the shoes had come loose from the hoof, and the other had evidently been
pulled off.
“Yuh don’t know who owned the horse that wore them shoes?”
“Nope.” The big man was very positive.
“You two own the sheep?”
“Kinda looks like we do. Anythin’ else you’d like to ask?”
“Uh-huh,” nodded Brick. “Lots of things I’d like to ask, but gettin’ a
honest answer is a horse of another color.”
Brick reached over and took the horseshoes.
“Mebbe I can double my luck,” he grinned, and tied them to his saddle.
He swung his horse around and headed for the cañon. He knew there was no
use trying to find out anything from the sheepherders. He guided his
horse into the brush, angling up the side of the cañon. He had traveled
about three hundred yards from the cabin, and had just swung sidewise in
his saddle to turn his horse to the left up the hill, when there came a
thud, a yank at his belt, and from down the cañon came the whip-like pop
of a rifle.
* * * * *
Brick threw himself out of the saddle, pulling his Winchester out from
its scabbard as he went down. The brush masked him from the cabin now,
and he investigated the effects of the bullet. A neat notch had been cut
through the right side of the cantle of his saddle, and the bullet had
ripped a chunk of leather from the inner side of his pistol holster. If
Brick hadn’t thrown himself sidewise at the right time, the bullet would
have ripped through his hip or thigh.
Brick considered this and his blue eyes snapped. It did not appear
that the sheepherders needed his assistance to protect them from the
cattlemen. He slipped down the hill and started angling down toward
the cabin, when he caught a glimpse of the smaller of the two men
coming cautiously up the hill.
The man was taking no chances, but investigating every inch of the
brush in front of him. Brick grinned. The man felt sure that he had
killed Brick. He darted from one clump of brush to another, cutting
the hill above Brick. He passed out of view. Brick watched closely.
Finally the man reappeared, but this time he was more cautious.
His head snapped from side to side and he fingered the trigger of his
rifle nervously. His nerves were almost gone. He had no idea of
Brick’s whereabouts. He had shot and missed. Brick grinned. He knew
just how the man felt. Suddenly the man’s nerve broke and he ran down
the hill, jumping from side to side, as though to disconcert any one
trying to shoot him. Once he tripped and fell, flinging his rifle far
down the cañon, but he did not stop to pick it up. Brick wiped the
tear out of his eyes. The man disappeared, still running and limping.
Brick got up and started for the cabin, but taking no chances on another
shot from the sheepherders. Then he saw the big man. He was across the
cañon, nearer the cabin, standing there with a rifle in his hands. He
turned toward the cabin, and evidently saw his partner. He turned and
hurried down there, while Brick sneaked into the cañon bottom and came
in at the rear of the cabin, which was well masked with brush. The two
men were in front of the cabin and their voices were very audible.
“---- ain’t there, I tell yuh! Cut a notch in his saddle, that’s all.”
“You’re a ---- of a crack shot,” grumbled the other. “Never miss ’em,
says you. Shot with a rest, too, yuh did. Now what will we do?”
“Git to ---- out-a here,” whined the other, which Brick recognized as
the voice of the small man. “Didn’t he say the sheriff was a shootin’
hound? I missed him, and he’s some’ers in that brush-- Do yuh think I
want him to line his sights on me?”
“What about the sheep?”
“Aw, ---- the sheep! He said he’d likely lose ’em, didn’t he? He can
afford to lose ’em.”
“You shot too soon,” argued the big man. “You’ve spoiled the
whole ---- deal. The sheriff was fallin’ for our game, but you spoiled
it all.”
“Him?” There was a world of scorn in the little man’s voice. “That
red-headed _hombre_ fallin’ for any game? Oh, yeah! Whatcha reckon he
took them horseshoes for?”
“Well, what’ll we do?” asked the big man. “Stand here and argue?”
Brick had sneaked to the corner of the cabin and he answered the big
man’s question--
“Stand still and hold up your hands!”
The big man dropped his rifle and they both put up their hands.
The small man took a deep breath and expelled it slowly--an audible sigh
of relief. His face plainly showed that he would rather be a prisoner
than a fugitive.
“Now what do we do?” asked the big man.
“You’re full of questions, ain’t yuh?” grinned Brick. “I reckon I ought
to give yuh both a hundred yards runnin’ start and then fan yuh with
lead.”
“Yuh won’t though, will yuh?” The small man was still apprehensive.
“No-o-o, I reckon not--not unless yuh deserve it, but yuh never can tell
what I think about a man who misses an easy shot like you did.”
Brick’s face was serious, but he knew that the little man was a good
shot. He had grown panicky when he found that he had missed, and the
distance was at least three hundred yards.
“Whatcha goin’ to do with us?” asked the big man.
“Well, Mr. Question Mark, I reckon I’ll ask you two jaspers to hoof
it to Marlin City ahead of me. It’s only about twelve miles. I’ve
got a nice little house to put yuh in and I’ve got her fixed so that
nobody can bust in and hurt yuh. Like the idea? No? Tell me what the
little game was--the one I didn’t fall for, and I might let yuh go
your own way.”
The two men seemed surprized, but their surprize was not genuine. The
small man acted as though he thought Brick was joking. Brick smiled and
pointed across the hills.
“Twelve miles; forward march!”
* * * * *
The two men turned and plodded ahead of him, while Brick rolled a
cigaret and smiled to himself. His idea was working out slowly, but
Brick did not mind the slowness. He really held no animosity against the
two sheepherders for attempting his life. A few days in jail wouldn’t
hurt them. Brick did not believe in jailing a man for missing his shot,
but he felt that jailing the two sheepherders might make a change that
would expose something he wished to find out.
It was hard traveling, but neither of the men complained. Brick herded
them across the hills and struck the road near the spot where Brick had
left the Hereford yearlings. They had followed the road about a mile,
when a body of horsemen swung around a curve and rode up to them. The
two sheepherders crowded to the side of the road and sat down. It was a
representative group, Bill Voorhies and Lynn Barnhardt, of the Lazy H,
Jeff Seldon, of the Star Dot, Dal Melchior, Barney O’Mera, and “Slim”
Hoskins, of the Bar M, and Lafe Freeman, of the Nine Bar Nine. Voorhies
reined up beside Brick and looked at the two tired sheepmen.
“Who yuh got there?” he asked.
“Couple of sheepherders.” Brick’s voice was just as belligerent as
Voorhies’. He was not going to let Voorhies get away with any bluff
talk.
“Sheepherders, eh?” Jeff Seldon urged his horse forward and looked at
the two men. “Puttin’ them in jail for herdin’ sheep?”
“No-o-o,” drawled Brick. “Puttin’ ’em in for makin’ a mistake.”
“How many sheep did they have?” asked Lafe Freeman.
“Said they had two hundred. I don’t reckon they’ve got more than that,
Lafe.”
“Mistake?” asked Voorhies.
“Uh-huh,” nodded Brick. “Shot at me and missed.”
“Thought you’d run ’em out all by your lonesome, eh?” sneered Seldon.
“What did they shoot at yuh for, Brick?” asked Lafe.
“For money, I reckon.”
“Money?” Voorhies seemed amused, and his amusement was shared by Seldon,
who laughed in a rasping manner.
Brick’s eyes narrowed and the freckles showed like rust splotches on his
white skin.
“Hold her, Brick!” cautioned Lafe. “Don’t git sore, old-timer.
I’m ---- glad yuh arrested the herders. It makes things easier for us.
We’ll just razoo that herd of sheep so far they’ll smother to death in
wool before they ever find a man to clip ’em.”
“Goin’ to jail ’em for shootin’ at yuh?” asked Seldon. He emphasized
“shootin’,” and the tone of the question was sarcastic.
“Was yuh thinkin’ of takin’ ’em away from me?” queried Brick, but Seldon
did not answer.
“Brick sure is organized,” observed Lynn Barnhardt, pointing at the two
horseshoes tied to Brick’s saddle.
“Whatcha do, Brick--put ’em on your bronc when yuh get ready to start
down hill? Betcha he’s got the uphill shoes on his bronc now.”
“Barefooted now, Lynn,” smiled Brick. “Level goin’. Some system, eh?”
“This thing has got to be kind of a ---- nuisance,” observed Seldon.
“What I figured on was to warn them sheepherders to take their sheep
and vamoose. We can’t go chasin’ them sheep all over the country, can
we?”
“Reckon I ought to turn ’em loose and kindly ask ’em to take their sheep
away?” Brick laughed at Seldon and shook his head. “Nope, your idea is
all wrong, Seldon. I’m goin’ to put them two specimens in jail; _sabe?_”
“There’s no need of a warnin’,” said Dal Melchior, “bein’ as there ain’t
nobody to warn. It won’t take us long to dispose of two hundred sheep.”
“I know a high cliff,” observed Barney O’Mera meaningly.
“Do yuh think it would be legal for us to kill off them sheep?” asked
Seldon seriously.
Brick looked at Seldon and then around at the other men.
“Well, I ain’t no lawyer, Seldon. I swore to uphold the law, yuh
understand? If the owner of them sheep will ask me to protect ’em----”
* * * * *
Brick looked at the two tired prisoners, but neither gave any sign that
he had heard. Brick shook his head.
“I reckon they’re willin’, gents. I’ll ask the first lawyer I meet for
rulin’ on the case. Somehow these two sheep-owners act plumb willin’ to
get a divorce from them woolies. I’m goin’ to have a little talk with
’em soon.”
Brick motioned to his two prisoners and they got up. Brick grinned at
Seldon, and then rode past the horsemen, following his prisoners, with
never a backward look. Then Brick enjoyed his first good laugh since
Scott Martin had been shot. The two prisoners looked back at him and
exchanged glances of wonderment.
“I ain’t been so tickled since I wore a knit shirt,” chuckled Brick.
“Didja notice the look on Jeff Seldon’s face? He’s goin’ out and help
kill his own sheep. Ha, ha, ha!”
The prisoners stared at him, and the big one spoke.
“Which one was Seldon, sheriff?”
“Don’t try to be funny,” advised Brick. “You know him ---- well.”
“Honest to ---- we don’t,” stated the little fellow. “You’re wrong
there. I never heard of Seldon.” The man’s voice and actions were
convincing. Brick studied the two men and then motioned them to go
ahead.
“Will yuh tell me who owns the sheep?” asked Brick.
“No--not unless you’ll believe that we do,” said the big man.
“I don’t,” said Brick. “You fellers ain’t sheepherders nor cowpunchers.
I don’t know what you are.”
“I do,” said the little man.
“What?” asked Brick.
“Pair of ---- fools!”
“We all have our little failin’s,” said Brick, but he was not thinking
of the sheepherder’s reply. He had been sure that Seldon owned the
sheep.
Seldon hated the cattle association--hated cow-men, although a
cattleman himself. He had told Brick he hoped the sheep would run the
cattlemen out of the country. All the cattlemen knew that the sheep
must come eventually, but they were determined to fight the issue as
long as possible.
“Who else could it be?” wondered Brick. “Seldon hates the association
and would do anything to put ’em out of business in Sun-Dog. Seldon
hates me. Does he want to mix me up in a cattle and sheep war and get
me killed off?”
Brick wondered over these problems, as they went slowly along under
the hot sun. The herders had denied knowing Seldon, and Brick felt
that they were not lying. There was no question in his mind but that
it was sort of a test case on the part of some Sun-Dog rancher. The
men had said there were two hundred head of sheep in the band.
“Voorhies hates me, too,” grinned Brick to himself. “Voorhies don’t
want anybody that he can’t boss. Voorhies don’t like that maverick
idea, a-tall--and Voorhies has sold a lot of beef in the last few
months.”
Brick herded his prisoners down the main street of Marlin City;
thereby causing much interest. He noticed that Kane and Smith were
among those present. Silent stood in the doorway of the office and
grinned expansively. At least it meant that he would have company.
“’Lo, Sharpshooter,” called Harp Harris.
The smaller of the prisoners turned his head and gave Harp a sharp
glance, but did not speak.
“Know him, Harp?” asked Brick.
“Yeah. Used to was up around Fort Benton. Heard he deserted from the
cavalry. He sure did clean up their best shots in that country, and
they calls him the ‘Sharpshooter’.”
The Sharpshooter did not seem interested in Harp’s description of him.
“Shall I put ’em in the little wickiup?” asked Silent. Brick nodded
and the two sheepherders filed in ahead of Silent. Kane stepped over
to Brick.
* * * * *
“What did yuh do with the sheep?” Kane asked.
Brick elevated his eyebrows at Kane’s question.
“Sheep? Did I mention sheep?”
“Well--uh--they’re--uh--” Kane stammered in his confusion.
“Funny that you thought they was sheepherders,” grinned Brick. Kane
turned away to hide his confusion, as several men laughed.
“Ba gar, I’m bet dat Breek--” began Le Blanc, but broke off his
exclamation to examine the horseshoes tied to Brick’s saddle. Others
stepped in to see what the blacksmith had discovered. Kane and Smith
turned and walked back to the saloon paying no further attention,
but Brick saw Le Blanc look from the horseshoes to the retreating
Smith, with a quizzical expression on his face. Brick picked up his
reins and led his horse to the stable, while the curious crowd went
back across the street.
Silent was jubilant. He did not know why Brick had arrested the two men,
nor did he care. It meant something to talk about and a possibility of
action. He was overflowing with curiosity, but did not ask any questions
of his prisoners. Neither of the prisoners made any comment when Silent
generously supplied them with tobacco and cigaret papers. This was
Silent’s idea of true hospitality. They were prisoners, it is true, but
their coming broke what Silent termed “a terribul lonesome year,” and he
was willing to entertain them as much as possible.
Harp separated himself from the crowd as they dispersed, and proceeded
to jackknife himself into the doorway, where he began to regale the jail
and office with sonorous strains.
“May lightnin’ strike yuh in two places to oncet!” swore Silent
disgustedly. “Every time I gets to feelin’ glad, you comes along and
sinks my feelin’s. Can’tcha never do nothin’ but hong, hong, hong?
My ----, that ain’t music!”
Harp wiped the back of his hand across his lips and looked up at Brick,
who had come up to the door. Brick motioned to Silent, who had to step
over Harp to get outside.
“Them two are the shepherds,” exclaimed Brick. “I had a wau-wau with
them, and when I was pullin’ out they took a shot at me--the short one
done the shootin’.”
“You’re lucky to be tellin’ of it,” drawled Harp.
“I noticed the notch in your saddle,” nodded Silent.
“What kind of a rooster is the Sharpshooter, Harp?”
“They runs him out of Dry Lake,” said Harp. “Dead shot with a rifle. Yuh
hadn’t ort to put him in jail, Brick. His kind belongs in Boot Hill.”
Brick grinned and told them what happened after the shot was fired,
but Silent and Harp could see no humor in Sharpshooter’s predicament
when he found that Brick had not been hit. Brick described it with a
wealth of humor, but the two cowboys failed to see anything funny
about the incident.
“And yuh let him get away with it,” wailed Silent. “Wouldn’t that rasp
yuh, Harp? Brick, you ought to have a job as mish’nary to the Pecan
Islands. Lettin’ that pop-eyed murderer run circles in plain sight,
fall down, git up--all in plain sight. Huh!”
Silent was disgusted. There was nothing savage nor hard-hearted about
Silent, but he had his own ideas of visiting judgment on men who shot
from ambush.
“Whatcha arrest ’em for?” asked Harp.
“Moral effect,” grinned Brick. “Killin’ ’em would ’a’ put me in bad,
don’t yuh know it? They ain’t so much to blame, ’cause they just work
with their hands.”
“I know what yuh said,” nodded Harp; “but I’m ---- if I know what yuh
mean.”
“Don’t ask him,” begged Silent. “Brick’s a danged Injun, with a Greek
tongue, when it comes to lettin’ folks in on somethin’ that might
interest ’em. I ain’t no deputy--I’m a chambermaid in the jail.
Everything Brick says to me sounds like them conundrum things which
you’re supposed to guess at.
“I’m all through guessin’. Here he comes skyshootin’ in with a couple of
prisoners breakin’ trail for him and a couple of rusty horseshoes tied
to his saddle. ‘Moral effect,’ says he. Work with their hands. Huh!”
“Give Brick two shepherds and a couple of horseshoes and he sure can
compose some tune,” drawled Harp. “I ain’t no puzzle rustler, but I
trails my bets with Brick.”
An hour later the sheep-hunting cattlemen rode back into town, and with
them came Doc Meyers in Wesson’s buckboard. Brick stood in the doorway
and watched them drive up to the saloon hitch-rack. Silent and Harp were
quarreling over a two-handed game of seven-up.
“One man shy,” observed Brick, noticing that Lynn Barnhardt was not with
them.
Silent and Harp left their game and came to the door. Lafe Freeman rode
away from the rest and came straight to the office, where he dismounted
slowly and came up to Brick.
“Scott Martin died about an hour ago,” he stated softly.
“Died?” gasped Brick.
Silent and Harp moved in closely, their faces expressing disbelief.
“Uh-huh,” nodded Lafe sadly, looking back at the men going into the
Dollar Down.
“For ----’s sake!” breathed Brick.
* * * * *
Lafe turned and put his hand on Brick’s arm.
“I ain’t advisin’ nothin’, son, but under the circumstances I wish you’d
come out to the ranch tonight. Kinda give ’em a chance to cool off, yuh
understand.”
Brick looked queerly at Lafe.
“Do I look like a runner?”
“It ain’t that,” faltered Lafe. “Lord knows you ain’t no front-runner,
Brick. But look at this right, can’t yuh? You ain’t got no alibi, have
yuh?”
“No-o-o. I can’t prove nothin’, Lafe, but I ain’t goin’ to run away. I
thought a lot of Scott Martin. Would they try to hang me? None of them
cared for Martin. Ain’t they goin’ to give me a chance to prove that I
didn’t do it?”
“Human bein’s ain’t no better than wolves, Brick. Will yuh come out to
the ranch and let ’em cool off?”
“After I resign,” said Brick slowly. “Voorhies is the boss of the county
commissioners, so I reckon he can accept it.”
Brick went into the office and wrote his resignation; wrote it short and
to the point:
I’m through with this sheriff job right now.
Brick Davidson.
Brick showed it to Lafe.
“I’m goin’ to present it right now,” he announced, starting toward the
saloon.
“Go easy, son,” advised Lafe. “Keep cool and don’t forget you ain’t
alone in this deal.”
Brick smiled. Lafe Freeman was more like a father to him than any man
had ever been, and the old cattleman’s cool head had saved Brick from
making a fool of himself many times. Brick walked into the saloon and
up to Voorhies, who was at the bar. The conversation stopped as Brick
came in. He and Voorhies faced each other and Voorhies was the first
to turn his eyes away. Brick handed him the resignation, and watched
Voorhies read it.
“Saves askin’ yuh for it,” remarked Voorhies, and then turned to the
crowd. “Davidson has resigned as sheriff of Sun-Dog County.”
Seldon grinned.
“Mebbe we’ll get a sheriff now that won’t insult folks.”
“Maybe,” nodded Brick good-naturedly. “Of course it all depends.”
“Yuh heard about Martin, didn’t yuh?” asked Voorhies.
Brick nodded and walked outside, followed by Barney O’Mera, who had
stood near the door.
“Brick,” he said; “it ain’t none of my business, but I heard Kane
tellin’ Voorhies and Doc Meyers that you was out to the Weepin’ Tree
this mornin’, and that you got Martin all excited over somethin’.
Doc Meyers said it was likely the excitement that made Martin worse;
_sabe?_”
“Well, I was talkin’ with Mrs. Wesson and she said that Kane saw how
you talked with Martin and that he pestered Martin for an hour or
more, asking questions on paper. She said that Martin had to keep his
eyes shut to make Kane quit. It ain’t none of my business, Brick, but
I thought yuh ought to know.”
“Much obliged, Barney,” said Brick. “Mighty good of you to tell me
this.”
“Not so danged good,” smiled Barney; “but I want you to get a square
deal as far as I can help yuh.”
Brick went to the stable and found Silent saddling both horses.
“I don’t need to write a resignation, do I?” asked Silent. “I just
natcherally quit and that’s all there is to it. That was the
worst ---- job I ever had.”
Lafe and Harp met them at the front of the office.
“Will yuh do me a favor, Harp?” asked Brick.
“Hope to die,” drawled Harp.
“Stay here in town this evenin’ and find out what they’re aimin’ to do,
will yuh?”
“Be home by ten o’clock, bustin’ with news,” nodded Harp, and turned
his horse back to the hitch-rack across the street. Brick, Silent
and Lafe rode out of Marlin City, heading into the sunset, silently,
except for the soft thud thud of horses’ hoofs in the soft dust, the
creak of leather, jingle of bit-chains. From the side of a little
butte came the sharp bark of a prairie-dog. Overhead came the shirl
of a bull-bat. A great owl flapped softly across the road in front
of them; a flying ghost, headed for an indistinct cottonwood clump.
“What did yuh do about them sheep?” asked Brick softly. Lafe jerked up
his head as though Brick’s question had jarred him from sleep.
“The sheep? Voorhies decided that we might be liable for damages if we
destroyed ’em. We argued it out, and finally agreed to have Barnhardt
and Breamer take care of ’em until we can find the owner and make him
take ’em away. They’re goin’ to hold ’em on the Weepin’ Tree ranch.”
“Seldon tell ’em he’d allow sheep on the Weepin’ Tree?”
“Uh-huh, kinda funny, Brick. Seldon and Voorhies both talks big against
the sheep, but after they meets you today they kinda gets cold feet.”
“It’s to be expected,” grinned Brick. “Who do yuh reckon they’ll appoint
for sheriff?”
“Some friend of Voorhies, you can bet on that,” replied Lafe.
“Voorhies is gettin’ too much to say about things. Somebody will come
along and cut his comb some of these days, and there won’t be no
mourners from the Nine Bar Nine.”
“He’s sold a lot of cattle lately,” observed Brick.
“Mostly everything he’s got,” replied Lafe. “I dunno what he means by
sellin’ out so short. Maybe he’s goin’ to sell out.”
Brick grinned and shook his head.
“He’d better hurry, Lafe, ’cause there’s a big dust-storm gatherin’.”
Lafe looked curiously at Brick, but asked no questions.
* * * * *
It was a few minutes after ten o’clock when Harp rode in. Brick, Lafe
and Silent were sitting on the ranch-house steps, and Harp delivered
his news before stabling his horse.
“Voorhies got hold of Steve McLean and Sam Boyle, two of the
commissioners, and they accepted your resignation, Brick. Then they
proceeds to appoint Pete Kane sheriff. They’re goin’ to hold a
coroner’s inquest tomorrow, and they’ve got it framed to swear out a
warrant for you as soon as the jury brings in a verdict. Voorhies
said there was no use holdin’ them sheepherders so Kane turned ’em
loose.”
Lafe grunted his disgust, but Brick made no comments.
“Sun-Dog County’s goin’ to the dogs,” complained Lafe. “I’m goin’ to
oil up my old six-gun, y’ betcha. I ain’t acted foolish for a long
time--years. Are yuh goin’ to fade out of the country, Brick?”
Brick got to his feet and leaned against one of the porch posts. A big,
pale moon was just peeping over the mesquite-covered hills, casting a
soft blue mist over the ugly corrals and low, mud-covered barns, and
making them things of beauty. From the corral came the low bawling of a
calf. Brick touched a match to his cigaret, and Lafe noticed that Brick
was smiling. Brick snapped the match away and shook his head.
“No-o-o, I don’t reckon I will, Lafe. Fact of the matter is, I reckon
I’m goin’ to become prominent, like a boil on a pug nose. Any time I
run--I’ll be the one behind.”
* * * * *
The next morning after breakfast, Brick, Silent and Harp saddled their
horses. Silent and Harp asked no questions as Brick tied the horseshoes
to his saddle. Both of them had rifles in their saddle-boots and their
belts showed no empty cartridge-loops. Lafe Freeman came down to the
corral to get his horse and Brick observed that the old man was wearing
his gun and belt. Old Lafe patted the gun and grinned foolishly.