“That’s danged generous of yuh, Lafe.”
“No, it ain’t, Brick,” Lafe shook his head. “I don’t figure you’ll land
’em.”
Lafe threw back his head and laughed heartily at his own humor.
“I’ll help yuh, Brick,” stated Harp seriously.
“——! This ain’t a perade!” snapped Silent. “Detectives don’t work to
music.”
“If Lafe had only put his money in the bank——”
Harp was entirely apologetic.
“Uh-huh!” exploded Lafe. “O-o-oh, yeah! Like you do.”
“Feller gets fore-footed the minute he suggests anythin’,” wailed Harp.
“If I got paid a livin’ wage I’d put somethin’ in the bank, but a
feller——”
“This,” replied Lafe solemnly, “this is a —— of a time to ask for a
raise, Harp.”
“There ain’t no harm in keepin’ your wants before the public, is there?”
seriously, “I don’t blame folks for makin’ their own money. If I had a
pen and ink——”
“And brains enough,” added Silent. “You’ve got about as much chance of
makin’ money with a pen and ink as yuh have of puttin’ on a jew’s-harp
concert in New York.”
“Who in Sun Dog has got brains enough?” asked Harp.
“Now yo’re talkin’,” grinned Brick. “It took brains to make that money
and it took brains to figure out that way of makin’ a trade. Romeo ain’t
got no idea what they looked like, but he swears they had cannons with
the wheels taken off and pistol-butts put on.”
“Why in —— do they hire them kind of drivers?” asked Silent, who
detested Romeo.
Silent was a giant of a man, with hands like hams, and feet which no
ready-made boot would fit.
“Why don’t they hire men like Grant Dale?” queried Silent when nobody
seemed to answer his question. “Nobody’d stick Dale up without a fight,
y’betcha.”
“Dale would h’ist his hand as quick as Romeo did,” argued Harp. “You and
me and everybody would.”
“Don’t argue!” wailed Lafe. “I’ve had some bad news and I want to know
what Brick is goin’ to do.”
“Find out who made that money,” grinned Harp. “Anybody’d know what to do
now. If I had a clue——”
Silent hunched his shoulders and circled Harp, opening and shutting his
hands, as though preparing to annihilate Harp.
“You lemme a-lone!” wailed Harp. “I’m sincere, you danged
hippy-pot-a-must!”
“Let him alone, Silent,” ordered Brick grinning, and then to Harp—
“All right; yo’re deputized to work with me.”
“Hol’ on!” grunted Lafe. “Who told you to come here and maverick my
hired man?”
“Pa says you can go with the nice man.” Brick patted Harp on the arm.
“Take off yore hat when yuh go in anybody’s house and don’t forget yore
handkerchief.”
Harp grinned happily, but Silent shoved him aside and glared at Brick.
“Whatcha doin’—kiddin’? If yuh need a good man—I’m here.”
“Much obliged, Silent. Yo’re deputized to take care of the office while
me and Harp run ’em to earth.”
“Not me! Oh, not me, Brick! I’ve set in that danged office for weeks and
nothin’ come to pass. I need action.”
“Then sweep it out once in a while,” smiled Brick. “Maybe the county
won’t allow yore wages, but if they don’t yuh can sue ’em.”
“Where do I get off?” howled Lafe. “Yuh bring me four thousand dollars
worth of bad news and then yuh swipes all my hired help. Ain’tcha got no
feelin’s?”
“I won’t take ’em if yuh feels thataway, cow-man,” soothed Brick. “I
won’t discommode yuh.”
“Don’t short-hand yoreself,” begged Lafe. “I can get along, I reckon. If
yo’re still short-handed I’ll let yuh have one of Shep’s yaller pups and
a copy of _Pilgrim’s Progress_.”
“Aw, now yo’re sore at me, Lafie,” feelingly.
“You go plumb to ——!” Lafe bristled like a badger. “Take ’em away,
cowboy.”
“I’ll try and return ’em in good order, Lafe.”
“One cinch, they won’t shrink,” said Lafe looking at Harp and Silent.
“Nossir, they won’t shrink—unless yuh show ’em some work. If yuh need a
real good man—yelp for me.”
“Yuh never can tell,” grinned Brick.
* * * * *
Brick was forced to admit that he did not have the slightest clue to
work on. He did not know how counterfeiters worked. In fact it was the
first counterfeit money he had ever seen. He realized that it was a job
far beyond the ability of any one he knew in Sun Dog county.
Just why they did not get the money into circulation in some other way
was of no consequence to Brick. Ten thousand is a lot of money, and he
knew that the Marlin City bank would be hard hit.
Marlin City was the county-seat of Sun Dog county, but such an honor
rested lightly on its shoulders. It had one street, which was dusty and
hot in the Summer and, according to an old inhabitant, “the
coldest —— place in North Ameriky in the Winter.”
The buildings were mostly built with false fronts, as if trying to fool
the world into thinking that a one-story house could look like two, just
because it had a tall front. The Marlin City bank was no exception to
this rule. The sheriff’s office fronted on this street, with the jail
built at the rear. Of shade trees there were none, and Nature seemed to
reserve its cooling winds for the Winter—when no one could appreciate
them.
Not having any clues at all, Brick left Silent at the sheriff’s office,
tied an extra shirt inside his slicker-roll, and told Harp to “foller
him and he’d wear diamonds.”
Silent mourned audibly, but took heart when Brick promised to let him in
on anything that looked like real trouble. Silent was a fighter and did
not hide his light under a bushel. Harp was also a fighter, but one who
did not lead up to it with war-talk. Brick loved them both like a
brother, but preferred Harp for this job on account of his ability to
keep quiet.
It was mid-afternoon when Brick and Harp rode down the main street of
Silverton and went into the livery-stable.
The town of Silverton was much the same type of a cow-town as Marlin,
except that Silverton covered more territory, with many vacant lots.
Some of Silverton’s business houses had been painted years before, but
the weather had bitten deeply in spots, which gave them a splotchy
appearance.
Silverton’s one big point of interest was the Short Horn saloon and
gambling house.
It was the largest thing of its kind in the country. A number of other
places vied with it for the patronage of amusement lovers; but the Short
Horn remained supreme.
The main street was wide and dusty, with warped board sidewalks and
numerous long hitch-racks, which were generally filled with saddle and
work horses. The livery-stable was about the most pretentious building
in the town, especially for height, as it required a second story, or
loft, for hay. Near the door was a huge water-trough built from heavy
planks, and placed in such a way that a horse could drink from it
comfortably.
Jimmy McKeever, the stable-man, greeted Brick effusively.
“By jing! Howdy. Long time I no see yuh, Davidson. That ain’t Harp
Harris with yuh, is it? Well, I’ll be danged if it ain’t! Never seen him
so fat. What did yuh do, Harp, eat a bean sideways?”
“Yo’re a very fresh chambermaid,” declared Harp slowly. “You need
teachin’ better manners,” and, with a quick movement of his foot, kicked
McKeever’s feet from under him, dropping him on a pile of grain sacks.
McKeever rubbed his chin and grinned up at Harp.
“That,” declared McKeever, “that was plumb sudden.” And then to Brick—
“Did Buck Pelham come back with yuh?”
“Ain’t seen him for a month, Jimmy.”
“Yuh never?” McKeever got to his feet. “That’s funny. He went to find
yuh two hours ago.”
“What for?”
“F’r gosh sake, didn’t yuh hear about Grant Dale?”
“What about him?”
“Got killed near Smoky Hill grade this mornin’, thasall.”
“You kiddin’ me, Jimmy?” Brick was very serious.
“Honest to —— I ain’t, Brick. Buck Pelham went to Marlin City to get
yuh.”
“We cut across the hills from Whisperin’ Creek,” said Harp. “We must ’a’
missed him thataway.”
“The stage was held up,” explained McKeever. “Ed Sawyer comes along in
his buckboard about that time, hears the shot and brings poor Dale back
with him.”
“Who took the stage on to Redrock?” asked Harp.
“Who—oh, Dale wasn’t drivin’—Buzzard Bailey was drivin’. Dale quit his
job last night, and Malvene had to put somebody on the seat; so he hired
Buzzard to drive until he can get a reg’lar man.”
“Much obliged,” nodded Brick. “I’ll see what I can find out. C’mon,
Harp.”
“I know as much as anybody——”
McKeever wanted to talk, but Brick and Harp were already outside, headed
for the office of Pelham & Malvene.
They found Jeff Malvene humped over his desk going over a bunch of
invoices, but he got up as they came in. Malvene was a sallow
complexioned person, with puffy eyes, a scraggly blond mustache and a
mouthful of discolored teeth. His shoulders were rounded until it gave
him the appearance of making a continuous search for something.
Pelham & Malvene’s office was located on the West side of the street,
and covered a space of about twenty by forty feet. About in the middle
of the room, with one end against the wall, and facing the door, was
Malvene’s desk. A couple of extra chairs, a rough cupboard of
pigeon-holes full of dusty papers, a stage-schedule and a fly-specked
lithograph of Custer’s Last Stand completed the furnishings. The ceiling
was low, with a trap-door ventilator almost in the center.
“Buck made good time, I see,” Malvene remarked. He was not very cordial
in his manner.
“He missed us,” replied Brick. “Tell me all yuh know about the killin’
of Grant Dale.”
“I don’t know much. Ed Sawyer brought him in and said it happened near
Smoky Hill grade. Seems that two men held up the stage and Dale went for
his gun.”
“Money on the stage?”
“I don’t know,” confessed Malvene. “Sometimes there is money shipped,
but it ain’t advertised. We’re not responsible for valuables.”
“You fired Dale, didn’t yuh, Malvene?”
“Nope—quit. Said he was tired of driving over the same road all the
time.”