Marion flushed slightly, but did not look at Tex, who said—

“I never thought of that.”

Windy spoke to the team, kicked off the brake, and they went away in a

cloud of dust, while Tex sat there on his horse, the package on the

pommel of his saddle, until they disappeared into the hills.

“Nice lookin’ feller,” said Windy.

“Seemed very pleasant,” replied Marion.

“He’d be jist that pleasant if he was goin’ to shoot you full of holes,

ma’am.”

“Good gracious!”

“Good shot, too. Nobody paws him around. I feel kinda sorry for Tex.

Lotsa folks think he murdered Buck Dennig. Mebby he did. ’Course, they

can’t prove it. The coroner’s jury said somebody unknown killed Buck;

but jist the same they all felt that Tex done it. There’s bad feelin’

between the TD outfit and Tex. The TD outfit belonged to Cleve Tolman

and Buck Dennig, you see. Everybody liked Buck. I reckon somebody will

git hurt before it’s all over.”

“I am sure Mr. Blanco does not look like a murderer,” said Marion.

“Didja ever see one that did, ma’am? They most all look like ordinary

folks, until they git convicted, and then everybody says they’ve got the

face of a murderer. No, I can’t say that Tex looks like a killer.”

For the next mile or so Windy devoted himself to driving, as the road

was bad. Once more they reached the long slope that led down toward

Stormy River, and Windy relaxed.

“You spoke about the last teacher nearly dying,” reminded Marion,

opening the conversation again.

“Oh, yeah, but he didn’t die. Kinda funny, too. The schoolhouse ain’t so

very big, ma’am. There’s quite a few kinda big boys goin’ to school, and

a couple of them got so they hated the teacher, so they framed a job on

him.

“At the back of the schoolhouse is a hole big enough for a man to crawl

under, and at the front, under the steps is another hole, not so big.

Well, the kids got to playin’ around under there, and the teacher

ordered ’em to keep out from under there, ’cause they might crawl over a

rattler.

“Well, a couple of the big boys kinda hung around after school one

night, and one of ’em went in and told the teacher that a little kid had

got under there and couldn’t git out. He led the teacher around to the

hole at the back, while the other big kid stayed under the steps and

cried through the other opening.

“The teacher tried to talk with the cryin’ kid, but the kid wouldn’t do

nothin’ but cry; so he crawled under to git the kid, and these two big

boys blocked the two holes. They piled cordwood against the holes,

shuttin’ the blame place up tight.

“Next mornin’ there wasn’t no teacher and no bell rung; so everybody

thought the teacher had jumped the job. And by golly, it was two days

later before anybody found him.”

“What a terrible thing to do!” exclaimed Marion. “What did they do to

the two big boys who perpetrated such a thing?”

“I ain’t sure, but I think they got dispelled.”

“Literally, I hope,” laughed Marion.

“I ain’t sure about that,” said Windy seriously.

They drove through the Stormy River crossing, where the water barely

reached the hubs of the wheels. It was near the middle of September, and

in a couple more months there would be plenty of snow and cold weather

in the Stormy River valley. Cattle were trailing along the bank of the

river, and Windy pointed out the different brands.

“There’s some TD’s,” he told her. “Biggest outfit in the valley. I

reckon it all belongs to Cleve Tolman now. Buck didn’t have no folks.”

“Buck was the man they think was killed by Mr. Blanco?”

“Yes’m—murdered. Prob’ly killed for his money.”

“Did he have lots of money?”

“Y’betcha. Had ten thousand on him, they say.”

“Gracious! Isn’t that a lot of money to be carrying around?”

“I’ve heard that it was, ma’am; but I never had no personal knockdown to

that much cash. After it gets over forty dollars, it all looks alike to

me.”

“I guess I know how you feel,” sighed Marion.

Windy shot a sidewise glance at her. Windy was not so dumb that he did

not understand that his fair passenger was not overly burdened with

worldly wealth.

“Oh, I’ve got a few dollars salted away,” he told her confidentially.

“It must be a comfortable feeling, Mr. March.”

“Mm-m-m-m.”

Windy had the munificent sum of eighty-three dollars in the Pineville

Bank.

“Well, there’s Pineville ahead of us, ma’am,” he said. “That’s her

skyline, you can see. Looks like a set of bad teeth, don’t it. See them

two molars in the middle. Them’s the Pineville Bank and the Stormy River

Saloon; two of the big business places. They’ve got false fronts.”

* * * * *

“Do you know Mr. James Lawrence Cooper?”

“James Lawrence—oh, yea-a-ah. That’s Hootie Cooper. Runs a store in

Pineville. Yeah, I shore know Hootie.”

“I am to board at his home—board and room.”

“That’s fine. Mrs. Cooper is a great big fat woman. Awful nice woman,

too. You’ll like her fine. Good cook. Tell her she’s gettin’ thin and

she’ll love you. But she ain’t. If anythin’, she’s gettin’ fatter.”

“Have they any children?”

“Didn’t have last Friday.”

Marion laughed outright.

“Well, that’s the truth,” said Windy seriously. “I never lie to a lady.

If it came to a showdown, I’d bet they ain’t, but I wouldn’t make no

definite statement.”

“I am just a little afraid of the board of trustees,” admitted Marion.

“I am not so sure of my ability, you see.”

“Well, you jist forget that, ma’am. There’s Hootie and old Sam Hall and

Hennery Goff. That’s the trustees.”

“Mr. Cooper said they would investigate my qualifications, but he felt

sure I would do. They will probably ask me to pass an examination.”

“They will? Lemme tell you somethin’, ma’am? If them three old pelicans

make you pass an examination, they better ask you to write out the

answers of the questions they’re goin’ to ask you, or they’ll never know

whether you’re right or wrong.”

They drove in on the main street, and Windy drew up in front of Hootie

Cooper’s general merchandise store, with a squeal of brakes and a jingle

of trace chains. Hootie was in the doorway, and he came slowly out to

the stage.

“Hootie, this here is Miss Evans, the new teacher,” said Windy grandly.

“Well, howdy!” exclaimed Hootie. “Gosh darn! C’mon right down, ma’am.”

He turned around toward the doorway, cupped his hands around his mouth,

and bellowed:

“Ma-a-a-a-a! C’mere, Ma-a-a-a!”

A portly figure, dressed in printed calico, darkened the doorway,

carrying an armful of packages. Her face beamed like a full moon.

“Ma, this is Miss Evans,” said Hootie excitedly.

“Well, bless your heart!” panted Mrs. Cooper.

She dropped the bundles and advanced to Marion, holding out her hands.

“My God!” exploded Hootie. “A dozen aigs busted. There’s your omelette

on the sidewalk, woman; omelette and sugar and oatmeal. Turn your team

around, Windy. Here’s their dinner.”

But Mrs. Cooper paid no attention to her scattered groceries.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” she panted. “I told Hootie I hoped you’d

be young and good lookin’. We’ve shore been fed up on men teachers and

homely wimmin ones. You shore do look nice. Hootie—” she turned to her

husband—“you’ll have to set on the porch with a Winchester and keep the

cowpunchers away.”

“Looks thataway,” grinned Hootie.

“Well, drive around to my house and take off that trunk, Windy,” she

ordered. “You didn’t think the lady was goin’ to pack it down there in

her hand, did you?”

“Well, shore I’ll take it down, Mrs. Cooper. My, my! You’re a lot

thinner than you was last Friday.”

“I am! Last Friday I weighed two hundred and forty; today I barely

tipped the beam at two hundred and forty-four, you liar!”

Windy skipped up over the wheel and landed in the seat, where he kicked

off the brake and headed for the Cooper home. Marion laughed with Mrs.

Cooper.

“Well, that’s that,” sighed the fat lady. “Hootie, put me up another

order, will you. No, never mind. Bring it down when you come to supper.

I’ve got to talk with Miss Evans, and I need both arms. What did you say

your first name was? No, that’s right, you didn’t. Marion? Say, that’s

pretty. Mine’s Gladys. But call me Ma Cooper. I shucked Gladys when I

got over a hundred and seventy-five. Kinda outgrew it. I suppose Windy

told you all about everybody, didn’t he? Oh, he would. When he tells you

anythin’, strain it through a sieve. He can git himself all excited over

one of his own lies. But he’s all right, Windy is. His heart is in the

right place. You’re from Chicago, ain’t you? That’s what Hootie told me.

I’ve heard a lot about Chicago from Windy. He met a girl named Smith.”

“He told me about her,” laughed Marion, as they walked down the street.

“He would. Say, you ain’t aimin’ to marry no cowpuncher, are you,

Marion?”

“Good gracious, no! What ever put that notion in your head, Ma Cooper?”

“Are you plumb ag’in’ the notion of marryin’?”

“Well, I’m certainly not thinking about such a thing.”

“That’s all I wanted to know. As soon as some of these punchers around

here see you, there’s goin’ to be a lot of punchers accidentally

droppin’ in at my place, and I want a talkin’ point.”

“Don’t they think of anything but marriage?”

“They won’t—not when they see you. I hope you’ll like Pineville. It’s a

rough, tough place, my dear; but we don’t have to lock our doors. This

is my house. Them’s what is left of my twelve rose bushes. Soil ain’t so

good. Hootie calls ’em the twelve apostles. A cow ate Matthew, Mark,

Luke and John the first night they was set out. C’mon in and be at

home.”

“I just love it,” sighed Marion. “Every one is so kind and so pleasant I

could just cry.”

“Go ahead. Tears don’t hurt nobody. Half a glass of water will put all

the moisture back in your system.”

Windy met them at the door.

“I carried the trunk upstairs, Mrs. Cooper,” he said.

“That’s fine, Windy.”

“Thank you, Mr. March,” said Marion.

“You’re shore welcome, ma’am.”

He hurried through the gate and out to his team. Mrs. Cooper shook her

head.

“He’s plumb ruined,” she said sadly. “Roped and hawgtied. That’s the

first trunk he ever carried farther than the front porch in his whole

life.”

* * * * *

“I tell you this TD outfit is goin’ to the dawgs,” declared Luke Jones,

as he served a belated dinner to Eddie Grimes and Bud Hough.

“What’s eatin’ you, Luke?” queried Eddie, eying a fork suspiciously.

“Hey! Why don’tcha wash the soap off these implements once in a while? I

got a whole chunk of soap in my mouth.”

“Little soap won’t hurt you. You’d think it was strychnine! Nobody told

you to swaller it, did they?”

“Well, you ought to clean things better than that, Luke.”

“Why is this outfit goin’ to the dogs?” asked Bud.

“’Cause why?” Luke struck a belligerent attitude, punctuating his

statement with swordlike jabs of a long-tined fork. “’Cause Cleve Tolman

appointed Shorty Gallup foreman this mornin’—that’s why.”

“Aw, he didn’t do that!” exclaimed Eddie.

“The hell he didn’t! I tell you he did. You two was gone, when Cleve

called the gang together and made the announcement. Shorty swelled up

like a pizened pup.”

Eddie smiled faintly and shook his head, as he helped himself to some

baked beans.

“Aw, I suppose Shorty will make a good foreman,” he said.

“If you say yes to him all the time,” admitted Bud.

“Well, here’s one who won’t say it to him,” declared Luke. “Me and him

never did hitch, and if he tries to give me any orders, this here TD

will be short a cook and a foreman, ’cause he’ll be runnin’ to beat

hell, with me after him.”

Eddie laughed at Luke’s serious statement.

“Don’t rub him wrong, Luke. We like you and your cookin’ so well we

don’t want to lose you. Anyway, Cleve won’t let him interfere with the

kitchen.”

“By golly, he better not. I’m strong for peace, but when I’ve got any

fightin’ to do, I do it right now. Shorty don’t like me.”

“You speak to Cleve,” advised Bud. “Jist tell him to have Shorty lay off

your end of the job.”

“Lotsa good that would do me. If Cleve ain’t got no more brains than to

make Shorty foreman, talkin’ wouldn’t do me any good. I liked Buck

Dennig. By grab, he knowed how to run this ranch.”

“He shore did,” said Eddie thoughtfully. “We lost a good man when we

lost Buck. I wonder if Tex Blanco had anythin’ to do with it. I hate to

believe he did.”

“I’d hate to say one way or the other,” replied Luke. “Mebby it’s best

to let her lie the way she is. Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to bring Buck back,

and the money—well, it was Buck’s own money, and he don’t need it now.”

Eddie looked closely at Luke, his blue eyes quizzical.

“Just what do you know about it, Luke?” he asked.

“I don’t know anythin’.”

Luke turned back to the stove and began cleaning up the dishes, while

Eddie rolled a cigaret.

“Where’s the new foreman?” asked Bud.

Luke shook his head violently.

“I dunno, Bud. Prob’ly gone to Pineville to get a hat that’ll fit him. I

was just thinkin’ that it won’t be so nice for you, Eddie.”

“It’s all right with me,” smiled Eddie. “I’m just a common puncher, and

I ain’t wedded to no job.”

“Well, don’t let him run you off.”

Eddie laughed and got up from the table.

“Forty a month ain’t worth fightin’ over, Luke; but I think Cleve will

have somethin’ to say about it.”

“You’re leanin’ on a weak reed,” said Luke.

* * * * *

Shorty Gallup celebrated his new job by going to town with Cleve Tolman.

Cleve had business with a lawyer, so Shorty centered his attentions on

the Stormy River Saloon, where he found Frank Judd, from Blanco’s ranch,

talking with Oscar Johnson and Windy March. Frank Judd was Tex Blanco’s

right hand man. He was about Shorty’s height, but weighed a few pounds

less.

“Hyah, Shorty,” greeted Windy. “Have a shot?”

“Mebby,” said Shorty, looking sharply at Frank.

“How’s the TD these days?” asked Oscar expansively.

He had imbibed considerable liquor and was looking upon a rose colored

world.

“Pretty good,” grinned Shorty. “I’m foreman now.”

“You are?” exploded Windy. “Whatcha know about that? Are they goin’ to

quit raisin’ cattle?”

Shorty didn’t appreciate the humor of Windy’s question, but passed it

off with a forced grin.

“I suppose,” drawled Oscar, “we’ll see some big changes in things around

the TD.”

“You might,” grunted Shorty. “F’r instance, there might be less rustlin’

goin’ on.”

“Oh, is that so?” queried Windy. “Kinda reformin’, eh?”

“You go to hell!” snapped Shorty. “You know what I meant.”

He looked straight at Frank Judd as he finished his sentence.

“Was you speakin’ to me?” asked Frank coldly.

“If the shoe fits you, wear it, Judd.”

“It don’t fit me, Gallup; nor it don’t fit any of the B Arrow outfit.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s so!”

Frank swayed away from the bar, facing Shorty, and Oscar stepped quickly

between them.

“Go easy,” he warned them. “Keep your hand away from your gun, Shorty.

No use killin’ each other. You ort to be ashamed of yourselves.”

“I’ll knock his head off!” growled Shorty. “I don’t need any gun.”

“Then give it to me.”

Reluctantly Shorty drew out his gun and gave it to the deputy, who

turned and accepted Frank’s gun. He shoved both guns inside the

waistband of his overalls.

Then he stepped from between them, and without any warning, Shorty

rushed at Frank, slamming him against the bar, smashing at him with his

free hand.

It was so unexpected that Frank had no chance to defend himself for

several moments, but Shorty’s blows were too wild to do more than bounce

off Frank’s head. Then they clinched and staggered to the middle of the

room.

Shorty was mouthing curses, wearing himself out, trying to hammer Frank

down, with a volley of blows to the elbows and shoulders, while the

cooler Frank took plenty of time to adjust himself for the work at hand.

Suddenly he lashed out with a straight right that caused Shorty to part

with two front teeth. It almost floored the new foreman of the TD. But

Shorty was game. He came back with a rush, both arms working like

pistons, and Frank broke ground, letting Shorty do all the fighting. But

as soon as Shorty’s flurry was over, and before he realized that he had

done little damage, Frank’s left hook caught him flush on the right ear,

knocking him to his knees.

Frank stepped back, playing the game on the square, and Shorty should

have stayed down long enough to allow the shower of stars to disappear;

but he sprang back to his feet, still dazed, and rushed in again. But

this time Frank did not retreat. In fact, he came ahead, smashing with

both hands, sharpshooting at Shorty’s jaw. It was all over in a moment.

Shorty was sprawled half under a card table, flat on his back, while

Frank leaned against the bar, breathing heavily, unmarked, except for a

skinned elbow.

“Lasted jist one round,” said Windy disgustedly. “I thought it was goin’

to be a fight.”

“Lasted long enough to suit me,” panted Frank.

“Aw, you can whip him any day in the week,” assured Windy.

“That’s danged little satisfaction, Windy. I didn’t want to fight him.”

“Well, you whipped him, didn’t you?”

“I suppose that’s what you’d call it.”

“It shore looked thataway to me,” grinned Oscar. “Mebby we better sluice

him with some cold water.”

* * * * *

Cleve Tolman didn’t find the lawyer at his office, so he went on down to

Cooper’s store. Marion was there with Mrs. Cooper, and Hootie hurried to

introduce them.

“I heard you was here,” said Tolman. “One of the boys said that the new

teacher had arrived.”

“Yes, I arrived yesterday,” smiled Marion.

Tolman frowned slightly as he looked at her. It was on the tip of his

tongue to ask her if he hadn’t met her before. There was a great

resemblance to someone he had known.

“You’re a stranger in this part of the country?” he asked.

“Yes. I came from Chicago to Cheyenne, where I learned about this

position. It was my first time west of Chicago.”

“I hope you’ll like it here, Miss Evans. It’s a little rough, of course,

but you’ll get used to it.”

“Well, we’re goin’ to make her like it,” laughed Mrs. Cooper.

Tolman nodded quickly and glanced toward the doorway, as Tex Blanco came

in. He was wearing a pair of wide batwing chaps, flashing with silver

conchos and a vermilion-colored silk shirt and a blue handkerchief. He

flashed a smile at Marion as he removed his gray sombrero and walked

past them to the rear of the store.

Marion’s eyes followed him, and Tolman scowled darkly. Mrs. Cooper

smiled softly, and Marion flushed slightly, as she turned back and saw

them looking at her.

Mrs. Cooper had told Marion all about the murder of Buck Dennig and the

suspicions against Tex Blanco.

For several moments none of them spoke. They could hear Tex giving an

order to Hootie at the rear of the store.

“You better put in about four boxes of forty-fives,” they heard Tex

saying. “I got them new guns yesterday, Hootie—pearl handles and all. I

dunno whether I’m goin’ to like ’em, but they’re shore pretty.”

“Pretty!” snorted Tolman, beneath his breath.

“He shore loves pretty clothes and things,” whispered Mrs. Cooper.

“Sends to Cheyenne and has his shirts made to order.”

“Hummin’ bird!” said Tolman.

“Scarlet tanager,” said Marion, smiling.

* * * * *

A cowboy came across the wooden sidewalk, rasping his spurs, and struck

the side of the doorway with his shoulder, as he came in. It was Shorty

Gallup, his wet hair still dripping water that mixed with trickles of

blood from each side of his mouth.

He stopped at the doorway and looked at Cleve Tolman.

“Lemme have your gun, will you, Cleve?” he asked thickly, trying to talk

without opening his mouth very far. His own holster hung empty on his

right thigh.

“Let you have my gun?” queried Tolman. “What’s wrong, Shorty?”

Shorty’s eyes blazed as he saw Tex Blanco, who came from the rear of the

store and was looking at him.

“Johnson took m’ gun away from me,” said Shorty, and his voice shook

with anger.

“Took your gun away from you?”

“Yeah, the dirty pup! And then Frank Judd smashed me in the mouth. Gimme

a gun, Cleve. I want to go back.”

“Take it easy,” said Tolman. “Why did Frank Judd hit you?”

Shorty wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He was both mad and

hurt, and when he glanced at Tex, who was leaning lazily against the

counter, a half smile on his face, Shorty almost exploded.

“Gimme a gun, Cleve,” he begged. “Gimme a chance to clean up that damn B

Arrow outfit.”

Marion glanced at Tex and their glances met. He was still smiling.

Tolman stepped over to Shorty and led him outside, where they stood

together, while Shorty showed him where Frank had removed two of his

teeth. Mrs. Cooper sighed deeply and shook her head.

“It looks t’ me as though Shorty had found somebody he couldn’t whip,”

observed Hootie.

“It may do him a lot of good,” said Tex seriously. “They are about the

same size, and I’m shore Frank didn’t hit him first. It’s too bad this

happened in front of Miss Evans. It gives her a bad impression of

things.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t bother me in the least, Mr. Blanco.”

“Well, that’s fine. You’ll get along out here.”

“Thank you.”

“Here comes Frank and Oscar,” said Hootie.

The two men came across from the saloon and stepped up on the sidewalk

near Tolman and Shorty. Oscar handed Tolman Shorty’s gun.

“You better keep this until your foreman cools off, Cleve.”

“Kinda takin’ things in your own hands, ain’t you?” asked Tolman coldly.

“Would you rather have him dead than alive, Cleve?”

“Hell, I can take care of myself!” rasped Shorty.

“The evidence is all ag’in’ you, cowboy,” grinned Oscar.

Frank Judd said nothing. His holster was still empty.

“Who started this trouble?” asked Tolman.

“Shorty did,” said Oscar quickly. “He started the conversational fight,

and then he started the fist fight. And he shore got what he asked for.

He jist the same as accused Frank of bein’ a rustler.”

Tolman laughed shortly, turned and handed Shorty his gun. Almost at the

same instant, Oscar jerked out the other gun and handed it to Frank, who

dropped it in his holster, without looking at Shorty.

Tex stepped quickly to the doorway. His smile was gone now. He shot a

glance at Frank, but centered his attention on Tolman and Shorty. The

foreman held the gun in his right hand, gripping it tightly, but he was

looking at Tex now.

Slowly he lifted the gun and socked it down in his holster. He was mad

enough to bite a rattler, but he did not care to start trouble with Tex

Blanco.

“Well, that’s over,” sighed Oscar.

“You jist think it is,” growled Shorty.

“I guess you better go with me,” said Tolman. “At least you’ll get an

even break, Shorty.”

They turned and went up the street together. Blanco smiled at Judd, who

acted rather sheepish about the whole matter.

“He got an even break, didn’t he, Frank?” asked Tex.

“Little better than an even break,” said Frank.

“And a whole lot better!” snorted Oscar. “Shorty hit a dozen times

before Frank hit once.”

“I don’t think that Mr. Tolman should ’a’ taken Shorty’s part in

somethin’ that was his own fault,” declared Mrs. Cooper.

“Well, he’s one of Tolman’s men,” said Tex slowly. “You got to stick

with your own men, Mrs. Cooper.”

“I thought it was goin’ to mean some shootin’,” said Hootie. “Shorty was

goshawful mad, I’ll tell you. He was mad at you, too, Tex.”

“Naturally,” smiled Tex. He lifted his hat to Marion and Mrs. Cooper.

“I’m shore sorry this happened in front of you ladies, and I’m glad it

didn’t go any further. Pleased to have met you again, Miss Evans. C’mon,

Frank.”

They went down the sidewalk together to the next hitching post, where

they mounted and rode away.

“Tex is allus like that,” said Oscar. “Nothin’ ever ruffles his

feathers. I reckon it’s ’cause he ain’t scared of nobody. A feller’s got

to have nerve to wear colors like Tex does.”

“They are very becoming,” said Marion. “He looks well in red and all

that silver.”

“But he ain’t tryin’ to be no dude,” declared Oscar. “His father was a

Spaniard and his mother is Irish. Didn’t you ever hear her talk, Hootie?

She’s Irish, you betcha. And Tex can sling Spanish like a greaser.”

“Do you suppose there will be trouble between him and Mr. Tolman?” asked

Marion.

“Is trouble,” corrected Hootie. “The TD swear that—well, no, they don’t

swear it, but they shore hint that Blanco and his men are stealin’ TD

cattle. That’s what started the trouble today, wasn’t it, Oscar?”

“Shore, same old complaint.”

“Why don’t they settle it in the courts?”

Oscar looked at her thoughtfully.

“You’re new to this here country, ma’am. Rustlin’ is somethin’ that

ain’t exactly on the law books of this country. Most cases are handled

by the coroner.”

“Do you suppose Mr. Blanco knows how every one feels toward him?” asked

Marion. “It must be terrible to know that every one thinks him a

murderer.”

“It don’t seem to bother him,” said Oscar. “Tex is pretty salty, ma’am.

He had a reputation as a killer, down in the Panhandle country. Got

three men down in that country, they say. Folks kinda sidestep Tex up

here. He downed a gunman over in Garnet two years ago, and they tell me

it was the fastest piece of gunplay you ever seen. But he never picks a

fight. Takes a drink once in awhile, but never more than a couple.

Shorty Gallup was achin’ to take a pop at Tex awhile ago, but he was

afraid. Even with the gun in his hand, he was scared.”

“It looked to me as though Tolman was sort of givin’ Shorty a chance to

start somethin’,” said Hootie slowly. “He shore took a chance, handin’

Shorty the gun thataway. And then you hands the other gun to Judd,

Oscar. You’d ’a’ felt kinda mean, if they’d started throwin’ lead into

each other.”

“Yea-a-ah, and I’d have been plumb mystified, too,” said Oscar slowly.

“You see, I took the shells out of them guns over in the saloon. I

wasn’t takin’ no chances.”

* * * * *

The Pineville school opened on the following Monday. The trustees had

hired a swamper from the Stormy River Saloon to clean up the place, but

it was far from Marion’s idea of what a schoolhouse should be. It was a

one-story frame building, thirty feet long by twenty-five feet wide, of

rough lumber walls, and with a blackboard across one end wall.

Each homemade seat was large enough to accommodate two pupils, with a

two-by-six separating them. The teacher occupied an old weatherbeaten

desk on a slightly raised platform, which gave her a teacher’s-eye view

of the whole room. The walls were undecorated, except for an old clock

that refused to run longer than an hour at a time.

The board of trustees did not require Marion to pass an examination.

They were only too glad to hire her. Sam Hall, the blacksmith, who

talked through his nose, wanted to have an examination, but the other

two vetoed such a thing.

“Well, it’s all right,” said Sam. “I jist wanted to ask her a problem in

arithmetic to see how fast she is.”

“What is it?” asked Hootie.

“There’s a room with eight corners in it, Hootie. In each corner sets a

cat, and each cat is lookin’ at seven cats. How many cats in the room?”

Hootie took a pencil and figured laboriously.

“Four hundred and forty-eight cats, Sam.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m not. There’s eight cats, ain’t there? One cat sees seven cats, and

seven times eight is—no-o-o, that ain’t right. Each cat sees—”

“I’ve got it,” exclaimed Henry Goff. “Each cat sees seven cats. That

makes eight cats, don’t it. And there’s eight cats, all seein’ the same.

Eight times eight is ninety-six.”

“Seventy-two,” corrected Hootie.

“That’s right.”

“I dunno,” said Sam dubiously. “I’ve heard so danged many answers that

I’m kinda confused.”

“Seventy-two is the answer,” insisted Goff.

“Ye-e-es and no,” said Sam diplomatically. “You’re part wrong and part

right, Hennery. I’ll tell you what let’s do. We’ll go up to the

schoolhouse and have her work it on the board. I’d like to git it

straight myself.”

“All right,” agreed Goff. “I’d like to prove my figures. It’s twenty

minutes yet before the school bell rings.”

And while the board of trustees, bringing their weighty question, were

preparing to advance, Marion was meeting the young ideas of Pineville

and the Stormy River range.

They came on horseback, on foot, in wagons, until at least forty of them

had invaded the little schoolhouse. And they were of all ages, from big

lumbering, sixteen year old boys to six year olds, attending for the

first time. Lunch pails were stacked along the window ledges. The big

boys eyed the teacher speculatively, wondering just how strict she might

be, and talked loudly, as if trying to attract her attention to them.

But Marion paid no attention to them. It was all as new to her as it was

to many of them. Suddenly the room was hushed, and then she heard one of

the big boys say—

“What do you suppose Tex Blanco wants here?”

Marion walked to the front of the room and stepped outside. Tex Blanco

had ridden up close to the porch carrying a little boy in front of him

on the big saddle. Tex slowly removed his hat, a smile on his lips.

“’Mornin’, ma’am,” he said slowly and, leaning over, he gently deposited

the wide-eyed youngster on the porch beside Marion.

The little, freckled boy looked up at her, his blue eyes very serious.

“You remember Windy March sayin’ that I was probably sorry I didn’t have

a kid to send to your school?” asked Tex slowly, his eyes on Marion.

“I remember it,” she said.

“Well, I brought one, ma’am. Now, I ain’t sorry.”

“This is—is not your boy, Mr. Blanco?”

“No, ma’am. His name’s Jimmy Hastings. He belongs to one of my men. His

ma died a couple of years ago, you see. Jimmy ain’t never been to school

before.”

“But why didn’t his father bring him?” asked Marion severely. “It is the

duty of a parent, you know.”

“Tha’so.”

“I—I want to know the parents, you see,” she said rather lamely.

“Well, I’m sorry he ain’t mine, ma’am.”

“His father was busy, I suppose.”

“Nope, unlucky.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Blanco?”

“You see, ma’am—” Tex leaned forward, resting an elbow on his saddle

horn—“me and Hastings gambled on it. I put up fifty dollars against the

kid, you might say. If I won, I took the kid to school, and if Hastings

won, he took the fifty and the kid.”

Marion flushed quickly. She realized that Tex Blanco had risked fifty

dollars for a chance to bring little Jimmy to school, to meet her.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Well, I didn’t want to be sorry, you know. And I think a lot of Jimmy,

don’t I, Jimmy?”

“Yes, Uncle Tex,” said Jimmy gravely.

“Shake hands with Miss Evans, Jimmy.”

The little boy solemnly shook hands with her.

“Pleased to meetcha,” he said.

“And I’m pleased to meet you, Jimmy.”

“’At’s good. Uncle Tex says I’ve gotta learn a lot so I won’t have to be

no cowpuncher all my life.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will learn very fast, Jimmy.”

“’At’s good.”

“Well, here comes the board of trustees,” laughed Tex. “I’ll leave Jimmy

to you, Miss Evans—and gladly.”

* * * * *

Tex swung his horse around, waved a gloved hand at Jimmy and rode away

from town. Marion stood there with Jimmy, waiting for the three

trustees, and again the children began their noise inside the

schoolhouse. Marion realized that they were quiet while Tex Blanco had

been there.

The three men came up to the porch, and she knew that they had been

discussing the reasons for Tex Blanco’s being there.

“Good mornin’,” greeted Hootie. “How’s everythin’ comin’?”

“Oh, just fine. This little boy is from Mr. Blanco’s ranch. His name is

Jimmy Hastings.”

“Oh, that’s why Tex was here, eh? We wondered.”

“You hadn’t ought to have much to do with him, ma’am,” advised Henry

Goff, the postmaster.

“Them things,” pronounced Hootie coldly, “is personal matters, Hennery.

We hired this lady to teach school, you must remember.”

“I know, but—”

“Drop it, Henry,” advised Sam Hall. “Any old time you start preachin’

morals, I’ll tell about the time you slick-eared a branded calf.”

“Never did! By golly, I—I—”

“Yore loop’s draggin’,” cautioned Hootie. “We never came up here to

recite our pasts to Miss Evans, but to have her prove a problem. Here it

is, Miss Evans: There’s a room with eight corners, and in each corner

sets a cat. Each cat looks at seven cats. How many cats in the room?”

Marion laughed outright.

“Why, eight, of course.”

“Eight?” wondered Henry. “But there’s eight to start with.”

“Of course, and each one looks at the other seven.”

“Seventy-two!” exploded Sam Hall. “Seventy-two!”

“You didn’t know, you animated jew’s-harp!” snapped Henry.

“I admit it,” laughed Sam, “but I knowed it wasn’t seventy-two.”

“Well, we better go back and let the lady start her school,” said

Hootie. “It’s a cinch she knows more than we do.”

“About cats,” amended Sam Hall.

“Come any time,” said Marion, laughing.

“Any time Sam Hall gets a problem,” laughed Hootie.

Marion spent the entire day in trying to get the grades separated and

some semblance of order in the place. There was no chance for study, and

her mind was in a whirl when the day was over, and the children went

whooping out doors; all except little Jimmy, who stayed in his seat.

“Aren’t you going out, too, Jimmy?” she asked.

“Gotta wait for Uncle Tex.”

“Oh, is he coming after you, Jimmy?”

“He won me for a month.”

“Won you for a month?”

“That’s what he said,” said Jimmy solemnly, “and he squeezed me so hard

he almost busted a rib. Did anybody ever squeeze you that hard?”

“I’m afraid not, Jimmy,” she answered, laughing.

“Uncle Tex is awful strong; I like to ride with him.”

“You seem to like your Uncle Tex, Jimmy.”

“’At’s right. He told me he was takin’ me to learn somethin’ from a

beautiful lady. I guess he meant you.”

“But I’m not beautiful, Jimmy.”

“Well—”

Jimmy frowned thoughtfully. He was trying to remember something he had

heard one of the cowboys say about a girl.

“Well, you ain’t hard to look at.”

“Where in the world did you ever hear such a thing? Did your Uncle Tex

say that?”

“No’m, I guess it was Kit Carson. He’s pretty tough.”

“And who is Kit Carson, Jimmy?”

“Oh, he’s one of Uncle Tex’s saddle slickers.”

A noise at the front of the building caused Marion to look up, and she

saw Tex Blanco stepping up to the door. He was wearing that flame

colored shirt again, and the sun sparkled on his silver-trimmed chaps.

He stopped in the doorway and smiled widely as he doffed his wide hat.

“I came to get my winnings,” he said to Marion, as he came inside. “Was

he a good boy, ma’am?”

“Just lovely,” smiled Marion.

Jimmy slid out of his seat and stood beside Tex. His tousled head just

reached Tex’s holster, from which peeped the butt of a pearl-handled

revolver that flashed like fire-opal in the beam of sunlight through the

window.

“I understand you have won him for a month,” said Marion seriously.

Tex looked steadily at her for several moments, before he looked down at

Jimmy.

“Yea-a-h,” he said slowly. “Jimmy told you, ma’am?”

“Well, you did,” declared Jimmy. “You told me, Uncle Tex.”

“That’s right, old pardner, I did tell yuh.”

Tex looked up at Marion.

“You don’t mind, do you, ma’am?”

“If you bring Jimmy to school?”

“Yeah.”

“That is your business, Mr. Blanco.”

“I’m awful glad to meet somebody who concedes me some rights, ma’am.

You’ll hear lots of things about me. After you hear all of it, mebby you

won’t concede me the right to bring Jimmy to school.”

“I have already heard many things,” she said slowly. “Still I don’t

understand why you should gamble for the chance to bring the little boy

to school.”

“Don’tcha, ma’am? Well—” Tex took a deep breath and patted Jimmy fondly

on the head—“you prob’ly learned a lot from books. A lady must be pretty

smart to teach a school, but there’s some things that you don’t know

yet. C’mon, Jimmy.”

They turned and walked straight through the doorway, and Marion saw Tex

toss Jimmy to the saddle, before climbing on. She bowed her head on her

arms and tried to laugh, but the laugh did not come. It was ridiculous

for Tex Blanco, the killer, to come to the school twice a day, merely to

see her. She knew what the people would say. She didn’t want to see him.

He was nothing to her, never would be.

She arranged her desk and put on her hat, but she sat there quite a

while, her eyes fixed on the spot beside little Jimmy’s desk, where the

sunlight glinted through a window, like a spotlight trained on the

floor. She could still visualize Tex Blanco’s white-toothed smile above

the flame color of his shirt, and the sunlight flashing back from the

pearl handle of his big revolver.

Finally she got to her feet and walked out, locking the door behind her.

It was nearly a quarter of a mile walk to Hootie Cooper’s house, but she

did not hurry. Cleve Tolman and two of his men rode past her on the

gallop, almost blinding her in a cloud of dust.

“They might at least have slowed down,” she told herself angrily. “I’ll

bet Tex Blanco wouldn’t have done it.”

And then she grew angry with herself for thinking of Tex Blanco.

* * * * *

Marion was still flushed when she reached home, where she found Mrs.

Cooper on the wide porch, fanning herself with a huge straw hat.

“I been wonderin’ how you was gettin’ along, Marion,” said Mrs. Cooper.

“Sit down and tell me all about it.”

Marion was only too glad to sink down in one of their easy chairs and

remove her hat.

“Well, I suppose everything went as it usually does on the opening day

of school, Ma Cooper. It is quite a task to get them all placed.”

“I’ll betcha, I’d use a barrel stave m’self.”

Mrs. Cooper fanned herself industriously for a moment.

“Hootie was tellin’ me that Tex Blanco brought the little Hastings boy

to school.”

“And came after him a while ago,” said Marion.

“Yea-a-ah?” Mrs. Cooper turned her head and looked at Marion closely.

“Came and got him, eh? Is Andy Hastings crippled or somethin’?”

“Tex Blanco gambled with little Jimmy’s father, and Tex Blanco won the

right to bring Jimmy to school for one whole month.”

“For one whole month?”

Mrs. Cooper’s face slowly dissolved into a smile, the smile into a

chuckling laugh.

“Mamma mine!” she chuckled. “Oh, can you beat that? For one whole month.

That’s shore a new one. Gambled for a chance to see you twice a day.”

“But I don’t want to see him,” declared Marion.

Mrs. Cooper looked closely at Marion.

“Of course you don’t, dearie. I’ll speak to Hootie about it tonight.

He’ll see that Tex don’t bother you. Hootie likes Tex and all that, but

he’ll jist explain it to Tex in a nice way, and I’ll bet he quits

annoyin’ you.”

“But he—he wasn’t annoying me. It is just the fact that he—that he comes

to the school, you see.”

“I see. Well, we can stop that. Just you quit worryin’ about Tex Blanco.

I don’t think he ever had a girl before.”

“But I’m not his girl, don’t you see?”

“That’s right. You’ve probably got a feller in the East.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well,” smiled Mrs. Cooper, “we’ll have Hootie tell Tex that you have.”

“But that would be lying.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, lyin’.”

Mrs. Cooper smiled broadly and shook her head.

“You’re funny. I try to get you out of bein’ embarrassed, and you won’t

let me. Just between me and you, we’ve got to stop Tex from comin’ to

see you, even at the school. Folks might talk, don’tcha see? You don’t

realize that Tex is sort of an outcast around here—a man with a bad

reputation. You can’t afford to have your name linked with his, can

you?”

“Certainly not.”

“I should say you couldn’t,” sighed Mrs. Cooper. “But ain’t he good

lookin’, Marion? He’s the kind of a man I used to dream about—and look

what I got. Dreams shore go by contraries. Hootie’s got a heart as big

as an ox, and I reckon the rest of his internal organs are in the right

place, but as a specimen he shore don’t stack up beside Tex Blanco. I

love Hootie, but my love ain’t blind.”

Marion laughed softly.

“Looks are not everything.”

“Well, they’re quite a lot, Marion. Your looks made Tex Blanco gamble

for the chance to see you.”

“From what I hear, that is not much to brag about.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re level-headed. Some girls might fall for his

looks. You’ll meet the right man some day. Can’t teach school all your

life. Probably get one with bow-legs—and a mole on his nose. Cleve

Tolman asked me quite a lot about you. He’s interested. Asked me about

your family, but I didn’t know anythin’ to tell him. Tex didn’t ask.

He’s the kind that would take you, even if you never had any folks.”

Marion flushed and grew interested in a broken stitch on her glove.

“There isn’t much to tell about my family,” she said slowly. “Father

died a few months after I was born, and I guess mother had a hard time

making a living for my brother and me. He was older than me. We got

along, somehow, back there in Chicago. We all worked, and I went to

night school, after my brother left home and my mother died.”

“Well, you had a hard time, didn’t you? Mother and father both dead,

eh?”

“Yes—both gone.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Who knows? He left home when I was fourteen.”

“And never told you where he went?”

“No. You see, he—he had to leave. Oh, we’re not so good,” she said

bitterly.

“He was suspected of a robbery. The police came for him, but he got

away. It killed mother. She just sort of faded away after that, and a

year later she died. I was fifteen then and getting five dollars a week

in a department store. But I managed to live, and I went to night school

until I got my diploma. I kept on working, saving what little I could. I

knew I could never qualify as a teacher in a big city, so I came to

Cheyenne. I don’t know why I ever selected Cheyenne. There I learned

about Pineville and their need of a teacher for this term of school. Oh,

it was a godsend to me. I just had one silver dollar when I arrived.”

Marion was on the verge of tears when she finished her story.

“I didn’t intend to tell any one my story,” she said, “but I just had to

tell you, Ma Cooper.”

“Well, I’m glad you did, honey. It seems as though I’ve known you all

your life. Your face was familiar the first time I ever seen you. Now,

you go in and clean up, while I start mixin’ a flock of biscuits. Hootie

likes ’em and, if I do say it myself, I mingle a good one. Mebby we

better let things go as they lie for awhile—about Tex Blanco.”

“Perhaps it would be best, Ma Cooper. I don’t want to hurt his

feelings.”

“Shore, you don’t. Some folks say he hasn’t any, but they’re crazy.”

“Little Jimmy Hastings certainly loves him.”

“And I’ve seen dogs follerin’ him. You run along, Honey.”

Marion kissed Mrs. Cooper and went into the house. The fat lady dropped

the straw hat in a chair, took a deep breath and grinned widely at

nothing at all. Then she went in and began mixing biscuits.

* * * * *

It was several days later that five men sat in the sheriff’s office,

with the front door closed. There were Pat Lynch, the sheriff, Mort

Heffner, prosecuting attorney, Cleve Tolman, Shorty Gallup and a

detective named Sears, from the cattle association.

Sears was a slender man, about forty years of age and rather grim. He

had arrived that day from Cheyenne, and wanted a few details. Tolman and

Gallup happened to be in from the TD ranch; so the sheriff asked them to

talk with Sears.

“How did you happen to get a detective?” asked Tolman, after Sears had

been introduced.

“I sent for him,” replied Heffner. “We talked it over, the sheriff and

myself. As far as I could see, we were not getting anywhere in the

solving of Buck Dennig’s murder; so we decided to appeal to the

association. Of course, the county will pay part of the expenses. We

thought a range detective would be better than one from a private

bureau.”

“And I’m going to need help,” smiled Sears. “Coming in on a case so late

in the day, when all evidence is stale, I am going to need a lot of

information. The sheriff has outlined things to me, of course, but only

the bare facts. Mr. Dennig was your partner, was he not?”

“Yeah, he was my pardner,” said Tolman.

“You understood his financial condition, I take it.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I understand it, Mr. Dennig drew ten thousand dollars from the bank

on the afternoon of his murder.”

“He did,” said Tolman shortly.

“Have you any idea why he drew all this money?”

“No idea at all. Didn’t know he drew it, until after the murder.”

“I believe he had the sum of one hundred and sixty dollars on his body.

Doesn’t it seem that someone knew he had this money, and robbed him?”

“You’d naturally think so.”

“Was he in the habit of carrying a big sum on his person?”

“I don’t think he was.”

“Was this partnership money, or his own?”

“His own. We didn’t have any partnership account.”

“I see. You don’t know that he owed any such a sum?”

Tolman smiled shortly.

“Not that I knew anythin’ about.”

“Do you know how much money he had left in the bank, after drawing this

sum?”

“About five thousand, I understand.”

“Mr. Tolman, do you think Dennig was killed for his money, or for

revenge?”

“How would I know?”

“I understand that Mr. Dennig had no relatives, no one to leave his

share of the ranch. Is that true?”

“That’s true.”

“And you naturally receive his share.”

“Well?”

“Have you done anything personally to try and find out who killed him,

Mr. Tolman?”

“That’s the law’s business, Mr. Sears—not mine.”

“And yet you profit greatly, do you not?”

Tolman got to his feet quickly, facing the detective.

“That’s about all of that,” he said harshly. “It’s no fault of mine that

Buck Dennig had no relatives. Was it my fault that he had no will? You

talk as though I had somethin’ to do with his murder. You can go to hell

with the rest of your questions. C’mon, Shorty.”

Tolman kicked the door open and strode out, followed by Shorty, who was

grinning foolishly. Sears watched them cross the street to the Stormy

River Saloon.

“You got under his hide,” grinned the sheriff. “Now you’ll get no more

information from Cleve Tolman.”

“Didn’t get anything worth while, anyway, Sheriff.”

“You don’t think he had anything to do with it, do you?” asked Heffner.

“Well, he got mad, didn’t he? You were in that poker game when Dennig

and Blanco quarreled, weren’t you, Heffner?”

“Yes, I was there.”

“Dennig accused Blanco of stealing, didn’t he?”

“He did. They were both mad, and I really believe there would have been

a killing right there, if we hadn’t interfered.”

“And it was only an hour or so after that, I understand, that Dennig

started home. He didn’t exhibit a lot of money in the saloon that night,

did he?”

“Not over a couple hundred dollars. He came to town early in the

afternoon. Buck wasn’t a heavy drinker, but this time he had quite a

few. No, he wasn’t drunk, but he just had enough to make him rather

savage. He certainly called Tex Blanco a lot of fighting names that

night.”

“Did Blanco have much to say back to him?”

“Not so much. Tex isn’t foul mouthed, you know; but he was mad. I don’t

blame him. The things Buck Dennig called him would make a jackrabbit

bite a grizzly bear.”

“Blanco has rather a sinister reputation, I understand.”

“I suppose he has.”

“And there has been hard feelings between the TD and the Blanco outfits

for quite awhile, I understand.”

“The TD claim they lost cattle,” said the sheriff. “They never came

right out and accused Blanco, of course, and they never asked my help in

the matter.”

Sears nodded thoughtfully.

“Don’t seem to be much to work on in this case, but I’ll do what I can.”

* * * * *

Sears met with little success in his investigations. Always the

suspicion pointed at Tex Blanco, but there was no evidence. Sears did

not go out to see Tex. He rode out to the TD ranch, but learned nothing.

In fact, Tolman gave him to understand that a detective was not welcome

on the TD.

He had been in Pineville three days when a letter was sent to him in

care of the sheriff. It had been posted in Pineville and read:

We will give you eight hours to leave this valley.

—THE BUNCH.

“I guess that settles it,” said Sears nervously.

“Looks thataway,” agreed the sheriff grimly, studying the penciled note.

He sent Oscar after Heffner, who came immediately, and they discussed

the note seriously.

“What would you do, Heffner?” asked Sears.

“I’d leave here,” said Heffner. “I guess you’ve found that you can’t do

us any good, and there’s no use of getting killed, Sears. The Bunch mean

business, I guess. The stage leaves for Garnet at one o’clock, so you

better slide out gracefully.”

And Sears slid. He went to the Pineville Hotel to pack his bags, leaving

the note with Heffner, who put it in his pocket.

“Let’s go and find out something, Pat,” he suggested.

They walked up to the bank and called Shearer aside.

“Have you a copy of Tex Blanco’s signature, Shearer?” asked Heffner.

“Certainly.”

“Let us look at it, please.”

Shearer produced the card with Blanco’s signature, and went to wait on a

customer while Heffner compared it with the writing on the penciled

note.

“Look at that B,” whispered Heffner.

A comparison of the B in Bunch and the B in Blanco showed them to be

nearly alike.

They gave the card back to Shearer and returned to the office.

“Goin’ to show it to Sears?” asked the sheriff.

“No, I don’t think I will. We’ve got to move slow in this, Pat. It would

require a handwriting expert to prove that Tex Blanco made that B—and

then you’d have a hard job proving it to a cow jury. No, we’ve got to

have more than that, but it sure gives us plenty of reasons for keeping

an eye on Tex Blanco.”

“Well, he’s in town twice a day,” smiled the sheriff. “He brings Andy

Hastings’ little boy to school every morning and comes after him at four

o’clock.”

“What’s the idea, Pat?”

“The new teacher.”

“Miss Evans? You don’t mean to say he’s stuck on her?”

“Nothin’ strange about that, is there? If I was twenty years younger I’d

find some kid to take to school.”

“But Tex Blanco—that’s different,” laughed Heffner. “Somebody ought to

talk to the lady about it.”

“Suppose you try it, Mort.”

“Not me. I’m happily married, and somebody might think I was jealous.”

That afternoon Sears left Pineville, riding on the seat with Windy

March, having accomplished nothing. He believed implicitly in warnings,

and had no hankering for a bullet in his back. They met Tex Blanco

between town and the B Arrow ranch, and Sears felt a contraction of the

spine, until a curve in the road hid him from view.

“Do you think Tex Blanco killed Dennig?” he asked Windy.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Windy seriously, “The road is most always

dusty this time of year. We need rain.”

“That seems to be the general opinion,” replied Sears, and added

quickly, “that we need rain.”

Windy spat over the wheel and cleared his throat.

“You through detectin’?”

“I’m leaving the valley.”

“I didn’t think you would stay long. I allus had an idea that a

detective was kinda sneakin’.”

“You mean, he didn’t let anybody know who he was?”

“Yeah, wore whiskers and looked for nicks on the furniture.”

Sears laughed.

“Well, I suppose that is one way. I was warned to get out inside of

eight hours.”

“Yea-a-ah? Well, well! Warned, eh? When didja get this here warnin’?”

“About eleven o’clock this morning.”

“Well—” Windy squinted at the sun—“I’ll say you gave yourself leeway.”

* * * * *

It did not require many days for every one in Pineville to know that Tex

Blanco was coming to the school twice a day, and the gossips had plenty

of material. Marion heard none of the talk. She was too busy. But Ma

Cooper heard it. Hootie heard it, too, and was worried. He talked it

over with his wife.

“They’re talkin’ too much,” declared Hootie. “It’ll hurt Marion, hurt

the school. Puts me in an awful hole, Ma. Sam and Henry both talked with

me today about it.”

“I’ll speak to Marion, Hootie. She ain’t to blame. Darn the whole bunch

of old forked tongues around here, anyway!”

But Marion did not need to be told. That morning, after she had called

the roll, she discovered that Joe and Mary Beebee were not present. She

asked little Ella Hall, who lived next door to Beebee, if she knew why

they were absent.

“Their ma took ’em out, Miss Evans,” piped the little girl. “She told my

ma this morning that she wasn’t never going to let them come to this

school any more.”

“My gracious. And why not, Ella?”

“She said it was because Tex Blanco came here. She said to my ma—”

“That will do, Ella. Thank you so much.”

Marion looked blankly down at the litter of papers on her desk, her mind

in a whirl.

“My ma said—” began little Ella, but Marion stopped her.

“That will be all, Ella. We—will dispense with the singing this

morning.”

“What did she say about my Uncle Tex?” piped little Jimmy Hastings.

“Nothing, Jimmy. Go right ahead with your studies.”

“’At’s good.”

Jimmy glared at the back of Ella’s head, but finally subsided behind a

book, held tightly in his chubby hands.

That day was long to Marion. She did not go home to lunch. At recess and

noon the children talked in whispers, with Ella Hall the center of their

conversation.

Marion dismissed school fifteen minutes early. She wanted time to plan

what to say to Tex Blanco. She did not know that he was there until she

happened to lift her eyes and see him standing in the doorway. Jimmy was

drawing a picture on his slate, and the only sound was the creak and

scratch of his slate pencil.

“Hello,” said Tex softly.

Jimmy turned his head and looked at him.

“C’m’ere, Uncle Tex,” he piped. “See what I drawed of Ella Hall.”

Tex came slowly up to him, looking at the slate.

“You shore gave her plenty mouth, pardner,” said Tex.

“She’s mouthy,” declared Jimmy.

Tex looked at Marion and laughed. But Marion was not laughing. Tex

sobered quickly and walked toward her.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“You must not come here any more,” she said wearily.

“Not come here, ma’am?”

“Not any more, Mr. Blanco.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Old lady Beebee took her two kids out of school, ’cause you come here,”

said Jimmy. “I heard Ella Hall tell all the kids outdoors. She said you

was stuck on Miss Evans; and that you wasn’t fit for much, and that she

wouldn’t let her kids come to school. By golly, I shore told her

somethin’. Ella said her pa was a trustee and she’d have me throwed out.

Can she, Miss Evans?”

For several moments Tex and Marion looked at each other. The eyes of the

big cowboy were clouded, his lips tightly shut. He turned from Marion

and stared at the blackboard.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t know. I was a fool to do

this. I might have known all the time. I’m just not fit. With the

reputation I’ve got, I should never have looked at you; but I’m human.

“No matter what they say about me, I’m just human. The happiest week of

my life has been in bringin’ little pardner down here to school and

seein’ you twice a day. But I didn’t know it would turn out like this. I

used to sing, a long time ago. I’ve been singin’ for a week now. Mother

said she’d like to meet you, to meet the girl who brought back her

singin’ cowboy.

“But that’s all past now. I’m sorry I hurt you, ma’am. I won’t come any

more. You can tell ’em that for me. Jimmy’s pa will bring him in the

mornin’. Goodby.”

He took little Jimmy by the hand and they walked out, without a backward

glance, the tall cowboy in the flame colored shirt, his fine shoulders

drooped just a little, and the little boy, his head tilted as he looked

up at his big partner.

“I shore told Ella Hall where to head in at, Uncle Tex,” she heard him

say.

“Thank you, little pardner.”

And then they rode away—the little boy who did not quite understand and

the singing cowboy who had lost his song.

Marion leaned forward on her desk, chin in her hands, her eyes filled

with tears.

“Oh, why don’t people mind their own business?” she asked herself. “Why

don’t they? But they never have, not since time began, so what can you

expect?”

She did not say anything to Ma Cooper about it that night, not even

after she heard that the trustees were to have a meeting at Sam Hall’s

house.

It was a rare occasion when Hootie Cooper took a drink, but this night

he came home partly saturated. From her room, Marion heard some of the

conversation between Hootie and Ma Cooper.

“I ain’t drunk, Ma,” she heard him tell her. “But I came within about

three swallers of it. I offered to lick old Sam and Hennery, with one

hand tied behind me. Darn ’em! Old lady Beebee was there. Yea-a-ah,

shore! I told ’em what I thought of the whole danged works, resigned as

a trustee and drank straight whisky to celebrate m’ return from

bondage.”

“But what did they decide to do, Hootie?”

“They’ve appointed Old Man Beebee to fill my place, and they’re goin’ to

plant the seats of their pants on the schoolhouse steps in the mornin’,

and when Tex shows up they’re goin’ to tell him what for.”

“Ain’t you goin’ to undress before you go to bed, Hootie?”

“Oh, yeah. Ma, if they say anythin’ to hurt Marion, I’ll whip the whole

works.”

“You couldn’t whip anythin’.”

“I might s’prise you.”

“You shore would. If I was you I’d unbutton that shirt before I tried to

take it off.”

“The dern thing has shrunk, Ma.”

“No such a thing. You take them suspenders off your shoulders and it’ll

come off all right.”

* * * * *

The following morning the three trustees were there. They did not come

in the schoolhouse, but sat on the edge of the porch—Old Man Beebee,

possibly fifty, but looking seventy, with a thin crop of whiskers, bald

head, sour face; Sam Hall, nasal-voiced, red-tipped nose; Henry Goff,

querulous, argumentative—three old buzzards waiting for the kill.

And they waited, too, until five minutes of nine, while the blacksmith

shop remained unopened and folks wondered why the post office was still

closed.

Then came Andy Hastings and Jimmy. He put Jimmy on the schoolhouse steps

and rode away, as the bell rang and the children trooped in.

“Reckon I better git to the shop,” drawled Sam Hall.

“Same here,” said Henry. “Folks’ll wonder where I am.”

“Somebody,” said Beebee seriously, “must have told Tex Blanco.”

“Probably was Hootie Cooper,” growled Henry. “That man ain’t got a bit

of civic pride.”

They went tramping back down along the dusty road, while Marion watched

them from the window, a half smile on her face. Little Jimmy sat very

straight in his seat, his eyes on the Beebee children and at Ella Hall,

who stuck out her tongue at the teacher’s back.

_Crash!_ Marion whirled in time to see a pencil box rebound off the top

of Ella’s desk, scattering pencils in every direction. Jimmy was on his

feet, his eyes snapping.

“Who threw that box?” asked Marion.

“Jimmy Hastings,” said Joe Beebee. “I seen him, teacher.”

“Yo’re dern right I throwed it,” piped Jimmy bravely. “And it didn’t hit

where I meant for it to either.”

“He threw it right at me,” declared Joe.

“Yo’re a lyin’ chuckwalla!” shrilled Jimmy. “I throwed it at Ella Hall.

She stuck out her tongue at the teacher.”

Marion struck the side of a seat with a ruler.

“Be quiet, all of you!”

She came slowly over to Jimmy and looked down at him.

“Why did you do that, Jimmy?”

He looked up at her, his blue eyes very brave and earnest.

“I don’t let nobody run a blazer on you,” he said.

Marion walked away and sat down at her desk. There was no punishment

meted out that time. Joe Beebee stayed around the schoolhouse that night

until Andy Hastings took Jimmy home, and Marion knew he had been

instructed to wait and see if Tex Blanco came after the little boy.

That night Mrs. Cooper asked Marion to ride to Garnet with her on

Saturday.

“I want to see if I can get somethin’ different for a new dress,” she

told Marion. “Hootie won’t keep no stock. Says that everybody sends to a

mail-order house for their stuff, anyway. We can get an early start from

here and git back early in the afternoon.”

Marion was glad to go. Hootie heard about the trustees’ waiting until

nine o’clock for Tex and gurgled with joy. It was his idea of a good

joke. Of course, he did not know why Tex didn’t come.

“I had a invite for you, Marion,” he told her. “Cleve Tolman asked me if

I thought you’d go to Garnet with him to a dance tomorrow night.”

“I don’t reckon Marion wants any second-hand invitations,” said Ma

Cooper quickly.

“Not any, thanks,” laughed Marion.

“I can tell him that?”

“Certainly.”

“Well,” laughed Ma Cooper, “I had the same thing put to me by Oscar

Johnson, and I told him he better ask you himself. They’re all scared of

you, Marion.”

“And Lester Cline wants to meet you,” grinned Hootie. “I told him he’d

wait a long time for me to introduce him. He’s my rival in everythin’,

except kerosene. Some day he’ll burn out, like I did, and then he’ll

quit handlin’ it.”

The next two days were uneventful. Things were going smoothly at the

school. Marion saw nothing of Tex Blanco, but she did see Cleve Tolman

and, by his cold nod, she concluded that Hootie had told him her

decision regarding the dance invitation.

Came Saturday morning, and the ride to Garnet. Mrs. Cooper was a capable

driver, and Hootie’s buckskin team, hitched to a buckboard, desired

nothing so much as open road and plenty of it. Mrs. Cooper weighed down

one side of the seat so badly that Marion felt herself perched high on

the opposite side, where she clung to the seat with one hand, her hat

with the other.

They made the trip to Garnet in record time, and spent the rest of the

forenoon in shopping at Garnet’s two small stores, and watching one

train go through. They ate at a Chinese restaurant, where they met Windy

March. He had been at the dance the night before, and was red eyed.

“Shore had a good time,” he told them. “You should have been there, Miss

Evans.”

“Why didn’t you ask her to go?” queried Ma Cooper.

“Why-uh—by golly, I didn’t think she’d go. I heard she turned down Cleve

Tolman.”

“News,” pronounced Ma Cooper, “shore does get around. Was Cleve Tolman

there, Windy?”

“Nope. Annie Hall came with Lester Cline. Oscar Johnson came alone and

hated Lester all evenin’. Annie won’t go with Oscar since he tried to

kill her in Pat Lynch’s buckboard. She’s kinda walked with a hitch ever

since.”

“Treat ’em rough, that’s Oscar,” laughed Ma Cooper.

Windy finished his lunch and went out to his stage duties. He drove out

of town about fifteen minutes ahead of them, going toward Pineville.

“We’ll let him get well ahead,” said Ma Cooper. “That road ain’t wide

enough to do much passin’ on, and we don’t want to eat his dirt all the

way home.”

The buckskins were still willing to travel, and they knew they were

going home. Mile after mile they reeled off at a steady trot, fighting

against the pull of the bits, until they came to a stiff pull up a

winding grade, where they slowed to a walk.

Once over the top they surged into a trot again, across the mesa. At the

far side of the mesa, where the road wound down to the valley level

again, Ma Cooper drew up the team for a breathing spell.

* * * * *

Below them the yellow ribbon of road wound in and out through the clumps

of brush, and far beyond, marked by a patch of green, was the B Arrow

ranch. Farther along was the green ribbon that marked the course of

Stormy River.

“Why, there is the stage down there!” exclaimed Marion, pointing down

the hill. “See it down there, just beyond that little ravine.”

“I see it,” said Ma Cooper.

Theirs was almost a bird’s-eye view of the stage, which was not over

three hundred yards from them, on an air line. It appeared as if the

driver was sitting very straight on the seat, with both hands in the

air. For several moments they watched the scene below them. Then Ma

Cooper fairly exploded:

“A holdup! Can’t you see it, Marion? My Lord! There’s a man just back of

the stage. Can you see him?”

“Yes, I can see him,” said Marion nervously.

They saw the driver’s arms drop down, and the stage lurched ahead, the

driver still sitting stiffly, apparently looking straight ahead.

“But where is the man who was behind the stage?” pondered Marion.

“He hit for the brush. I’ll betcha they saw us.”

For possibly ten minutes they sat and watched the brushy country below

them, but caught no sight of the man. Far out toward the B Arrow ranch

trailed the dust cloud of the fast traveling stage.

“Well, that’s that,” declared Ma Cooper. “That’s the first holdup I ever

seen. Giddap, broncs.”

“But aren’t you afraid to pass that spot?” asked Marion.

“Good grief, no! They’ve pulled out a long time ago.”

They stopped where the tracks of the stage had turned slightly off of

the road.

“This is the place where they stopped,” said Ma Cooper.

But Marion did not express an opinion. Her eyes were riveted on

something just beyond the fresh tire marks of the stage, where the

sunlight flashed back the colors of a fire-opal.

Slowly she dismounted from the buckboard and went over to it.

“What is it, Marion?” asked Ma Cooper.

Marion came back with the heavy Colt revolver in her hand.

“Either Windy or the robber dropped it!” exclaimed Ma Cooper, “and it

don’t look like a gun Windy March might own. Golly, ain’t them handles

pretty? Say, what’s the matter with you, Marion? Too much sun?”

Marion tried to speak, but finally shook her head, as she rested one

hand against the wheel of the buckboard.

“What in the world is the matter with you, honey?”

“Didn’t you ever see that gun?” asked Marion weakly.

“Not to my knowledge; did you?”

“It—it’s Tex Blanco’s gun.”

“Whooee-ee! Tex Blanco’s gun? Then Tex—”

Ma Cooper did not finish. She leaned across the seat and touched Marion

on the arm.

“Get in here,” she said.

Marion obeyed, holding the gun in both hands.

“I didn’t know how you felt, honey,” said Ma Cooper. “That evidence

would send Tex up for several years. This here is our secret. We’ll

throw that gun in the river and forget it.”

Marion nodded dumbly.

“You are awful good, Ma Cooper.”

“You forget that part of it. I’m not so good. I’m jist human, honey.

Just remember that we never seen no holdup. Are you sure about that

gun?”

“I think so, Ma. He—he carried one just like it.”

“Any man is a fool to pack a gun you can identify him by, anyway. And

that’s a gaudy thing. I never had any jewelry half as gaudy as them

handles. Giddap, broncs!”

* * * * *

While Ma Cooper and Marion Evans drove on to Pineville, Windy March

galloped his four horses down the main street of town and drew up at the

post office. Windy had experienced his first holdup, and he wanted

everybody in the town to hear about it.

Luckily the sheriff and his deputy were at the office. They came on the

run, when someone yelled through their doorway that the stage had been

robbed. Inside of three minutes the stage was surrounded, listening to

Windy tell how it happened.

“Jist at the bottom, this side of the mesa,” he told them, “rope tied

across the road, belly high to a bronc, and with a cloth danglin’ from

it. My leaders comes to a stop. And then I hears a voice from the brush

a-tellin’ me to put up my hands and keep lookin’ ahead. They also tells

me that if I look around I’ll see Saint Peter.

“Not bein’ wishful to see him, I does as I’m told. I’m sure there’s two

men, ’cause I hears ’em whisperin’. They shore took everythin’ they

wanted. My little old strong box is gone, I know that much. Then they

told me to look east and keep lookin’ east, or I’d git a quick chance to

visit some of my very, very old ancestors. After a while I hears one of

’em say:

“‘All right; look up the road again.’ And then I seen that the rope was

gone.

“‘Drive straight ahead and don’t look back,’ said one of ’em, and that’s

what I done. I tell you, they knowed what they was doin’. I never seen a

danged one of ’em, and their voices sounded like they had a bad cold.”

“At this side of the mesa, eh?” queried the sheriff.

“Jist at the bottom, Sheriff. I reckon you can see where I swung a

little off the road.”

The sheriff and the deputy ran to the stable, saddled their horses,

equipped themselves with rifles and headed out of town. The sheriff knew

that there was little use of trying to do anything, but it seemed that

the public expected them at least to make a show of doing something.

Just at the Stormy River ford they met Ma Cooper and Marion, and waited

for the buckboard to make the crossing. Ma Cooper drew up the team.

“Did you just come from Garnet?” asked the sheriff.

“We shore did,” laughed Ma Cooper. “All the way.”

“How far were you behind the stage, Mrs. Cooper?”

“I dunno. Windy drove away about fifteen minutes ahead of us. Why?”

“He was held up at this side of the mesa. You was lucky not to run into

it.”

“Good grief! Held up, you say? What did they get?”

“I didn’t stop to find out. We’re just ridin’ foolish, I suppose.”

They lifted their hats and rode on across the river, while Ma Cooper

chuckled to herself.

“Well, I didn’t have to lie, did I, honey? They didn’t ask me if we saw

it. And if we hadn’t seen them first, they might have seen you dump that

gun in the river, if you had tried to dump it. Now, what’ll we do with

it?”

“I shall keep it,” said Marion, “down in the bottom of my trunk, Ma.

It’s as safe there as it would be in the river.”

“That’s fine. Wrap it up in a piece of paper and get it in the trunk as

fast as you can. Half the people in this country prob’ly know Tex Blanco

packs that kind of a gun, and if the sheriff knew you had it, he’d put

two and two together and figure you found it at the holdup.”

“I could swear that Tex Blanco gave it to me.”

“Don’t be silly! Even in this country, men don’t make girls presents of

.45 Colts. Keep it hid.”

“Oh, I suppose I’m foolish,” said Marion. “It doesn’t make him any less

the criminal.”

“You’d be surprised to know how many honest men are criminals, honey.

And a man ain’t a criminal until he’s caught. Go ahead and be foolish.

That’s a woman’s privilege, when a certain man is concerned.”

But the sheriff found nothing, except where the stage had turned out—and

a woman’s tracks in the sand. There were men’s tracks too, but they

meant nothing in the dust and sand. The woman had a small foot and wore

high heels.

The marks of the buckboard, with its narrow tires, also cut the outside

of the road, and the tracks led from these.

“What do you make of them?” asked Oscar, the deputy.

The sheriff shook his head thoughtfully.

“I dunno. Them two wimmin stopped here in the buckboard, and one of them

walked over there. The tracks show she walked straight out there and

straight back. She either found somethin’, or she walked out there to

look at somethin’.”

“Mebby we better ask ’em, Pat.”

“Mm-m-m. You don’t know much about wimmin, do you, Oscar? If you did,

you’d know better. Either their answer wouldn’t be worth a damn to us,

or they wouldn’t tell.”

“That ain’t Mrs. Cooper’s feet prints,” said Oscar. “She wears a flat

heel shoe.”

“You ort to be a detective, Oscar.”

“Yeah, I reckon so. I could do as well as Sears did. Do you reckon this

holdup was pulled by the bunch who sent the note to Sears?”

“I hope so, Oscar. I’d hate to think that there was two tough outfits in

our little county. Now lemme see. They’d likely pull southwest from

here, so we’ll take a little ride down thataway and see what we can pick

up.”

But after an hour or so of fruitless riding, they swung in past the B

Arrow ranch, where they found Andy Hastings putting a new brace on the

big ranch house gate. He was working alone, so they stopped to talk with

him.

After a few minutes of general conversation the sheriff asked him if Tex

was at home.

“I ain’t seen him today,” said Andy. “He went to the dance at Garnet

last night, I think. Prob’ly got into a poker game and stayed all night.

What’s new, Pat?”

“Nothin’ much, Andy. How’s the little kid gettin’ along in school?”

“Jimmy? He’s doin’ fine. Tells me he’s had several good fights already,

and thinks education is a great thing for a man. He’s shore strong for

the new teacher. Wants to give her a horse, so she can go ridin’ with

him.”

“Lotsa punchers around here feel the same about it,” grinned Oscar. “She

could have a swell remuda, if she’d jist do a little acceptin’. I’d

start it with a couple good broncs, myself.”

“I’ll betcha,” grinned Andy.

“Here comes Tex now,” said the sheriff, as a horse and rider came into

view down the road.

Tex was riding slowly and, as he drew closer, they could see that his

face was rather pale. His gray sombrero was drawn rather rakishly over

one eye and he did not smile. It was rather unusual for Tex not to

smile. He merely nodded shortly to them and rode through the gate. They

watched him dismount stiffly at the stable and lead his horse inside.

“Must ’a’ had a hard night,” smiled the sheriff.

“I sh’d say he has!” exclaimed Andy. “It ain’t like old Tex to act

thataway. Hm-m-m. Well, it’s his business.”

“Shore is,” nodded Oscar. “See you later, Andy.”

“Yeah. Drop in any time.”

They rode on toward Pineville and, when they were out of earshot of the

ranch, Oscar turned to the sheriff.

“What do you think of that?”

“Think of what, Oscar?”

“Tex has been in a mixup, Pat. Didn’t you notice how he was wearin’ his

hat? Coverin’ a bump, I’ll betcha. And his neckerchief had blood spots

on it, too. And not only that, but he didn’t have no gun in his

holster.”

“I didn’t notice,” confessed the sheriff.

“And he looked as though he had slept in his clothes.”

“Oscar, you ought to be a detective.”

“Well, mebby that’s true, but I ain’t.”

“Do you think we ought to go back and ask Tex what happened to him?”

“Not now, Paddy. With that expression on his face, I’d be scared to even

ask him what time it is. That’s the first time I ever seen Tex without

his smile.”

“That’s true. Keep still about them tracks in the sand, Oscar. And don’t

say anythin’ about Tex. If we’re ever goin’ to put the deadwood on

anybody, we’ve got to stop tellin’ the world what we suspect.”

* * * * *

“Well, I’m jist a-tellin’ you, so you would know.”

Luke Jones straightened up and kicked the oven door shut with a bang.

Standing in the kitchen doorway was Shorty Gallup, a limp cigaret

hanging in the corner of his mouth.

“You think so, do you?” he sneered.

“I don’t think nothin’ about it—I know! You may be foreman of this old

TD ranch, but I’m foreman of this kitchen. Don’t come around here

a-tellin’ me what to do, or how to do it. By golly, I was cookin’ food

for he-men when you wasn’t weaned yet.”

“Oh, you can cook, if you want to, Luke. But you’re layin’ down on the

job. Cleve knows it. We was talkin’ about it last night.”

“The hell you was! You and Cleve, eh? Lissen t’ me, Shorty. Any old time

I don’t suit Cleve Tolman, he can come and tell me and not send a

dirty-eared puncher to pack his messages. Yes, you are. You ain’t washed

farther back than the front of your face since you owned your first pair

of chaps. You jist run along and be foreman of the cows.”

Shorty snorted disgustedly and went down to the corral, where Eddie

Grimes and Matt Sturgis were fooling around with a hammer-headed

buckskin. Shorty sauntered into the corral and leaned against the fence.

“Whatcha goin’ to do with him?” he asked.

“Goin’ to ride him,” grunted Matt, working up the rope.

“Eddie goin’ to ride him?”

There was a sneer in Shorty’s question. Eddie did not pretend to be a

bronc rider.

“I’m goin’ to ride him,” said Matt.

“I thought so.”

Shorty came over, took hold of the rope and shoved Eddie aside.

“You better go and set on the fence,” he said roughly, and then added

maliciously, “and let the men do the work.”

Matt laughed. Eddie let loose of the rope, but made no move to get away.

“Git out of here!” snapped Shorty. “Ain’t you even got sense enough to

take an order?”

“Not that kind of an order,” replied Eddie evenly.

Matt turned and looked at Eddie, whose back was partly turned to him,

and winked at Shorty.

“What kind of an order do you need?” queried Shorty.

“White man’s talk, Shorty. You talk like a baby.”

Shorty had gathered up the slack of the lariat, and now he slashed Eddie

across the face. It was a cowardly thing to do, but did little damage,

except to blind Eddie for a moment. In that moment Shorty dropped the

rope and sprang in, trying to hit Eddie with his fists.

Eddie backed away, blocking the blows with his elbows, bobbing his head

up and down to escape the flying fists, but quickly got set and came

back, swapping punches with Shorty.

Neither of them showed any science. It was just a case of slug, slug,

slug with both men trying to send over a finishing blow. It was Eddie

who landed it. One of his wild uppercuts crashed against the point of

Shorty’s jaw, and the TD foreman went to his haunches.

Almost at the same moment, Matt Sturgis smashed Eddie between the angle

of his jaw and the ear, and Eddie went down on his hands and knees, too

dazed to realize that Shorty had surged to his feet and was trying to

kick him.

“That’s kinda dirty, don’tcha think?” asked a voice.

Shorty turned quickly, blinking his still dazed eyes at the two cowboys

who had ridden up close to the fence and were looking at him with great

disapproval. Eddie got to his feet, wondering what it was all about.

The men were strangers to the cowboys in the corral, but Shorty was

still so dazed and angry that he blurted—

“Don’t horn in on somethin’ that’s none of your business.”

“I suppose not,” said the taller of the two riders easily, “but just the

same it shore looked like a dirty trick to me, pardner.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!”

Shorty came over closer to the fence and stared at the strangers.

The one who had done all the talking was well over six feet tall, rather

slender, with a long, serious face, level gray eyes and a wide mouth.

The other was shorter, broad of shoulder, with a rather blocky face,

creased heavily with merry wrinkles, his blue eyes rather large and

inquiring.

The tall one rode a tall gray horse, the short one a sorrel, and behind

them was a bay mare, carrying a pack. Both men were dressed in range

clothes and both needed a shave.

Eddie Grimes walked over to the gate and let himself out of the corral,

while Shorty and Matt considered the strangers.

“Jist about where did you come from?” demanded Shorty.

“That,” said the tall, gray-eyed one, “is our business, if you’re so

particular about personal business.”

“Is that so?”

Shorty felt his damaged jaw. Matt Sturgis had nothing to say, but

shifted uneasily from one foot to the other under the steady stare of

the gray eyes.

“Is that the road to Pineville out there?”

Matt nodded quickly. The tall cowboy gave Shorty a sharp glance, before

he turned his horse and rode away from the corral. Eddie Grimes was

coming from the bunkhouse, carrying his war sack in one hand. He called

to the strangers—

“Are you goin’ to Pineville?”

“Shore am,” replied the tall cowboy.

“Wait a minute and I’ll ride with you, if you don’t mind; I’m through

with this place.”

“You’re right you are!” yelled Shorty.

Eddie looked toward the corral, laughed shortly and looked at the

strangers.

“He’s the foreman of this ranch.”

They waited until Eddie had saddled his horse, while Shorty and Matt

watched them from between the poles of the corral. Eddie rode up to the

kitchen door and called to old Luke, who came to the doorway.

“I’m pullin’ out, Luke,” he said.

“Yeah? Well, be good to yourself, Eddie. I don’t blame you.”

“I’ll probably see you soon again, Luke.”

“Shore. I may not stay long m’self. _Adios._”

Eddie rode toward the gate and the strangers followed him out.

“This is the TD ranch,” explained Eddie as he fastened the gate behind

them. “The foreman’s name is Gallup, Shorty Gallup. That other polecat

is named Matt Sturgis. My name is Eddie Grimes.”

He swung back on his horse and the tall cowboy shook hands with him.

“My name’s Hartley,” he said. “My pardner is Stevens.”

Eddie shook hands with him, and they headed for Pineville.

* * * * *

“I’m glad you showed up when you did,” grinned Eddie. “You see, I wasn’t

lookin’ for Matt to pop me thataway.”

“And Mr. Gallup was aimin’ to put the boots to you, I observed.”

“I guess he was.”

“We came across the range from Piney Lake,” said Hartley. “Never been

over here before. We struck that creek this side of the summit and

followed it all the way to the ranch.”

“Lobo Creek,” said Eddie. “Quite a trip over from Piney Lake.”

“Took us two days. How are things over here, Grimes?”

“All right, I guess. I’ve been with the TD for quite a while. Everythin’

was fine until Buck Dennig got killed and Cleve Tolman hired Shorty

Gallup as a foreman.”

“Not much good, eh?”

“Overbearin’ little pup. He got whipped a short time ago by Frank Judd,

of the B Arrow. Thinks he’s a fighter and is always lookin’ for trouble.

I’ll have to come back and get my wages from Tolman, I suppose.”

“How did this Dennig get killed?”

“Murdered. Somebody smashed him on the head one night and stole ten

thousand dollars from him. Nobody knows who done it.”

“Hashknife, we must be in a land of milk and honey,” laughed Stevens.

“Cowboy packing ten thousand!”

“Well, it ain’t a common thing,” laughed Eddie.

“Don’t mind Sleepy,” grinned Hashknife Hartley. “He’s always jumpin’ at

conclusions.”

“Buck was the first man I ever knew who carried that much money,” said

Eddie.

“Wasn’t anythin’ done to find out who killed him?” asked Hashknife

curiously.

“Sure. The sheriff talked with the prosecutin’ attorney and they both

talked with Cleve Tolman. They held an inquest and decided that Buck had

been murdered. Then the cattle association sent a detective over here,

and he lasted long enough to be warned out of the valley.”

Hashknife laughed softly.

“You’ve had quite a lot of excitement around here, it seems.”

“Plenty. Day before yesterday the stage was held up between Garnet and

Pineville and three thousand taken. The sheriff rode down, looked over

the spot where the robbery had taken place and came home.”

“A very unmoral place,” sighed Hashknife.

“You ain’t a preacher, are you?” asked Eddie quickly.

Hashknife laughed and shook his head.

“Not by any means, Grimes. My father was a minister. He rode the Milk

River range, packin’ the Gospel and a Winchester. Sort of a bunkhouse

sky pilot, you know. Me, I’m just a puncher, tha’sall.”

“Lookin’ for work?”

“Bein’ kinda lazy—no. We might take a job.”

“There’s a vacancy at the TD, you know.”

“Yeah, I know; but I’m afraid the foreman might not want my services.

Anyway, there’s two of us.”

“That’s right. I’m afraid you’ll have a hard job gettin’ on here for the

winter.”

“Mebby we won’t want to,” said Sleepy Stevens. “I shore don’t want to

spend no winter in a place where they hold up folks. I scare easy.”

Eddie Grimes looked sidewise at the broad shoulders and the square jaw

of Sleepy Stevens, noting the heavy Colt in its weathered holster, the

easy sway of the body, a sway which is only acquired by years in the

saddle.

“I’ll bet you do,” agreed Eddie.

“Any old time they start trouble, I’ve shore got a lot of goin’ away to

do,” said Sleepy seriously.

Just before they reached Pineville they met Cleve Tolman, riding alone.

He looked curiously at Hashknife and Sleepy, but Grimes did not

introduce him.

“I quit the TD a little while ago,” he told Tolman.

“Quit, eh. Kinda sudden, wasn’t it, Eddie?”

“I suppose you might say it was, Cleve. Had a run-in with Shorty. Him

and Matt kinda double teamed on me.”

“Yea-a-ah?” Tolman looked him over curiously. “You don’t seem to be hurt

much.”

“No, I didn’t get hurt much, Cleve.”

“Shorty fire you?”

“I quit. And I don’t mind tellin’ you that you’ll lose more men, unless

you fire Shorty.”

“I’ll run my own business,” said Tolman shortly.

He looked straight at Hashknife, but Grimes did not offer to introduce

them. Tolman reached in his pocket and drew out a wallet.

“I owe you about thirty-five dollars,” he said, and gave the money to

Grimes.

“You better tell Shorty to lay off of Luke, or you’ll lose your cook,”

said Grimes, pocketing the money.

“I can run my own business, Grimes.”

“Mebby you can, Cleve.”

“No mebby about it.”

Tolman nodded shortly and rode on.

“That’s the man who inherited Buck Dennig’s half of the TD,” said

Grimes, as they rode on toward town.

Hashknife looked curiously at Grimes, but did not ask him just why he

said that. It sounded as if Tolman might have had something to do with

Buck’s demise.

“Wasn’t anybody hurt in the stage robbery, was there?” asked Hashknife.

Grimes laughed shortly.

“No shots fired. Windy March was scared half to death, I reckon. Got

something to talk about for the rest of his life, though.”

* * * * *

They rode to Pineville, where Hashknife and Sleepy stabled their horses

and secured a room at the Pineville Hotel. The sheriff had seen them

ride in, and he was just a little curious about who they were; so he

appeared at the hotel, where Grimes had also secured a room, and Grimes

was accommodating enough to introduce them.

“I saw you come in,” said the sheriff. “Prospectin’?”

“No-o-o,” said Hashknife thoughtfully. “You see, we ain’t got no

shovel.”

“I noticed you didn’t.”

“We rode in over the divide from Piney Lake,” said Hashknife. “Follered

down Lobo Creek and hit the TD.”

“Aimin’ for Pineville, eh?”

“Well, not exactly; just aimin’ to hit this valley.”

“Never been here before?”

“Never have, Sheriff. Nice little town you’ve got here.”

“’Sall right, Hartley. Goin’ to be here awhile?”

“Couple days, prob’ly. We’re just lookin’ around.”

“Fine. Make my office your headquarters while you’re in town, will you?”

“Thanks.”

The sheriff went away, and they headed for a restaurant.

“It strikes me that your sheriff is full of questions,” grinned

Hashknife.

“Oh, shore,” laughed Grimes. “Pat’s a question box. But he’s all right.

You’ll like him fine. He’s got a big Swede deputy, and they quarrel all

the time. Both good men, but they don’t think very fast.”

“Pat is kinda touchy about the killin’ of Dennig and this stage robbery.

He don’t know which way to turn, so he stands still. Mebby that’s the

best thing to do, after all.”

They ate their meal and wandered around the town. The stage came in, and

with the driver was an angular person, with a black mustache and a large

nose. Hashknife, Sleepy and Grimes walked past the stage, while Windy

was taking off the mail, and spoke to the black mustached passenger.

“Hello, Alex. How’s everythin’ in Wallgate?”

“All right, Eddie. How’s everythin’ at the ranch?”

“Same as ever. I quit today.”

“The hell you did! What’s the matter?”

“Too much foreman.”

The man laughed, as he climbed down from the stage.

“I don’t blame you,” he said seriously.

“How’s your brother, Alex?”

“Gettin’ along fine, Eddie—thanks.”

They strolled along and Grimes told them that this was Alex McLean, one

of the TD cowboys, whose brother had been very sick at Wallgate, twenty

miles south of Garnet; and McLean had been down to see him.

“Alex is a good man,” declared Grimes. “About the first time Shorty

tries to ride him, he’ll bust Shorty wide open.”

McLean watched the three men walk down the street, and turned to the

post office, where he met the sheriff.

“Hello, Alex,” grinned the sheriff. “How’s your brother?”

“Gettin’ along fine, Pat. Wasn’t as bad as they thought he was. Kinda

hard to kill a McLean. Do you know who them two strange cowboys are with

Eddie Grimes?”

“Oh, I met ’em awhile ago, Alex. Hartley and Stevens. They came in from

Piney Lake. Came over the divide and follered Lobo Creek to the TD.”

“Yea-a-ah?” Alex lifted his black brows slightly, shut one eye and

appeared to be thinking deeply.

“Piney Lake, eh? They told you that, Pat?”

“Sure.”

“Hm-m-m-m. Piney Lake, eh? By golly, they shore cut one big circle. I

seen ’em in Wallgate three days ago.”

“In Wallgate, three days—you shore about that, Alex?”

“They ain’t a pair to mistake very easy, Pat.”

“Three days ago, eh? And they rode in from Piney Lake. If they left

Wallgate three days ago, they couldn’t have got to Piney Lake short of

two days, even if they went over Lobo Pass, and that’s the way they came

back.”

“That’s right, Pat.”

“Mm-m-m-m. Alex, do me a favor, will you? Don’t say nothin’ about this

to anybody? You heard about the stage bein’ stuck up for three thousand

dollars, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Well, don’t say anythin’.”

“That’s an order with me, Pat. I’m headin’ for the ranch right away, and

if you want me, I’m there. _Sabe?_”

“Thank you, Alex.”

* * * * *

Alex was not very reliable. He had a number of drinks at the Stormy

River Saloon and took a quart of liquor with him when he went to the

livery stable after his horse. Several of the boys were at the TD, when

he arrived, and they all went to the bunkhouse with Alex, who was just

drunk enough to be talkative.

“I seen Eddie in town,” he told Shorty, who felt of his tender jaw and

took a deep drink. “Said he quit.”

“I fired him,” declared Shorty. “Wasn’t worth a hoot. He ain’t got no

nerve.”

“Throwed in with a couple strangers,” said Alex.

“Thasso?” Shorty did not mention the fact that he had seen the two

strangers.

“Did you bring that bottle specially for Shorty?” asked Bud Severn.

“Take it,” growled Shorty, passing it to Bud, who took a drink and

passed the bottle to Matt Sturgis.

“Who were the strangers?” asked Bud.

“I dunno,” grinned Alex. “Couple awful liars, Bud. Said they come over

the hill from Piney Lake. That’s a two day trip.”

“You’re drunk,” grunted Bud. “Or did they tell you they made it in a

day?”

“They didn’t tell me nothin’; but they told the sheriff they come over

the hump from Piney Lake.”

“Better cache that bottle,” advised Bud.

“Think I’m drunk, do you?” grinned Alex. “Well, listen t’ me, will you?

I seen them two jiggers in Wallgate three days ago. If they came here

from Piney Lake, they shore flew. My gee-og-ri-fee may not be the best

there is in the world, but—”

“They couldn’t do it,” declared Shorty.

“That’s what the sheriff thinks.”

“Ain’t none of his business, if a man wants to lie,” said Bud. “Gimme

back that bottle, Matt.”

“Mebby he’ll make it his business,” grinned Alex. “You must remember

that two men held up the stage two days ago, and it’s only twenty miles

from Wallgate to Garnet.”

“Well, that’s different,” grunted Bud, wiping off the neck of the bottle

on his sleeve.

“But why in hell would they come back here?” queried Alex. “That beats

me.”

“Mebby they thought there was more easy money in this valley,” laughed

Shorty. “Is the sheriff goin’ to jail ’em?”

“I dunno. He told me to keep it under my hat, so I ain’t told nobody

outside of my own gang.”

“You’re a lot like the feller who said he had confided his secret to

only one party, the Republican party,” laughed Bud.

“Well, I know it won’t go no further,” said Alex, trying to get the cork

in the empty bottle.

“You better lay down and sleep it off,” advised Shorty.

* * * * *

In the meantime the sheriff was undecided what to do. Hashknife and

Sleepy came down to his office and made themselves at home, talking

intelligently about his office and its duties; so much so, in fact, that

he was just a little suspicious that they were pumping him.

They did not mention any of the things that had been worrying him, and

finally they went away, promising to come again. He went to Heffner’s

office and laid the facts, as he had them from McLean, before the

prosecuting attorney, who sucked on the butt of a cheap cigar, his feet

on the desk top.

“No evidence there,” decided Heffner. “Man has a perfect right to lie,

Pat. At least that seems to be the general opinion in a cow country. Do

they look like suspicious characters?”

“No, they don’t, Mort. The tall one looks plumb through you, and the

other one laughs at you. But it strikes me that if they wanted to rob a

stage, all hell wouldn’t stop that stage from bein’ robbed. I saw the

brands on their horses and looked ’em up in the registry, but they ain’t

from this State. They’re goin’ to be here a few days, so they told me.”

“Well, just keep an eye on ’em, Pat. If they start gambling, watch their

money. That three thousand was mostly in twenty dollar gold

certificates.”

“I’ll watch out for that. Have you been doin’ any thinkin’ about Buck

Dennig’s money, Mort? Somebody around here has that money; and the man

who has it is the man who killed poor old Buck. But I can’t think of

anythin’ to do.”

Heffner shook his head slowly.

“Not an idea, Pat. I wish we had a detective. I don’t mean one like

Sears.”

“He wouldn’t stand a chance—no more than Sears did.”

“Not if he was known. Sears was a fool to tell who he was.”

“What else could he do? He was a stranger here.”

“That’s true, Pat. I suppose we’ll have to go along in our dumb way,

leaving it unsolved.”

But Pat didn’t agree with him. Heffner was too much inclined to let

things slip along. The sheriff had very little detective ability,

usually thinking in a single track way, but he had known and admired

Buck Dennig for a long time, and he wanted to convict the man who had

murdered him. And he had also done considerable speculating over those

tracks he had found beside the road, where the stage had been robbed.

For some reason he thought that Marion Evans and Mrs. Cooper knew

something.

Hashknife and Sleepy wandered around and finally entered Hootie Cooper’s

store, where they purchased some tobacco. Hashknife eyed Hootie closely.

He had noted the name on the store sign, and now he said:

“You don’t happen to be any relation to Jim Cooper, who runs a store in

Mizpah, Arizona, do you?”

Hootie’s eyes opened wide and his face broke into a wide smile.

“Jim Cooper of Mizpah is my brother. You know him?”

“Bought tobacco from him all last winter,” laughed Hashknife. “My name’s

Hartley, Mr. Cooper.”

They shook hands warmly, and Sleepy was introduced.

“I thought you two looked alike,” said Hashknife.

“Well, I’ll be darned!” exploded Hootie. “And you know old Jim, eh?

Older ’n me. Ain’t seen him for five year. How was he?”

“Fine, the last time we seen him.”

“Well, gosh! Say! I’m shore glad to meetcha. Didja just arrive here?”

“Today.”

“Stayin’ at the hotel?”

“Goin’ to,” smiled Hashknife.

“Good. You’re both comin’ over to my house and have supper with us

tonight. I’ll tell Ma right away. No, you can’t lie out of it. We’ve got

to talk. I shut up this shebang at six o’clock, and you meet me here.

Nobody there, except Ma and the schoolma’am. Mighty nice girl, too.

She’s folks.”

“Well, that’s shore nice of you,” smiled Hashknife.

“Shucks! Ma’ll be glad to see you. She likes Jim. She was jist sayin’

the other day that I ought to write a letter to Jim, but he’s owed me

one for four year. We ain’t much on letter writin’. You meet me here at

six, or I’ll shore comb this town for you.”

They promised to meet him at that time, and went to the hotel to shave

and clean up a little.

“Gotta look smooth to greet the schoolma’am,” laughed Sleepy.

“Yeah, and you’ll prob’ly fall in love with her,” grinned Hashknife,

emptying his war bag in search of a clean shirt. “You mostly always do,

Sleepy.”

“Not with schoolma’ams, cowboy. There’s where I draw the line.”

Sleepy began industriously stropping at his razor, whistling

unmusically.

“How do you like the looks of this place, Sleepy?” asked Hashknife.

“Cow town and no trimmin’s. Some nice folks. Say! I was just wonderin’

about this Jim Cooper of Mizpah. I don’t remember him, Hashknife.”

“You remember Mizpah, don’tcha?”

“Well, we was there that one day, Hashknife.”

“Sure. Remember the windstorm that day?”

“Yea-a-ah. Say, I forgot that. Wasn’t it a dinger? That was the time the

sign blowed off the store and almost landed on us, wasn’t it?”

“That’s the time.”

“But I don’t remember no Jim Cooper.”

“His name was on that sign.”

Sleepy chuckled softly and began lathering his face.

“You shore got a memory, Hashknife,” he said.

“Well,” grinned Hashknife, “I seen them two words, painted in big

letters, Jim Cooper, sailin’ right straight for my head, so I ought to

remember him. Mebby we didn’t meet Jim Cooper, but we shore met a

signboard by that name.”

“And now, you’ve got to talk all evenin’ about Jim Cooper.”

“Not necessarily. We can change the subject. You can get in a corner and

talk to the teacher.”

“Any time I do! I may be a lady’s man, but I’m no teacher’s pet. You can

have her.”

“Is that a promise?” laughed Hashknife.

“Yeah, and a gift, cowboy.”

* * * * *

They met Hootie at the store at six o’clock and went home with him. He

had told Mrs. Cooper about them, and she welcomed them pleasantly.

“Small world, ain’t it?” she laughed.

“Funny how you just happened to mention Jim to Hootie. Lotsa Coopers,

you know.”

“Yeah, I know it,” smiled Hashknife, “but Jim Cooper had the biggest

sign I ever seen. Letters two feet high.”

“He would have,” chuckled Hootie. “Prob’ly spent a lot of time across

the street, lookin’ at that sign.”

“Gents, I want you to meet Miss Evans,” said Mrs. Cooper. “Miss Evans is

the schoolteacher. Mr. Hartley and Mr. Stevens.”

“Oh, I am pleased to meet both of you,” said Marion.

“So’m I,” said Sleepy foolishly.