“Who are you, Hartley?”
“Cowpuncher,” grinned Hashknife. “Just a puncher.”
“Uh-huh. Why is somebody tryin’ to kill you?”
Hashknife scratched his head thoughtfully.
“Poco, I can’t tell yuh, because I ain’t sure. Yuh see, they ain’t never
told me why. Mebbe I’ve got my own ideas on the subject, but a feller is
liable to figure things a little wrong.”
Poco nodded thoughtfully, his eyes squinted. Hashknife studied him for a
moment and then--
“Poco, I forgot to ask yuh one question.”
“Thasso? What is it?” Poco did not look up.
“You asked me who I am--who are you?”
“Me?” Poco’s thin lips fluttered in a bitter laugh. “I’m a ---- fool, I
reckon.”
Hashknife laughed and slapped him on the back.
“Poco, we all are, but we’re just as happy as though we had good sense.
I hate to pry into anybody’s private affairs, but I’d sure like to know
why Smoky held out to try and convict old Pinto Cassidy.”
“Don’t you think he’s guilty?” queried Poco.
“No--do you?”
“I did,” said Poco shortly, and after a few moments of reflection--
“He threatened to kill any Circle Cross puncher that trespassed on the
Tomahawk.”
“Why?”
“I told yuh once that I didn’t know why, Hartley. But I think it was on
account of the half-breed girl.”
Poco turned away and headed for the bunk-house, while Hashknife sat
down beside the barn in the shade, and watched Poco go jerkily along
on his high-heeled boots.
“You’ve got an ax to grind, but I don’t think yuh know where to find the
grindstone,” observed Hashknife to himself. “I’d rather have yuh on my
side than against me, ’cause you come nearer bein’ a cold-blooded gunman
than anybody I’ve seen for quite a while.”
Hashknife had never seen Poco Saunders in trouble, but he felt
instinctively that Poco would be swift with a gun. Every motion
betokened the gunman; cool, calculating, sober and unemotional.
Hashknife felt sure that Poco had been greatly affected by the murder
of Smoky Cole, his bunkie. There was no doubt that Poco did not know
who had killed Smoky, but that Poco was trying hard to find out.
Poco had used the past tense in speaking of his opinion of Cassidy’s
guilt, and Hashknife wondered whether the recent bushwhacking had
convinced Poco that both Cassidy and Ben Lanpher were innocent.
“Well, we’re earnin’ that Lanpher money, that’s a cinch,” observed
Hashknife. “This kind of a job needs armor more than it does brains.”
* * * * *
He got to his feet as Trainor, Lanpher and a third man rode in through
the big gate, and waited for them to come to the barn. It was not
until this third man dismounted that Hashknife recognized him as being
Carsten, the cattle-buyer, whom he and Sleepy had met at Lanpher’s
house in San Francisco.
Both Trainor and Lanpher spoke to Hashknife, but Carsten did not even
look at him.
“Hartley, will yuh take care of the horses?” asked Trainor, handing
Hashknife his reins.
Hashknife nodded and collected the three sets of reins.
“We’ll go up to the house,” said Trainor, and he and Carsten started
away.
Lanpher stooped to take off his spurs and when he stood up, the other
two were half-way to the house.
“I got Carsten aside and told him not to recognize you,” explained
Lanpher hurriedly. “I didn’t want even Trainor to know that Carsten
met you.”
“That’s the stuff,” grinned Hashknife, but added, “Even if everybody
else seems to know what we’re tryin’ to do here.”
“It must be only the guilty ones, though,” protested Lanpher quickly.
“We had a talk with the sheriff and he plans a big sweep of the whole
country very soon. How is Stevens?”
“He’s doin’ fine. That squaw sure beats the doctors.”
Lanpher frowned slightly, but a glad smile chased it away immediately,
as he said:
“Hartley, my boy gets his trial day after tomorrow. We were notified
of it today. Mitchell, the San Francisco lawyer, will defend him. He
gets his trial even ahead of Cassidy’s second one.
“Mitchell is optimistic, but admits that the evidence is greatly
against us. In fact--” Lanpher’s eyes were wistful and his voice broke
slightly-- “In fact, we haven’t any evidence in our favor, except Ben’s
unsupported word. He--he had been rather wild, I am told, and that will
all be against him; but my boy did not commit murder, Hartley.”
Hashknife shook his head in agreement and turned to the barn door with
the horses.
“No, I don’t reckon he did. Ben was just a plumb ---- fool, thasall.
He’s got a hard, hard fight ahead of him, Lanpher, and some of them
recent wild oats are goin’ to make all of yuh sick of the lad’s
sowin’. But you stick with him.
“That prosecutin’ attorney is sure goin’ to hang a red fringe around
the kid, y’betcha. He’ll make you think you raised a locoed bobcat
instead of a boy; but don’t mind him. He’s paid to say nasty things
about folks.”
Lanpher nodded slowly, as he held out his hand to Hashknife.
“Hartley, I appreciate what you’ve said.”
They shook hands solemnly and Lanpher went to the house, where Mrs.
Lanpher and Helen were talking to Carsten and Trainor. Hashknife stabled
the horses and went to the bunk-house, where he found Buck half-asleep
on a bunk and Poco playing his interminable game of solitaire.
Hashknife told them that Lanpher and Trainor had returned, and mentioned
the stranger, who limped slightly with his right leg.
“Kinda thin-faced?” asked Poco indifferently. “Little gray in his hair?”
“Uh-huh.”
Buck cleared his throat huskily.
“Must be Carsten, Poco;” and to Hashknife:
“He’s a cattle-buyer. Works for some Eastern outfit.”
“Sets on a horse like a puncher,” observed Hashknife.
Buck laughed.
“Oh, I reckon, Carsten ain’t no tenderfoot. Feller’s kinda got to _sabe_
horses and cows, if he’s goin’ to mix with cattle-folks and buy their
stock.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” admitted Hashknife.
He sauntered outside and saddled his horse. Inaction palled upon him so
he rode up past the ranch-house and told Trainor that he was going back
to the Tomahawk. Trainor came down from the porch.
“Lanpher just told me that Stevens is gettin’ along fine,” he said.
“We’re glad to hear it. We talked with the sheriff today, and in a
short time we are going to comb these hills so thoroughly that even
a gopher will have to dig deep to keep out of our way.
“You go right ahead over to the Tomahawk and stay as long as yuh want
to. Mr. Carsten, a cattle-buyer, will be here for a few days, and I
will likely be busy with him. Ben Lanpher’s trial comes up Wednesday;
so his father will likely be busy with the lawyer. Poco and Buck can
take care of everything.”