drew together in a frown of concentration. He lighted the cigaret and
peeked out again. The crowd was still standing around the prostrate
figure of King, and Hashknife could hear them arguing over what had
happened. Sunshine was talking loud enough to have been heard a
quarter of a mile away.
“I suspected that King was the leader of the rustlers. By golly, we
sure got him, didn’t we? Eh, Slim? Sure gave us one awful run.”
“That’s all right,” said Marsh Hartwell. “But I want to know who is
doin’ all that shootin’ down there. Eph King was probably the leader
of the rustlers—but who drove him away? It wasn’t our gang.”
Hashknife stepped away from the stable and walked toward them. Jack
and Sunshine were facing him and saw him coming, but neither of them
gave any indication of it. Hashknife was unhurried, smoking calmly on
his cigaret. The sheriff was talking now.
“I dunno, Marsh. Mebbe it was some of our gang. We better leave King
here under guard and go back.”
“One of my men will take care of him,” said De Larimore, and turned to
see Hashknife standing within twenty feet of him.
“Not one of yore men,” said Hashknife calmly. “That would be too easy,
Ed.”
Slim De Larimore did not move. Curt and Steil were close together at
Slim’s left, with Allison behind them. Slim’s eyes shifted sidewise,
as if looking for a way out, but he did not even move his feet. They
thought Hashknife had either been killed or crippled.
“Ed?” said Jack Hartwell in a strained voice. “Hartley, did yuh call
him Ed?”
“That’s his name,” said Hashknife evenly. “Ed Larrimer. I dunno where
he got the De Larimore. Mebbe he got it like he usually got his
horses, cows and saddles.”
“What do you mean?” breathed the owner of the Turkey Track.
“Just what I said, Larrimer. Long time I no see yuh, eh? I seen Curt
and Lee Steil before. They call him ‘Casey’ Steil, I hear. Well, a
feller has a right to his name, I reckon. But names don’t mean
nothin’, except that a feller by the name of Preston knew you as ‘Ed’.
You killed him, but yuh didn’t kill him quick enough.
“Always be sure that yore man is dead, Larrimer. Dead men tell no
tales. And yuh didn’t change yore name enough. Larimore and Larrimer
ain’t so different. And somebody told me what yuh looked like, acted
like, and they said yuh was from Texas.”
“—— you, what do yuh mean?” gritted Larrimer. “My name is De Larimore,
and I own this ranch. I can prove it ——”
“You don’t need to, Ed. Anyway, it’s too late for proofs. We are
engaged with somethin’ kinda interestin’ now, and we don’t care what
yore name is nor whether yuh own the Turkey Track, or not. What I want
to know right now is this: Where is Jack Hartwell’s wife?”
Larrimer’s elbows jerked slightly and he twisted heavily on one heel,
as if bracing himself.
“What in —— would I know about Jack Hartwell’s wife?” he asked
thickly. “I’ve got all the——”
“I asked yuh where she is, Ed,” reminded Hashknife coldly. “You ain’t
the kind of a man that would steal a woman—but yuh did. Now, —— yore
dirty heart, where is she?”
Larrimer shrugged his shoulders helplessly and turned to the sheriff.
“Where did you find this —— fool?” he asked. “He’s loco.”
“He sure is crazy.” Thus Casey Steil anxiously.
“After it’s all over, we’ll find her, Jack,” assured Hashknife
confidently. “Just remain where yuh are. We’ve got to kinda hurry
things up, ’cause King has got to have a doctor.”
“He’ll be lucky if he ever gets one,” growled Marsh, wiping his
sweat-stained face with the sleeve of his shirt. “Any dirty rustler
that——”
“He’s no rustler,” said Hashknife quickly. “Eph King is pretty much of
a gentleman, Hartwell. When he found out that a gang of cow thieves
were takin’ advantage of you cattlemen, he led his gang down here. And
they’re down there at that little shack, bustin’ up that crew of
rustlers right now.”
“Brought his men?” queried Marsh with astonishment and unbelief in his
face. “Was that what the shootin’——?”
“That’s it, Hartwell. I came with ’em. My pardner is down there now,
helpin’ them sheepherders to wipe out the rustlers.”
“Why did King run away?” asked the sheriff.
Hashknife had never taken his eyes off Larrimer and his men, who
remained motionless.
“He didn’t run away,” said Hashknife. “I seen him start, and I knew
why he started. He wanted to catch the men who were responsible. We
got to the shack too quick, I reckon. Four of the gang hadn’t quite
reached there, and was able to make their getaway.
“If some of yuh will take a look at four of them horses in the corral
over there, you’ll see that they came home real fast. Eph King was
headed for the Turkey Track, when you headed him off. He knew where
the leader of the gang was headin’ for, Sudden. You fellers made a
mistake in throwin’ lead at Eph King, ’cause he was merely comin’ to
collect from the man who had double-crossed him—Ed Larrimer, the man
who planned the scheme that would put every cowman in Lo Lo Valley on
a dead-line, while him and his crew from the JN outfit looted Lo Lo
Valley. Hold still, Curt! Easy everybody!
“Ed, you and yore gang killed old Ed Barber. Boomer Bates mistook
MacLeod for me or Sleepy, and killed him. Yore gang broke into Hork’s
store and stole them shells, so that the cattlemen would be short of
ammunition. And you killed Preston. He knew you as Ed Larrimer. Mebbe
you was afraid that Jack Hartwell’s wife might tell what passed
between you and Preston at Jack’s ranch, so you killed Preston and
kidnapped Jack’s wife. Now, you murderin’ pup, what do yuh say?”
For several moments Larrimer did not move nor speak. Then he
straightened slightly, wearily and turned to the sheriff.
“Sudden, I’ve never heard so many lies in my life. I don’t even know
half what he’s talkin’ about. The man is crazy.”
Larrimer’s voice was absolutely sincere, convincing. Sudden cleared
his throat and shifted his feet, while Jack looked imploringly at
Hashknife, who was still tensed, grinning. King was trying to sit up,
bracing his hands against the ground.
“Help him, Jack,” urged Hashknife softly.
Jack went quickly to King and lifted him to a sitting position. The
big sheepman turned his white face to the crowd, staring at every one.
Then—
“I heard,” he said hoarsely. “Hartley knows. I don’t know how he
knows—but it’s true. I——”
Ed Larrimer darted sidewise, drawing his gun, realizing that King was
able to prove too many things against him, but his hand jerked away
from his gun and he whirled completely around, when Hashknife’s bullet
smashed into his shoulder. Curt tried to jump behind Marsh Hartwell,
but the big cattleman smashed him in the ear, knocking him sidewise
and into Steil, who was just pulling the trigger on his six-shooter.
Steil’s gun and Hashknife’s sounded as one report. They were too close
for a miss. Steil lowered his gun, looked foolishly at Curt, who was
lying almost across his feet, and then sat down heavily. Larrimer was
flat on the ground, clutching at his smashed shoulder, cursing weakly
while Steil sat in silent contemplation of the dead man across his
feet.
The sheriff stepped over and put his hand on Steil’s shoulder, but
Steil did not respond. His head merely sagged a trifle lower.
“Good ——!” muttered Sudden. “He must ’a’ been dead before he hit the
ground. Did he hit yuh, Hartley?”
“No-o-o,” said Hashknife softly. “He killed Curt. He was fallin’ right
in front of Steil’s gun. Don’t let Larrimer get hold of that gun with
his left hand. He’s ambidexterous.”
Sudden stepped over and picked up the gun, toward which Larrimer was
working. A group of horsemen were riding down into the ranch, and
Hashknife recognized Sleepy and Bill Steen in the lead.
There were thirteen men in the crowd—but one of them was roped to his
saddle. The sheepmen had come through without a casualty. They
dismounted and came over to the group. Steen ignored the questions and
went to King.
“Eph, are yuh badly hurt?” he asked anxiously.
“I don’t know, Bill. I got hit twice and I feel kinda weak. Everythin’
is all right now. Hartley put the deadwood on’ em. The sheriff thought
I was one of the rustlers, and they shot me up quite a little but
that’s all right.”
“I’m danged sorry,” said Sudden. “I didn’t know, yuh see.”
Hashknife turned to Jack.
“The men will help yuh search the ranch, Jack. Yore wife must be
around here somewhere.”
“She’s in the loft of the barn,” said Larrimer weakly. “It’s no use
makin’ any more trouble. We didn’t harm her any.”
“We got Jack Noonan, Hashknife,” said Sleepy, pointing at the man on
the horse, who was trussed up tightly with ropes. “He was the only one
worth bringin’ back. Yuh see, the rest of ’em stuck to the ship. Dang
yuh, why did yuh run away from me?”
Sleepy looked at the bodies of Curt and Steil and at Ed Larrimer, who
was sitting up, holding to his right shoulder.
“Well, I’ll be danged if it ain’t Ed Larrimer, the Texas Daisy!”
“Oh, go to ——!” groaned Larrimer. “I should have turned the gang loose
to kill you two and let the cows go to ——”
“You came danged near gettin’ us the first night we showed up here,”
laughed Hashknife.
“I know it. If we’d have known that it was you two, you’d never got
out of Jack Hartwell’s place alive, I’ll tell yuh that, Hartley.”
“Here comes Jack and his wife!” exclaimed Sleepy.
* * * * *
They were coming from the stable. Molly’s clothes were badly torn, and
her face bore evidence that she had not enjoyed her enforced stay in
the hay loft, but she was unhurt, laughing just a trifle hysterically.
Every one was trying to shake hands with her, but she ran to her
father and dropped down beside him.
“I’m all right,” he told her. “Kinda leaky, but still on the job,
Molly. Don’tcha worry. Everythin’ will be all right now.”
Molly hugged him and turned to the crowd.
“Jack says that everything is all right again. Oh, I hope it is all
right, because everything has been all wrong for so long.”
She lifted her eyes and looked up at Marsh Hartwell, as if it was all
meant for him. For several moments he looked down at her, as if
wondering what to do. Then he walked over, reached down and held out
his hand to Eph King.
“Eph,” he said, “I don’t understand it—all. But, by ——, I understand
enough to offer yuh my hand—and my friendship. Will yuh take it? I
ain’t goin’ to blame yuh, if yuh don’t. I’m all through blamin’ folks
for doin’ things.”
King grinned weakly and held up his hand.
“I reckon we might as well be friends, Marsh. I’ve packed a lot of
hate in my heart, too, but all the bad blood in me has leaked out
today. I—I hope——” He turned and looked at Bill Steen. “Say, Bill,
take the boys back to camp and begin’ runnin’ the sheep over Kiopo
Pass. They don’t want ’em over here—and I don’t blame ’em.”
He turned to Marsh Hartwell and they shook hands gravely.
“Been a long time, Marsh. I been kinda lonesome to hear a cow
bawlin’.”
“Come over any time, Eph,” said Marsh shakily.
“Yore cows are all safe,” said Sleepy. “Noonan says that they are all
bunched about fifteen miles from here, out along the railroad. They
were goin’ to start movin’ ’em into Sunland in the mornin’, ’cause
Larrimer swore that he couldn’t hold Eph King any longer.”
Jack had gone to Molly and put one arm around her shoulder, turning
her to face the crowd.
“Boys,” he said, “we thought that the comin’ of the sheep was the
worst calamity that could happen to Lo Lo Valley, but I reckon it’s
the best thing that ever happened to Molly and me—outside of the
comin’ of Hashknife Hartley and his pardner.”
“Shucks!” said Hashknife softly. “It was fate, Jack, just fate.”
“Fate might have brought yuh here, but it was plain —— nerve that kept
yuh here,” declared Sudden. “I apologize, Hartley. If yuh want me to,
I’ll git down on my knees and ask yore pardon.”
“——!” snorted Sunshine. “Yuh ought to do that anyway. I knowed all the
time that——”
“This is no time to lie, Sunshine,” said the sheriff. “They fooled you
as much as they did me. At least be honest at a time like this.”
Hashknife grinned widely and looked at Molly.
“Mrs. Hartwell, I’m sure glad for yore sake. The night me and Sleepy
found yuh——”
“And I thought Sleepy was a ghost,” laughed Jack. “He had on Molly’s
nightgown!”
“Oh, I forgot,” said Mrs. Hartwell, anxiously. “That night——”
She searched inside her waist and drew out a sheet of paper, which she
handed to Jack.
“That is the letter that McLeod brought me, Jack. You were so angry
when you came back, and tore the letter—oh, I—I—it hurt me to think
that you suspected me
“Good gosh!” exploded Jack. “Oh, I must ’a’ been a fool. This letter—”
he held it out toward the crowd—“was from her father. I was fool
enough to think my own wife was a spy for the sheepmen. I tore a
corner off, in tryin’ to take the letter from her. And on the part I
got, was, ‘Find out what—’. Just those three words. And I thought Eph
King was askin’ for information about the cattlemen. Here is what the
letter says—including what I tore off:
“Dear Molly: Just a short note to let you know that I have
found out how things are for you and Jack down there. Why
didn’t you write and tell your old dad about it? De
Larimore told me how they had treated you, and it makes me
mad enough to come down and whip the whole valley. See if
you can find out what Jack wants to do. I have plenty of
work for a man like Jack. If he don’t want to work with
sheep, I can turn the Turkey Track ranch over to him. He
knows enough about cattle to make that ranch pay——”
“Turkey Track?” interrupted Marsh Hartwell wonderingly.
“I’ve owned it for two years, Marsh,” said King softly. “Yuh see, I
couldn’t keep out of the cattle business. The man you call Larrimer
was recommended to me by Jack Noonan, about the time I bought the
Turkey Track, so I made it appear that Larrimer was the owner.
“Larrimer framed up this thing and kept me posted. He and his men were
the ones that shot the old man at Kiopo Pass. He told me that he had
it fixed for us to drive straight into the valley, but later on he
said his plans had gone wrong. Then he said that there were some men
who suspected him and that it would be impossible to break through his
side of the line.
“He told us that the dead-line was mined with dynamite, and that a
sparrow couldn’t cross it. We had no way of finding out just how
strong the line was. He wanted us to wait, so we waited—until Hartley
came across and told us the truth. Now I’m goin’ to give Jack and
Molly the Turkey Track for a weddin’ present. And I wish you’d see
about gettin’ me to a doctor, cause I don’t want to die off, when
there’s so much hatchet-buryin’ goin’ on, Marsh.”
“Just as soon as we can get yuh to one, Eph,” said Marsh. “We’ll take
yuh to the Arrow, while one of the boys rides after the doctor.”
“What about me?” Thus Abe Allison.
No one had paid any attention to him. He had taken no part in the
shooting, made no effort to run away. Now the crowd considered him,
rather amazed to think that he had been overlooked.
“Oh, yeah,” Hashknife looked at him critically. “You were one of Ed
Larrimer’s men, wasn’t yuh, Allison?”
“Uh-huh,” Allison looked around at the crowd. “I’m as guilty as ——, I
reckon. To me, this wasn’t a killin’ proposition. But I’m not beggin’.
I knew it was crooked work; so I’ll take my medicine.”
“He never killed anybody,” said Larrimer, whose wound was being bound
up by one of the sheepmen. “Abe was straight until he worked for me.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said the sheriff firmly. “Get me a lariat,
Sunshine. We’ll make a clean sweep of the whole gang while we’re at
it.”
“Who will make a clean sweep?” asked Hashknife.
Sunshine stopped and looked back at the sheriff.
“You better answer that, Sudden,” he grinned.
“Well, all right,” grudgingly. “I’ll admit that Hartley made a clean
sweep. I’ll help a little by puttin’ Allison where he belongs.”
“Let’s talk about it a little,” said Hashknife. “It appears to me that
we all forgot Allison, until he chirps up and asks us what to do with
him. My idea of the right thing to do would be to ask Mr. Allison to
grab his hat, rattle his hocks out of this country and promise to
never come back.”
“You mean—to turn him loose?” asked the sheriff, a trifle amazed.
“Why, he’s a rustler——”
“Was, yuh mean,” Hashknife grinned softly. “I reckon he’s what you’d
call a complete cure, Sudden.”
The sheriff scratched his head; his eyes squinted thoughtfully.
“You ought to be satisfied, Sudden,” observed Sunshine. “You’ve got
enough now to brag about for the rest of yore life.”
Some one laughed. Sudden hunched his shoulders and glared at Sunshine,
but turned to Allison, half choking with anger.
“You here yet? Whatsa matter—ain’t yuh got no horse? Want us to haul
yuh away? My ——, some folks can’t take a hint!”
He whirled on his heel and barked an order at Sunshine.
“Get some of these reformed sheepherders to help yuh rig up a litter
of some kind. We’ve got to pack Eph King to the Arrow. And some of yuh
fix up Larrimer, so he can ride a horse. Can’tcha move? My gosh, I
don’t want to do everythin’.”
The crowd hastened to construct the litter. Allison had not moved, and
now he turned to Hashknife, his face twitching nervously.
“Did he mean that I could go away—free, Hartley?”
“Are you here yet?” grinned Hashknife.
Allison took a deep breath and started toward the corral, but after a
few strides he stopped and looked at Hashknife.
“Kinda queer, ain’t it?” he whispered foolishly. “I—I want to run, but
I’m scared to do it.”
“You don’t have to run,” said Hashknife.
“I know it.” He smiled queerly. “I don’t have to—but I can’t hardly
help myself.” He brushed the back of his hand across his cheek. ‘I
want to say somethin’ to you—but I can’t, it seems like. I—you know,
don’tcha, Hartley?”
“Yeah, I know, Allison.”
The freed rustler nodded, turned and walked slowly to the corral, as
if trying desperately to hold himself in check. Hashknife smiled
thoughtfully and looked at Molly and Jack. The girl’s eyes were filled
with tears, but she was smiling at Hashknife, a smile that repaid him
for everything he had done.
“Everything is all right—thank you,” she said softly.
“It always was all right,” nodded Hashknife. “Sometimes it takes us
quite a while to find it out—but it’s worth more then.”
Marsh Hartwell came to Hashknife. There were tears in the big man’s
eyes, and his hand trembled slightly as he held it out to the tall
cowboy and said hoarsely:
“Hartley, I just want to say that Marsh Hartwell and Lo Lo Valley owes
you a mighty big debt. We’re goin’ to pull off a big meetin’ at the
Arrow, just as soon as we can notify those on the dead-line, and if
there’s anythin’ in Lo Lo Valley that you and your pardner want, you
sure can have it.”
Hashknife shooks hands gravely with him and turned to Sleepy.
“Cowboy, this is our chance. Is there anythin’ yuh want real bad?”
“Yeah, there is.’” Sleepy scratched his ear. “I want a chance to
sleep. This is the dangest hoot-owl country I ever got into. And I’ve
got to have a package of tobacco. Thassall, I reckon. Now what do you
want, Hashknife?”
“Me?” Hashknife smiled widely. “Well, I’d kinda like to see the
expression on Mrs. Marsh Hartwell’s face when she sees her two kids
comin’ home with their dads, and finds out that everythin’ is all
right. That’ll be all I want.”
Hashknife turned away and looked out beyond the corral, where Abe
Allison was riding up the slope of a hill. He drew rein and waved his
sombrero in a sweeping arc. Hashknife threw up his right hand in a
peace sign. Sudden Smithy, who was superintending the moving of the
wounded, looked up and waved at Allison as if it was the departure of
an old friend.
* * * * *
The menace of Kiopo Pass was gone forever; all dead-lines wiped out.
Sunshine Gallagher straightened up and took a deep breath.
“I knowed it would work out like this,” he said wisely.
“Some day,” said Sudden severely, “you’ll git caught lyin’.”