the sheriff so he walked straight through the saloon, went out the rear
entrance and circled around to the livery stable, where he went inside.
The stableman had led out Lane’s saddle horse, and was assisting Lane in
saddling it. Neither of them heard Shif’less come in and Lane did not
see him until he turned his head and saw the big cowboy leaning against
the side of the stall, six feet away. Lane’s eyes hardened and his right
hand fumbled at his coat pocket.
“Yuh hadn’t ought to do that,” warned Shif’less. “Yuh know I seen yuh
put a gun in that pocket, and I’m superstitious.”
Lane dropped his hand and reached for the reins.
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” said Shif’less quietly. He turned to the
mystified stableman. “You can yank the hull off that critter and tie
him back to the hay-box. Mr. Lane ain’t goin’ ridin’--not yet.”
“What in hell do you mean?” asked Lance angrily. “Since when did you
start telling me what to do?”
“Well,” smiled Shif’less, “Mr. Jones told me to kinda keep an eye on
you, Lane; and I’m not goin’ to ride herd on yuh, that’s a cinch. You
told Cleve Sears to arrest me, didn’t yuh? No, yuh don’t need to lie
about it.”
“You poor fool!” panted Lane. “Do you think you can keep me from doing
what I please?”
“I dunno, Miles. It might be worth an experiment. Supposin’ you jist
make a break.”
Lane flapped his arms helplessly. Something seemed to tell him that
Shif’less Hill was dangerous, in spite of his lazy grin, and he knew
that he could never get a gun from the side pocket of his coat as
quickly as Shif’less could draw from his holster.
“All right; put the horse up,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll probably be back
for him pretty soon; so you don’t need bother taking the saddle off.”
Lane walked out the wide entrance, and Shif’less came behind him. There
was no sign of the sheriff, but a man was running down the middle of the
street--Idaho Breen!
“What’s the matter with him?” gasped Miles Lane, as Idaho stumbled
across the sidewalk and into the Oreana saloon. There was no one to
answer Lane; so he started running toward the saloon, followed by
Shif’less, who ran awkwardly in his high-heeled boots.
Faith Keene and her little boy came down a cross street and stopped to
let the two running men pass her. Shif’less stopped short beside her.
“What is the matter, Shif’less?” she asked anxiously. He shook his
head. “I don’t know, Faith.” It was the first time he had ever called
her Faith. “There’s somethin’ wrong, and it affects the Lazy A Ranch.
I don’t sabe it. But I want to tell you somethin’, Faith; Jack Keene
is dead. He’s been dead quite a while.”
She stared at him wonderingly. “Jack Keene dead, Shif’less?”
“Yeah. I found it out last night. You better take the boy over to the
store. I don’t know what this all means, but yuh better be in a safe
place. Here comes the Star X outfit--and the Lazy A boys are already
here.”
Faith nodded and hurried the little boy across the street, while
Shif’less went straight to the Oreana saloon, where an excited crowd
of men listened to Idaho Breen’s story of how his team had run away,
thrown him out, and had gone over the edge of the grade with Mary
Ault.
“Aw, she couldn’t go over that edge and live,” declared Pie Ide. “So
whatsa use of gettin’ the doctor?”
“The whole works went over,” panted Idaho. “I ran all the way to town.
Couldn’t do anythin’ alone. She didn’t like it out there; so she sold
out to me today.” He stopped to get his breath. “I didn’t have the money
to buy it--not enough to pay it all, because she wanted a big price--but
I’ve got it--got a bill of sale. My God, it’s awful! I was bringin’ her
down early; so she could get a train back to San Francisco.”
“Well, you couldn’t help it,” said someone. “Gosh, that’s an awful way
to pass out. Yuh can see it comin’.”
“Well, let’s get out there!” snorted Pie Ide. Lane had already joined
the crowd, and a few moments later Shif’less walked in, followed by
Buck Wing, Heinie, Moriarity, Klondike Evans and Joe Chevrier.
The sheriff backed against the bar, forgetting all about arresting
Shif’less in his fear that the Lazy A and the Star X outfits might
pick up the battle where they had left off the night Mary came to
town. The Star X boys halted just inside the place, and the sheriff
seemed to think that this was an opportune time to take their mind
off any possible continuation of the feud.
“Don’t start anythin’, boys,” he said warningly, speaking to Buck Wing
who was in the lead. “This is no time to start trouble. Miss Ault has
jist been killed in a runaway, and we’re goin’ out to get her.”
The sheriff stopped. For several moments no one spoke. Lane stepped in
close to the sheriff and touched him on the arm.
“Get Shif’less Hill,” he said. Shif’less was only a few feet away, but
made no move to get away. The sheriff scowled at Lane, but stepped over
to Shif’less, who still made no move.
“Shif’less, I’ve got to arrest yuh for butcherin’ Lazy A beef,” he said
slowly. “Miles Lane says he seen yuh doin’ it; so there ain’t nothin’ I
can do.”
“Thasall right, Cleve.”
“The rest of you jiggers get yore horses. Somebody get a rig at the
stable, and somebody else rustle the doctor,” said the sheriff.
The crowd made a break for the front door, fairly shoving Shif’less
and the sheriff outside. Just across the narrow street a small group
had gathered around the figure of a woman. Faith Keene was on her
knees beside the figure, talking to Dude Wheeler.
Coming across the street toward the Oreana saloon was the man whom
they knew as Jones of Oklahoma. His shirt was plastered with blood
from the wound in his left shoulder, and he shambled in his walk, as
though his knees were jointless. His face was dirty, bloody, but his
jaws were tight and there was hardly a line to show where his lips
were. Breen had been shoved out at the forefront of the crowd, as
was Miles Lane.
“What in thunder happened to you?” gasped the sheriff.
Cultus stopped, bracing his feet far apart, his half shut eyes fixed
upon Idaho Breen, who had whirled sideways, as though to try to force
his way back through the crowd.
“Breen, don’t move!” Cultus’ voice croaked like that of a raven. Breen
was half turned around, as the men behind him fought to get out of line.
“Don’t move, Lane!” It was hardly more than a whisper.
“What is it?” panted the sheriff. He had forgotten that he had a
prisoner. “What’s wrong with you, Jones?”
“He’s been shot!” said someone.
“Plumb loco.”
“Blood all over him. Look out for him, boys.”
“Don’t move, Breen!” It was a weak warning. “You bushwhacker! You dirty
murderer, thief! You tried to steal the Lazy A. Oh, I’ve got the goods
on you. I seen Jack Keene killed. I know your game. And you tried to
murder that girl to cover your steal--you and Miles Lane!”
Idaho Breen was game. His hand flashed back to his holster; came back
so swiftly that few saw him make his draw, but the bloody-faced cowboy,
bracing his knees to stay on his feet, only made one move. His right
hand, dangling loosely at his side, flipped up and forward, firing the
gun almost as it left the holster.
Came the crash of breaking glass in the store-front across the street,
when Breen’s bullet missed Cultus by several feet, and Breen pitched
forward on his face, flinging his gun almost out to Cultus’ feet.
For a moment everyone had forgotten Miles Lane. He darted sideways,
running swiftly toward the hitch-rack, taking a chance that no one
would shoot at him for fear of killing a horse. He had drawn a gun.
The crowd surged toward him, hardly knowing what to do. Cultus was
running slowly toward the hitch-rack, cutting across in an angle to
try and prevent Lane from going north.
Swiftly, Lane untied a wicked-looking gray horse, which bore the Star X
brand. The horse whirled madly as Lane caught a foot in the stirrup,
and he was forced to drop his gun in order to make the mount. Again the
horse whirled, as Cultus ran toward it, and Lane’s right knee was atop
the saddle, fighting to keep his balance. He managed to get seated; but
before he could swing the horse around Cultus had hung one arm around
the frightened animal’s head, swinging sideways with his whole weight.
With a scream of rage and fright the Star X gray seemed to fairly
pin-wheel on one front leg, and crashed down on its right side,
flinging Lane under the feet of several rearing, pulling broncos,
which were doing their best to break away.
Quickly the crowd rushed in, cut the horses loose and got Lane, while
some of them lifted Cultus out of the dirt and carried him away from
the hitch-rack. He sat up and looked around, a half grin on his grimy
face.
“By God, that’s bull-doggin’ ’em!” snorted Pie Ide, propping Cultus’
head against his knee. “How are yuh, Jones?”
The sheriff shoved his way to Cultus. “Breen’s dead,” he said. “We’ve
sent for the doctor for Lane. Hey! Are yuh listenin’ to me? That Ault
girl ain’t dead!! She’s over there across the street. What’s it all
about, Jones? Did Breen shoot yuh?”
Cultus looked up at him. “Is Lane badly hurt?”
“He shore is! Kicked and tromped all to pieces.”
“Help me up, will yuh?”
They helped Cultus to his feet, and Buck Wing and Pie Ide assisted him
over to where Lane was lying. The doctor was just looking him over when
they arrived. Lane was conscious, but badly hurt. He scowled at Cultus
and groaned under the examination of the doctor.
Cultus looked up to see Mary Smith, Faith Keene, Dude Wheeler and
Shif’less Hill. Mary Smith was very pale, weak, but beyond the shock
of her fall and a few minor bruises she was all right. The doctor
shook his head and got to his feet.
“That means I’m all through, eh?” whispered Lane. “Tell me the truth,
Doc.”
“I’m sorry, Lane; you’re right.”
“Breen?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Cultus.
“He’s gone,” said the sheriff. Lane tried to smile, but the pain was
too much. “Did Jack Keene shoot Jud Ault?” asked Cultus. Lane shifted
his eyes and looked at Faith, who was looking down at him, her eyes
wide with amazement and fright. Lane slowly shook his head.
“Breen shot him,” he said wearily.
“Breen did?”
Lane turned his head and looked at Cultus.
“You know he did, Jones. He’s gone; so it won’t hurt him any.”
Then Cultus knew that Jack Keene _had_ shot Jud Ault, but that Miles
Lane was trying to save a heartache for Faith.
“I was sure he did,” replied Cultus. “Let’s clear it all up this time,
Lane. Was Shif’less Hill guilty of what you said?”
“I--I--” Lane shook his head. “No, you can drop it. Sheriff. Shif’less
is all right. The Lazy A will was a lie. Breen and I made one to suit us
and I had Jud Ault sign it. He thought he was signing one he’d dictated.
Idaho Breen and I were going to steal the ranch. I can swear to you all
that Faith Keene owns the Lazy A. There is no Mary Ault. We’d have made
it all right, if it hadn’t been for Jones of Oklahoma. Why don’t you
light the lamps? I don’t know why it gets dark early. Idaho, what
about--that--girl? Look--out--for--Jones--right--on--that--line. Idaho,
we’re--lost----”
The crowd turned away. Cultus was swaying in his tracks, when Shif’less
caught him. Mary ran to him, grasping his hands. He tried to smile at
her, but it was only a grimace. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and
turned to see Dude Wheeler.
“Good boy, Jones,” whispered Dude. “You sure cleaned up the crooks.
We’ll get you to the doctor.”
“I’m all right,” whispered Cultus. “You look out for Mary.”
“I hope to, Jones; all my life.”
Cultus looked at Mary. Everything was hazy, and her face seemed to stand
out from the fog, as it did the night he met her in San Francisco. She
was smiling through her tears.
“I wanted you to know it first,” she said. “I am going to marry Dude
Wheeler. Jones of Oklahoma, you have almost killed yourself bringing
me happiness.”
“I--I think it was worth it, Mary Elizabeth,” he said, trying to smile.
* * * * *
They seemed to fade out and he was talking to Shif’less and Faith Keene.
“I’ve told her the whole story, Jones,” said Shif’less. “She had to know
that for over a year I’ve been stealin’ Lazy A cattle, sellin’ ’em to a
butcher in Welcome Creek and givin’ her the money; the money Jack Keene
was supposed to be sendin’ her. But she won’t prosecute me, because she
owns the Lazy A now.”
“We do, Shif’less,” corrected Faith. “Or soon will.”
Cultus laughed softly. “I’m glad. I’m sorry for Breen and Lane, but
there’s enough happiness to more than balance it. Is that doctor ever
goin’ to quit foolin’ around and do somethin’ for my shoulder? I’m
sure gettin’ weak in the knees.”
“You’re all fixed up,” said Faith. “This is the first time you’ve been
rational since the shooting, three days ago. You’ll be as good as new
in a few days. You’ll have to be, because you are going to be best man
at a double wedding.”
Cultus stared up at the ceiling and around the room.
“And both the Star X and the Lazy A gangs are settin’ outside the house,
waitin’ for the doctor to tell ’em you’ll get well,” said Shif’less.
“Settin’ together?” queried Cultus.
“Have been for three days. They’re workin’ the place in relays, like me
and Faith and Dude and Mary. They’ll be here soon.”
“Mary has told us the whole story,” said Faith softly. “Personally, I
think she should have married you.”
Cultus shook his head slowly, averting his eyes. “No-o-o, it’s better
this way. Yuh see,” he turned and smiled bravely. “I’m kind of a
nervous disposition, and I’d never be contented with a wife that--that
was always ridin’ runaways.”
Shif’less laughed heartily, and wondered why it didn’t sound funny to
Faith--who understood. But the looting of the Lazy A was over, the feud
ended; so Cultus smiled and went to sleep, realizing that he would need
more strength to be best man at a wedding than he would to be best man
at a gun-fight.
[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the August 10, 1926 issue
of _Short Stories_ magazine.]