carried the oil lamp with him to the cell door and handed the cup to
Sleepy. But it was not a hand that reached for the cup—it was the
barrel of a big six-shooter that shoved out through the bars and
almost punched Sunshine in the waist.
“Now,” said Sleepy, “you open this door and be —— quick.”
“Uh?”
Sunshine almost dropped the lamp. He did drop the cup, which clattered
on the floor inside the cell.
“Wh-where did yuh-yuh get that gun?”
“Unlock that cell!” snapped Sleepy. “My finger itches, Sunshine.”
The deputy’s hand went gingerly to his pocket and he took out the key.
The big gun fairly bored into his middle, as he leaned forward and
unlocked the cell door. Then he stepped back and let the prisoner out.
“That’s a lot better,” said Sleepy, grinning. “I reckon I’ll go out
the back door and take you along with me. C’mon.”
“I don’t _sabe_ where yuh got that gun,” complained Sunshine.
“Foresight,” grinned Sleepy. “I was afraid there might be a lot of
foolish questions asked, with all them folks gatherin’ around, so I
put my gun inside my shirt. Mebbe it was a foolish thing to do, but I
didn’t want to have to kill somebody, yuh see.”
“Yo’re smart,” applauded Sunshine as he preceded Sleepy out to the
rear. “I s’pose Sudden will be sore as —— but he mostly always is,
anyway.”
“Now, you can go back with yore light,” said Sleepy. “_Adios._”
“So long,” said Sunshine sadly.
He marched back into the building, carrying his lamp, while Sleepy ran
swiftly back out of the narrow alley. He did not know where to find
Hashknife, and was not going to try, but he was going to be sure that
those cattlemen did not get hold of him in their present humor.
* * * * *
But Hashknife had not deserted his partner. He had “lifted” a
good-looking horse from the Totem hitch rack, circled the town and
tied it to another hitch rack on the opposite side of town and on a
side street. Now he was planning just how to get Sleepy freed. He did
not know what had been done to Sleepy, but he felt sure that Sleepy
was in jail.
The crowd was drinking in the Totem Saloon across the street from him,
which made him feel more sure that Sleepy was behind the bars. He
could see the sheriff at the bar. No doubt they had decided that
he—Hashknife—had left Totem City, so they would not be looking for him
to show up very soon.
He had made up his mind to go down and stick-up the guards, when he
saw Sunshine come out of the office and hurry diagonally across the
street toward the Totem Saloon. Some men had come out of the saloon,
and Sunshine met them. Hashknife strained his ears to hear what was
being said. One of the men called to the sheriff, who came out, still
caressing his sore jaw.
Came a low buzz of conversation, and then the sheriff’s voice was
raised in lamentation and profanity.
“Got away?” he wailed. “Had a gun inside his shirt? Gone?”
“I jist told yuh——”
Thus Sunshine angrily.
“Yo’re a —— of a deputy!”
“You put him in!”
“Don’tcha blame me!”
They were talking at the top of their voices, so Hashknife sneaked
away, laughing. Sleepy had escaped. By the light of a match Hashknife
examined his horse and found that it wore a Bar 77 brand, belonging to
old Sam Hodges.
“I’ve got a good horse and no place to go,” he told himself.
He leaned against the hitch rack and tried to figure out what to do,
but the lack of sleep had muddled his brain until he thought in
circles.
“Got to have some sleep or lose my place in the procession.” He rubbed
his nose and considered things. He did not dare go to the little
hotel, and he did not want to sleep out in the open. Then he got an
inspiration. Leaving the horse at the rack, he went around back of the
buildings until he came to the sheriff’s stable. Cautiously he went
inside and climbed into the loft. There was plenty of nice soft hay.
He crawled back to the rear and started to burrow down, when his hand
came in contact with human flesh. It was a man’s face. Hashknife’s
hand stole slowly back to his gun and he waited for the man to make a
move. But instead of a move, the man said:
“Lemme alone, will yuh? ’S funny a feller can’t sleep.”
“Sleepy!” blurted Hashknife. “Is this you?”
“Go sleep. Who in —— do yuh think it is—Rip Van Winkle?”
And their snores blended thankfully.
* * * * *
Marsh Hartwell was at home that night when Bert Allen, of the Circle
V, rode in and told him of the jailbreak. Allen was on his way back to
the dead-line, and stopped only long enough to tell what had happened
in Totem City.
“And them other two jiggers got plumb away, too,” declared Allen
disgustedly. “The tall one knocked Sudden cold, swiped one of the Bar
77 broncs from the Totem Saloon hitch rack and hit for the hills.
“We caught the other one and threw him into a cell. But he had a gun
inside his shirt, and when Sunshine brought him a cup of water he
stuck the gun into Sunshine’s ribs and made him unlock the door.
They’re kinda bad medicine, them two, Marsh.”
“I wonder if they are workin’ for King?” said Marsh.
“I’ll be danged if I know. If they are, King’s got two danged capable
men, Marsh. Jist think of them two hangin’ around all the time, with
most everybody ready to take a shot at ’em. I’d sure hit for the
timber, if I was them.”
Mrs. Hartwell and Mrs. Brownlee had heard Allen’s story. It was the
first time that Mrs. Hartwell had known that Jack had been arrested.
After Allen’s departure, Marsh and the two women sat in the living
room of the ranch house; Marsh puzzling his mind over what to do; the
two women waiting for him to speak.
“Well,” he said slowly, bitterly, “I suppose that Jack is on the other
side of the dead-line now—to stay.”
“Could you blame him, Marsh?” asked Mrs. Hartwell softly.
“Blame him? Why not?”
“After the way he has been treated, Marsh.”
The man sighed deeply, as he humped over his chair. He was physically
and mentally tired, weary of the struggle. Just now he did not care if
the sheep engulfed the whole valley.
“What about Molly?” asked Mrs. Hartwell.
Marsh looked up at her.
“What do you mean, Mother?”
“She’s alone over there, Marsh.”
“She’s probably across the dead-line, too.”
“Probably. But we don’t know that she is. And you know that there
isn’t a more lonesome place in the valley. And more than that, Marsh:
It isn’t safe for a woman to be alone now.”
“Jack isn’t in jail now. He’d be with her.”
“Would he? With every cattleman in the valley against him?”
“Even his own father,” said Mrs. Brownlee dismally.
“No!” Marsh Hartwell threw up his head. “Don’t say that! —— knows I’m
sorry for what I’ve done to Jack. I hated Eph King so much that—well,
it made me bitter to have my own son marry his daughter. I didn’t
realize what it meant, I tell you.
“I’m not against my own son! I’ve been against him—yes. I’m a big man
in Lo Lo Valley. They say that Marsh Hartwell is the biggest man in
this county. I know I am.” His voice softened as he looked at the two
astonished woman. “I’m big—in this valley—but I’m just findin’ out
that I’m a ——ed small man in my own home.”
“Marsh!” Mrs. Hartwell got to her feet and crossed to him, putting her
hands on his shoulders. “Marsh, you—you’ll help Jack and Molly?”
“Yes, I’ll help them, Mother—if they’ll let me. It’s awful late in the
game to talk about helpin’ ’em, but I’ll do all I can to make up for
what I’ve done to them.”
He got to his feet, shoved her gently aside and started for the door.
“I’m goin’ after my horse,” he told them. “I’ll see if I can coax
Molly into comin’ over here to stay until this trouble is all over.”
He went out, leaving the door open. Mrs. Hartwell sank down in a
rocking-chair, burying her head in her arms. Mrs. Brownlee patted her
on the shoulder, the tears running down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Ma,” she begged. “Don’t cry about it.”
“Cry about it?” Mrs. Hartwell lifted her old face, her eyes misty with
tears. “Cry about it? I’m not crying—I’m laughing. It has taken your
father twenty years to find out that God made him just like other
men.”
“Maybe,” said Mrs. Brownlee softly, “Maybe dad has found out that he
isn’t such a big man after all, Ma.”
“And maybe,” said Mrs. Hartwell wistfully, “I have found out that he
is bigger than he was.”
* * * * *
Came the scrape of a footstep on the porch, and they looked up at
Jack, standing in the doorway, the palm of his right hand resting on
the butt of his gun.
“Is Molly here?” he asked hoarsely.
“Molly?” His mother got up and came close to him. “She isn’t here,
Jack.”
“Ain’t she?” He leaned his shoulder wearily against the doorway,
shaking his head. “I—I thought she might be. I just came from home.
There’s a dead man on the sofa, and the furniture is all upset. It
wasn’t that way when they took me and Eph King to jail.”
“Didn’t she leave any word, Jack—no note nor anything?”
He shook his head and came into the room.
“Where’s Marsh Hartwell?”
He did not call him “Dad.”
But before either of the women had a chance to reply, the sheriff and
Sunshine Gallagher stepped through the doorway behind Jack. The
sheriff held a gun in his hand. Jack turned quickly, his hand going
instinctively toward his holstered gun.
“Don’t do it, Jack,” warned the sheriff quickly.
“Well, what do you want?” queried Jack coldly.
“Well, I dunno,” Sudden Smithy seemed uncertain. “I—uh——”
“Don’t move!” growled a voice at the door.
Marsh Hartwell was humped in the doorway, a gun tensed in his big
hand, a scowl almost concealing his eyes. He looked like a big bear,
reared on its hind legs, looking for fight.
“Don’t move,” he cautioned again.
“Who in ——’s movin’?” grunted Sunshine.
“Just don’t,” warned Marsh. “I seen you come, Sudden. Now, what do you
want here? Better drop that gun on the table.”
The sheriff tossed the gun on to the table, and relaxed.
“I don’t know just what I did expect to find, Marsh. You know what
happened tonight in Totem City, don’tcha? Hartley and Stevens got
away, and I kinda wondered—we were headin’ for Jack’s place, but
decided to come here first.”
He turned to Jack.
“Have you been home?”
Jack nodded quickly.
“Is yore wife there?”
“No. That’s why I came——”
“Hartley said she was gone. Was there a dead man——?”
“On the sofa.” Jack came close to Sudden. “What do you know about it,
Smithy?”
Sudden told him what Hashknife had said.
“Did he mean that some one had taken her away by force?” demanded
Jack.
“I don’t know. Did she know any one by the name of Ed?”
Jack shook his head quickly.
“There’s nobody around here by that name, Sudden.”
“Mebbe it’s some of the sheep outfit,” suggested Sunshine.
“But, if it was, why did he kill one of King’s men? Hartley said the
dead man was sent there to find out why King didn’t come back. He
lived long enough to say a few words, it seems.”
“Well, who is this Hartley?” queried Marsh. “Every one talks about him
and nobody seems to know for sure who or what he is. They say he’s a
spy for King, but——”
“That’s a lie,” interrupted Jack. “Eph King never seen either of them
two fellers until just before they captured and took us to jail. I’ll
stake my life that they are not spies.”
“They’re somethin’, that’s a cinch,” declared Sunshine. “It ain’t
reasonable to suppose that two men of their brains would be just
bummin’ around. Them two jiggers think. Stevens thought far enough
ahead to hide a gun inside his shirt. By golly, that’s lookin’ into
the future.”
“Would they have anything to do with the disappearance of your wife?”
asked Sudden of Jack.
“No. They’re not that kind.”
“If they merely got left by a train, why do they stay here and take
all these chances?” asked Marsh. “What is there here for them? It
don’t look reasonable.”
Sudden shook his head slowly.
“I dunno, Marsh. Somebody shot a horse—my horse—from under Hartley the
night they came. I don’t think they had any idea who it was, and it
may be that they’re tryin’ to find out. I’ve had an idea that they
were hired by Eph King, but mebbe I’m wrong.”
“Well, we’ve got to find out what became of Molly,” said Marsh, “and
we’d better start right now. Goin’ with us, sheriff?”
“That’s what I’m hired for, Marsh. C’mon.”
It did not take long for them to ride over to Jack’s place. The
sheriff examined the house, looking for a possible clue, which he did
not find. Then he loaded the body of the dead sheepherder on to his
saddle.
“There ain’t nothin’ we can do,” he declared helplessly. “We ain’t got
a thing to go on.”
“That’s true,” agreed Marsh.
Jack made no comment. He realized that it would be useless for him to
go searching the hills for his wife. In fact, he was not sure that she
had not gone of her own free will. He did not know any one by the name
of Ed.
The sheriff mounted behind the dead man and they rode back to the
Arrow, where Marsh invited Jack to spend the rest of the night. But
Jack refused.
“I’m goin’ to town,” he decided. “I’ve got to find some trace of
Molly. They’d know at the depot if she went away on a train. I’m not
afraid of the cattlemen now.”
And so Jack Hartwell rode back to Totem City with Sudden Smithy,
Sunshine Gallagher and the sheepherder who had not lived long enough
to tell who Ed was.
* * * * *
“Yep—took the whole —— stock. Never even left a box of .22 shells.
Even took a couple boxes of ten gage shotgun shells. And, by gosh,
them shells cost money! Yuh can’t buy ca’tridges for nothin’,
y’betcha. If I ever find out who took ’em, they’ll sure think they’re
at a shivaree.”
It was the following morning that Hork bewailed the loss of his
ammunition to Hashknife and Sleepy. It was a blow from which he would
never quite recover. Hashknife and Sleepy had crawled out of Sudden
Smithy’s stable, washed in the horse trough, and eaten a big breakfast
at the restaurant.
Their escape from the cattlemen the night before had not seemed to
teach them caution. They had heard Sudden and Sunshine ride away from
the stable the night before, and later on they had heard them come
back and unsaddle their horses. Sudden had talked about taking a dead
man to Doctor Owen, so Hashknife decided that they had been out to
Jack Hartwell’s place.
A good sleep and a full meal had put new life into both of the
cowboys, and they were ready for anything that Totem City might have
to offer them. They had purchased some Durham from Hork, who swore
that he was crippled from the loss of the ammunition, and that the
profit on two sacks of Durham looked smaller to him than the thin end
of nothing, whittled to a point.
“I heard about you two fellers last night,” he told them. “I dunno
whether yo’re wise in stayin’ here or not. Sudden don’t quite figure
you fellers out, and he said last night that when the gall was passed
around, you two must ’a’ been served first.”
“We slept in Sudden’s loft,” grinned Hashknife.
“In his loft? Huh! Well, I reckon Sudden was right. Jimmy Healey was
worryin’ around about one of yuh swipin’ his horse from the Totem
hitch rack. He howled his head off, until he finds it around on a side
street, and everybody swore that Jimmy was so absent-minded that he
forgot where he left it.”
A customer came in and engaged the attention of Hork, so Hashknife and
Sleepy sauntered back to the front of the store. Two men had just
ridden in and were dismounting at a hitch rack across the street. Jack
Hartwell came out of the Totem Saloon and started across toward the
store. He paid no attention to the two riders who crossed in close
behind him.
As Jack reached the sidewalk in front of the store, the two men came
up to him, and one of them made an sneering remark. Jack turned
quickly and looked at them. They were Casey Steil and Al Curt, of the
Turkey Track outfit. Hashknife stepped swiftly out through the open
doorway, so softly that Curt and Steil did not hear him.
“Just what did you say, Steil?” asked Jack calmly.
“You heard me; didn’t he Al?” Casey Steil laughed throatily.
“I wasn’t sure,” said Jack. “I’d want to be sure, Steil.”
“Touchy, eh?” Al Curt spat thoughtfully. “Go ahead and tell him what
yuh said, Casey.”
“Since when did they start callin’ you by a good Irish name?”
Hashknife spoke softly, but, from the way Steil and Curt whirled to
face him, it might have been an explosion.
Curt’s hand had made a motion, as if to reach toward his holster, but
the hand and arm seemed paralyzed.
“Well, if it ain’t ‘Wide-loop’ Curt!” exclaimed Hashknife. “Sleepy,
c’mere and take a look. Introducin’ Lee Steil and old Wide-loop,
Sleepy. Gents, get used to lookin’ at Sleepy Stevens.”
Hashknife’s eyes bored into the faces of the two confused cowboys,
while behind him Sleepy laughed joyfully.
“Mamma mine!” he chuckled. “Only two like ’em in captivity, Hashknife.
Somebody must have a taste for knickknacks.”
“Couple of soiled souls,” declared Hashknife seriously.
“What the —— is this all about?” demanded Steil angrily.
“Don’t let yore lily-white hands get nervous,” advised Hashknife.
“Mebbe yore lips won’t let yuh admit that yuh recognize us, but down
deep in yore hearts, there’s somethin’ that tells yuh to be careful
where yuh put yore hands—Casey Steil.”
“Let ’em do as they please,” said Sleepy, grinning. “I’d just like to
see old Wide-loop forget that he’s a shade too slow to take a chance.
Casey acts like he had tonsilitis. He ought to try a cyanid gargle.”
Jack Hartwell grinned. He knew that these four men had met before, and
that there was something in the meeting now that boded no good for
Steil and Curt. In fact those two worthies were wishing that they were
far from Totem City.
“You ain’t got nothin’ on us.” Thus Curt rather painfully.
“What made yuh say that?” grinned Hashknife.
“Yuh ain’t!” declared Steil vehemently.
“You sure of that?” asked Hashknife softly.
Steil squinted narrowly at Hashknife for a moment. Then—
“—— sure.”
“Then don’t let me get anythin’ on yuh, Steil. Yo’re a dirty horse
thief, a crook and a liar. I dunno what yo’re doin’ here in Lo Lo
Valley, but I’m goin’ to find out. And that same goes for Wide-loop
Curt.”
Jack stepped back, watching them closely for the gun play which did
not materialize. Without a word, Curt and Steil turned, walked across
the street and went into the Totem Saloon. Neither did they look back.
“And that,” said Jack musingly, “beats anythin’ I have ever seen.
Steil and Curt are supposed to be gun fighters, Hartley.”
Hashknife sighed deeply and turned to Jack.
“Didja find yore wife, Hartwell?”
“Not even a trace of her. My ——, I don’t know where to look. She
didn’t leave here on the train last night. Just what did that man tell
you before he died?”
Hashknife told him the exact words. Jack shook his head wearily.
“Not a man by that name in this country, Hartley. It might have been a
sheepman, of course.”
“Yeah, that might be,” agreed Hashknife dubiously. “But if it was, why
did he shoot the other one?”
“—— only knows, Hartley. I don’t know what to do, where to look, or
anythin’.”
They moved back into the store and sat down on the counter.
“Where did you ever know Al Curt?” asked Jack.
“He’s originally from Montana,” said Hashknife. “We knowed him in
Idaho. They called him Wide-loop up there. Steil used to be around
Wyomin’, Nevada, and maybe he nosed up into Idaho, too.”
“They’ve been here about a year,” said Jack, “but they’ve played
straight, I think. They both work for the Turkey Track.”
“Owned by the duke of somethin’-or-other, ain’t it?” grinned Sleepy.
“Slim De Larimore. He’s no duke.”
“Steil and Curt work for him, eh?”
“Yeah. There’s another feller named Allison.”
“Allison? I reckon he’s a stranger to us. I don’t like to knock
anybody, but I’d sure like to tip this De Larimore person off to watch
Steil and Curt. They’d steal him blind if they had a chance.”
“They’ll not steal much from Slim. He’s cast-iron, that feller. I’ll
betcha that nitric acid wouldn’t faze him.”
“Cold-blooded, eh?”
“Y’betcha. Good cowman, too. He’s been here over two years. Bought the
Turkey Track from Buck Fenner’s widow. It wasn’t much of a place at
that time, but Slim has built it up pretty good. He’s from Texas.”
“Thasso?” Hashknife humped over and scratched his head thoughtfully.
“Well, some folks do make a success. I dunno how they do it—I know
danged well I can’t.”
He slid off the counter, drew a folded book from his pocket and said
to Sleepy:
“You set here and rest yore face and hands while I take this brand
registry back to the sheriff. I had it in my hand when they run me out
last night.”
“All right,” grinned Sleepy. “Didja find out who owns that JN outfit?”
“Yeah, I found out. Feller by the name of Jack Noonan. Ranch is
located on the other side of Sunland Basin.”
“I’ve heard of him,” said Jack. “They call him ‘Calamity Jack.’”
“Well, that’s a good name,” laughed Hashknife, as he went out on to
the sidewalk.
He looked toward the Totem Saloon, but did not happen to notice that
Steil and Curt were mounting at the hitch rack. They had seen him come
out of the store, and as he started down toward the sheriff’s office,
they swung into their saddles.
They were not more than a hundred feet from him, as they swung their
horses into the street, and, without any warning, Steil drew a gun,
jerked his horse to a standstill, and deliberately shot at Hashknife.
The tall cowboy jerked back, quickly crumpled at the knees and
sprawled on the sidewalk. Steil’s gun was lifted for a second shot,
but now he whirled his horse and they went racing out of town in a
cloud of dust.
Sleepy and Jack almost fell off the counter when the shot was fired,
and ran swiftly to the door. There was only a screen of dust to show
that the riders were leaving town. Several men had run out of the
Totem Saloon, and Sudden Smithy was running up the street from the
sheriff’s office.
Sleepy was the first to reach Hashknife and turn him over.
“My —— where did he hit yuh?” panted Sleepy, his face white with the
fear of losing his pal.
He began yanking at Hashknife’s shirt, when Hashknife sat up and
reached for his hat.
“Hey? What the ——!” blurted Sleepy.
“Stumbled,” explained Hashknife. “Stubbed my toe.” He got to his feet
and dusted off his knees.
“Hello, sheriff—” handing him the brand registry—“this belongs to you,
I reckon. I had it in my hand when they chased me last night, and I
was bringin’ it to yuh.”
“Uh-huh.” Sudden accepted the book wonderingly. “Yeah, thanks. Now,
what in —— was goin’ on around here? Who was doin’ the shootin’?”
“It was Steil or Curt,” said a man from the Totem. “I wasn’t where I
could see which one it was.”
“Was they shootin’ at you, Hartley?”
“At me?” Hashknife looked blankly at the sheriff. “Oh, no. Why would
they shoot at me? Prob’ly got a drink or two too many and wanted to
see if a six-shooter would go off.”
“Uh-huh.”
The sheriff was not satisfied, but realized that he would never get
Hashknife to admit anything he did not want to. He looked at the book,
folded it up and frowned at Hashknife.
“I don’t _sabe_ you fellers,” he declared complainingly. “Last night
they were yellin’ for yore blood and—maybe they are yet, for all I
know—and you go around actin’ like somebody had handed yuh the keys to
the town. Ain’tcha got a lick of sense?”
“Not a lick,” said Hashknife seriously. “When they passed around the
gall we took so much that they passed us up on the brains. A feller
can’t have everythin’, sheriff.”
The sheriff’s ears grew red. He knew that some one had told them what
he had said about them. So he nodded in agreement, turned and went
back to his office, wondering aloud what in —— Hashknife had taken the
brand registry for. Then he remembered that they had talked about the
JN outfit. He looked for it in the registry and found it belonged to a
Jack Noonan. He threw the book aside and sprawled on a cot to finish
out his interrupted siesta.
While the others accepted Hashknife’s explanation, Sleepy knew that
Hashknife had sprawled on the sidewalk for a purpose. The tall cowboy
grinned seriously over his cigaret, as he led Sleepy and Jack to the
livery stable, where they got their horses.
“We’re goin’ to take a little ride,” explained Hashknife.
Jack made no comment. Something seemed to tell him to depend on this
lanky disciple of the rangeland. Sleepy scowled for a while, but the
scowl gave way to a knowing grin. He knew that Hashknife was inbued
with an idea. Every inch of the tall cowboy bespoke the fact that he
was riding for a purpose.
* * * * *
They went north for a short distance and then swung to the east,
leaving the road and heading for Lo Lo River. And as they strung out
in single file along on an old cattle trail, Hashknife lifted his
voice in mournful song:
Old Bill was a pun-n-n-ncher
And you’ll all agree-e-e-e
That a puncher’s a man of low mental-i-tee-e-e.
Now Bill went a-ridin-n-n-n’,
With a rope in his ha-a-and,
And by accident ropes one of his neighbor’s brand.