whispers. Hashknife contended that it was none of their business if
Eph King wanted to visit Jack Hartwell, but in spite of his
contention, they got out of the hay and went outside the stable.
Once they thought they heard a horse traveling along the side of the
hill behind them, but were unable to see anything.
“I don’t feel right about it,” whispered Hashknife. “Somethin’ makes
me nervous.”
“Same here,” grunted Sleepy. “Everythin’ makes me nervous. By golly, I
won’t feel like myself until I get out of this danged country.”
“Sh-h-h-h!” cautioned Hashknife. “Look toward the front fence. I seen
somethin’, Sleepy. —— the dark, anyway! Don’t they ever have a moon
around here?”
“I can’t see anythin’,” complained Sleepy.
“I can’t see it now. Probably seein’ things.”
They remained silent, straining their eyes toward the fence, or where
the fence should be, but there was nothing to be seen.
Suddenly the door of the house opened, throwing a beam of light into
the front yard, and from out by the fence came a streak of
orange-colored light, followed by the rattling report of a rifle.
Both Hashknife and Sleepy were on their feet in a moment and running
toward the fence, regardless of danger. And beyond them, traveling
parallel with the fence, ran the dim form of a man. Hashknife crashed
into the fence and almost lost his feet, but righted himself in time
to see this man mount a horse.
The man and horse were not more than fifty feet away, an odd shaped
bulk in the night. Sleepy almost crashed into Hashknife, and their
guns spoke almost at the same time. As fast as they could work their
six-guns they fired. The flashes of the guns blinded them and made
accuracy out of the question. Some one was running from the house
toward them. A horse was galloping away into the hills.
“That horse ain’t got no rider!” yelped Sleepy. “I seen him against
the sky. C’mon, Hashknife.”
“It’s Hartley!” panted Jack Hartwell’s voice. “Yoo-hoo, Hartley!”
“Yeah—all right!” yelled Hashknife.
Eph King and Jack ran up to them, questioning, panting from their run.
“Here he is,” said Sleepy, lighting a match.
They gathered around a man, who was lying on his face in the sage,
where he had fallen from his horse. A few feet away was his rifle.
They turned him over. It was no one that Hashknife and Sleepy had ever
seen; a man of about thirty years of age, with a thin face, large nose
and a mop of black hair.
Hashknife glanced down at him and looked at Eph King, who was staring
down at the face of the dead man.
“Who is he?” whispered Jack. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“I—I don’t know,” said King, but Hashknife knew from the expression on
the sheepman’s face that he lied.
“Let’s take him back to the house,” suggested Hashknife.
The four of them carried him back and placed him on the floor of the
ranch house, beside the body of the man called Mac. Hashknife looked
at the other man and at Eph King.
“Bushed him, eh?”
“Mac just opened the door,” said King slowly. “It could have been me.”
“Was this feller gunnin’ for you?”
King stared at Hashknife for a moment and shook his head.
“No. I don’t understand it at all. Poor old Mac!”
Molly was standing across the room, leaning against the wall, and
Hashknife nudged Jack.
“Take care of yore wife, Hartwell. This ain’t no place for a lady.”
Jack turned and crossed the room to Molly, while Hashknife faced King
across the two bodies.
“I’m not tryin’ to pry into yore affairs, King,” said Hashknife
coldly, “but a while ago you said you didn’t know this man. Lyin’
ain’t goin’ to help things, yuh know.”
The sheepman’s jaw tightened perceptibly, but his eyes turned away
from Hashknife’s steady gaze, as he said:
“What right have you got to call me a liar?”
“I don’t need any right, King. I’ve always been able to back up what I
say. Come clean, King; it’s always the best thing to do.”
King’s gaze came back to the body of the man who had killed his
companion, and rested there for several moments before he looked up at
Hashknife.
“I did know him,” he said slowly. “His name is ‘Boomer’ Bates. He used
to be a railroad man—a brakeman, I think. But for the last few years
he’s been livin’ in Sunland Basin.”
“With what kind of a gang, King?”
King shook his head.
“Not very good.”
“And what was his grudge against the man he killed?”
“Grudge? I don’t believe that Mac even knew him.”
“Hated you, did he?”
“Not for any reason that I knew.”
Hashknife nodded. He knew that King was telling the truth.
“As long as there are so many questions to be asked,” said Jack, “I’d
like to ask you how you two fellers happened to be here at my place at
this time of night?”
“Well,” laughed Hashknife, “we were tryin’ to get some sleep in yore
barn, Hartwell. We’ve lost more doggoned sleep since we hit Lo Lo
Valley than we have all our life. This sure is one place where it pays
to keep awake.”
“You are not Lo Lo cattlemen?” queried King.
“No-o-o. We got left here, thassall. Cattle-train went away and left
us sittin’ on a sidewalk, but we ain’t set down much since.”
“Don’t worry about us,” assured Sleepy. “Instead of soldiers of
fortune, we’re cowpunchers of disaster. The only time we ever seen
peace was one day when Hashknife found it in the dictionary. The
question before us right now, is this: What will we do with these two
bodies?”
Jack shook his head.
“I don’t know. There’s too much to be explained.”
“Can’t you two men take charge of them?” asked King.
“With the sheriff and every cattleman in Lo Lo Valley believin’ that
we’re spies of the sheep interests?” grinned Hashknife. “We were down
at Ed Barber’s inquest and backed out of there with guns in our hands.
We’d look well takin’ these two men to Totem City and turnin’ ’em over
to the coroner.”
“What makes them think you are spies?” asked King.
“I dunno,” laughed Hashknife. “They’ve got to lay the deadwood on
somebody, ’cause somebody told you that old Ed Barber was the man who
had blocked yore efforts before, King. Accordin’ to what I can learn,
he sat in a cabin up there, where he could watch the slopes into
Sunland Basin. Any time the sheep got above a certain level, he
signaled the cattlemen, who corked the pass. Now, somebody squealed on
the old man.”
“That’s how it is, eh?” King squinted thoughtfully. “Do they blame you
for shootin’ the old man?”
“Mebbe not the actual shootin’. Yuh see, they blame you for that.”
“Is that so?” King sighed and looked down at the two bodies.
“I suppose they would,” he said slowly. “I have known for a long time
that there was some one who watched the slopes into Sunland Basin. But
I’ve never tried to send my herds over the pass. Until a short time
ago we’ve had enough feed in our own country, but the long drought—”
He hesitated for a moment. “Have you any idea what it means for me to
establish my herds in this valley?
“I know the cattlemen’s views on the subject; I know what the law says
about it. Possession means nine points in the law, so they say. Well,
I don’t know how it will end.”
“I can see yore angle of it,” said Hashknife. “And I can see what it
means to the cattlemen. But what I don’t understand is this, King: Why
are yuh standin’ still up there? Why don’t cha come on down into the
valley with yore sheep?”
King looked keenly at Hashknife, as if trying to read what was back of
that pointed question. Then—
“The cattlemen have established a dead-line.”
“Yeah,” nodded Hashknife, and turned to Jack. “There’s only one way to
take care of this matter—and that’s the right way. You get us two
horses to pack these bodies on, and we’ll deliver ’em to the sheriff.”
“But what will yuh tell him?” asked Jack.
“The truth. He won’t believe it, but we’ll tell it, anyway.”
“And get thrown into jail.”
“Might be all right,” grinned Sleepy. “They can’t shoot us in there.”
They caught Boomer Bates’ horse and got another from Jack. King and
Jack helped them rope the two bodies to the saddles, and they started
for Totem City.
“We’re runnin’ into a rope,” complained Sleepy. “You danged fool; you
gets heroic thataway and declares to tell the truth. It sounds fine.
And in days to come they will likely find out that we told the truth,
and the little children will come out and strew vi’lets on our graves
on Decoration Day.”
“They won’t use no rope on us,” grinned Hashknife. “Mebbe they won’t
believe us, and mebbe they’ll talk real big; but me and you are goin’
down there, talk the truth and then get so danged tough that they’ll
let us alone; _sabe_?”
“Uh-huh,” said Sleepy doubtfully. “I’ll betcha we can do that in Totem
City. They sure get scared easy.”
* * * * *
They were near the forks of the road, traveling along in the
moonlight, when they met five riders, who had swung off the Arrow road
and were traveling toward Jack Hartwell’s place. They were Gene Hill,
Skinner Close, Micky Hart, Mel Asher and Paul Dazey.
Hashknife tried to crowd past them with the two packed horses, but
they swung their horses to block the road.
“Jist about who have we here?” asked Gene Hill. He had been drinking.
“F’r ——’s sake!” blurted Micky Hart. “Looks like a killin’ has been
done.”
One of them dismounted and began lighting matches, while the others
shoved in closer and looked at the bodies.
“Know either of ’em?” asked Hashknife.
“I don’t,” declared Hill. “Do any of you fellers?”
There was a general chorus of negative replies.
“Mind talkin’ about ’em?” asked Micky.
“Down at Totem City I’ll tell about ’em,” said Hashknife. “The sheriff
will probably want to know.”
“Prob’ly,” said Gene Hill dryly. “You are the two jiggers that made a
getaway from the inquest, eh? I’ll betcha the sheriff will be glad to
see yuh. We’ve all been kinda lookin’ for yuh.”
“By golly, that’s right!” exploded Mel Asher.
“And now that you’ve found us?” said Hashknife.
“Well,” said Hill after several moments of silence, “we didn’t want
yuh so awful bad, yuh know. The sheriff kinda cussed a little, but as
long as you’re goin’ down to see him, I reckon it’ll be all right.”
“Thank yuh,” said Hashknife. “Mebbe you’d like to ride back and hear
what I tell the sheriff.”
“We ain’t got time,” said Asher. “We’re on business. But at that, I’d
like to hear what yuh tell him.”
“Mebbe he’ll tell yuh later,” laughed Sleepy.
“It all depends,” said Hill, and they moved aside to let Hashknife and
Sleepy start on down the road.
As soon as the two cowboys and their pack horses had disappeared, Hill
took a bottle from his pocket and passed it around. They were all half
drunk, but there was no hilarity.
“That’s enough hooch for now,” declared Hill. “We don’t want to be
drunk. I’d sure like to know who them two dead men are. They don’t
belong around here.”
“What we ought to have done is to make them two whippoorwills tell us
all about it,” said Paul Dazey. “We ain’t got much sense.”
“And if you’d ’a’ seen them two fellers back out of the Arrow bunk
house, with their six-guns all set, you’d say it wasn’t none of our ——
business,” declared Mel Asher. “We showed pretty good sense, if
anybody rises up to ask yuh.”
* * * * *
The sheriff and Sunshine were both asleep in the sheriff’s office when
Hashknife and Sleepy hammered on the door. It was nearly morning, but
not near enough for Sunshine to awake in good spirits. He came to the
door, looked them over with sleepy eyes and wanted to know what in ——
they meant by trying to knock down the door.
Hashknife led him out to the horses and showed him the two dead men.
This served to jar the sleep out of Sunshine and send him back into
the office, where he yelled at the sheriff—
“Hey, Sudden! Git up! There’s been a eppy-demic.”
“Epidemic?” queried Sudden sleepily. “Whatcha mean?”
“C’mon out and look at the dead ones. They’re bringin’ ’em in by the
pack load.”
The sheriff came out, sans socks and pants. He squinted queerly at
Hashknife and Sleepy, as if wondering just what their attitude would
be after what he had done to them at the inquest. Then he turned his
attention to the dead men, while Sunshine aided him with matches.
“Bring ’em inside, I reckon,” he said gruffly.
They carried the two bodies in and placed them on the floor, where the
sheriff made a closer examination.
“Both of ’em dead,” he decided.
“I’ll betcha that’s why they elected yuh sheriff,” said Sleepy.
“Why is that?” asked the sheriff.
“’Cause yuh catch on to things so easy. Some folks just kinda jump at
conclusions, don’tcha know it?”
“Huh!”
Sudden got to his feet and walked over to a chair, where he sat down
and looked at the two cowboys.
“Well?” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you fellers ag’in!”
“You didn’t think yuh scared us away, didja?” asked Hashknife.
The sheriff did not seem to know just what to say, so he said nothing.
“Didja ever see either one of these dead men?” asked Sunshine.
The sheriff shook his head.
“Not me. I’d kinda like to hear about it.”
“Yo’re goin’ to,’ grinned Hashknife. “And don’t intimate that I’m
lyin’ until after I tell the story.”
“Is there any use of lyin’ about it?”
“Well,” Hashknife grinned softly, “I’ve been tryin’ all the way from
Jack Hartwell’s ranch to think up a good lie, but I can’t; so I’ll
have to bother yuh with the truth.”
The telling of the story did not take long, as Hashknife did not
embellish it in any way. The sheriff and Sunshine listened to every
word, exchanging glances occasionally, but neither of them
interrupted.
“What was King and this other man doing at Jack’s place?” asked the
sheriff, when Hashknife finished.
“I didn’t ask him.”
“And he knew this feller Bates, eh?”
“Yeah—seemed to.”
“Why did Bates kill this partner of King’s?”
“You better ask somebody that knows of their personal affairs,
Sheriff. I brought the bodies in, thassall. Outside of my story, I
don’t know any more than you do.”
“Uh-huh. Well, we’ll have to take your word for it. There’s a lot of
men kinda lookin’ for you two fellers. Some of ’em didn’t leave here
so long ago either.”
“We met ’em,” nodded Hashknife. “If they were lookin’ for us, they’ve
forgot all about it.”
“My gosh, yuh didn’t kill all five of ’em, didja?” blurted Sunshine.
“Only four,” said Sleepy seriously. “The fifth one saw that he didn’t
have a chance, so he shot himself.”
For a moment both the sheriff and deputy swallowed the story, but
Hashknife’s grin reassured them that Sleepy was joking.
“I—I wouldn’t put it past yuh,” said Sunshine.
“After what the sheriff did to us at that inquest, I wouldn’t put
anythin’ past a human bein’,” declared Hashknife. “It sure was one
dirty trick.”
“Aw-w-w-w, ——!” blurted the sheriff, confused. “I—you two——”
“Absolutely,” interrupted Hashknife.
The sheriff’s confusion greatly amused Sunshine.
“Went off half-cocked, eh?” he said. “That’s the trouble with Sudden.
That’s where he got his name; always gettin’ himself into a jam. Never
thinks twice—that’s Sudden. That’s where he got his name, I tell yuh.
Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha, ha ——!” snapped Sudden angrily. “You never got yore name
because of yore disposition, that’s a cinch.”
“Aw, that’s all right,” said Sunshine. “One thing, I don’t go and
decide, too quick on a thing.”
“You ain’t got brains enough to ever decide.”
“Ain’t I?”
“You sure as —— ain’t.”
“You never give me a chance to show what I can do.”
“I know what you’d do.”
“Well, I’d think first, I’ll betcha.”
“Well, go ahead and fight it out,” laughed Hashknife. “We’re goin’ to
hunt a place to eat some food.”
“If I was you I’d fade out of Lo Lo Valley,” advised the exasperated
sheriff.
“And if I was you, I’d prob’ly be as poor a sheriff as you are,”
retorted Hashknife. “We don’t need advice, pardner. If Lo Lo Valley
wants us, you tell ’em we’re eatin’ breakfast. And if Lo Lo Valley
wants trouble, we’ll accommodate ’em, _sabe_?”
“Fight ’em all, eh?” sneered the sheriff.
“Yeah—and lick ’em,” retorted Hashknife. “S’long.”
They went up the street, walking stiff-legged and laughing at each
other.
“Bad men from Bitter River,” chuckled Sleepy. “I feel as tough as
pelican soup. I’ll betcha that single-track-minded sheriff thinks
we’re in earnest.”
“If he don’t think we are, he ought to try us,” said Hashknife
seriously. “I’m gettin’ tired of bein’ suspected as a sheepherder.”
* * * * *
Totem City was beginning to wake up as they entered the restaurant.
They were the first customers of the day, and the sleepy-eyed waiter
was none too cheerful. Both Hashknife and Sleepy were badly in need of
some sleep, so they drank many cups of black coffee, while the waiter
sucked at an extinct cigaret and wondered why these two strangers
persisted in staying around Totem City, when they were not wanted. He
had heard them discussed considerable.
They had finished eating when old Sam Hodges came in. He had been
talking with the sheriff, who had told him about the shooting at Jack
Hartwell’s place.
“It’s a danged queer proposition,” he told them. “A lot of them men at
the inquest kinda want to salivate you two fellers. That shot yuh
fired over our heads made ’em mad, don’tcha know it?”
“If they want us, we’re here,” grinned Hashknife.
“Sure, sure. But that ain’t it, boys. I know yuh. They’d have one ——
of a time puttin’ their hands on yuh, but it would be fifty to one,
don’tcha see? Now, you fellers show sense. Come out to the Bar 77 and
hole up until this is over. There ain’t nobody out there but the cook.
——, I don’t want to see you fellers hurt.”
“That’s fine of yuh, Hodges,” said Hashknife. “We appreciate it a
heap. Yo’re plumb white, but we can’t do it. We’ve been shot at. And
we never hole up after we’ve been shot at.”
“Uh-huh.” Old Sam squinted thoughtfully. “Well, it ain’t none of my
business. I ain’t seekin’ information, but I’ll bet odds that neither
one of yuh ever herded sheep nor worked for sheep outfits.”
“Thanks,” dryly.
“Yuh don’t need to thank me.”
“Hodges—” Hashknife slowly moistened the edge of his cigaret paper and
shaped his cigaret carefully—“why is that sheep outfit standin’
still?”
“Why? Huh! Well, the dead-line, for one thing.”
“Been any shootin’ up there?”
“A little. Nobody hurt—yet.”
“Just a case of waitin’, eh? Kinda hard on the ranches, ain’t it? All
the cowboys on the dead-line thataway.”
“Yeah, I reckon so. But the roundup is over for this year.”
“Uh-huh. Well, mebbe that’s right. Seems to me that King ain’t makin’
a —— of an effort to break through.”
“Maybe he’s tryin’ to outstay us. He’s got pretty good feed up there.
He shifted the line a little to the west, but not very much. It kinda
looks like he wanted to swing west, but don’t want to do it too
openly. I’d like to get my hands on him.”
“What would the cattlemen do to him, Hodges?”
“If they caught him? Well, I don’t know what they’d do. He’s been
hated in this valley for so long that the cattlemen would probably
declare a holiday and hang him higher than a kite.”
“Then it would be a continual fight, even if he did get a foothold in
here, eh?”
“You bet. There’d be plenty of killin’ as long as a sheep remained,
Hartley.”
They went out of the restaurant and down to the Totem Saloon. It was a
little too early in the morning for much activity. None of them wanted
a drink, so they sat down at a card table to smoke and talk. Swampers
were engaged in mopping up the floors, while the bartender polished
glasses and put the bar in shape for the day’s work.
A swamper went out, carrying two big empty buckets. He stopped on the
edge of the sidewalk and stared down the street. After several moments
he turned and came back into the saloon.
“The sheriff must ’a’ caught somebody,” he announced. “They’re takin’
several people into the office.”
Hashknife, Sleepy and Hodges hurried to the doorway. There were
several saddled horses in front of the office, and Gene Hill was
talking with Sunshine.
“Better go down and have a look,” suggested Hashknife, and they moved
across the street, heading for the office.
Hill saw them coming and spoke to Sunshine, who moved back to the open
door. Micky Hart came into the doorway behind him, and the three of
them watched the three men coming down the sidewalk.
“That’s about close enough,” warned Hill nervously.
“Close enough for what?” asked Hashknife.
“Close enough for you to come, stranger.”
“What’s the idea, Gene?” queried Hodges.
“Well, you all stop right there and I’ll tell yuh. We caught Eph King
at Jack Hartwell’s place.”
“You—you caught Eph King?”
Hodges could hardly believe this.
“Yo’re —— right we did. And we caught Jack Hartwell along with him,
too. The sheriff is fittin’ ’em in cells right now.”
“Well, I’ll be ——ed!” exploded Hodges.
“That sure is good to hear.”
“They were headin’ for there when they passed us,” whispered Sleepy.
The rest of the cowboys came out with the sheriff, talking excitedly,
but at sight of Hashknife and Sleepy they stopped talking. Several of
them looked at the sheriff, as if expecting him to say something, but
he remained silent.
“I hear yuh caught Eph King,” said Hashknife easily. “Do yuh mind
lettin’ me talk to him for a minute?”
The sheriff laughed and looked around at the cowboys.
“He’s got about as much chance of that as he has of talkin’ to the
King of England, ain’t he?”
“Less than that,” laughed Gene Hill.
“We might put him in, too,” suggested Micky Hart.
“Yeah?” Hashknife grinned widely at Micky. “Yuh might. But it wouldn’t
be a healthy dose for the place, cowboy.”
“You don’t want to talk too much,” warned Hill. “You two hombres ain’t
any too well balanced around here.”
“Oh, all right,” said Hashknife meekly. “We don’t want to get into
trouble.”
“Haulin’ in yore horns, eh?” sneered Hill. “Well, I knew——”
Hashknife started toward Hill, looking him square in the eyes. It was
a bold move; a foolish move, under the circumstances. But it got
results. Hill started to retreat, not realizing that he was on the
edge of a two-foot-high sidewalk. His first backward step dropped his
foot off the edge and he sprawled on his back in the hard street. It
was such a shock that he made no attempt to get up for several
moments.
Hodges laughed outright and the tension was relaxed. Even the sheriff
grinned.
“And that ends the mornin’ performance,” said Hashknife. “It’s a good
trick—when it works.”
He turned his back on the crowd and walked back toward the Totem
Saloon. After a moment’s scrutiny of the crowd, Sleepy turned and
followed him, while Gene Hill got to his feet and swore with what
little breath he had left.
Hashknife and Sleepy went to the Totem Saloon hitch rack, where they
had left their horses, mounted and rode out of town toward the west.
The crowd in front of the sheriff’s office watched them and wondered
where they were going. But none of them cared to follow. Anyway, they
had captured Eph King, and that was quite enough for one day.
* * * * *
They adjourned to the Totem Saloon, where they proceeded to regale
themselves with whisky and recite their own deeds of valor. Slim De
Larimore rode in after ammunition and found Hork, the storekeeper,
swearing a streak.
“Ammunition, ——!” he roared. “I got enough shells on that train last
night to supply an army, and some dirty coyote broke into my place
last night and stole the whole works! Holy gosh, they not only took
the new shipment, but they took everythin’ else!”
“And that leaves us in a fine fix,” declared Slim angrily. “I’m almost
out of shells, I tell yuh.”
“Well, ——, I never stole my own ammunition!” wailed Hork.
Slim whirled and walked out of the place, while Hork called down
curses upon the heads of those who had robbed him. He was a thrifty
soul, was Hork, and it was the monetary loss, not the plight of the
cattlemen which caused him to grieve so deeply.
Slim’s thin face expressed deep disgust as he started across the
street and met Micky Hart. Slim had eyes of a peculiar greenish cast,
and when he grew angry they seemed to intensify in color. For Slim was
not of the jovial type, and when Micky related the good news of Eph
King’s capture he did not enthuse greatly.
“We’ve got him,” declared Micky, after relating the details. “He was
with Jack Hartwell, so we hung ropes on Jack and brought him in, too.
I reckon we’ve done pretty well, eh?”
“Why didn’t yuh bring his wife?” asked Slim.
“Aw, ——, yuh can’t do that to a woman, Slim. What the ——? We can find
her any old time, and she can’t do no harm now.”
Micky bow-legged his way on across the street. Slim studied the
situation for a while, turned away from the saloon entrance, went back
to the hitch rack and mounted his horse. For several moments he sat
there, deep in thought.
Finally he swung his horse around and rode down to the sheriff’s
office, where he dismounted. The sheriff met him at the door.