“Judge, it was all we could do.”
Trainor got up and crossed to Ben, offering his sympathy and hope; but
Ben did not look up. Lanpher shoved Trainor aside and threw an arm
around the boy’s shoulder.
The room had been silent, as the audience watched every move of the main
actors in the drama, but now there came the scrape of a footstep at the
front door and Buck Avery came in. He started for the front of the room,
but some one caught hold of him, whispering for him to be still.
But Buck struck the hand aside and started down the aisle, just as the
rear door swung open and Hashknife and Sleepy came in. As intent as the
audience was on the prisoner, they gave more than passing interest to
these two cowboys, who had used the private entrance to get into the
room.
Hashknife and Sleepy stopped near the judge’s desk and looked over
the room. Lorna and her mother looked at them and they both smiled.
Buck had halted about midway of the room in the center aisle, as if
undecided what to do.
“Ben Lanpher, stand up,” said the judge hoarsely.
Ben did not hear him and the sheriff repeated the order. Ben stood
up, his hand on his father’s shoulder, and looked straight at the
grave-faced old judge.
“Ben Lanpher, you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree,
and it is the duty of this court to carry out that verdict. Is there any
reason why I should not pronounce sentence upon you here and now?”
Ben looked away from the judge and down at his father.
“No,” Ben shook his head. “I--I guess--not.”
“There is a reason, judge.”
Hashknife had spoken softly, but his voice carried to the far end of the
room like a trumpet.
The judge turned and looked at him in amazement. Eph Baker, the
prosecutor, was on his feet in a moment.
“I object to this!” he snapped. “What right ----”
“There’s a mighty good reason, judge,” said Hashknife slowly, never
taking his eyes off the crowd.
“If you’ll let me, I’ll tell yuh why. If yuh won’t, I’ll tell it
anyway.”
“I protest against this interference,” insisted Baker, appealing to the
judge, who was staring at the cowboys.
“Set down, you fat hoptoad,” laughed Sleepy, and Baker’s teeth snapped
angrily.
“Well, it is irregular,” hesitated the judge, “but ----”
Mitchell was already on his feet and before the judge.
“Let him talk, your honor,” he begged. “It is a God-sent interference,
if they have evidence.”
“Little bright-eyes over there is havin’ a fit,” said Sleepy, pointing
at Eph Baker, who was struggling to swallow his anger.
Some one in the audience laughed cacklingly and a ripple of laughter
followed. The Lanpher family were staring at Hashknife and Sleepy,
as if afraid that something would interfere with their last-minute
assistance.
“The court will listen,” decided the judge, and there was evident relief
in his voice.
“I’m sure much obliged,” said Hashknife slowly. “We’re sorry to be so
late--but better late than never.”
He cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs over his sagging belt, while
Sleepy moved back until he was against the judge’s desk.
“You’ve all heard about the Fantom Riders,” said Hashknife, a half-grin
on his lips.
There was a perceptible movement in the crowd, a shuffling of feet, the
clink of a spurred heel.
“And you’ve all lost more or less stock,” continued Hashknife. “It’s
been a mystery where them cows went to. The Circle Cross lost a lot
of cows; so Mr. Lanpher decided to hire a cattle detective, and gave
him work as a cowpuncher.
“The Fantom Riders killed him. They hired another. Pinto Cassidy is
charged with his murder, because he was killed on the Tomahawk ranch.
Yuh see,” Hashknife grinned, “Pinto Cassidy drew a dead-line between
his ranch and the Circle Cross.
“Mr. Lanpher kinda run out of detectives. There wasn’t much use, it
seemed. The criminals got wise to ’em as soon as they showed up, and
a feller ain’t got much chance to stay in the game when men shoot
from the brush.
“Me and my pardner--” Hashknife pointed at Sleepy--“We hired out to lay
the ghosts. Nobody, except Lanpher, knew who we were. He hired us in San
Francisco, and we sneaked in here without any brass bands. Not a danged
soul knowed who we were--but they started shootin’ at us right away.”
Hashknife shifted his feet and his eyes narrowed a trifle. His smile was
all gone now. Even Ben Lanpher had forgotten that he was a condemned
murderer, and was watching and listening.
“They even mistook Jimmy, the half-breed, for me, and plugged him in the
arm. They sure wasted a lot of lead and got little results. They plugged
Sleepy once.
“I wondered how they spotted us so quick. I hired out to the Circle
Cross, after Smoky Cole, the foreman, had been killed. Of course, Ben
Lanpher was arrested for that killin’.
“I think I know why Smoky was killed, folks. Smoky was a hard drinker, a
man who didn’t want to be bossed, and he might--talk.”
“Wait just a moment,” interrupted Baker. “Is this all guess work on your
part? If you have proven facts ----”
“Set down!” growled Sleepy angrily. “You can ask some questions after
he’s all through.”
Baker subsided reluctantly.
Hashknife laughed shortly and started to speak, but Sleepy interrupted
with:
“Buck Avery, I wish you’d set down. Yuh make me nervous standin’ there
in the aisle.”
Buck snarled back a short answer, which was not intelligible, and a man
moved over for him to sit down, but Buck ignored him.
“Go ahead, Hashknife; he won’t set down--yet,” said Sleepy, and
Hashknife continued:
“Until we came here, nobody had ever seen the Fantom Riders. We seen
him--on a pinto horse; so we had that much evidence. But nobody around
here, except Jimmy, the half-breed, owned a pinto; and Jimmy’s pinto
had been stolen.
“The shootin’ had all been done with a .30-30 rifle; but they all shoot
the same size ammunition, which made it hard to prove which .30-30 fired
the shots. Are yuh all interested in my story?”
“Keep weavin’, brother!” exclaimed a cowboy earnestly.
“Well, I got to wonderin’ about that dead-line,” said Hashknife
thoughtfully.
“Men don’t draw deadlines just for fun; so I went on a still-hunt for
a reason--and found it. Pinto Cassidy is in jail for killin’ that
detective on Tomahawk property, but he never killed him. It was a ----
easy thing to put that dead man there and lay the blame on the old
man.”
“Can you prove that?” asked Baker quickly.
“I can. But I reckon I’d better let yuh into the mystery of the stolen
cattle. It started over a certain feller wantin’ a girl. Her pa and ma
didn’t want her to marry him; so he decided to get even with pa and ma
by bustin’ up their herds.
“He got kinda stuck on another girl, but because she wasn’t white, he
wanted to love her, but not as a wife. It’s things like that, gents,
that causes dead-lines.”
“What do you mean?” roared Trainor. “You mean to say that I----”
Hashknife ignored him, but Sleepy’s eyes never left Trainor’s face, as
Hashknife continued:
“There was only one man who could have told that me and Sleepy were
comin’ here to work on this case. We met him in Lanpher’s home in
Frisco. He was the link to a weak chain of evidence. I needed him; so
I got a look at a telegram down at the depot. Here it is.”