“Naw, it wasn’t there.”
Brick did not question him, but Nebraska volunteered the information
that Klein had lost his gun.
“I reckon I was pretty drunk,” admitted Klein, slapping his empty
holster.
“What kind of a gun was it?” asked Harp.
“Six-gun,” growled Klein sullenly.
“Which covers several varieties,” said Harp slowly. “Was this anythin’
out of the general run?”
“Good gun,” muttered Klein.
“What size?” asked Silent.
Klein squinted at Silent for a moment.
“Man sized, if yuh want to know, Slade.”
“Yo’re just as well off without it,” drawled Silent. “Yuh ought to pack
a .22.”
Klein muttered a curse and his hand slid to his empty holster. Silent
glanced at his hand and then at Nebraska.
“Loan him yore gun, Nebraska. He’s soreheaded like a old she bear, and
if he wants action——”
Klein glared at Silent for a moment, but turned and went into the door
of the livery-stable. Nebraska shrugged his shoulders, grinned at Brick
and went in behind Klein.
“Watch out, Silent,” cautioned Harp. “That —— Klein had a gun in his
holster when he went in there the first time.”
“He won’t shoot,” said Brick. “Not with three of us here. Now who
in —— lost this gun and why does Klein want it?”
“Don’t yuh reckon it belongs to him?” asked Harp.
“If it did he’d describe it. He knows that somebody lost a gun and he
wants to get it before somebody else does.”
Nebraska rode out of the stable door and swung his horse up to the
trough.
“You didn’t find his gun, did yuh, Brick?” he asked.
“No,” replied Brick. “No, I never found his gun.”
“He got paralyzed drunk last night and lost it,” explained Nebraska.
“Feller hates to lose his gun. Sore as a bear about it. Wanted him to
come out to the ranch, but he says he’s goin’ to sleep in the stable for
a while and then hunt some more for his gun.”
“You still with the 88 outfit?” asked Brick.
“Naw, I’m with Soapy Caswell—the Circle Cross. Me and Curley and
‘Snookie’ Duggan. I’m foreman now, Brick.”
“That’s nice,” agreed Brick. “Mebbe I’ll come out and see yuh some day.”
“Come ahead,” grinned Nebraska. “We’d sure welcome yuh.”
Nebraska swung off down the street.
Brick shook his head in wonder that Soapy Caswell should hire those
three cowboys to guide the destinies of the Circle Cross. Duggan was the
most unsavory of the lot, which did not mean that Klein and Nebraska
were good citizens, by any matter of means.
Soapy was a solid citizen, but his interests seemed to be more centered
around a poker table than they did around the Circle Cross ranch. Soapy
was as crabbed as a badger and his tongue was vitriolic to a startling
degree, but nobody disliked him because of his disposition. Soapy did
not like Brick, whose very presence seemed to irritate the old
cattleman. Soapy was touchy about certain things—things which Brick
never failed to mention.
Brick got up and cautiously handed the pistol to Silent, who was wearing
a coat.
“Slip that into your pocket, Silent; but for gosh sake don’t let anybody
see it. I’m goin’ to see if I can find Soapy Caswell.”
“He’s up at Otto’s place, bogged down in a poker game,” said Harp. “You
better wait ’till he gets through.”
But Brick waited for no man. Soapy looked up as Brick came in, and
growled something inaudible as Brick moved in behind his chair. He shook
his head at the dealer and moved back his chair.
“Got a —— jinks behind me,” he growled. “Deal me out.”
Brick smiled and walked back outside and in a moment Soapy joined him,
grumbling about his run of ill-luck. They stopped at the edge of the
board sidewalk. Across the street a couple of cowboys were settling an
argument over which could jump the farthest, while several more stood on
the sidewalk and made uncomplimentary remarks on the ability of both
contestants. One of them made a jump, landed on his knees and sat down
on his own spurs, much to the amusement of his competitor and the
audience. Soapy watched them for a moment, with no trace of a smile on
his face, and turned to Brick.
“Couldn’t win ’f I had the pick of the deck. Whatcha want, you
red-headed raw-hider?”
“What makes yuh think I want anythin’?” grinned Brick.
“Go ahead—I’m listenin’,” said Soapy seriously.
“You got three nice burglars workin’ for yuh, Soapy.”
“Have I? What do you care who works for me?” Soapy was very indignant.
“Keep cool,” advised Brick. “You never bit anybody yet, Soapy.”
Soapy glared at Brick, masticating rapidly.
“Yo’re a —— old fool,” stated Brick. “Drinkin’ and gamblin’ and hirin’
crooks to run yore cows. Ain’tcha ashamed? Hirin’ cowboys who get
paralyzed drunk and lose their guns.”
“Who did?” demanded Soapy. “Who got paralyzed and lost his gun?”
“Curley Klein did—last night.”
“Like —— he did!”
“Sure did, Soapy. I found the gun in the horse-trough.”
Brick grinned triumphantly, but Soapy demanded to see the gun.
“I’ve got her,” stated Brick. “Forty-four Colt, with yaller bone
handle.”
“Smart, ain’tcha?” chuckled Soapy. “Oh, ve-e-ery smart; but Klein’s gun
ain’t a .44 and it ain’t got bone handles.”
“Much obliged, Soapy,” grinned Brick. “Go back to yore little game and
lose a few more cows.”
Brick sauntered off down the street, whistling unmusically between his
teeth, while Soapy swore wonderingly and went back to his game.
Buck Pelham was alone in the stage-office when Brick came in, and Brick
lost no time in opening conversation.
“Buck, how long ago did yuh first find out that bad money was rangin’
around here?”
Pelham rubbed his chin, wondering where Brick got his information.
“Did Tony tell yuh, Brick?”
“Yeah, but I knew before that, Buck. That Romeo holdup wasn’t no joke,
but everybody don’t know it. There was ten thousand dollars in
counterfeit in that treasure-box, when it got to the Marlin City Bank.”
“Is that a fact, Brick?”
“Uh-huh. Tell me what you know.”
“Not very much, Brick; except that most of the currency in the country
is bad stuff. Used to be that silver and gold was about all yuh ever got
hold of, but in the last few months it seems to have kinda dwindled down
and currency took its place.”
“But where does it start from, Buck? There’s got to be some place where
it starts, ain’t there?”
Buck nodded slowly.
“Sure has, Brick. You find the men who killed Dale and you’ll have the
men who are flooding the country with bad money.”
Brick silently agreed. He had met Dale, but knew little about him. He
seemed entirely capable.
“Where did Dale come from, Buck?”
“Came here from Miles City, Brick. He was a good man.”
“Do yuh reckon he was mixed up in this stuff in any way?” asked Brick.
“Mebbe he knowed——”
“No, I don’t think Dale was mixed up in it. He wasn’t that type, Brick.
I knew Dale pretty well, I think.”
“Do you think he was killed because he went after his gun?”
Pelham frowned at the wall for a moment.
“I wish I knew just what happened, Brick.”
Brick yawned and grinned.
“I’ll tell yuh just as soon as I find out, Buck. _Adios._”
Romeo Kendall was coming in as Brick went out, and Romeo was very
anxious to talk about holdups with Brick.
“Had any luck, sheriff?” he asked.
“I quit playin’ my luck a long time ago,” replied Brick. “How would yuh
like to have me show yuh the fellers who held you up, Romeo?”