one to congratulate you. Ryker and Cutter discovered a rich gold ledge
on your ranch, and that’s one of the reasons they wanted to buy you out.
Hartley found it, too. That was one of his clews, I suppose.”
The old man’s eyes opened widely and he stared at Hashknife.
“Rich gold ledge?” he queried wonderingly.
“Rich enough to make them do murder to get it,” said Hashknife. “It’s
that old prospect you told me about--the one east of Hot Creek, under
the big sycamore.”
Conley sank back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling.
“It’s awful rich,” said Hashknife. “Rotten with gold.”
“Rotten with gold,” echoed Conley. “Crooked gold!”
He lifted himself on his elbow and looked at Moran.
“Remember why I got mad at you, Frank? You cut me out of a deal. Mebby
it was business; but that’s all past. You had money; you bought several
pieces of property and paid a good price on surface showings, you
remember?”
“I did, Mose.”
“Oh, I was mad,” smiled Conley. “I was hot-headed in those days. I
wanted to get even with you; so I blew over a hundred dollars’ worth of
gold-dust into that rotten, red quartz, with a shotgun. I salted it for
you, Frank; but before I got a chance to show it to you, you left the
country. I hated you for leaving. I hated what I had done so much that I
never even tried to hammer the gold out of that little ledge. And that’s
what caused all this misery.”
“And it’s been there over twenty-five years, Mose?”
“Yes, my first and last crooked work.”
“Pretty damn good!” exclaimed Mrs. Conley.
“That’s right,” said Hashknife. “I know how they felt. I had a touch of
it myself.”
He walked out to the porch and Dawn followed him out.
“Do you realize what you’ve done today?” she asked.
Hashknife looked at her curiously.
“Aw, I didn’t do nothin’,” he said slowly. “It just kinda worked out
thataway. I think Jimmy’s lookin’ for you.”
As Dawn turned back to the door, Slim Regan stepped out on the porch,
his hat tilted forward. He scratched the back of his hat in evident
bewilderment.
“I’ll be darned,” he said slowly. “Lotsa things I don’t _sabe_ yet,
Hartley. You say that Cutter and his gang knowed you was after ’em, and
jist the same they go and leave a twenty-two shell layin’ around where
you could find it.”
“They didn’t, Slim; I dropped it there myself. Their mistake was in
admittin’ it.”
“F’r gosh sake! And what made you think Jimmy Moran didn’t shoot
Conley?”
“Because there was two shots fired. Jimmy shot one, but Conley didn’t
shoot any.”
“The hell he didn’t? There was an empty shell--”
“But it never was fired in Conley’s gun. He always kept the hammer of
his gun on an empty shell, Slim. This shell had a queer dent in the
primer, so I accidentally fired the gun to see what mark it made. That
was the time Horse-Collar and his gang started the trouble. After the
gravel in Mallette’s boots proved that he’d been dragged, I picked the
judge as the killer.”
“Detectin’,” said Slim slowly, “ain’t nothin’ but jist common sense, is
it?”
“And a lot of luck, Slim.”
“Well, I’ll be danged!”
Slim went clumping back into the house, anxious to talk.
* * * * *
Hashknife walked out to his gray horse and swung into the saddle. He was
just a trifle weary and he wanted to get back to town, but Moran called
to him, hurrying down from the rear of the house.
“How much do I owe you, Hartley?” he asked.
“What for?” asked Hashknife blankly.
“For what you’ve done. I realize it is more than I can ever pay you, but
I--”
“Then I’ll always have somethin’ comin’,” grinned Hashknife. “Forget it,
Moran. Right now I’m goin’ to town and fold myself around some ham and
eggs. And then I’ll have to tell Sleepy what he missed. So long!”
He rode swiftly away, leaving Moran alone, check-book in hand. Mrs.
Conley, Dawn and Pete came out on the porch, looking for Hashknife, but
he was far down the road. Moran folded up his check-book and came back
to the porch.
“I can’t figure him out,” said Moran.
“Pretty hard,” admitted Pete blankly. “He got me loose.”
“He’s wonderful,” said Dawn.
“Damn right!” said Mrs. Conley emphatically.
Which was all right with Hashknife, as long as he didn’t hear what was
said.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 1, 1927 issue
of Adventure magazine.]