“Soapy, how much was stole from the stage the day Dale was killed?”
“Seven thousand dollars. I found out that day that the ten thousand in
counterfeit had been in the Marlin City bank. If I’d ’a’ known about it
before I wouldn’t ’a’ taken the chance of sendin’ that seven thousand to
Redrock.”
“When did yuh first find out about the bad money?”
“’Bout four months ago. Seems that Malvene got wise to some danged rich
copper property over in Sunset Valley, and he wanted me to go in with
him on the deal. I gave him four thousand dollars in bills. He didn’t
want to carry the money with him; so he went to the bank at Silverton to
get a draft.” Soapy shook his head sadly. “He didn’t get it. The cashier
told him the money was phony. Malvene hunted me up and took me over to
the bank, and the cashier showed me that it was
counterfeit—every —— cent of it!”
“Where did yuh get it?” asked Brick.
“Redrock bank. I went up there afterward and we examined every danged
cent of currency, but it was all O. K. Since then there’s been pieces of
bad money scattered all around. Pelham got some, Otto got some. I’ve won
it in poker games and got it in change at the stores. Five, ten and
twenty dollar bills.”
“Does anybody else know that there was money stolen the day Dale was
killed?”
Soapy shook his head.
“Nope. The cashier of the Redrock bank sent me a note.”
Soapy took out an old bill-fold and removed a dirty piece of
wrapping-paper.
“This was all there was in the money box.”
Brick took the paper, on which was printed in pencil:
AS LONG AS YOU’RE WISE THERE’S NO USE SHOVING THE QUEER. THANKS
FOR THE DONATION. (Signed) THE GANG.
Brick studied the penciled note for a time and handed it to Silent and
Harp, who read it and gave it back to Soapy.
“When yuh goin’ to ship some more money, Soapy?”
Soapy stared at Brick for a moment and spat disgustedly.
“Never! Nossir! Pack it m’self after this, y’betcha.”
Brick laughed and shook his head.
“No, yo’re wrong there, Soapy. Tomorrow yo’re goin’ to make a big
shipment. You go to the bank and tell Felix Bray that yo’re
shippin’—uh—you fix up the amount so she’ll look natural. Send her out
on the stage and I’ll do the rest.”
Soapy scratched his cheek, looked sideways at Brick and spat
reflectively.
“Say yuh will, eh? Big shipment of money, did yuh say? Whose money—mine?
Not by a —— sight! Them elegant road-agents won’t get no more wallops at
my dinero, y’betcha. What’s yore brilliant idea, Brick?”
“My idea?” Brick grinned thoughtfully. “Why, I was just aimin’ to catch
’em, Soapy. Don’t yuh want ’em caught, or is it some kind of a game,
where they won’t be no good unless some hired hand of Uncle Sam catches
’em?”
“Usin’ my money for bait, eh?” sarcastically.
Brick dug his heel into the dry ground and nodded his head.
“Uh-huh. I kinda reckon it will be good fishin’, Soapy. Can yuh put
yoreself out that much?”
Soapy studied Brick for a while and then looked at Harp and Silent, who
were humped up in the shade smoking slowly.
“I’m handlin’ the pay-roll of the Whipoorwill camp,” stated Soapy
slowly. “It’s at Silverton now, and I was kinda wonderin’ just how I’m
goin’ to get it to the mines. Due there tomorrow night. Nobody knows it.
She’s in the safe at the bank, and she’s had me guessin’ how to ship it
safe.”
“That pay-roll is about fifteen thousand dollars,” mused Brick. “That’ll
do real well, I reckon.”
“Tell me yore idea, will yuh?” asked Soapy. “I don’t want to——”
“Nope.” Brick was emphatic.
“Too many minds thinkin’ on the same thing will ruin it. You furnish the
money and I’ll do the rest. You tell ’em at the bank to hand the
stage-driver the money and I’ll see that she gets through.”
Soapy nodded slowly.
“All right, Brick. I hate like —— to do it, but I reckon I’ll gamble a
little with yuh. Did yuh find out anythin’ about who killed that Dale
feller?”
“I’m thinkin’ about him a lot,” admitted Brick seriously. “That’s
the —— of sending a city man into a cow country to compete with range
outlaws. Mebbe Dale was a good detective, but——”
“Did Pelham tell yuh?” asked Soapy quickly.
Brick grinned and shook his head.
“Nope. Deducted most of it m’self, Soapy. Made a good guess and you told
me I was right. Pelham hired him, when the U. S. marshal sent him in to
smell out the bad-money business. You fellers make me plumb tired. Ought
to arrest all of yuh for blockin’ the wheels of progress. C’mon, boys.”
* * * * *
Soapy had nothing to say, but sat on his porch and watched the three men
mount and ride slowly out of the place. Harp and Silent said nothing
until out of earshot and then Harp said,
“Klein rode away a while ago, Brick. Saw him swing in behind the cuttin’
corral and drop into that dry coulee. Mebbe he went toward town.
Nebrasky has been watchin’ us from the bunkhouse window all the time.
Reckon Klein went out the back window.”
Brick laughed.
“They’re gettin’ all het up, I reckon. Well, they ought to.”
He spurred into a gallop and the others followed him. They swept around
the grades, riding bunched as they headed for Silverton.
The first part of the ride was around sharp curves, where the three
horses crowded shoulder to shoulder to keep on the grade. None of the
three men made any comment, and rode with their hats pulled low,
swinging free in their saddles. Suddenly they struck a long stretch of
straight road, which led along the slope of a timbered hill. Far beyond
them they could see an object lying in the middle of the road. As they
drew closer they could see it was a blanket-roll, lying in the middle of
the road, as though some one had lost it. They instinctively drew rein
to stop and investigate, but Brick suddenly drove his spurs home,
whirled his horse off the road, as he yelled:
“Don’t stop! Split up and ride like ——!”
Harp and Silent obeyed like a flash, whirling off the grade, each
swinging wide of the other and following in the general direction taken
by Brick.
From above them on the hill came the spiteful “_whang!_” of a rifle and
the bullet ricocheted off a rock in front of Harp. Another rifle joined
in the chorus and bullets buzzed like angry bees around the three
running horses. A running horse is a difficult target, especially when
the shooter is over-anxious, and the three horses swept through a clump
of cottonwoods out of view from the hillside.
Beyond this clump of cottonwoods which fringed a dry watercourse, was
open, flat country, sparsely covered with clumps of small brush. The
cottonwoods extended in a broken line for a hundred yards or more,
filled with a tangle of briars and willows.
On the opposite side, beyond the road, the mesquite and rock-covered
hill sloped gently for several hundred yards, broken here and there with
deep gashes, brush-filled. The ambushers had picked a desirable site for
their work; but had overlooked the fact that Brick, or some of the
others, might be suspicious.
Brick slid off his horse, drew his rifle from its scabbard and darted
back into the cottonwoods, followed in a moment by Harp and Silent. They
watched the side of the hill for quite a while, unrewarded by anything
which looked like a human being.
“They tried to fox us,” grunted Brick. “Knowed we’d stop to see what was
in that bundle and they’d have a standin’ shot at us.”
“How did yuh get wise to it?” asked Harp admiringly.
“Looked too good,” grinned Brick. “Could yuh imagine any man losin’ his
blanket-roll like that? Nope, they made it too danged good. Oh,
o-o-o-o-oh!”
Brick squinted his eyes sharply and slid his peep-sight up to the last
notch. A moment later the .45-70 roared and Brick ducked low under the
cloud of smoke and peered at the side of the hill.
“—— the luck!” he swore feelingly. “Got the horse instead of the rider.”
“Make me mad if I missed a man at seven hundred yards,” agreed Silent
seriously. “Yuh ought to practise more, Brick.”
A bullet spattered a handful of leafy foliage on to their hats, and all
three of them fired back at a puff of smoke from the side of the hill.
Then they ducked down in the brush and ran fifty feet farther down the
cover, grinning at each other as they heard bullets ripping into the
trees near where they had fired.
Again they fired at a spot just below the haze of powder smoke on the
hill, but without visible results.
“Aw-w-w, this ain’t no fun,” grumbled Silent. “Let’s spread out and
sneak up on ’em. I want to notch m’ sights on one of them jaspers. Got
any idea who it is, Brick?”
“I reckon it’s our friend Duggan doin’ most of the shootin’, assisted to
the best of his ability by Klein. Let’s go and smoke ’em out.”
They sneaked out of the brush, crawling on hands and knees, and taking
advantage of every bit of cover until they reached the road. A bullet
slapped into the dust in front of Silent, filling his eyes with sand and
his soul with bitterness.
“Gosh blasted chuckwallas!” he snorted, digging both fists into his eyes
to wipe away the tears.
“Little sand won’t hurt yuh,” was all the comfort he got from Harp, who
hugged a bush and grinned widely. A bullet cut through the top of the
bush, and Harp rolled away to another and larger cover.
Brick’s rifle roared once. Silence for a count of ten, and then there
began a popping like an automatic.
“By the horns on a toad, I got that hombre!” announced Brick as he
slammed shells into the loading-gate of his rifle; “There they go!”
He fired three times more, but failed to score.
“Gone over the hill,” he yelled, “but they left one of ’em for a
nest-egg. C’mon.”
Silent and Harp got to their feet and followed him cautiously up the
hill. It was at least five hundred yards to where they found a roan
horse lying on its side in a tangle of brush, and about fifty yards
beyond that lay the body of a man. They turned him over, squatting low
in the mesquite to guard against any long shots fired from the ridge.
Brick gave a whistle of astonishment as he looked at the face of the
dead man.
“Ed Sawyer!” grunted Silent, “Whatcha know about that?”
Sawyer owned a small ranch between Silverton and Redrock, on Camp Creek,
where he owned the Lazy S brand. He had minded his own business and was
known as a silent man, even in a land where men do not usually talk to
any great extent.
Brick studied him for a while and got to his feet.
“We’ll pack him down to the road, boys. We can rope him to my horse and
I’ll double up with Harp.”
“Where does he come in on this deal?” asked Harp slowly. “Think there’s
goin’ to be any trouble over snuffin’ him out?”
“He was in bad company,” replied Brick, “and I reckon he had it comin’
to him. You wanted action, cowboy; so don’t yelp at a puny little start
like this. Silent, me and you will pack him down, while Harp watches the
ridge real close-like. I sure hate to have lead whisperin’ around my
back.”
It was a difficult task to carry the body down the hill. Mesquite and
rocks and loose gravel made the footing uncertain, and there was the
added danger of a shot from the top of the hill.
Brick and Silent grunted and slid with their burden, while Harp
staggered sideways most of the time, slewing around over the brush and
rocks and trying to keep his vision somewhere near a focus on the
skyline of the ridge.
“Never mind ’em,” grunted Silent jerkily to Harp. “Nobody could ever hit
us, unless they was sufferin’ from St. Vitus dance.”
Harp glanced at Silent and tripped over a boulder, which caused a
wonderful flow of profanity toward the laboring Silent.
“Don’t talk to the guard,” grunted Brick, whose hat had jerked down over
one eye, where it hung rakishly, causing him to keep his eyes on the sky
in order not to lose the hat completely.
They reached their horses, tied the body on Brick’s horse and headed
back for town, keeping off the main road for fear of another ambush.
The town of Silverton evinced great interest in their coming, especially
when they found that Ed Sawyer was the victim.
Many questions were hurled at Brick, who shut his lips tight and refused
to talk about it. There was no question but that it was a peculiar
situation, viewing it from Silverton’s angle. Even in the West it is not
a common practise for a sheriff to bring in a dead man and refuse to
talk concerning his demise.
Silent and Harp followed Brick’s lead and kept mum. Doctor Bridger took
charge of the body, after pronouncing Sawyer dead, which required little
examination. Soapy Caswell rode in shortly after the disposal of the
body. Nebraska Yocum came with him, and a little later Klein appeared,
carrying his right arm in a sling.
Buck Pelham found Brick and his party in the restaurant, eating copious
portions of ham and eggs.
“Set down and have a aig,” begged Silent, but Buck declined the
invitation. Buck seemed to have something on his mind; something which
he hated to mention; but he finally spoke—
“How come yuh to smoke up Sawyer?”
“Return of compliments,” smiled Brick.
“What for, Brick?”
“What for?” Brick halted a forkful of food just short of his mouth and
stared at Buck.
“General principles, I reckon.”
“Kinda —— funny,” mused Buck. “Sawyer seemed like a decent sort of a
hombre and never bothered nobody.”
“Prob’ly,” nodded Brick. “’F he had he likely wouldn’t ’a’ lasted as
long as he did.”
Buck nervously shifted his feet.
“I ain’t talkin’ my own opinions, yuh understand; and I don’t want yuh
to take this as comin’ from me; but I’m advisin’ yuh to tell folks why
yuh killed Sawyer—if yuh killed him.”
Brick glanced sharply at Buck.
“You mean that Silverton is takin’ this thing to heart, Buck?”
“Kinda. They naturally wants to know.”
“Well,” grinned Brick, “I’ve got to find out first.”
At this moment Doctor Bridger and Felix Bray came into the restaurant
and headed for Brick’s table. Both men seemed excited as they nodded to
Buck. Bray spoke directly to Brick.
“There seems to be considerable—er—speculation as to why you—uh—” Bray
seemed at a loss for further words.
“Try it again,” advised Silent.
“The reasons for the killing of Mr. Sawyer?” queried Brick.
Both men nodded. Brick pursed his lips, speculated for a moment and then
got to his feet.
“I had one —— good reason for killin’ him. He shot and missed—I didn’t
miss. Now, you —— old ladies can go home and gossip about it, and mebbe
you’ll find out why he shot at me.”
“Now, now!” soothed Bridger. “That’s no way——”
“Well, what in —— are you goin’ to do about it?”
Brick’s mop of unruly hair fairly bristled, and the freckles on his face
looked like silver flecks in the yellow light. Bridger and Bray turned
away nervously and walked out of the door. Buck got slowly to his feet.
“Brick, you know I’m yore friend; and as a friend I’m askin’ yuh to come
over to Otto’s place and tell ’em about it. There’s a lot of nasty talk
which yuh can nip in the bud.”
“Tryin’ to scare me, Buck?”
“Gimme credit for havin’ a little sense.”
Buck went slowly out of the door, while Brick, Silent and Harp looked
foolishly at each other. Silent grinned widely at the prospect of
trouble. Harp absent-mindedly produced his jew’s-harp and twanged a few
sonorous notes before realizing where he was. Brick was serious.
Silverton wanted a reason for the fight with Sawyer; and Brick could
give no plausible reason. Would Silverton believe that Sawyer would
shoot at Brick just to be shooting? They would not. Brick had produced
the effect; but the cause was unknown, except for a surmise, which no
jury in the world would consider.
“That’s the —— of bein’ a sheriff,” complained Brick.
“Silverton ain’t never wormed itself into my heart,” said Silent, “and I
ain’t goin’ into mournin’ for any of the population which garners a harp
and feathery wings from hornin’ into our affairs.”
“When,” said Harp, peering at Brick hopefully, “when do we kill
somebody?”
“This town is too danged full of question marks,” declared Brick. “We’re
goin’ to the stable, fork our broncs and pull out for Marlin City—right
now.”
“Aw-w-w!” wailed Silent. “Don’tcha feel good, Brickie? Walk out and
leave a chance for a lot of fun?”
“We ain’t wishful to be rough,” sighed Harp. “We’re just a li’l social
organization, tryin’ to get along with the rest of the doves.”
Brick shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the counter, where he
paid for their meals. Harp and Silent went out behind him, walking with
their hats in their hands, like men going to the funeral of a dear
friend.
They passed a number of people on the street, but no one seemed to want
to talk to them. Silverton seemed to be tuning up for its regular
nightly amusements, and both Silent and Harp looked longingly at the
lighted windows as they passed.
McKeever was grooming a horse by the light of a lantern as they came in.
He looked at them solemnly, but said nothing, as they brought out their
horses. Brick handed him the stable fee and McKeever thanked him almost
in a whisper.
“Goin’ home,” stated Brick.
“Yeah?” queried McKeever.
Brick made no further explanation. They saddled their horses and Brick
led them straight through town, heading for Marlin City. A number of men
saw them ride out through the lighted street; but no one accosted them.
A mile out of town Brick drew rein and dismounted.
Behind them a clump of stunted cottonwoods silhouetted against the sky.
The point of a butte, like the prow of a giant battle-ship, cut them off
from the lights of Silverton. Brick squatted beside the road and began
to roll a cigaret.
Silent’s saddle creaked as he got slowly off his horse, and a moment
later Harp dismounted. They both humped down beside Brick.
“We’ll stay here until about midnight,” stated Brick.
“And then what do we aim to do?” asked Harp.
“I’m goin’ to start elimination proceedin’s,” declared Brick. “Silverton
is goin’ to love me like a brother, or hate me like ——. M’ brain is
tired from travelin’ tangled trails; so now I start usin’ m’ hands.”
* * * * *
Buzzard Bailey and Romeo Kendall slept in a small room off the stage
stable. The stable door was not locked; neither was the door leading
from the stable into the bunk-room. Buzzard Bailey awoke from sweet
dreams to find the cold muzzle of a six-shooter against his neck.
The lamp was lit, and Buzzard noted that the six-gun was held in Brick
Davidson’s right hand. He also noted that Romeo was looking goggle-eyed
into the muzzle of Silent Slade’s gun, while Harp Harris adjusted the
oil lamp.
“What’s the matter?” stammered Buzzard, as Harp picked up a coiled
lariat rope and dropped it over Buzzard’s shoulders. Harp worked swiftly
but thoroughly and in a few moments Buzzard Bailey was trussed so well
that only his tongue could move freely. Another coil of rope assured
complete inactivity from the gawping Romeo.
“What the —— do you think yore doin’?” growled Buzzard, trying to
conceal his fears under a threatening exterior.
“I don’t trust you two hombres,” smiled Brick.
“I never done nothin’ to you,” whined Buzzard.
“You insulted my intelligence,” declared Brick. “Next time you testify
to a murder—tell the truth.”
Buzzard stared at Brick. It put Buzzard in a bad position. He was forced
to look straight at Brick and try to swallow his fears; whereas, if his
hands had been loose, he might have covered a lot of it by rubbing his
chin or scratching his head.
“What did I—I say?” he faltered.
“You had that murderer shootin’ from below the grade.”
“Well, what if I did? That wasn’t my fault.”
“Dale was on the seat with you?”
“He sure as —— was!” Buzzard was very positive. In fact he was almost
belligerent in his declaration.
“Then,” drawled Brick, “why did the bullet range downward?”
Buzzard stared at Brick for a moment, shifted his eyes to Silent and
Harp and then looked down at the floor. He wet his dry lips with a still
more dry tongue, and in the silence the rasping was audible.
“You spoke yore little piece, Buzzard; and it’s goin’ to put a rope
around your neck.”
“My ——!” gasped Romeo, his face a pale green in the light from the small
lamp.
“Prayin’ or cussin’?” queried Silent dryly.
“I ain’t lied about nothin’,” wailed Romeo.
“Then yuh ain’t got no wail comin’,” smiled Brick; “but for fear yuh
might—we’re goin’ to camp right with yuh.”
“Somebody is goin’ to pay for this!” growled Buzzard.
“I’m kinda figurin’ on taking up a collection,” admitted Brick.
The stage to Marlin City and the Whipoorwill mines was due to leave at
seven o’clock in the morning. At six-fifty, Brick and Silent harnessed
the four horses to the stage. Buzzard and Romeo, still trussed, were
propped up on a seat inside the vehicle, while Silent and Harp sat
opposite them. Brick mounted the driver’s seat, wearing Romeo’s flopping
sombrero, and drove to the front of the stage-office.
Malvene came out of the office and up to the stage, before he recognized
Brick, who was grinning at him.
“What’s the idea?” Malvene stared up at Brick.
“Thought I’d show yuh how to make this stage-line pay.” Brick pointed
down at the body of the stage. “Look at the passengers I picked up.”
Malvene peered inside. Silent and Harp grinned at him; but Malvene only
looked at the trussed prisoners, and up at Brick for an explanation.
“Malvene,” seriously, “I think these are the two men who have been
robbin’ yore stages.”