by W. C. Tuttle
Author of “Powder Law,” “The Spark of Skeeter Bill,” etc.
“Romeo” Kendall drove his stage team into Marlin City, skidded his
horses and stage to a stop in front of the bank, and announced to the
world that he had been held up and robbed. The bank officials
investigated the treasure-box and told Romeo that he was wrong.
Then Sun Dog County laughed at Romeo Kendall, who stuck to his story,
persistently and profanely. He swore by all the horned-toads and
crippled-crawlers that two men had stuck him up, and that one of them
held a gun on him while the other went through the treasure-box.
But the contents of the box, which consisted of ten thousand dollars in
currency, consigned to the Marlin City bank, was intact; which made
Romeo out a liar despite his protests.
Romeo drove the stage for Pelham & Malvene, of Silverton, who owned the
line to Whipoorwill, via Marlin City, and also the line which ran
through the Smoky Hills to Redrock. Sun Dog County decided that Pelham &
Malvene were hard-up for help when they put Romeo on a driver’s seat,
but there he sat.
Romeo had been christened Egbert, which name did not fit him. “Eg”
fitted him better, to which had been added “Bad,” making him “Bad-Eg”
Kendall. It was good and sufficient, but doomed to change, when “Soapy”
Caswell, the wealthiest cattleman in the county, brought his daughter to
Silverton.
Bad-Eg immediately fell in love with her. His affections were not
reciprocated, but this did not affect Bad-Eg in the least. He found out
what rooms the Caswells occupied in the Boston hotel, and when the
shades of evening drew down over Silverton he procured a ladder, placed
it against the window-sill of his lady love and proceeded to regale her
with seductive strains from a guitar.
While the idea was not at all new, it attracted the attention of several
folks who had seen him carrying the ladder. Everything proceeded nicely,
except for the fact that Bad-Eg made a mistake in the room.
Soapy Caswell did not care for guitar music; he had but lately finished
a disastrous session of draw-poker. He lifted the window just above the
head of the love-blind Bad-Eg, and proceeded to crown the aforesaid
Bad-Eg with a hand-painted water-pitcher. Bad-Eg lost consciousness and
his nickname at the same time, and when he woke up he was named Romeo.
In no way did he resemble the Bard of Avon’s famous lover, after whom he
was named. He was thin of feature, shallow of eye and had what the
barbers call “squirrel-teeth.” His hair had been yellow in his youth,
but now it was bleached to a neutral tint, and each and every hair
seemed to follow the theory of “every one for himself.”
Romeo did not feel ashamed of his blighted love affair, but his thin
soul did vibrate with anger against Soapy, who, not content with
knocking Romeo off the ladder, went to the office of Pelham & Malvene
and told Romeo that if he did not keep away from his daughter he would
clip Romeo’s ears off and collect predatory animal bounty on same.
Romeo’s feelings were encased in thick hide, but this shaft went home.
Romeo was not sure what a predatory animal was, but he wisely figured
that it was either a skunk or a coyote.
* * * * *
It was early morning three days after the Romeo holdup, and the Nine Bar
Nine outfit were busily engaged in their favorite occupation of storing
away food.
The Nine Bar Nine cattle ranch was located about twelve miles southeast
of Marlin City, and consisted of the usual array of
badly-in-need-of-repair corrals, a one-story, unpainted ranch-house,
with a wide, comfortable porch. The long bunkhouse had been built to
accommodate a big crew of hired men; but the herds had never grown too
big for three or four men to handle them.
Lafe Freeman owned the place. He was a small, wiry, grizzled man, with
keen, gray eyes and a wit which was sharper than a spine on a
barrel-cactus. Lafe was one of the old school of gunmen—a
fast-disappearing type at this time.
Just now the Nine Bar Nine only had two hired men. “Silent” Slade, a
giant of a puncher, with a humorous face, slow of movement, but not slow
of temper. A continuous flow of conversation had earned for him the
nickname.
Silent wore a fancy chin-strap on his sombrero; cut the sleeves of his
fancy shirt off at the elbows and affected southwest type of high-heeled
boots, with fancy, stitched tops. He was also a trifle gaudy in the
hand-stamped cartridge belt and silver ornamented holster.
“Harp” Harris could ride anything he could cinch a saddle onto, rope
anything he could get in reach of, and was physically a human slat. Harp
was well over six feet, but so extremely thin that he looked taller. A
pair of bat-ears grew almost at right angles with his long, solemn face,
and he improvised most of his own music from an ancient jew’s-harp.
Harp Harris split a fried egg exactly down the center, lifted one-half
of it on a carefully balanced knife-blade, but stopped with it just
short of his mouth, and spoke slowly.
“Wonder if he’s still huntin’ for the joker?”
Silent Slade lifted his head and stared at Harp. Lafe Freeman, the owner
of the ranch, placed his knife and fork carefully on his plate and
looked at Harp curiously.
“Of whom,” said Silent slowly, “of whom are you speaking?”
Harp deposited the egg carefully within his wide mouth, patted his lips
with the knife-blade and proceeded to slide the blade under the
remaining half of the egg on his plate.
“Brick Davidson,” he mumbled.
“What about him?” asked Lafe. Brick was the sheriff of Sun Dog County
and former employee of the Nine Bar Nine.
“You tryin’ to run Brick’s office?” asked Silent.
Harp upset his egg, with an impatient gesture, and looked at Silent.
“For —— sake, can’t a feller open his mouth without you jaspers takin’
down your ropes? I was just thinkin’ out loud, thasall.”
“He was thinkin’ out loud,” said Silent wonderingly to Lafe. “How would
yuh believe that a think could get past that mouthful of egg? Some day
he’ll do that with his mouth filled, and them thinks will just bust out
all over him, like the hives.”
“Yes, yore funny,” admitted Harp seriously; “I almost laugh—when I look
at yuh, Silent.”
Harp lifted his coffee cup to his lips and took a swallow, but it went
down the wrong channel, hung for a moment and then caused Harp much
physical discomfort. Silent leaned across the table, grasped Harp by the
collar and proceeded to hammer him viciously between the shoulders,
which was beneficial to Harp and also satisfied Silent’s desire for
revenge on Harp.
“If that’s a game—lemme in on it.”
Silent turned and looked at Brick Davidson, who was standing in the
doorway grinning widely. Brick was neither of heroic proportions nor
god-like of features. His hair was the color of new bricks, and his thin
face was speckled with freckles. Nature gave him a wide mouth and blue
eyes, and the gods of humor had marked him for their own.
Harp tore away from Silent and glared at Brick through his tears. Then
he wiped his face with the back of his hand and took a jew’s-harp from
his pocket.
“Don’t!” begged Brick. “Can’tcha be friendly, Harp? I don’t no more than
get here, when yuh try to drive me away.”
“Didja ever find out who held up Romeo Kendall?” grinned Silent, shoving
a chair out to Brick, who sat down and took out his tobacco and papers.
“Not yet,” admitted Brick slowly, and Harp began to play softly.
Silent reached for the egg platter, and Harp got to his feet, walked to
the doorway, where he sat down with his back against one sill and his
knees against the other. Harp’s idea of solid comfort was to find a spot
where he could fold himself up like a carpenter’s rule.
“What are yuh doin’ over here this time of mornin’?” asked Lafe Freeman.
Lafe absolutely adored Brick Davidson, but denied having a pleasant
thought for any one on earth.
Brick exhaled a thin stream of smoke through his nostrils, as he pursed
his lips.
“You sold some cows to Dal Melchior a few days ago?”
“Sure I did,” nodded Lafe. “Four thousand dollars cash.”
“Did yuh put the money in the bank, Lafe?”
Lafe shook his head. He was notoriously afraid of banks.
“Lemme look at some of that money?”
Lafe rubbed his chin. Was Brick joking him?
“What’s the idea, Brick?”
“Lemme see the money, will yuh?”
Lafe produced a worn wallet and extracted a couple of bills, which he
glanced at and handed to Brick.
“Them two twenties was in the bunch.” Silent and Harp had both moved in
close and were watching Brick. If it was a joke it must be a good one,
because Brick was very serious. Brick looked up at Lafe.
“Lafe, yuh made a mistake when yuh didn’t bank this money.”
“All right, I’ll bite,” grinned Lafe. “What’s the joke?”
“It’s no joke, Lafe. Mebbe yuh can see somethin’ funny in it, but the
fact of the matter is—them bills are counterfeit.”
Lafe snatched the bills from Brick and glared down at them.
“I don’t believe a —— word of it!” he exploded. “I—uh—say, Brick;
ain’tcha mistaken?”
“How in —— do you know bad money from good?” asked Harp.
“Do yuh mean to say that all my money is bad?” demanded Lafe.
“Likely all yuh got for them cows is bad,” nodded Brick. “Look close at
these bills, Lafe. Do yuh notice that them ain’t silk lines in the
paper? Drawed with colored ink. Them bills was in that joke holdup.”
“Don’t stop talkin’,” begged Lafe nervously. “Tell me who made ’em and
I’ll go and massacree him.”
“That holdup bothered me,” said Brick. “At first she looks a lot like
they was joshin’ Romeo Kendall, but it didn’t make me laugh, ’cause they
didn’t razoo him none. I went up and talked with Bob Malloy at the bank.
He gets out some of the money and we looks her over. Then Bob gets some
kind of a statement from the Silverton bank, which shows that the size
of the bills don’t fit the order. The money they got was all twenties
and tens, but the papers says that there’s twenties, tens and fives.
“Then Bob sizes up the layout and finds out that the money ain’t worth
nothin’—unless yuh can keep it circulatin’. Most of it was danged well
made, but we found some that was pretty raw. Them two holdup men opened
that box, took out the real money and put in the bad. Foxy, eh? They
figured it would be a good joke on Romeo and that nobody would ever find
it out.”
“Your danged brains is goin’ to cost me four thousand dollars,” sighed
Lafe. “And high-water! I paid Harp and Silent out of that money last
Saturday—yesterday.”
“Thasall right,” grinned Silent. “We lost it playin’ faro. I feel better
over it now than I did.”
“The bank will make good what yuh got left, Lafe,” said Brick. “They
stand to lose ten thousand. Pelham & Malvene ain’t responsible for
holdups, bein’ as they won’t handle stuff for any express company.”
Lafe nodded.
“Yeah, I reckon I won’t lose nothin’, but she looks like a hard deal to
beat. If it was horse stealin’ or cow rustlin’ yuh might stand a chance,
but bad money don’t leave no tracks.”
“Anythin’ crooked leaves tracks,” said Brick seriously.
Lafe squinted at Brick’s face and smiled.
“Brickie, yore goin’ to get married pretty soon, ain’t yuh?”
Brick scratched his nose and shifted his feet.
“Well, I still have hopes, Lafe—as the horse-thief said when the rope
broke.”
“You land them fellers who think they’re the mint, and I’ll give yuh
half of that four thousand for a weddin’ present.”