“I reckon so, Harp.”
“Why don’tcha hire men to drive yore stages?” asked Silent. “Buzz Bailey
is a disgrace to his namesake and Romeo Kendall is a shrinkin’
loco-weed.”
“Dale was a good man,” observed Pelham.
“If they killed him because he was a good man, the rest of your drivers
will die a natural death.”
“Tryin’ to make us mad, Slade?” asked Malvene.
“Naw—ashamed.”
Silent turned on his heel and walked outside. Brick grinned at Malvene’s
flushed face and turned to Pelham.
“I reckon we’ll have to wait ’till tomorrow and see what Bailey has to
say.”
Brick and Harp joined Silent and they went to the Short Horn saloon and
gambling house, the largest amusement place in the county. Otto Falk,
the portly proprietor met them at the door.
“I am glad to meetcha,” rumbled Otto, shaking hands with all of them.
“First we drink, eh?”
The place was only partly filled, but there was quite a crowd at one of
the roulette tables. Brick filled his glass and turned to Otto.
“To Grant Dale, wherever he is, Otto.”
“To Dale,” said Otto softly.
Brick had only met Grant Dale; but Dale had seemed a clean-cut,
energetic sort of a fellow, with a friendly smile for every one. His
talk did not savor of the range; but he seemed to fit in. He was
considered a good driver, and had demonstrated that he was a clever
pistol-shot. He was one of those fortunate individuals for whom every
one seems to have a kind word.
* * * * *
A dance-hall girl walked behind them and Brick turned to look at her.
She was rather pretty and her dress was just a trifle different from the
usual tawdry things worn in honkatonks. Otto smiled at her in a fatherly
way and nodded toward the cowboys.
“Miss Rosie, I like you to meet Mr. Davidson, Mr. Harris and Mr. Slade.
Mr. Davidson is the sheriff.”
The girl smiled in acknowledgment and passed on.
“Rosie she’s a new girl,” said Otto, looking after her. “She sings.”
“She ain’t the regular type, Otto,” observed Brick.
“No. Rosie she just sings. I pay her good, Davidson. Nobody get fresh
with Rosie. I think she be in hard luck and take work with me. You must
hear her sing.”
“Got a good face,” observed Harp. “Yuh can always tell a good face.
Anyway, I can, y’betcha.”
“Yuh must ’a’ picked yours in the dark,” laughed Silent.
They talked of things in general, bought more drinks and went back to
the street, where they sat down in the shade and rolled cigarets.
“Well,” said Silent impatiently, “when do we arrest somebody, Brick?”
“Who would yuh select?”
“Somebody who’ll start a fight. I’m honin’ for action.”
Harp humped over and produced his jew’s-harp. Silent glared at him
disgustedly.
“——!” he exploded. “If I ever get my hands on that asthmatic organ——”
“I like it,” Brick was serious.
“Yuh do? Well, you can have it, cowboy. If yuh ain’t goin’ to do
anythin’, I’ll see if I can find a poker game with a loose chair.”
“Go ahead,” said Brick. “I’ll call yuh if I need yuh.”
They watched Silent hot-foot down the street in search of amusement. A
door closed behind them and they turned to see Tony Lynch, one of Otto
Falk’s gamblers.
Tony was a pleasant-faced young man, and noted for his honesty at the
gambling table. Tony had evidently just dressed, as he was buttoning a
very flashy vest as he came up to them.
“Hello, sheriff. Howdy, Harp. How’s things in Marlin these days?”
“Shufflin’ along,” smiled Brick. “Hear about Grant Dale?”
Tony hadn’t, for the good and sufficient reason that he had been asleep
since seven o’clock that morning. Brick told him the story as it had
been told to him.