mr. and Mrs. Lanpher want to go down
and see Ben; so I’ll go with ’em. Miss Lanpher has a bad headache and
will stay home.”
“All right, I’ll stay here and help Quong run the ranch.”
Poco drove away with the ranch-wagon, while Buck drove up to the house
with the livery-rig, picked up the Lanphers and Trainor and drove away.
Hashknife secured a hammer and nails and worked on the corral for a
time; but Hashknife was no carpenter and the work palled. Anyway, it
was too hot to work. He went back and sat down in the shade of the
bunk-house. Somehow, he felt much safer with a solid wall at his
back.
Miss Lanpher came out on the ranch-house porch and sat down with a
magazine. She glanced idly through it for a while, but put it aside
and looked around.
Hashknife got up and walked to the porch.
“Mornin’, Miss Lanpher. How’s the headache?”