“Of all the exasperatin’ old badgers I ever did see, you’re the worst,
Rance.”
Chuckwalla Ike sloshed a shirt up and down in a pan of soapy water and
glared at Rance McCoy, who was tilted back against the kitchen wall, his
heels hooked over the rung of a chair.
Rance made no reply to Chuckwalla’s outburst, and it made Chuckwalla mad
to be ignored. He yanked viciously on one side of his long mustache with
a soapy finger and thumb, which caused the mustache to curl up in a
dripping ringlet.
“Why in hell don’tcha try to find out where yore horse and saddle is?”
demanded Chuckwalla. “Don’tcha care? Is the Circle Spade so dam’ rich
that yuh can lose a horse and saddle every once in a while and not miss
it?”
The old man continued his thoughtful scrutiny of the old kitchen floor,
ignoring Chuckwalla’s outburst. Finally he lifted his head and looked at
Chuckwalla, who was wringing the shirt.
“I heard somethin’ about that horse,” he said slowly.
“Yuh did, eh?”
“Uh-huh. I reckon me and you are about the only folks around here that
don’t know it. Jim Langley talked to me today about it.”
Chuckwalla hung the shirt over the back of a chair and seated himself in
the chair, facing Rance.
“Yea-a-ah?” he queried drawlingly. “And now I’m the only one that don’t
know. Jist about what are you talkin’ about, Rance?”
“That holdup, Chuckwalla. Jist outside the railroad fence they found my
horse and saddle the mornin’ of the robbery. Horse had been shot. Yuh
see, the messenger fired several shots.”
Chuckwalla fingered his mustaches violently.
“That’s shore clear to me,” he said. “Yore horse and saddle? Say, Rance,
where was you that night?”
“Don’t go barkin’ at shadders,” advised Rance.
“A-a-aw, damn yuh, Rance; I didn’t mean that. Can’t yuh prove where yuh
was?”
“Nope. Anyway, nobody asked me--yet. Remember that Slim and his two
deputies ate breakfast with us that mornin’? They’d jist found the horse
and saddle.”
“Well, why didn’t they arrest yuh, Rance?”
“Because they don’t know where I cached that money.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!”
“And as long as I can’t come out and tell where it is, they’re scared to
arrest me. Anyway, that’s what Jim Langley told me; and he got it from
Merkle.”
Chuckwalla tugged at his mustaches, his eyes half-closed in deep
meditation.
“What’s yore opinion, Chuckwalla?” asked Rance.
“Don’t never tell, Rance.”
“I won’t,” Rance assured him warmly.
“That’s the stuff. Didja see Angel in town?”
“I didn’t see him, but he’s there. The Eagle is closed.”
“I’ll betcha. You shore took the conceit out of him, Rance.”
“Did I?”
“And close to eight thousand along with it. Take off that shirt and I’ll
wash it for yuh. Say, didja meet them two strange punchers?”
Old Rance peeled off his shirt and handed it to Chuckwalla.
“Yeah, I met ’em.”
“So did I. That tall feller ain’t nobody’s fool. Me and him sets down on
the sidewalk, and it ain’t more’n five minutes before I finds m’self
tellin’ him all about you and Angel and Lila. Fact. Yuh hadn’t ought to
wear a shirt so long, Rance. Not over six weeks, at the outside.
“I dunno what this Hartley wanted to know so much for, and he didn’t
tell me. He looks plumb through yuh. Three times I started to lie to
him--and quit. He talked with Angel. Yeah, he told me he had. Jim Parker
took sort of a likin’ to him and his pardner and invited them up to
supper. I heard that Stevens won two hundred dollars at the Red Arrow
Saloon the other day.
“I’ll never git that neck-band clean, Rance. If you’d wash yore neck
once in a while----”
“What did this Hartley person want to know?” interrupted Rance.
“Oh, jist a few things. F’r instance, he wanted to know how it comes
that you have seventy-five hundred dollars, win close to eight thousand
more--and then have to borrow money from the bank.”
Chuckwalla sloshed the shirt around in the water and held it off at
arm’s length, looking at it critically. Old Rance peered at Chuckwalla,
his grizzled eyebrows almost concealing his eyes.
“He asked yuh that, did he?” coldly.
“Shore.”
“What did yuh say?”
“Nothin’. What _could_ I say? I didn’t know yuh did, Rance.”
“I didn’t know that things like that was anybody’s business!”
“They are, when yuh git famous, Rance.”
“Famous, eh?”
“Or notorious.”
“That’s a better word. I’m goin’ to town, Chuckwalla.”
“Thasso? Mebby I’ll go with yuh.”
“You better stay here, I think.”
“Yuh think so, do yuh?” Chuckwalla wiped his soapy hands on his overalls
and spat thoughtfully.
“I think so,” nodded Rance.
“You think ag’in, Rance. You’re aimin’ to make a fool of yoreself,
old-timer. Oh, I can read yuh like a book.”
“I’m not goin’ to start anythin’, Chuckwalla.”
“I know. That’s jist yore polite way of sayin’ that yuh won’t shoot
anybody from behind. You jist wait until I wring out them two pairs of
socks and I’ll be with yuh.”
Hashknife seemed to make no effort to find out more about Kid Glover. He
and Sleepy were content to lazy around the town, spending much of their
time at the sheriff’s office. They had met and talked with Lila, and
Hashknife had talked at length with Angel, whom he found to be rather
cynical and sarcastic. Hashknife put him down as a “bad boy.” He liked
Lila.
He found out that Billy DuMond was the one who had started the trouble
in the McCoy family, and he tried to pump DuMond, but without any
success. DuMond felt that he had already talked too much for the sake of
his health.
Slim Caldwell was making no progress toward the solving of the robbery.
The Wells Fargo man was still in town, possibly waiting for something to
turn up. Hashknife did not bother to talk with him. Merkle wanted Rance
McCoy behind the bars, and did not conceal his wishes.
Butch Reimer had not been in town since Hashknife and Sleepy had
arrived, but on the morning that old Rance and Chuckwalla decided to
come in, Butch, DuMond, and Dell Blackwell came to Red Arrow.
Slim Caldwell and Hashknife were together in the Red Arrow Saloon when
Butch and his two men came in. Hashknife thought Butch seemed a little
surprised to meet him again. Butch’s misplaced eyebrow drew down a
little as he nodded to Hashknife and Slim. DuMond and Blackwell ignored
them entirely.
“How are yuh comin’, Butch?” asked Slim casually.
“Oh, all right,” grunted Butch. “Fair enough, I reckon.”
“Where’s Kid Glover?” asked Slim.
Butch frowned slightly, but answered readily enough: “The Kid pulled out
a few days ago. I dunno where he went.”
“I wish I did,” said Hashknife, leaning one elbow on the bar and looking
directly at Butch.
“Thasso?” queried Butch. “Why?”
“On account of my gray horse.”
“Yea-a-ah? What about yore gray horse, Hartley?”
“I want him, Reimer. You say yuh don’t know where Kid Glover is, eh?”
“No idea.”
“And yuh didn’t recognize that bay horse, didja?”
“What in hell is this--a guessin’ contest?”
“Right now it is, Reimer. It may change any time.”
Butch Reimer blinked slowly, thoughtfully. He knew he didn’t stand a
ghost of a chance to bluff this tall, gray-eyed cowboy.
“Why didja deny knowin’ that bay horse?” asked Hashknife. “Lotsa folks
recognized it as Kid Glover’s horse.”
“Did they?”
“That’s a fact, Butch,” said Slim softly.
“Uh-huh.”
Butch cleared his throat harshly and tried to grin.
“I’ll tell yuh why I didn’t say anythin’,” he explained. “I didn’t know
Hartley. The Kid was with me a long time, and yuh don’t usually throw
down folks yuh know in favor of a stranger, Slim. At least, I don’t.
I’ll admit that the animal belongs to the Kid. He quit his job and
pulled out of the country ridin’ that bay horse. Naturally, I didn’t
want to put him in bad; so I said I didn’t know the horse.”
The explanation was not entirely satisfactory to Hashknife.
“He must ’a’ been in a hurry,” said Hashknife.
“I dunno a thing about it,” said Reimer testily. “I’ve admitted that I
know the horse; what more do yuh want?”
“The horse.”
“Well, I ain’t got it!”
Butch shoved away from the bar and grew interested in the play at a
roulette wheel. Hashknife smiled thinly, as he and Slim went back to the
office, where they found Sleepy, Scotty McKay, and Jim Langley talking
about the robbery.
“Even if a man had them diamonds--what could he do with ’em?” asked
Langley. “Yuh can’t sell ’em.”
“Can’t yuh?” laughed Scotty. “I could, y’bet-cha. I’d hop a train and
take ’em East. You shore can sell diamonds in any big town.”
“Yuh could do that, Scotty.”
“Probably have to discount ’em pretty bad; but, at that, you’d have more
money than yuh ever seen before.”
None of them saw Rance McCoy and Chuckwalla Ike ride in. They tied their
horses and went straight to the bank. Michael Hale, the cashier of the
bank, nodded pleasantly at old Rance, but got a scowl in return.
“You told Merkle that I borrowed money, Hale,” said old Rance
accusingly. “I didn’t know that was the way yuh done business.”
Hale swallowed heavily. The old man’s eyes were as hard as granite and
the scars of his face showed white against the leather-brown of his
skin.
“Why, I--I--he asked me about you,” faltered Hale. “He wanted to know
about your account here, and I--I told him you had closed it. He knew
you lost twenty-five hundred, and he knew you drew----”
“And you told him I borrowed money, didn’t yuh?”
“I--yes, I told him. He represents the law, and we----”
“That’s all right, Hale. I jist wanted to tell yuh that yore bank won’t
never handle the money I stole from the Wells Fargo.”
Old Rance turned on his heel and walked out, followed by Chuckwalla,
leaving Hale to stare open-mouthed after them. Out on the sidewalk
Chuckwalla turned fiercely on Rance.
“You old fool!” he snorted. “What didja say that for? Tellin’ him yuh
stole that money! My God, you’re shore gettin’ childish, Rance.”
But Rance made no defense. He led the way to the courthouse and straight
to Merkle’s office. The officers of Red Arrow County had no office boys,
no stenographers to bar the way of anybody who wanted to enter their
sacred portals.
The Wells Fargo man was in conference with Merkle when Rance and
Chuckwalla came in. Merkle took one look at the two old cattlemen and
wished he was elsewhere.
“Hyah, lawyer,” growled Rance, ignoring the other man. “Understand yuh
been connectin’ me with the robbery of that train. I’m down here to make
yuh put up or shut up. You’re tellin’ a lot of things about my business,
Merkle. They tell me you’re scared to arrest me, ’cause you’re scared
you’ll never git the money back. And that’s right, too. You slam me in
jail and I’ll never tell yuh where it is.”
Merkle stared at the old man curiously. The Wells Fargo man seemed to
see some humor in the situation, but said nothing.
“You--you admit doing it?” gasped Merkle.
“Don’t need to, do I?” Rance laughed harshly.
“Will you sign a confession?”
“I’ll sign nothin’, Merkle. But I’ll take a shot at you, as sure as
hell, if yuh don’t shut up about me. That’s a fair warnin’. Put up or
shut up.”
“Why, I--I don’t know what to say, McCoy.”
“You’ve said about enough. C’mon, Chuckwalla.”
They tramped out of the office and headed for the Red Arrow Saloon. Some
one told Billy DuMond that Rance was on his way, and DuMond went out via
the back door. He had no liking to meet Rance McCoy again.
And then old Rance and Chuckwalla proceeded to get drunk. The old man
drank recklessly, which was unusual for him. Slim Caldwell heard that
the two men from the Circle Spade were drinking heavily, and he also had
a report from Merkle and Hale.
Merkle wanted Slim to arrest Rance at once.
“He admitted his guilt, sheriff. Regardless of the money end of the
proposition, I demand his arrest. I’m not interested in the financial
end of the thing, anyway. He threatened me in my own office, and I have
a witness. The sooner he’s behind the bars the better it will be for all
of us.”
“Well,” said Slim sadly, “I reckon there ain’t nothin’ else for me to
do.”
Jim Langley, Jess Fohl, and Roper Briggs had joined old Rance and
Chuckwalla at the Red Arrow bar. Rance was getting drunkenly boastful.
“I’ve got ’em all fooled,” he told Langley. “If they put me in jail,
I’ll never tell where the stuff is cached; sabe? Nossir, I’ll never
tell. Fill ’em up. Hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars. Sixty-seven
thousand in jewlry and diamonds. Whooee-e-e! And I won’t tell anybody
where it is.”
“You’re an old fool,” said Chuckwalla.
“F’r not tellin’?”
“For talkin’ about it.”
Fifteen minutes later, when Slim Caldwell arrested Rance, the old man
stared drunkenly at him and then tried to pull his gun. It was little
trouble for Slim to take the gun away from him and start him toward the
jail. Chuckwalla leaned against the bar, talking to himself, trying to
understand what had taken place.
He finally got it straight in his mind, and the knowledge that Rance
McCoy was in jail sobered him up. He got his legs to functioning fairly
well and headed for the office, where he found the sheriff’s force,
prosecuting attorney, Wells Fargo representative, Hashknife, and Sleepy.
“I’ve come to git him,” stated Chuckwalla, and then added seriously,
“And I git what I aim to git, gents.”
“You better go home, Chuckwalla,” advised Slim kindly.
“And leave Rance in jail?”
“Naturally.”
“Well, you’re a fool if yuh think so, Slim.”
“Well, yuh can’t get him out,” declared Slim.
“Thasso?” Chuckwalla almost jerked out one side of his mustache. “Think
I can’t, eh? I’ll show yuh! Betcha forty dollars I do git him out. I’ll
take him out if I have to dinnymite the dam’ jail. Don’t git me mean,
gents.”
“Go on home and shut up,” advised Slim.
Hashknife took Chuckwalla by the arm and led him away, trying to explain
that nothing could be done for Rance just now.
“But he never held up no train,” wailed Chuckwalla. “Rance ain’t that
kind.”
“Admits it, don’t he?”
“Yea-a-a-ah! Old fool! Oh, I dunno what to do.”
“You better go home and think it over, Chuckwalla.”
“Mebby I better. Say, they’ll take care of him, won’t they?”
“Fine.”
“Uh-huh. But I’m goin’ to git him out, jist the same.”
Chuckwalla managed to mount his horse, and Hashknife gave him the
lead-rope to Rance’s mount, explaining that there was no use of keeping
the horse in town.
“You tell that Slim Caldwell that I’m comin’ back,” said Chuckwalla.
“I’m a man of m’ word, by God.”
Jim Langley and his two men were at the office when Hashknife returned,
and there was considerable speculation over what Chuckwalla Ike might
do.
“He’s a tough old rooster,” laughed Langley. “Yuh never can tell about
his kind.”
“He won’t do anythin’,” declared Slim. “And old Rance won’t never tell
anything. Yuh may convict him, Merkle, but you’ll never find that money.
It’s a big mistake, arrestin’ him, anyway.”
“That may be; but I’ll take the chance. What else can I do?”
Later on in the day Butch Reimer ran into Slim, and they discussed the
arrest of Rance McCoy.
“I hope yuh didn’t think I was tryin’ to block the wheels of justice
when I didn’t identify that horse,” said Butch.
“It was all right, under the circumstances,” said Slim. “I kinda
wondered, after the horse had been identified.”
“Hartley got kinda salty, didn’t he?”
“Mebby. Yuh see, it was his horse, Butch.”
“Yeah, I know it was. But don’t yuh know, he made me a little bit sore.
He’s kinda inclined to be cocky, ain’t he, Slim?”
“I don’t think so. And it might be worth yore while to know that he’s a
bad jigger to get funny with, Butch.”
“Yeah? How do you know all this? Did he tell yuh?”
Slim shook his head quickly.
“He’d be the last one to do that, Butch. I merely know these things from
his reputation.”
“Uh-huh. Got a reputation, eh? Gun-man?”
“Nope; not exactly. But he’s shore sent a lot of gun-men down the trail.
Didja notice them gray eyes of his? He looks plumb through yuh. If he
ever asks yuh a question yuh better give him a square answer, Butch.
Pity Kid Glover, if he ever comes back here again.”
“I guess that’s right,” nodded Butch. “Do yuh reckon old Rance will
confess?”
“No! All hell can’t make him confess. And I don’t see how Merkle can
convict him on the evidence. There’s not a thing, except that dead
horse; and that ain’t no real evidence. Of course, I don’t know how the
jury will look upon the fact that the saddle was recovered and the
brands stripped off the dead horse. But they’ll never get that money
back--not a bit of it.”
“I don’t think they ever will,” agreed Butch.