“This is Mister Harris, Miss Miller.”
“Aw-w-w, dog-gone it, I’ve met yuh and—and I—I—” Harp stammered to a
stop, his face red.
“I think I have met Mr. Harris,” smiled the school-teacher.
“That’s right!” exclaimed Mrs. Wesson. “Come to think of it, yuh have.
Why don’t you boys come over and see us once in a while? We like
company. Come over any evenin’. Harp can bring his music along and
entertain us.”
“Oh, do you play, Mr. Harris?” asked Miss Miller.
“Does he play?” Mrs. Wesson seemed surprised that the girl should ask
such a question. “Does he? He not only plays, but he sings. Sings and
plays his own accompaniment on a jew’s-harp. Writes his own stuff, too,
don’tcha, Harp?”
“Aw-w-w, for gosh sake!” Harp swallowed heavily and looked around for a
place to put his hands.
“Well, we must be going along,” said Mrs. Wesson. “Pleased to have seen
you in daylight, Harp. Come and see us, won’t yuh?”
“Sure be pleased to,” grinned Brick.
The two ladies went on down the street and Harp heaved a sigh of relief.
“Now,” said Brick grinning, “what happened, Harp?”
“Aw, ——!” Harp shoved his hands deep in his pockets and glared at the
sidewalk. “I forgot what time it was, Brick; and like a ——ed fool,
I—I——”
“You tried to serenade Miss Miller, eh?”
“Yeah. She wasn’t home either. I woke up Cale and his wife.”
“My ——! Didja sing?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh. Where was Miss Miller?”
“She went to a dance at Silverton, with Sam Leach.”
“Tha’sso? With Sam Leach, eh? Well, don’t let that worry yuh. She’ll
soon find out that he can’t neither sing nor play.”
“Brick,” Harp’s voice was strained, “are you tryin’ to be funny?”
“Not intentionally, cowboy. Miss Miller is educated and she’s bound to
recognize talent. I could tell by the way she was lookin’ at yuh that
she admires yuh a heap. In fact, she had tears in her eyes. By golly,
that’s appreciation. And she ain’t even heard yuh yet.”
“Yeah, I know all about them tears,” snorted Harp. “Mrs. Wesson told her
what happened.”
“Well,” hopefully, “mebbe they was tears of sympathy, Harp.”
“Like ——! I suppose I’ll never hear the last of this. What do we do
today, Brick?”
“I dunno. I’ve got a danged good notion to ride up to the Red Hill mine
today. I want to have a little talk with Barney Devine. He might have an
idea, and I haven’t seen him since that hold-up. Want to go along?”
“Yeah, I’d like to.”
Harp was willing to go anywhere. He wanted to get out of Marlin City.
“All right. We’ll bust out of here about noon, Harp.”
* * * * *
It was about eleven o’clock when the stage came in from Silverton, on
its way to the Red Hill Mine. Little Whizzer sat beside Baldy on the
driver’s seat, as proud as a peacock. It was several days since the
grizzly episode, during which time Baldy had taken the child with him
everywhere. It was a new experience for Whizzer.
Baldy shook hands with Brick, who picked Whizzer off the seat and
carried him into Wesson’s store after candy.
“Where’s yore spur?” asked Brick, noting that Whizzer was not wearing
it.
Whizzer removed the candy long enough to gasp for breath and inform
Brick that—
“I ain’t no puncher now. Stage drivers don’t wear spurs.”
“By golly, that’s my mistake,” laughed Brick. “I’m sure an ignorant
jigger.”
“Yeah,” nodded Whizzer seriously, much to Harp’s delight.
He put the boy back on the seat and waved his hat at him, as they swept
out of town. It was about two hours later when Brick and Harp saddled
their horses and headed north.
It was eighteen miles from Marlin to the Red Hill mines. For a greater
part of the distance the road followed the cañon, but about five miles
from the mines it led to higher ground, winding along the sides of the
mountain where, as Brick expressed it, “a driver is only allowed one
mistake.”
As they rode out of the cañon and began climbing, a rider came into
view, coming down the grade. He was a medium-sized man, possibly forty
years of age, slightly stooped in his saddle.
He drew up at their approach, removed his sombrero to wipe his forehead,
disclosing a mop of tow-colored hair. His face was bony of contour, nose
slightly crooked. Neither Brick nor Harp had ever seen the man before,
but there was something familiar about him—a resemblance to someone they
had known.
He was wearing a faded blue shirt, nondescript vest, chaps that were
heavy with nickel and brass trimmings, matching the design on his
cartridge-belt and holster. The horse was a tall, powerfully built
sorrel.
“Is this the road to Marlin City?” he asked.
“Y’betcha,” nodded Brick. “Stay on it and you’ll hit Marlin.”
“Good! By golly, I’ve been on so many wrong roads that it’ll sure be a
surprize to hit the right one once. Say, have yuh got any smokin’?”
Brick handed him a package.
“Gosh, that’s fine, stranger. I tried to buy some Durham back at that
mine, but they didn’t have any. I reckon them hon-yocks all chaw or
snuff. Much obliged.”
He handed back the package, but Brick shook his head.
“You keep it. You’ll need another smoke soon.”
“Well, all right—thanks.”
He put the package into his pocket, and his eyes squinted at the
sheriff’s star on Brick’s shirt.
“Sheriff, eh?” he queried.
“Uh-huh,” smiled Brick. “We have to carry our label—like a can of
tomatoes.”
“Or a box of dynamite,” added the stranger dryly. “Well, I reckon I’ll
be driftin’ on. Much obliged for the tobacco, sheriff. _Adiós._”
Brick and Harp nodded and rode on up the grades. At the top of the long
climb they drew up their horses and looked back. The stranger was but a
tiny speck, moving slowly down the cañon.
“Didja ever see him before, Brick?” queried Harp.
“Nope. But there’s somethin’ about him that reminds me of somebody.”
“Me too,” nodded Harp. “I ain’t got the slightest idea who he looks like
though. Sure wears a fancy lot of leather. I hate to see a feller hammer
his chaps full of rivets that-a-way.”
They rode on along the narrow grades and drew up at the Red Hill mine
office. Barney Devine, a slight, hatchet-faced, nervous sort of a
person, met them at the office door and greeted them effusively.
“How’s tricks, Barney?” asked Brick, stretching his legs in one of
Barney’s comfortable chairs and accepting a cigar.
“Pretty good,” replied the mine superintendent. “Everything is going
along pretty fine. Property is getting richer all the time. We just cut
a new vein that runs pretty high. How is everything in Marlin City?”
“So, so. Nothin’ much new goin’ on.”
“I heard about you and the grizzly,” smiled Devine. “Baldy Malloy sure
told everybody about it. He seems to think it was the greatest thing
that was ever done.”
“It was fun while it lasted,” smiled Brick.
“It must have been.” Devine shook his head. “Some folks have queer ideas
of fun. Anyway, what brought you up here, Brick?”
“Oh, just to see if you had dried up and blowed away yet. You get
thinner every day, Barney.”
“I knew that was why you came,” said Barney dryly. “But that wasn’t all,
was it?”
“Just a little information,” confided Brick. “How much did that hold-up
nick you, Barney?”
“Thirty-eight hundred dollars.”
“Uh-huh. How often do you ship by stage?”
Barney shook his head slowly.
“Not any more. Anyway, nobody will know when we do.”
“Who knew about this shipment?”
“Not a darned soul, Brick. Baldy Malloy carries one of those old
treasure-boxes for small packages. I gave him this box and told him to
deliver it to the bank at Silverton. It was just a plain wooden box,
with the cover just nailed on. There wasn’t a thing to indicate what was
in it.”
“Whole thing would weigh about fourteen or fifteen pounds, wouldn’t it?
And it was consigned to the bank?”
“Yes. If the stage was held up the robbers would probably investigate
that old treasure-box. But how do you suppose they knew when it was to
be shipped?”
Brick shook his head.
“That wasn’t the first shipment you’ve made, was it?”
“No. But there was no schedule, Brick. We shipped when it was ready.”
A man came into the office and deposited a suit-case on the floor. It
was one of the office men and Devine introduced him to Brick and Harp.
Devine glanced at his watch.
“Baldy will be getting out of here rather late, if he don’t hurry,”
observed Devine.
“He’s usually on time,” replied the man. “Anyway, I can’t get a train
out of Marlin until near midnight.”
“Goin’ for a trip?” asked Brick.
“Going to Frisco. My folks live there. I’ve been here at the mine for
almost two years without a vacation; so I think it is about time to see
the old folks.”
“That’s right,” smiled Brick. “I wish I could see mine. Goin’ out on the
stage, eh?”
“If it ever shows up.”
“If it ever shows up?” parroted Brick. “Hasn’t it been here?”
“Not today.”
Brick and Harp stared at each other. They could hardly believe that
statement.
“Why, it went through Marlin City about eleven o’clock,” stated Brick.
“And we just came over the road,” added Harp wonderingly.
“Well, it never came here, that’s a sure thing,” declared Devine.
“The little kid was with Baldy,” said Brick, getting to his feet. “What
do yuh reckon has happened to ’em?”
“I don’t see how anything could happen to them.”
Brick strode to the door, but turned to Devine.
“Barney, was there a stranger here today—a man on a tall sorrel?”
“Yes. He wanted to buy some Durham tobacco, but we didn’t have any. He
didn’t say who he was, but he did say that he picked the wrong road.”
* * * * *
Brick and Harp mounted and rode out of the camp, heading back toward
Marlin City. They rode at a swift gallop, with Brick riding at the outer
edge of the grades, watching the road closely.
There were many sharp curves, where they were forced to slacken their
pace; but only long enough to obviate the danger of running into some
one coming toward them. About three miles from the mines, Brick jerked
his horse to a stop and dismounted. Harp whirled and rode back to him,
peering down the steep side of the hill, where the underbrush grew in a
tangle among the tall timber.
“Here’s where they went over,” said Brick rather shakily, pointing at
the wheel tracks, which had cut deeply into the outer edge of the road.
They could see where the stage had torn into the dirt of the side-hill,
like the gash of plow-shares.
“My ——!” gasped Harp. “They tore plumb down through that brush! I’ll
betcha they went clear to the bottom of the cañon.”
They dropped their bridle-reins and began the descent. The going was
rough and the hill so steep that they were forced to cling to the rocks
and brush. Down they went through the brush, following the marks of the
stage.
A smashed wheel, driven into the side of a pine-tree, was the first
evidence of the crash. Then a dead horse, upside down in a tangle of
laurel, its harness stripped from its body. Beyond that was another
horse and the wreck of the stage. It had turned over and crashed into a
tree, splintering the body. There was no sign of the other two wheels.
Brick and Harp stood silently, gazing at the wreckage.
“Good ——, what a smash!” breathed Brick. “They must have fell two
hundred feet. C’mon.”
They moved down to the stage. Just beyond it, huddled in a bush, they
found Baldy Malloy. His clothes were almost torn from his body, and it
did not take an expert to tell that Baldy had made his last trip.
“Poor ——,” said Brick sadly. “He stayed with her until they hit the
tree. But where is Whizzer?”
“That’s right,” nodded Harp. “The kid was with him.”
They separated and began their search. Twice they combed every inch of
ground between the stage and the grade. They went far down in the cañon
below the stage, searching closely for any sign, but there was nothing
to show that the little boy had wandered down the hill.
After two hours of determined search, Brick sat down and admitted
himself beaten.
“He just ain’t here, Harp.”
“He ain’t,” declared Harp. “By golly, we’ve sure looked over every inch
of this mountain. But where in —— is he?”
Brick wiped his brow and shook his head.
“That’s the queer part of it, cowboy. He must be—and ain’t. We’ll pack
old Baldy up to the horses and take him to town. It’s barely possible
that Whizzer wasn’t hurt, and that he got back to the grade and headed
for town.”
“That’s right,” agreed Harp hopefully. “By jinks, that’s right.”
It was a big task to get the body up to the grade, and both men were
tired out, when they swung onto their horses, with the body on Brick’s
saddle. They were unable to travel fast, but they did not overtake
Whizzer. There were no tracks from his little feet in the dusty road,
and Brick’s eyes squinted painfully as he visualized the little fellow
wandering alone in that deep cañon, looking for a way out.
Their arrival caused a sensation in Marlin City. Brick turned the body
over to Doctor Meyers and went back to the Dollar Down saloon, where he
told them about the missing boy. There were several men there who had
seen the boy with Baldy that day, and in about thirty minutes a group of
twelve riders, including Harp, Brick and Silent Slade, were heading back
for the scene of the wreck.
Several of them carried lanterns, and there were enough blankets along
to wrap up a dozen children. Even Le Blanc, the blacksmith, borrowed a
horse and went along. It was almost dark when they arrived, and in a
short time there were lanterns bobbing around the timbered sides of Elk
Cañon, as the men searched in every possible and impossible place.
Some went far down into the bottom of the cañon, while the others
examined places far to the sides of where the stage had been wrecked. It
was almost daylight when the last of the searchers arrived at the grade,
tired and discouraged.
“By gosh, she’s not be here!” panted Le Blanc. “Not’ing on de hill.
H’even de brush is clear h’off. I’m h’even dig a little.”
They mounted their horses and rode back toward Marlin City, with every
man still straining his eyes for a sight of the boy. The women of the
town were waiting for them, hoping that their search had not been in
vain. Mrs. Wesson had a mighty pot of coffee waiting for them and they
attacked it with a will.