my system. Look!”
Came a snap of a palm against leather, and the old Colt seemed to hop
from its holster into the old man’s hand.
“Trained that gun myself,” grinned Lafe, flipping it back into the
holster with a twist of his wrist. “Could teach some of you young
fellers a trick or two if I tried, y’ betcha. I’m goin’ to town now,
and I reckon I’ll go heeled. Feller feels free to prognosticate when
he’s got somethin’ on his hip besides the weight of his overalls.”
Brick slapped the old man on the shoulder and mounted his horse. Lafe
did not ask where they were going; merely observed that they went across
the hills toward the Weeping Tree instead of going around the road. He
caught his horse, threw on a saddle and galloped down the road toward
Marlin City. The trio rode slowly into the mesquite-covered hills, with
Brick leading the way. Finally he broke the silence.
“Did either of you fellers ever see that Jack Smith before?”
“Not me,” said Silent.
“Nor me,” added Harp. “He’s buyin’ horses for the British Government.”
“Has he bought any?” asked Brick.
“I ain’t heard of none. Whatcha know about him, Brick?”
“Somewhere I’ve seen him, Harp. Where was it? I’ve been wonderin’ and
wonderin’, and I can’t place him. If I had any brains I’d get a headache
wonderin’ about him.”
“What does he amount to?” inquired Silent. “Forget him.”
“That’s why he amounts to something,” complained Brick. “I can’t forget
him. That _hombre_ amounts to somethin’, Silent. He didn’t stumble into
my ankle that day accidental. He went plumb out of his way to walk on
me, and he hit the floor so hard he forgot what he was to do next. Jeff
Seldon called him a quitter. I wonder if--if he was tryin’ to pick a
quarrel with me.”
Silent turned and looked at Brick’s grinning face.
“Now he’s happy, Harp. He’s happy to think that this horse buyer wanted
to pick a fight. It don’t take much to please our pink-topped friend.”
Brick humped over his saddle horn and frowned under his low-pulled hat.
He concentrated on Jack Smith. Feature by feature he analyzed that face;
trying to remember where he had seen it, but in vain. Recognition was
just beyond his grasp.
There was no sign of life at the Weeping Tree ranch-house, but when
they rode into the quadrangle of the old buildings they saw Jeff
Seldon coming from the door to his horse, which was tied at the old
willow, which gave the ranch its name. They rode up to him and he
looked up.
Seldon resembled an old buzzard more than ever, with his old faded
Prince Albert coat which flapped around his thin shoulders and the
once-white celluloid collar surmounting a dirty shirt.
“Lookin’ fer somebody?” he asked, and added, before they could reply,
“There ain’t nobody home--but me.”
“You ain’t home,” said Brick.
Seldon bobbed his lean head.
“Yes, I am too. This here ranch belongs to me, if anybody asks yuh.”
“Where’s Miss Martin?” asked Brick.
“I dunno. She went home with Mrs. Wesson last night. Reckon she’s
downtown. Goin’ to have the inquest today, yuh know.”
Brick’s face hardened as he looked down at Seldon. He noticed that
Seldon wore a holstered gun under his flopping coat. For a few moments
Brick looked at Seldon, then turned his horse and rode away, followed
by Silent and Harp. They rode straight away from the ranch, into the
hills, while Seldon mounted his horse and rode the other way--toward
Marlin City.
* * * * *
Brick pulled up and looked back at the ranch-house. Far down the road he
could see a tiny dust cloud kicked up by Seldon’s horse, as its owner
raced to town. He would lose no time telling which way Brick had gone,
and a posse would be on his trail as soon as the coroner’s jury brought
in a verdict. Brick was positive there could be but one verdict.
Harp and Silent watched Brick sitting silently on his horse, gazing
back. Finally Brick shook his head sadly.
“I reckon I’m due for trouble, boys. You fellers better go back now. It
won’t be long before you’ll be reading reward notices----”
Brick stopped in the middle of his sentence and his hand went slowly to
his forehead. He leaned forward in his saddle staring at the ground.
Silent and Harp both leaned forward, seeking what Brick appeared to be
watching, but there was nothing except bare, sandy ground. They
exchanged glances, and then Silent spoke softly:
“He’s thinkin’, Harp; he’s thinkin’. Give him air, cowboy.”
Brick did not hear Silent. There was a deep crease between his half-shut
blue eyes and his mouth was partly opened, as though panting from
exertion. Suddenly he threw up his head and laughed aloud--a laugh of
joy. His eyes flashed from Silent to Harp and he spurred his horse in a
quick circle, headed down the hill.
“Come on!” he yelled. “I’ve got Jack Smith!”
Silent and Harp swung in behind him, and the three horses pounded down
the hill past the ranch and swept into the road toward town. Silent and
Harp did not know what Brick meant, did not know what lay before them,
but they were willing to follow Brick wherever he might lead.
They rode straight down the main street of Marlin City to the sheriff’s
office. The hitch-racks were filled with a motley collection of
saddle-horses and vehicles, but not a person was in sight.
Marlin City did not have a court-house nor city hall, but held court
in an old dancehall above Wesson’s store. Brick knew that this was
where the crowd was congregated, making a big event of the coroner’s
investigations.
At the front of the sheriff’s office they dismounted. Marlin City was
very quiet. Suddenly a door banged shut. The three men whirled quickly,
but it was only Le Blanc closing the door of his shop.
Le Blanc was dressed in his Sunday clothes and was smoking a cigar.
He smoked three cigars a year: one on Christmas, one on the Fourth
of July and another on his birthday. This day was none of the three,
which proved the importance of the event. He fastened the door and
then stared across at the sheriff’s office, shading his eyes with
his hand.
He looked toward the front of the hall and then walked swiftly toward
the office. The office door was unlocked--probably for the reason
that Brick had forgotten to hand in his keys, and spring locks were
still unknown in Marlin City. There was no one inside. Brick stepped
in, while Silent and Harp leaned against the doorway and watched the
street.
Brick went swiftly along the walls, glancing from face to face on the
old reward posters. Many of them were torn; the faces obliterated.
Suddenly Brick stopped and felt of a certain old poster, but it was
pasted tight. He took out his knife and cut out the section of sagging
paper.
For a moment he studied the paper, and then put it in his pocket before
coming to the door, where Le Blanc had joined Silent and Harp.
“Hello, Le Blanc,” smiled Brick.
The blacksmith slowly removed the cigar from between his bearded lips.
“H’lo, Breek. Me, I t’ink you be ’fraid for scare to come here today.”
Brick laughed.
“As bad as that, Le Blanc?”
“Ba gar, I’m t’ink she’s bad.” Le Blanc’s face was grave.
“She’s ---- bad, Breek. Everybody she’s say bad t’ing about you.”
“Le Blanc, do you remember telling me about shoeing a horse in
Dakota--putting on shoes without toe-calks?”
Le Blanc stared at the ground, rolling the cigar between his fingers. He
looked up and nodded.
“Would you know that horse if you seen it?”
Le Blanc scratched his head, while he studied the matter.
“I’m don’ know, Breek. I’m shoe plenty cayuse--me. I’m be-lieve for sure
dat she’s wan leetle brown mare. Mebbe two year ol’ by dat time--four
year ago. De leetle mare she’s keek! Ha, ha, ha!”
Brick untied the horseshoes from his saddle.
“Come on,” he ordered, and the three men followed him to the saloon
hitch-rack.
* * * * *
Brick circled the horses to the far side of the rack, where he went in
between two of the animals, boosting one aside with a heave of his
shoulder. He pointed to a brown mare, wearing a high-forked, beautifully
stamped saddle.
Le Blanc cocked his cigar at an angle and walked around the mare. He
examined its teeth; half-knelt and felt of its forelegs; and then
grinned up at Brick.
“You feel, Breek--here. De leetle cayuse got plenty scar from de
toe-calk. All heal up now, but she be dere for sure.”
“Is that the mare?” asked Brick.
“I’m bet you my life,” Le Blanc was positive.
Silent touched Brick on the arm and pointed across the street.
Mrs. Wesson and Jean were just coming out of the hall entrance. They
did not look toward the hitch-rack, but turned and went around the
corner toward Wesson’s home. Brick watched them disappear. He turned
back to Le Blanc, who was still looking at the brown mare.
“Did you know anything about the man who owned this mare?”
Le Blanc puffed on his cigar and shook his head.
“No, I’m no t’ink so, Breek. She’s jus’ have de job for me.”
“You’ve see the cowboy with Pete Kane?”
“De black wan? Ba gar--” Le Blanc removed his cigar and stared at Brick.
“Ba gar, I’m t’ink I see dat face be-fore.” Brick took out the piece of
paper which he had cut from the office wall, and let Le Blanc see it.
For a moment the blacksmith stared at it and then laughed.
“She’s de man, Breek--sure t’ing. W’at de paper say, Breek? I’m can’t
read de English.”
“Come on and I’ll show yuh,” replied Brick, and hurried for the hall
entrance, with the three men trailing at his heels. At the bottom of
the steps he stopped.
“Boys, there’s liable to be ---- turned loose before noon. I’m tellin’
yuh in time.”
“Hurrah for crime!” grunted Silent. “If you disappoints me, Brick, I’ll
massacree yuh. Let’s start the dance.”
“She’s beeg day for me,” grinned Le Blanc. “See--I smoke de see-gar.”
Harp did not make any statement; merely shifted his holster and started
up the stairs.
“Take things easy,” cautioned Brick. “Remember they’re most all against
us, but don’t spill any lead without yuh got a good reason. Watch me.”
“I hope somebody gits brave,” said Silent. “I do hope that much, ’cause
I’m gittin’ rusty.”
Neither of the cowboys had seen what Brick cut off the wall of the
office, but they knew that Brick had a reason.
The hall was about sixty feet long by thirty feet wide. At the front of
the hall was a slightly raised platform, which held the judge’s table
and chair. Just in front of this platform stood a table, for the use of
the lawyers.
The seats were, in the most part, made by placing a board between two
backless chairs or between boxes. On the left side of the hall, as you
came in, the seats extended against the wall. Down the center was a
narrow aisle, and between the next row of seats and the opposite wall
was another aisle.
On the platform sat Judge Grayson, the local justice of the peace, a
dignified personage, but lacking any great amount of judicial knowledge.
His pudgy hands were clasped around his flowered waistcoat and his
florid countenance was cocked upward and sidewise above an all-too-high
collar, as he followed the proceedings. About fifteen feet in front of
him was the first row of seats. To his right, as he sat facing the door,
was another row of seats, presumably placed at that angle for the use of
a jury. Behind this row of seats was the doorway to a small ante-room.
As Brick led his men inside the hall, six men were just coming out of
this ante-room. It was the coroner’s jury, bringing in their verdict
on the death of Scott Martin.
Every available seat was taken and standing room was at a premium.
Women did not attend court in Marlin City--probably for the reason
that nobody knew just what might happen in a Sun-Dog court room. Mrs.
Wesson and Jean had left, after giving their evidence.
Every eye in the room was focused on this jury, and none saw Brick
Davidson moving softly up the outside aisle, going to the front of the
room. Silent, Harp and Le Blanc separated and followed over half-way
up the aisles, attracting no attention. Brick moved up the room until
he was near the table in front of the judge, and facing the jury. On
the front row of seats sat Lafe Freeman, sitting between Bun Partner
and Barney O’Mera.
On a chair, which had been moved out beyond the front row, and near
the jury seat, sat Pete Kane, the newly appointed sheriff. On the
second row of seats Brick could see the swarthy face of Jack Smith;
eyes half-closed as he watched the jury.
Seldon, Voorhies, Jack Sloan, a gambler, Mel West, owner of the Emporium
hotel, Frank Padden, a cattle-buyer, and “Tiny” Taylor, a Bar M cowboy,
composed the jury.
Doctor Meyers had been sitting on the front row of seats, but now he got
to his feet and faced the jury.
“Have you arrived at a verdict?” he asked.
* * * * *
Voorhies got ponderously to his feet and nodded.
“We have, Doc. We finds that Scott Martin was shot by Brick Davidson,
the sheriff, actin’ in--uh----”
“Excess of his duty,” prompted Mel West.
“Excess of his duty,” parroted Voorhies. “And we asks that Brick
Davidson be arrested for mur----”
Voorhies, stumbling over his verdict and request, had lifted his eyes
and looked straight at Brick Davidson. Brick was looking at Voorhies,
a half-smile on his lips; his right hand resting on his hip, while in
his left hand he dangled the two horseshoes.
Seldon looked up at Voorhies, as did West, who again prompted--
“Murder.”
But Voorhies did not complete his sentence. He started as though to sit
down, but straightened up again. Every one was watching him closely.
West touched him on the arm, but Voorhies did not respond. Then Judge
Grayson turned and looked at Brick, who was only a few feet away. For
an instant the judge stared. His hands unlocked from around his fancy
waistcoat, and he took a deep breath--a breath that was audible to all.
Then every man in the hall looked at Brick. Pete Kane half turned in
his chair and looked at Brick, his mouth open in astonishment. Kane
had visions of a man hunt in the hills, in which he would be the
leading character.
Not a man in the audience, except those who came with Brick, and
possibly Lafe Freeman, ever expected to see Brick at the inquest. Not a
word was spoken. The crowd leaned forward. This had put a new light on
what was to have been an ordinary inquest, in which every one seemed to
know the verdict before the jury was even drawn.
Brick let his eyes drift over the audience and then back to Voorhies.
“Murder, eh?” Brick’s voice was softly pitched. “Found me guilty of
murder, did yuh? Well, well!”
Voorhies wet his lips with his tongue.
“The evidence--” he began hoarsely.
“Set down, you sheep owner!” snapped Brick, and Voorhies dropped back as
though from a pistol shot.
The smile had left Brick’s face. He glanced quickly behind him. Chet
Malloy, a cowboy, was leaning against the wall, almost in a direct
line with Brick and Voorhies. Instead of stepping out of line, which
might attract attention to him, Malloy hunched down, slid his feet
out and sat flat on the floor. Brick merely flashed the look and
turned back, but Malloy knew what it meant. Brick looked at Seldon,
and Seldon squirmed.
“Steady, son,” cautioned Lafe Freeman, and his whisper was audible to
all parts of the room. No one even glanced at Lafe.
“I wasn’t invited to this inquest,” observed Brick; “but it ’pears to me
that I should ’a’ been.”
“If you’ve got any evidence--” began Dal Melchior apologetically.
Brick tossed the horseshoes to the table-top. For a moment the tension
was broken, as the audience leaned forward for a view of the horseshoes.
A cowboy started forward, as though to come up to the table.
His boot-soles squeaked loudly, and he stepped back quickly, bumping
into another cowboy, who had also started forward, and they both sat
down awkwardly in the same chair. No one paid any attention to them,
but they remained in that position, with the under man craning his
neck around the other’s shoulder.
Voorhies took advantage of the lull to attract Kane’s attention.
“Get your man, Pete!”
Voorhies did not intend to make his order audible to every one. Brick
laughed mockingly.
“Any time you’re ready, Kane.”
But Kane did not heed Voorhies’ order nor accept Brick’s challenge.
Rather he ignored both.
“The law gives a feller the right to be heard, don’t it?” asked Brick.
“Go ahead, son,” chuckled Lafe. “They’ll all listen.”
Lafe had slid his belt around when he sat down and the butt of his
old single-action Colt was concealed under his folded hands. In this
position he could get into action without any unnecessary motion, and
nobody could check him by grasping his arms.
Brick glanced around at the crowd. Sitting, humped down in their chairs
near the center aisle, were the two sheepherders. Standing in the aisle,
with his left hand resting on the back of Sharpshooter’s chair, was Le
Blanc, who nodded toward the two sheepherders as he caught Brick’s eye.
Le Blanc was not armed, but depended on his mighty hands for offense or
defense. Brick looked at Kane.
“Turned the shepherds loose, did yuh?”
“There wasn’t nothin’ to hold ’em on,” growled Kane.
Brick nodded.
“That’s right, I reckon, only yuh turned ’em loose too late to do you
any good.”
“What do yuh mean?” asked Kane.
“They wasn’t hired to miss nor talk. They done both, Kane.”
Came a sudden movement, as Sharpshooter started out of his chair, but Le
Blanc’s hand clamped on his shoulder and shoved him back.
“She’s h’all right here, Breek,” boomed Le Blanc.
* * * * *
Kane glared at Brick and then looked at Seldon, who was humped up in
his seat; his skinny head drawn down into his collar, like an old
snapping-turtle. His eyes flashed like a pair of amber beads, and his
hands fussed nervously with the lapels of his coat.
“What about them horseshoes?” asked Sloan.
“The man who shot Scott Martin rode the horse that wore those shoes,”
declared Brick.
“Where did yuh get ’em, Brick?” inquired Cale Wesson.
“Hangin’ to a nail on the sheepherders’ cabin,” grinned Brick.
“Tryin’ to hang the crime on a poor sheepherder, are yuh?”
Seldon’s question was a whining bit of sarcasm.
“No-o-o.” Brick pursed his lips and shook his head, as though he was
correcting a child. “Yuh don’t need to get nervous, Seldon, ’cause I’m
goin’ to hang the deadwood right where she belongs. Tell me about this
here deed to the Weepin’ Tree ranch, will yuh?”
“What’s that got to do with it?” growled Seldon.
“Just to prove that yuh own it, Seldon.” Seldon took a folded document
from inside his coat and tossed it to the table.
“Anybody here know Zell Mohr’s signature?” inquired Brick.
“I do,” replied Judge Grayson. “Know it well.”
Brick handed him the deed, and the judge studied it closely, while the
crowd seemed to relax.
“No question about it,” declared the judge. “That’s Zell Mohr’s writing
and signature. It is witnessed by Pete Kane and Bill Voorhies. Ain’t
nobody writes just like Zell did.”
“Voorhies, did you witness this deed?” asked Brick.
“I did.”
“Satisfied?” sneered Seldon.
“Of certain things,” nodded Brick. “Is it recorded?”
“Not yet. I been kinda busy and----”
“You hang onto it, judge,” ordered Brick.
Seldon shot to his feet.
“Gimme that deed!” he shouted. “That belongs to me, you--you----”
“Calm down,” advised Brick softly, and then snapped, “Set down!”
Seldon dropped back into his seat, shaking with anger. Brick looked at
Jack Smith for several seconds.
“Your name is Smith?”
Smith shifted his feet and seemed inclined to ignore the question, but
finally nodded.
“Buyin’ horses for the British Government?”
Smith was plainly irritated.
“What’s the meanin’ of the questions?” he growled.
“Would yuh mind coming up on a front seat?” asked Brick. “I want yuh
where I won’t have to talk over other folks.”
Smith’s eyes narrowed and he started to fold his arms.
“The red-headed gent asks a favor,” said Silent, who had moved in close
to the end of Smith’s row of seats.
Smith looked up at Silent, who towered over him. The two men between
Silent and Smith obligingly got up and moved into the aisle. Somebody
laughed aloud.
“Sh-h-h!” cautioned a voice.
Smith got up slowly and came out past Silent. Brick pointed to a space
in front, two men removed from Lafe Freeman, and Smith sat down.
Immediately the men behind him either left their seats or moved aside.
The men of Sun-Dog could read signs. Pete Kane sat leaning forward,
with his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off Brick. He might
be able to catch Brick off his guard, but he knew that he would have to
contend with Harp, Silent and Lafe.
“Feel better now?” queried Smith uneasily.
Brick nodded and turned more toward the jury.
“I’m talkin’ straight to you jurymen, but my conversation affects every
man in the room. Seldon, I asks yuh to keep your hands in sight and try
to be calm. In regards to your hands--I only asks this once.”
Seldon’s jaw tightened, but he obeyed.
“You all know that sheep ain’t wanted in Sun-Dog,” continued Brick.
“Legally they’ve got as much right as cows, but morally they ain’t--not
accordin’ to our morals. If the sheep got protection from the sheriff,
with the assistance of a few cattlemen, they might get a start. If they
once got started they’d sheep out Sun-Dog inside of a year. To get a
start, they’ve got to have a friendly sheriff.”
“Is this a inquest or a speech?” demanded Voorhies. “I moves that
we----”
“Overruled,” interrupted the judge. “Let Brick talk.”
* * * * *
“There’s a man on this range,” continued Brick, “who hates the cattle
association. He’s plumb stingy, but he’d give his right eye to see the
cattlemen put out of business; and there ain’t nothin’ as sudden as
sheep. Am I right?”
The crowd murmured a ready assent.
“There’s another man on this range, who has sold most all of his stock
in the last six months, and I’m bettin’ that at least twenty per cent
of that stock wasn’t never bought nor raised by him.”
Voorhies sprang to his feet and took a step toward Brick.
“The boot fits him!” yelped Lafe Freeman, and the crowd laughed.
Voorhies flushed angrily and stumbled backward into his seat, knowing
he had blundered badly.
“That man,” smiled Brick, “wants to own the county. He never could be a
big cattleman; so he decided to be a sheep king. He bought two hundred
head----”
“Prove it!” roared Voorhies, struggling to his feet. “Prove it!”
“Set down,” advised Brick. “You’ve proved it yourself. I wasn’t sure
until now, but I know that you and Seldon owns ’em together. The
Sharpshooter and his pardner were hired to bring in them sheep. You
kinda figured that I’d be in jail for the killing of Scott Martin,
and you’d have your own sheriff, but you made a mistake when you let
Sharpshooter know that you were willin’ to pay for my scalp. Bein’ a
case of two-to-one, they could prove self defense, and my recent
reputation would make it easy for them.”
Brick smiled at the expression on the faces of the jury.
“Keep talkin’, Brick,” urged a cowboy joyously.
“What’s this got to do with the killin’ of Scott Martin?” asked Seldon
hoarsely.
“Scott Martin was killed for two reasons; to get me and him both out of
the road, and to get somethin’ that Scott Martin owned.”
The audience watched Brick closely, silently.
“The man who killed him--or thought he had killed him--rode a horse
that wore them shoes. Likely there was more than one man. Maybe there
was three or four. One of ’em rode a horse, which wore them shoes.
“Do yuh know where that old tumbledown cabin is along the Weepin’ Tree
road? They bushwhacked him from there. He fell just at the edge of the
road. I seen where his hand made a track in the dust. There was blood
on the dusty grass at the edge of the road.
“They thought he was dead, I reckon; so they carried him down the cañon
to where they had the calf all roped and the fire all set. Then they
robbed Scott Martin, and left him there to prove that I killed him for
maverickin’ a calf. Other calves have been mavericked with the Weepin’
Tree to cinch things.”
“What about this robbery?” asked Cale Wesson.
Pete Kane’s right hand slipped slowly off his knee. “Don’t mind me,
Kane,” smiled Brick. “I don’t want all the best of it.” Kane slowly
brought his hand back to his knee.
“The main idea was to make a sheep ranch of the Weepin’ Tree,” explained
Brick.
“That’s a ---- lie!” shrieked Seldon, starting to his feet, but Voorhies
pulled him back.
“They shot Martin in the back with a .41. Yuh see, I shoot a .41. My,
my, but they sure did frame me nice! Accordin’ to their view of it, I
didn’t have a chance on earth. Gents, they sure did frame me to a
fare-thee-well, but they overlooked one of the big points.