HUNTING WITH THE HOUNDS
Johnny entered the kitchen, looked at the stove and went into the
dining-room, where George was playing solitaire. "That's a bad habit,
George," he said, shaking his head. "It don't get you nothin'."
George made a play and looked up. "Aimin' to get me into a two-handed
game of somethin'?" he queried.
"No; I ain't," answered Johnny. "I was just wonderin' how long you was
goin' to play it."
"I'm goin' to play it till I have to start cookin'," said George,
determinedly.
"Then you ain't goin' to stand over that hot stove for more'n an hour,
are you?"
"No, sir; I ain't."
"You talk like it was somethin' to dodge!" snorted Johnny.
"I'd like to see _you_ do it!" retorted George.
"Huh!" sniffed Johnny. "I got a good notion to do it."
George made another play. "Notions!" he sneered. "Notions ain't doin'
it!"
"Then I _will_ do it," said Johnny, going into the kitchen and throwing
wood into the stove. He took down a lid made up of rings, substituted
it for one of the stove lids, lifted out the middle section and put in
its place an iron ladle.
A chair scraped out in the dining-room and George poked his head in.
"What you think yo're doin'?" he demanded.
"Callin' yore bluff. Go on back to yore solitaire. I'm goin' to run
some bullets."
"Why, cuss yore nerve!" said George. "Who told you to mess up my
kitchen?"
"You said you'd like to see me stand over this stove," answered Johnny.
"Run around an' get me two pounds of lead from Dailey."
"Get it yoreself!" snapped George. "You clean up when you get through,"
he warned.
"Shore," replied Johnny, and he went out to get the lead.
* * * * *
Dailey looked up. "Hello, Nelson!"
"Howd'y, Ben! Got two pounds of lead, an' some Kentucky powder?"
"Shore," answered Dailey. He slid a bar of lead onto the counter and
took a can from a shelf. "This ain't Kaintuck--but it's as good. How
much?"
Johnny put a few grains in the palm of his hand and rubbed them with
a forefinger. "I don't want this at all," he said, showing the black
smudge. "I want th' kind _you_ use."
Dailey grumbled, but felt under the counter and produced another can.
"Here's th' best made," he said.
Johnny tested it, and nodded. "Half a pound will do."
Returning to the kitchen he used George's axe to cut the lead into
smaller pieces, and dumped them into the ladle, after which he paid a
hurried visit to his room for tools.
Two-Spot shoved his head in at the door. "What you doin'? Runnin'
slugs?"
"Shoein' a hoss," said Johnny.
Two-Spot grinned. "Where'd you get th' lead?"
"Dailey's," answered Johnny, punching out old primers.
"Buy primers, an powder, too?" demanded Two-Spot.
"Powder," grunted Johnny.
"Off'n th' shelf behind him?"
"Under th' counter."
"Yo're lucky; he must like you. Well, then some of 'em will go off,"
said Two-Spot "But if you'd bought his primers, none of 'em would." He
looked around and started to resize some of the shells. "These here
ain't shells. They're--they're kegs." He picked up the mold and opened
it. "My G--d!" he snorted. "Yo're a bloody-minded cuss. Yore gun got
wheels an' a limber?"
"It'll make th' other feller limber gettin' out of th' way."
Two-Spot hurt his finger and quit. "Reckon Dave wants me," he observed.
"I'm shore _I_ don't," grunted Johnny, beginning to reprime the shells.
"_Do_ it yoreself, then!" snapped Two-Spot, going out. He looked
carefully around and, going into the narrow space between the kitchen
and the rear of the saloon, disappeared from sight.
Around in front of the Palace four punchers were dismounting. They were
disgruntled, but in one way they felt relief. After a morning's search
for tracks on the Double X, along its eastern line, they had given up
the job and had started to Gunsight to carry out a task which they
felt would require a great amount of tact to keep it from becoming a
shambles. But on the way they had stopped at the Doc's and found that
it would not be necessary to cross-question Johnny. There remained one
further duty to perform and they decided to slake their thirsts before
attempting it. Big Tom wanted information from those whom he felt
would be able to give it, since they were directly benefited by the
kidnapping of the Doc. He felt sure that the committee he had appointed
were qualified to get it for him, especially if they had a proper
amount of liquor before they started after it. Hence he had supplied
them with the funds and told them that it was his treat. Carson and
Dahlgren had fat blanket rolls behind their saddles; "Smitty" and
Fraser, nothing but their usual paraphernalia.
They stamped in to the bar and lined up. To Dave's inquiry, they
replied that their morning's work had been in vain, but boasted that
the afternoon would not be wasted.
"We're goin' where th' information is," said Carson, "an' we're goin'
to get it. If it comes easy, all right--_but_ we're _goin' to get it_,
savvy?"
"An' when we _do_ get it, it will be forty feet of rope an' a sycamore
tree for th' coyote that got rid of Squint an' kidnapped th' Doc,"
boasted Dahlgren.
"Nobody gives a whoop about th' kidnappin', 'cept th' Doc," said
Fraser; "but this was a poke at th' Bar H, an' that's where we set in.
If we finds out who got rid of Squint, we know who kidnapped th' Doc;
an' if we learns who kidnapped th' Doc, we likewise finds th' coyote
what got rid of Squint. An' I'm tellin' _you_ that we're goin' to find
out who he is. Doc said he done a good job on that busted laig, an' it
would be a mean trick on him to undo it; but we're goin' to find out!
Give us another round."
"I got to laugh about th' Doc," said Smitty, "a growed man, lettin'
hisself be stole that way. An' what's he doin' now? Is he out
a-huntin'? He ain't. He's settin' in that shack of his'n waitin' for
_us_ to get his kidnapper. Fill 'em again, Dave."
"Forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree," repeated Carson. "If he puts
up a fight we'll give him _this_!" He yanked out his gun and fired at
the floor.
Could they have seen the result of the shot they would have been
greatly surprised. Two-Spot, under their feet, lying on his pile of
stolen blankets and discarded clothing, and drinking in every word they
said, had just shifted to a more comfortable position when the gun
roared and the bullet, ripping through the flooring, cut a welt on his
cheek. Panic stricken, he started to roll and crawl toward the hotel,
and was too excited to notice the pair of legs at the wash bench, where
Johnny was cooling bullets in the basin, but rolled out and against the
bench, upsetting it and Johnny, too, as well as the basin, bullets,
and the water bucket. There was a mad scramble for a few seconds and
Two-Spot lost a tooth before Johnny saw who It was. Then both leaped
to their feet, Two-Spot angrily spitting blood and dirt.
"What you think yo're doin'?" blazed Johnny, reaching for Two-Spot's
collar. "Playin' earthquake?"
"Who you hittin'?" snarled Two-Spot. "Leggo my shirt; I got somethin'
to tell you!"
George came running and stuck his head out of the door. "Go it, Ol'
Timer!" he encouraged. "Serves him right for th' mess he's made!"
Two-Spot thanked him by kicking backward, guided by sound and instinct.
George, receiving one whole foot just below his short ribs, doubled up
forthwith and disappeared. There was a crash and the sound of falling
stove wood, and George had interest in nothing outside of himself.
"They're goin' to th' SV, an' make 'em tell who's raisin' th' devil on
th' range," said Two-Spot in Johnny's ear. "If they ain't told easy,
then they'll take th' splints off'n th' ol' man's laig. G--d only knows
where they'll stop, for they're gettin' full of liquor."
"Who are they?"
"Carson, Dal, Smitty, an' Fraser," answered Two-Spot. "'Forty feet of
rope an' a sycamore tree,' they says," he mimicked, "an' shot through
th' floor. I got it in th' cheek, d--n 'em." A frightened look came to
his face. "Don't tell 'em where I was," he begged, for the hiding-place
was his only refuge and without it his life would be made miserable.
"I'll swap secrets," said Johnny. "Keep mum about tellin' me this. Take
Pepper around front an' mix her in with their cayuses. Then pick up
th' slugs an' keep 'em for me."
A piece of firewood whizzed past his ear, and then a stream of them.
George, still throwing, emerged from the kitchen, blood in his eye.
Johnny grabbed him.
"We was playin' a joke on you, George," he said, hurriedly. "Two-Spot
kicked you accidental. Here's somethin' to square it," and George
opened his hand to see a coin nestling therein.
"Joke!" he muttered, feeling around his belt "Accidental! _You_ may
think so, but I'm cussed if _I_ do! My G--d, his relations must be
mules!"
Dave and the committee looked up as the door flew back and slammed
against the wall, to see Johnny enter, a little too erect, stepping a
little too precisely and wide, his mind obviously concentrated on his
legs. His face was owlishly serious and he nodded to each in turn with
great gravity. Describing a wide curve he stepped carefully to the bar,
where he stopped, sighed, and braced himself.
"Dave," he said, waving an arm, "th' best in th' house for us. Didn't
know what to do with m'self; but now we can have some 'citement. Here's
how. Here's to pore Ol' Squint."
"Here's to pore Ol' Squint," repeated Dave. "I allus liked Squint."
"Everybody liked Squint," responded Johnny. "Everybody, 'cept--'cept
what's his name? Pore Squint, kidnapped; an' the Doc, kidnapped;
nobody's safe no more. _You_ might get kidnapped--_you_--an'
_you_--an' _you_--an' Dave! No, not Dave!" he burst into laughter. "Not
_Dave_! He! He! Less'n it was Ol' Buffalo an' his waggin!"
Smitty rocked to and fro: "He! He! He!" he roared. "Ol' Buffalo an' his
four-hoss team! Freight for Juniper!"
Carson slapped Johnny on the shoulder. "Nobody's safe but Dave!" he
shouted. "Ol' Buffalo would have to _roll_ him in, like a bar'l."
"Don't you care, Dave," said Fraser. "I'm yore friend, an' nobody's
goin' to kidnap you, waggin or no waggin. Not while Bill Fraser's
around. No, sir. Give us another. Big Tom's blowin' his boys."
"Couldn't get along without Dave, not nohow," said Johnny. "Here's to
Dave--everybody's fr'en'. Just th' same I ain't forgettin' pore Squint.
I'd like to know who kidnapped him--just so I could get my rope on him.
That's all. Jus' that. Got notion to go find him. Come on, le's _all_
go!"
"Forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree," burbled Smitty. "Forty feet
of----"
"We're goin' to find him," boasted Dahlgren. "Goin' to righ' now. Le's
have one more drink, Dave. Just one more, an' then we go git him."
"That's th' way!" cried Johnny, "Come on--one more, Dave, ol'
kidnapper. Then forty feet of sycamore rope. Want to come, Dave? Come
on! Come on with us!"
"I better stay here," said Dave, earnestly. "I better be right here
when you bring him in. _Somebody_ ought to be."
"That's Ol' Dave, all righ'," cried Smitty. "Good Ol' Dave."
"Give us a bottle, Dave," said Johnny. "Give us _two_ bottles. Nothin's
too good for my fren's."
"If pore Squint was only here," burbled Smitty, eyeing the bottles.
"Pore Squint. We'll bring that coyote in for you, Dave. We'll drag him
to town."
"Him an' Ol' Arnold," supplemented Carson. "_Both_ of 'em!"
"That's it!" cried Johnny. "That's where we'll go--come on, fellers!
Goo'-by, Dave; goo'-by!"
They surged toward the door, milled before the opening, and then
shuffled to the street. Fraser threw an arm around Johnny's neck and
slobbered about poor Squint. Johnny slipped the six-gun from Fraser's
holster, dropped it on his own foot to deaden the fall, and then pushed
it under the saloon. He staggered, with Fraser, out toward the horses
and bumped into Dahlgren, who grabbed them both to save himself.
Fraser's other arm went around his friend's neck and he protested his
love for them both. Dahlgren's gun also struck Johnny's boot and was
quickly scraped over with sand.
Under the saloon Two-Spot changed from all ears to mostly ears and some
eyes, for his view was limited to below the hips of the maudlin gang.
When Fraser's gun slid under the floor he became, for an instant, all
eyes, and wriggled in greedy anticipation. Then he saw the second gun
strike Johnny's boot and become covered over with sand, and he rocked
from side to side with silent mirth, his boiled countenance acquiring
spots of mottled purple, especially his nose. As soon as the crowd
mounted, he crawled forward, wriggling desperately when the space
became too small for hands and knees. He had to get those guns before
the proprietor got them, for Dave would not allow him to own a weapon.
When he had gone as far as he dared, he stopped and waited until
the bunched group whirled away up the trail, and then wriggled more
desperately than ever. Suddenly he stopped and writhed sideways behind
a pile of dirt, for the heavy steps above his head ceased as a pair of
enormous legs waddled into his field of view. Dave kicked around in the
sand, found the weapon, and laboriously picked it up. The huge legs
remained motionless for a moment as their owner watched the cloud of
dust which rolled eastward on the trail.
"He's takin' chances," muttered Dave. "An' I can almost smell him
from here. Six glasses of whiskey down his sleeve--great guns, but he
must feel comfortable! Well, boys, I don't know where yo're goin',
but nothin' would surprise me." He paused a moment in indecision,
thoughtfully regarding the colt. "I reckon I ought to lose this gun
down th' well--but I'll wait till he comes back."
The fat legs waddled out of sight and the floor creaked again. Two-Spot
wriggled forward, snatched the Colt and backed to his nest, where he
looked at his prize and gloated.
"Dave never saw you fall," he chuckled. "Oh, yo're a beauty; an' only
two are gone. Cuss it! This is th' gun that shot _me_!" He considered a
moment. "Now I got to get some .45's from th' store when Ol' Eagle-Eye
ain't lookin'."
Meanwhile the exuberant committee tore over the trail until Fraser,
wishing to let off some extra steam, felt for his gun. He reined in
so quickly as almost to cause a catastrophe. Dahlgren now discovered
his own loss and there was a wrangle about going back to look for the
missing weapons. Their insistence won out and the committee wheeled,
spread out, and cantered back almost to Gunsight, wrangling all the
way. Yielding at last to the acrimonious suggestions of the other
three, they gave up the search and set out again, beginning on the
second bottle. When they finally arrived at the SV ranchhouse the
afternoon was over half gone and they were so under the influence of
liquor that it was all they could do to get to the door of the house.
Staggering in, they went to Arnold's room and all began talking at
once. There were no preliminaries--Margaret and Charley, caught in the
room, were forced into a corner and had to hear the brutal threats.
Johnny was the loudest of them all, but there was no profanity in
his words; and he took the first chance that offered to wink at the
helpless man on the bed. Arnold, ignorant of what he was supposed to
know, pleaded in vain. Carson rolled up his sleeves and announced his
intentions, staggering toward the bed. He collided with Johnny and they
both fell. As Johnny scrambled to his feet he caught Margaret's eye
and winked slowly. Then he let out a roar and blamed Carson for the
fall. His eye caught sight of a calendar on the wall and he objected
to the red numerals representing Sundays. Jerking out his guns he
shot the numbers out, the bullets passing so close to Smitty that
that valiant committee-man nearly broke his neck falling over a chair
he backed against. A glass of water was shattered and then the guns
became wobbly, covering everything in sight. Boasting that he could
shoot out a fly's eye without touching the rest of the insect, he shot
a spur off of Carson's boot and put a hole through Dahlgren's hat when
he presumably aimed at the lamp on a shelf. Roaring and jumping, he
accused Arnold of doing the kidnapping himself, and fired at a knot
in the floor, missing it, and clipping a button from Fraser's vest.
The committee was very drunk, but it was not so far gone that all
instincts of self-preservation had fled, and it made haste to get out
of the room. Smitty, finding the door blocked, and being in a hurry,
went through the open window with remarkable directness for one in his
condition.
"He ain't here!" shouted Johnny. "He's got away! Come on, fellers; we
got to get him--_pronto_!"
"Where'd he go?" shouted Carson, stumbling over a chair. He kicked it
across the room and sat down suddenly. Being assisted to his feet, he
staggered out toward the horses, the rest stringing after him. "Where'd
he go?" he demanded at the top of his voice.
"Don't know," answered Johnny, hanging onto Dahlgren. "But he'll come
back. Let's ambush him!"
"A'right; I'm tired of ridin'," declared Smitty. "Got forty feet of
rope an' sycamore tree. Where'll we go?"
"Up on th' Juniper trail," said Johnny. "We know he don't hide in th'
south; we'd a' seen him long ago. I know a good place, come on!"
It was a wonder how they ever mounted, but they managed it, all but
Smitty, who had to be assisted to the saddle. Once seated, they were
fairly well at home and followed Johnny along the ranch trail. An hour
later Johnny and three of them were lying in the bushes at the edge
of the Juniper trail, Smitty having been lost on the way. The sun was
still warm, and the liquor potent, which was in no way checked by
their inactivity, and snores soon arose. Johnny, smiling cynically at
the prostrate figures, made a soft bed out of Carson's and Dahlgren's
blankets and lay down to see it through. The night passed quietly and
the early morning light showed four soundly sleeping figures. Higher
and higher climbed the sun and one by one the men awakened, consumed by
raging thirsts. Johnny raised himself on one elbow and looked around.
"I want a drink," he announced. "Gimme a drink, Fraser!"
"Ain't got none; I'm dyin' of thirst!"
Staggering to their feet they looked around, got their bearings and
made a rush for their horses; and soon a miserable, sick committee
pounded along the trail at its best speed, bent only on one thing--to
get to Dave's.
Dave heard them coming and knew what would be wanted. He met them at
the door and passed out a bottle; consuming it eagerly, they strayed
off toward their ranch, ugly and profane.
Johnny watched them go. "I was in desperate company, Dave," he said.
"They was all primed to raise h--l out there, but I saw that nobody
belongin' to that ranch knew anything about Squint, or th' Doc, that we
didn't know, so I sort of coaxed 'em away. An' would you believe it,
Dave, we was so petrified we got lost an' finally climbed down an' went
to sleep right where th' idea struck us?"
"I allus was a great believer, Nelson," answered Dave. "That's mebby
why I'm a pore man at my time of life. An' I admits that you has
persuadin' ways. Now, I figgers it this way: Th' Doc up an' kills
Squint; Squint gets even by kidnappin' th' Doc; after which th' Doc
buries th' corpse an' throws away th' grave. But, I says, an' it's th'
'buts' that raise th' devil, how does Big Tom figger it? He ain't got
my trustin' nature. An' how will Wolf figger it? An' all th' rest,
after they get together an' wrestle things out? I'm glad you got a fast
hoss, an' a clear trail. Where's Smitty?" he demanded.
"He was a weak brother," Johnny sorrowfully declared. "Th' last I saw
of him he was fallin' off his cayuse about five miles northwest of th'
ranch. First he fell back over a chair, backwards; then he fell out
of a window, frontwards; an' when he fell off his cayuse he was goin'
sideways. When it comes to fallin' I'll back him against anybody.
What do I owe you for them two bottles of whiskey? They was amazin'
medicine."
"Whiskey?" queried Dave. "Did you taste it?"
"I didn't," confessed Johnny. "I handed th' first bottle to Dahlgren,
an' by th' time it got back to me there wasn't nothin' in it. Th'
second bottle I gives to Smitty, an' I got left again. If I'd had a
couple more I might a' got a drink. What makes you ask?"
"The first was brandy, an' th' second was gin," said Dave. "I reckoned
mebby they'd like a change. Sorry you didn't get none of 'em."
Johnny looked at him reproachfully. "_I_ ain't," he said. "Good Lord!
Come, Pepper, there ain't no tellin' what this man'll do next. Mebby we
won't see Smitty till next week--come, little hoss!"