“Yea-a-a-a.”
Brick squinted at the bunk. There was a curious expression in his eyes,
as he turned and looked at Harp. Then he got to his feet and strode
across the room to the bunk.
“C’mere,” he whispered to Harp, who went over to him.
Brick threw back the blanket, disclosing a little copper-colored baby
about a year old, possibly less. The little one was looking up at them
with its round, black eyes. Then it grinned widely and kicked both feet
up against the blanket.
The two men looked at each other and laughed foolishly.
“Little son-of-a-gun,” whispered Brick. “Ain’t he a dinger?”
“Why not ‘she’?” grinned Harp.
“Mebbe,” Brick grinned down at the baby. “I dunno much about ’em, but
I’d say that this one is kinda cute. Look at the son-of-a-gun kick.”
Harp looked around quickly and went back to the door, where he listened
closely.
“We don’t want to forget where we are, Brick. I’m thinkin’ that the
Mostano family will be kinda curious to know how that kid is gettin’
along.”
“I know danged well I would if it was mine,” grinned Brick. “Anyway, it
kinda stops ’em from promiscuous shootin’ around here; so we’ll set
tight and wait for mornin’.”
“Tha’sall right,” said Harp thoughtfully, “but what are they so anxious
to kill us off for? I should think they’d be danged willin’ to let us
get out of here.”
“Does look curious,” admitted Brick. “Mebbe they think that they can
kill us off and do as they please the rest of their lives. A breed is a
queer character, Harp. He prob’ly figures that I’m the law; and when I’m
wiped out—blooey goes the law.”
They sat down against the wall, where they could watch both doors, and
enjoyed a smoke. The baby began to cry fitfully.
“Betcha it’s hungry,” declared Harp. “They allus weep that-a-way when
they’re needin’ food.”
“A sweet chance it’s got of gettin’ a feed tonight.”
But the baby did not appreciate that fact, and raised its voice in
lamentations. Brick grew nervous over the prolonged wailing.
“How long does it take a kid to starve to death, Harp?”
“I dunno. Prob’ly a couple of hours, at least. That little jigger won’t
never live to starve to death, Brick.”
“Why not?”
“Why, he’ll bust his windpipe squallin’ that-a-way. Didja ever hear such
wheezy yelps? Mebbe it’s got the croup.”
“It has sure got somethin,” declared Brick. “They ought to call that kid
A. S. Mostano.”
“Why the A. S., Brick?”
“Almighty Squawk. Whoo-ee, listen to him yowl!”
The baby was giving a good imitation of a discordant accordion now;
every breath a yelp. Brick got to his feet and started toward the bunk,
intending to do everything within his power to soothe the child, but
stopped midway of the room.
Someone was knocking gently on the front door. Brick and Harp exchanged
glances of wonderment. Brick stepped over beside the door and said—
“Who’s there?”
“I mus’ have baby, please.” It was Mrs. Mostano’s voice.
Brick turned his head and grinned at Harp.
“You want the baby, eh?” questioned Brick. “Who’s with yuh?”
“Nobody with me. I want baby.”
“Uh-huh!”
Brick motioned Harp to come over beside him and they backed close to the
wall.
“If she ain’t alone, smoke —— out of ’em, Harp,” whispered Brick.
“I wouldn’t let her in,” declared Harp. “To —— with the whole gang,
Brick.”
“I’d rather be shot than to listen to that yowlin’ all night. Get set,
cowboy.”
Brick reached over and lifted the bar off the slots, letting the door
swing open. For a moment there was silence, then the half-breed woman
poked her head inside. Her eyes bored into Brick’s face, but his grin
reassured her and she stepped inside.
“Put that bar across the door,” ordered Brick.
She turned and barred the door. The two men relaxed and watched her
hurry across to the bunk, where she picked up the crying baby.
“Goin’ to take him with yuh?” queried Brick.
The woman shook her head, as she wrapped the baby in a piece of
bright-colored blanket. Brick grinned and stepped back to the
connecting door. For some reason he was suspicious of this woman. Still
he could not see where she could do them any harm.
She was crooning an Indian song to the youngster, as she bundled him up
well and placed him on the bunk. Harp was still standing near the front
door, listening intently for any noise outside.
The Indian woman flung another blanket across half of the child. Then
she took hold of the bunk with both hands, drew it away from the wall
and swung it completely around. Brick squinted at her and wondered why
she should change the position of the bunk.
Then he knew. In the half-light from the candle he saw the floor lift up
where the bunk had been. In a flash he realized that the bunk had stood
over a trap-door and that the woman had used the baby as an excuse to
uncover that entrance.
Harp had seen it, too. He darted toward Brick, shouting a warning. But
Brick had already swung up his gun and fired one shot at the black mass
under the trap-door.
“The back door!” snapped Brick, as Harp darted past him.
Then he swung his gun around and his next shot smashed into the bottle
under the guttering candle and the room went dark.
Brick whirled and ran to Harp, who had managed to claw the bar away from
the door, and without a thought of what might be waiting outside for
them, they darted out into the night.
But no one tried to block them now, as they pounded heavily away from
the house, circling toward the bluff trail. After about two hundred
yards at top speed, Brick stopped and looked back. Not a light was
showing in the old ranch-house. They listened, but there was not a
sound.
“By ——, that ’breed female came darned near to bein’ the death of us,”
panted Harp. “Didja see anybody, Brick?”
“No. I shot once at the trap-door and once at the candle, but I didn’t
see nobody. Pretty foxy, eh? Their foolish move was in openin’ that trap
so soon. If they’d ’a’ waited a little while, we’d ’a’ been easy
pickin’, I reckon.”
“By golly, there was more than one person in that deal, Brick.”
“Oh, yeah. Well——” Brick drew a deep breath and hitched up his belt. “I
reckon we’ve got to walk to Marlin City, cowboy.”
It was at least fifteen miles; and fifteen miles is a long ways, walking
on high-heeled boots.
“Let’s go over to the Red Hill mine and borrow a couple of broncs from
Barney Devine,” suggested Harp.
“That’s a pious idea,” agreed Brick. “And if he ain’t got no rollin’
stock, we’ll stay all night and ride in on the stage tomorrow. It’s sure
a nice thing for the sheriff to let somebody steal his horses. But,” he
added optimistically, “I reckon I’m about the only one in Sun Dog that
could have his horses stolen without yellin’ to high Heaven for a new
sheriff.”
“I’m kinda in favor of a new one m’self,” grunted Harp. “And I hope to
gosh he ain’t so friendly to me that I can’t refuse to be his deputy.”
* * * * *
Marlin City was a sorry-looking place in the gray dawn. One whole side
of the main street was a smoldering mass of ruins, while the buildings
on the opposite side were badly scorched and warped from the extreme
heat. The street was like an ash-heap, and strewn with everything that
was possible to salvage from the doomed buildings.
Silent Slade, his face covered with strips of plaster, poked moodily
among the blackened ruins of the sheriff’s office, hoping against hope
that he would not find anything resembling a human remain. A number of
men wandered about the street, talking about the fire, and Slade noticed
that some of them were from Silverton.
Ike Welden sat on the sidewalk in front of the Dollar Down, and Silent
scowled at him. He blamed Ike for the loss of his horse and wondered how
he could prove it sufficiently to take Ike and tie him into a bow-knot.
A rider was coming up the street, and Silent recognized him as Meecham,
the cashier of the Silverton bank. He dismounted and looked at the
results of the fire.
“Pretty bad blaze,” he said to Silent.
“Yeah, pretty bad,” admitted Silent.
“How did it start?”
“With a —— of a crash.”
Meecham looked curiously at him, but Silent did not feel in any mood to
talk about it.
“Did you hear how Mr. Caswell is this morning?”
Silent shook his head. He was not interested in Soapy. Meecham glanced
up the street, where Leach, Bill Grant and Slim Hunter were coming
toward them. There was a bullet-hole in the cantle of Meecham’s saddle,
which was plainly visible, and Silent wondered how it came there.
The three men spoke to Meecham and from them he gathered the information
that Soapy was conscious again and stood a good chance of complete
recovery. Then Meecham mounted and rode up the street toward the
doctor’s home.
“Find anythin’, Silent?” queried Grant.
“Not a thing, Bill. They wasn’t in that fire, that’s a cinch. That fire
wasn’t hot enough to——”
Silent paused to stare at two saddled horses, which were straggling into
view, coming toward the ruins of Brick’s old stable.
“By ——, there’s their horses!” exploded Silent.
He ran across the smoldering mass and managed to catch Brick’s sorrel.
The other men joined him, and Slim Hunter captured Harp’s roan filly.
Neither horse had been injured in any way, and the reins had been tied
to the saddlehorns. From under the right-hand fender of each saddle
extended a gun-scabbard, and in each one was a rifle—fully loaded.
Silent scratched his head wonderingly.
“By grab, there’s dirty work here!” he declared. “These horses were
turned loose. Both of them broncs are rein-broke, and they never
wandered away, y’betcha.”
Leach laughed scornfully and shook his head.
“Does it sound funny to you?” growled Silent.
“For the sheriff to lose his horse—yes.”
“Yeah?”
Silent squared around and studied Leach, who drew slightly away from the
menace of the big man’s expression.
“Somebody stole my horse last night,” said Silent, after a moment. “Now
yuh might try laughin’ at that information, Leach.”
“But you are not the sheriff, Slade.”
“No, but I’m jist such a ——ed good friend of his that it’s all in the
fambly. I hope yuh laugh, you darned pole-cat.”
Leach drew back and his face went dark with anger, but Grant stepped
between them.
“There’s enough trouble around here without you two takin’ shots at each
other,” he said quickly. “Forget it, both of yuh.”
“I’m gettin’ tired of it,” declared Leach. “I can’t talk to the sheriff,
deputy nor anybody connected with the ——ed office without gettin’
insulted.”
“Nobody asked yuh to talk to ’em,” retorted Silent hotly. “They’ll get
along without yuh.”
“Well, there’s one satisfaction,” said Leach. “We’ll soon be rid of the
present incumbents.”
“What’s incumbents?” queried Silent.
Leach growled something about ignorant people and walked across the
street toward the saloon. Silent watched him moodily before turning to
Grant and Slim Hunter.
“When did Ike Welden come back to Marlin City?”
“He rode up with me,” said Slim. “We just got here a while ago. I found
him in the Short Horn saloon, half-drunk, and talkin’ about the big fire
in Marlin City. They could see it from there. I told him I was comin’ up
here to see what it was all about; so he came along.”
“They could see it from Silverton, couldn’t they?” asked Silent.
“Yeah, you bet they could,” replied Slim.
“How come yuh didn’t get here sooner?”
Slim grinned widely and dug his toe into the ashes.
“I was out settin’ up with m’ best girl, and I never knowed there was a
fire until I came into town.”
Bill Grant laughed and looked toward the street. A rider was coming
toward them and they all recognized him as Brick Davidson. He was riding
a mule bareback. Silent whooped like an Indian and fairly dragged Brick
off the long-eared beast, while the others crowded around and shot
questions at him so fast that he could answer none of them.
“For gosh sake hold on!” he begged. “Yeah, Harp’s all right. He stopped
at the doctor’s place to get his arm dressed. He got stuck with a knife.
Now, what in —— happened to Marlin City?”
And between the three of them they managed to give Brick a fairly good
idea of what had taken place the night before—or rather, that morning.
Brick said nothing during the telling.
“And I’ve been huntin’ for yore danged carcasses ever since,” declared
Silent.
“Uh-huh!” Brick squinted at the ruins and back at their two horses.
“When did our broncs show up?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” replied Grant.
Brick looked over his sorrel carefully, and then removed his rifle from
the scabbard. It was loaded, and with a cartridge in the chamber. He
grinned at the three men, cocked the gun, pointed it at the sky and
pulled the trigger.
Only the dull click of the hammer came to their ears. Brick shoved the
gun back into the scabbard and went over to the mule.
“I’ve got to put this animile in the stable,” he told them. “He ain’t
much of a vehicle, but he was all I could get.”
He started away with the animal and Silent turned triumphantly to Grant
and Hunter.
“Somethin’ is due to drop pretty danged hard, gents. He knowed them guns
had been monkeyed with, didn’t he? Grins all over his face, too. Don’t
want to talk, does he? That’s Brick Davidson. He’s got somethin’ on his
mind, I tell yuh.”
“I hope so,” sighed Grant.
“I’ve got to see Harp,” declared Silent. “Stuck with a knife, eh? By
golly, they sure do use every old kind of a weapon. Next thing we know
somebody will get bit.”
Silent strode away, shaking his head, while Grant and Hunter crossed the
street to the saloon.
“Do yuh think Brick has got any ideas?” queried Slim.
“I’ll betcha,” nodded Grant. “And what’s more, I’m glad that I can stand
investigation.”
“Holy cats, me, too!” snorted Slim.
Brick turned the mule over to Jimmy Meeker and went back up the street,
where he spent a little time looking at what was left of that side of
the street. Miss Miller came down the street, but did not see Brick
until face to face with him. She was carrying some school-books. He
tipped his hat and grinned, and only real quickness on his part saved
her books from falling into the ashes.
She was staring at him, as he handed the books to her, and she caught
his hand.
“Mr. Davidson,” she faltered, “you—you are all right?”
“Uh-huh. Sure I’m all right. What’s the matter?”
She had turned and was staring at the tangle of burnt buildings.
“Nun—nothing. I—you see, we thought that you——”
“Yuh mean that folks thought we was in that fire, ma’am?”
“Yes. You see, we thought—somebody said——”
“That we went to bed at nine o’clock?”
“Yes.”
Brick grinned widely and shook his head.
“Harp’s at the doctor’s office,” he volunteered.
Miss Miller turned and glanced quickly in that direction.
“At the doctor’s office? Why—what is the matter?”
“Somebody stuck a knife in his arm last night.”
“A knife? Is he——”
She paused anxiously.
“Nope. It wasn’t much of a cut, ma’am. He’ll be all right. Harp is so
darned tough and ornery that cold steel won’t never hurt him. I’ll
betcha they’ll have to grind a new point on that knife.”
Brick grinned, lifted his hat and walked on, watching her from the
corner of his eye. She seemed undecided what to do, but finally went on
toward the other end of town where the little schoolhouse was located.
Brick laughed to himself and shook his head.
“That’s what’s the matter, eh?” he chuckled. “School-teacher worryin’
about a skinny puncher. Huh! I won’t dare to tell Harp, that’s a cinch.
Plumb ruin him for my use. By golly, I never do understand women. Still,
she may like jew’s-harp music so much that she’s willin’ to overlook
anythin’ else.”
Bill Grant crossed from the saloon and joined Brick.
“What do yuh make of it?” queried Grant. “Do yuh think that somebody
tried to kill you and Harp last night?”
Brick grinned, but without mirth.
“Looks that-a-way, Bill. We were supposed to be in bed, yuh know.”
“Sure.”
“But we wasn’t, Bill. Me and Harp busted into some meat stealin’ last
night and we danged near got our needin’s. They sure did outsmart us in
great shape. Even stole our horses and we had to borrow a couple of
mules from the Red Hill mine. Harp got a knife in his shoulder—and we
don’t know a —— of a lot more than we did before.”
“Who were the thieves, Brick?”
“I can’t swear to anybody. That’s the worst of workin’ in the dark.”
* * * * *
Harp and Silent were coming from the doctor’s office, leading the mule
that Harp had ridden in from the mine. Aside from being slightly pale
Harp showed no ill-effects from his knife wound. He nodded to Grant and
looked over the ruins. Silent had told him all about the explosion and
fire; so he had no questions to ask.
“Must ’a’ been warm around here,” was his only comment.
“It sure was,” agreed Bill Grant. “My neck is still hot, and it was
mostly all over when I got here. I’ll buy a drink.”
As they started toward the saloon, Silent stepped in beside Brick and
whispered—
“There’s a saddle at the hitch-rack with a bullet-hole in the cantle.”
“Who owns it?” asked Brick.
“Meecham, the Silverton bank cashier, rode in on it a while ago.”
“Sure it’s a bullet-hole, Silent?”
“Y’betcha.”
Brick squinted thoughtfully, as they lined up at the bar. Meecham was
sitting at a card-table, reading a paper, paying no attention to any
one. Leach and Cale Wesson were standing near the front of the room,
talking about the fire, and, near the rear, Ike Welden and Slim Hunter
were playing a listless game of pool.
The bartender greeted Brick effusively and insisted that the drinks were
“on the house.”
“I was afraid yuh died in that fire, Brick. By golly, I’m sure glad to
see yuh. And old Harp, too.”
Brick grinned and looked over at Meecham.
“Have a little drink, Meecham?” he asked.
Meecham looked up at Brick and shook his head.
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Brick pleasantly. “I just thought yuh might
be one of the sufferers.”
Meecham stared at him closely.
“What do you mean, Davidson?” he asked.
“Oh, I just didn’t know but what somebody had tried to kill you off,
too. There’s a bullet-hole in the cantle of yore saddle, yuh know.”
“A bullet-hole?”
Meecham’s tone had been rather loud and attracted the attention of every
one. Leach came back toward the bar, and the two cowpunchers stopped
their pool playing to listen.
“In yore saddle,” nodded Brick. “Of course, it ain’t likely that you was
in the saddle at the time, Meecham.”
“Well, I—you see that horse and saddle belongs to the livery-stable. I
merely rented it.”
“What about the bullet-hole?” asked Leach.
“I don’t know anything about it,” declared Meecham. “It must have been
there when I got it.”
“They’d know at the stable,” opined Silent.
“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Brick, “McKeever would know.”
“Let’s take a squint at that saddle,” suggested Grant. “It might not be
a bullet-hole.”
“Well, what if it was!” snorted Ike Welden. “My ——, yo’re makin’ a lot
of fuss about a bullet-hole in a saddle. You act like it had hit all of
yuh.”
Silent turned and looked at Ike.
“Welden, yo’re breedin’ a lot of misery for yourself,” he declared. “I
dumped yuh into the street once, yuh remember. Last night somebody
swiped my bronc—and I better not find out that it was you.”
“You tryin’ to make out that I stole yore bronc, Slade?”
“If I thought yuh did I’d fill yuh so ——ed full of holes that they’d
have to use ce-ment instead of embalmin’-fluid, if they wanted yuh to
keep.”
“Yeah, I s’pose,” Ike sneered openly, but was careful to keep his hands
above waist-level. He was the equal of any man on the draw, but he was
afraid of this big man—afraid that he might not be able to stop him.
“Don’t argue with that worm,” said Harp impatiently. “He ain’t goin’ to
take any chances. Now, if it was dark and he had a tree or a rock in
front of him—aw, c’mon, Silent.”
They went out through the doorway, leaving Ike to swear and buy himself
a drink. At the hitch-rack they examined the saddle. There was no doubt
of it being a bullet-hole. The saddle was a cheap affair, and the bullet
had smashed through the cantle, but was lodged between the wood and the
leather covering of the back.
With a slash of his knife Brick cut through the leather and salvaged the
bullet, which was so badly battered that it was impossible, except by
weight, to tell what caliber it had been.
“Well,” said Grant dryly, “there ain’t much question about it bein’ a
bullet-hole.”
“Yeah, it is a bullet-hole,” admitted Leach, although he did not seem
greatly concerned over it.
“Well, I don’t know anything about it.” Meecham was inclined to be a
trifle peevish over it. “I hired this horse and saddle to ride up here
and see how Mr. Caswell was getting along, and if they gave me a saddle
with a bullet-hole in it——”
“Well, that’s all right,” grinned Brick. “Nobody’s blamin’ you for it,
Meecham.”
Brick turned and went back toward the saloon, as though dismissing the
subject. Meecham talked with Leach and Grant for a few minutes before
mounting his horse and going back toward Silverton.
Harp got their two horses and took them to the livery-stable. In a few
minutes he came back, carrying the two rifles, and found Brick talking
with Cale Wesson.
“You fellers come down to my house,” suggested Cale. “We’ve got plenty
of room. You ain’t got no office, jail nor stable, Brick; so yuh might
as well hive up at my place until yuh get somethin’ built.”
“By golly, that would be fine,” agreed Harp joyfully.
Brick and Cale exchanged amused glances and Cale drawled slowly:
“I’d rather have the music inside my house at a reasonable hour than to
have it outside at four o’clock in the mornin’. Ma kinda likes music,
too. Of course, Miss Miller won’t mind. Anyway, she’s too danged much of
a lady to say what she thinks.”
“All right, Cale,” grinned Brick. “It would be mighty nice if yuh could
take care of us for a few days.”
“Sure would,” nodded Harp, and without further argument he headed for
the Wesson home, carrying the two useless rifles.
Leach, Slim Hunter and Ike Welden went to the hitch-rack, mounted their
horses, and rode out of town toward Silverton. They nodded to Cale and
Brick as they rode past. Santel came in from the other end of town and
left his horse at the hitch-rack. He had not been there during the fire,
and now he came over and considered the wreckage.
His examination was very brief and he came past Brick and Cale, on his
way to the Dollar Down. He nodded curtly and Brick felt instinctively
that Santel had been drinking. His eyes were bloodshot and he walked
rather too deliberately, as though trying to show that he was perfectly
sober. He met Bill Grant in the doorway, and, after a moment of
conversation, they both went into the saloon.
“I couldn’t like that Santel,” observed Wesson. “I ain’t got a darned
thing against him, yuh understand, but there’s somethin’ so dog-goned
cold-blooded about him that it kinda gits me.”
“He’s salty,” grinned Brick. “He’s also drunk right now, Cale. Let’s go
down and help Harp arrange them two rifles. That’s all we’ve got left to
move.”
“Yo’re lucky. I lost danged near everythin’ I owned. But Ma says we’re
kinda lucky, and I s’pose that’s a good way to look at things. We’ll go
down and see if she’s got anythin’ to cook for a meal.”
Mrs. Wesson gave Brick and Harp an upstairs room, where they decided to
grab a few hours’ sleep. Both of them were weary, and the peacefulness
of the Wesson home sent them quickly into dreamland.
Mrs. Wesson woke them up at supper-time and they came down to the
outdoor wash-bench to clean up a little.
“Bill Grant has been over twice to see yuh,” stated Mrs. Wesson.
“Tha’sso?” Brick lifted his wet face from the basin and blinked the soap
out of his eyes. “What’d Bill want?”
“He didn’t say. I asked him if it was important, but he never said
whether it was or not. Said he’d come again.”
They were just sitting down at the table, when Bill Grant knocked on the
door and informed Mrs. Wesson that he wanted to see Brick. He wouldn’t
come in; so Brick went out to him.
“I don’t like to take yuh away from a meal, Brick; but I’ve got
somethin’ yuh ought to know. Santel’s drunk. He got me in a corner this
afternoon and talked for an hour. He’s been detectin’ to beat ——, so he
says. And here’s his solution of the thing:
“You and Silent Slade and Harp Harris must be the three men who done the
dirty work; _sabe_? Yo’re the medium-sized one, Silent is the big one,
and Harp is the tall, skinny one. Now, what do yuh think of that,
Brick?”
Brick squinted hard over the information and Grant watched him closely.
Then Brick’s face broke into a grin, as he looked up.
“Well, Bill, I’m s’prized that Santel ever found out that much. It sure
does look like us three jiggers have been featherin’ our nests, don’t
it?”
“Aw, ——, I didn’t believe him, Brick.”
“Thank yuh, Bill. Where is Santel now?”
“He’s gone to Silverton. I reckon he’s through around here. He told me
that he was, anyway.”
“Yeah, I reckon he is,” Brick grew serious.
“He said he was goin’ to put his case up to Leach and Hendricks and let
them do what they dang pleased about it.”
“That’s real thoughtful of him, I’m sure. Bill, I’m glad yuh told me
this, and I thank yuh kindly.”
“Yo’re welcome, Brick. But dang it all, I wish you could put the
deadwood on the guilty parties. I’m for yuh.”
“Well,” Brick grinned widely, “mebbe I will, as soon as I get time. I’ve
been so dog-gone busy lately. Say, didja see Silent around the Dollar
Down when yuh left?”
“He’s playin’ single-handed black-jack with Le Blanc.”
“Fine. Tell him to come down here right away, will yuh, Bill?”
“Sure.”
Grant turned and walked back toward the street, while Brick went back to
his supper.
Miss Miller smiled at Brick as he sat down beside Harp.
“I have been trying to get Mr. Harris to tell me how he came to get that
wound in his shoulder,” said Miss Miller, “but he refuses to tell me.”
Harp squinted at Brick, who grinned covertly and shook his head.
“I don’t blame him for not talkin’ about it,” declared Brick. “Mebbe
next time he’ll look out for knife-throwin’ women.”
“Knife-throwing women?”
Miss Miller glanced sharply at Harp, whose ears immediately assumed a
scarlet tint.
“Half-breed,” nodded Brick. “Married woman, too. Her husband was
shootin’ mad, too.”
Harp shoved back his chair and got to his feet.
“That’s all a danged lie!” he wailed. “I—I——”
“I can’t understand this risin’ generation,” interrupted Mrs. Wesson
seriously. “They do the darndest things. Why, when I was young, if a man
monkeyed around a married woman——”
Harp whirled around, picked up his hat and stamped out of the house,
while Brick put his head on his arms and cried tears. Mrs. Wesson
hammered Cale on the back until the poor man slid sideways out of his
chair; but Miss Miller failed to see the humor of the situation.
“It’s a —— shame,” declared Cale. “Don’tcha believe a danged thing that
either of these critters try to make yuh believe, Miss Miller. That’s
their idea of fun.”
“O-o-o-oh, that was good!” wailed Mrs. Wesson. “The look on his face!
Ha, ha, ha, ha! Brick, he’ll hate us both for life.”
“I fail to see anything funny about it,” stated Miss Miller. “Why accuse
a man of something that isn’t true, Mr. Davidson?”
“It was true,” choked Brick. “But not the way it sounded. He did get
knifed by a woman. Anyway, I think it was a woman. And her husband was
shootin’ mad, too. Me and Harp caught ’em stealing cattle—butcherin’ at
night and burnin’ the hides.”
Brick wiped away his tears and was about to tell them what had happened
the night before, when Silent knocked loudly at the front door.
“What happened to little Harp Harris?” he asked. “I met him up the
street and asked him what you wanted. He said he didn’t care a —— what
you wanted, but he knew what you was goin’ to get.”
“He’s got indigestion,” said Mrs. Wesson. “He told me the other day that
he had it real bad. You know that upsets a man somethin’ awful. I’d sure
hate to marry a man that has indigestion. I sure know what it’s like,
’cause Cale has touches of it.”
“I never had anythin’ like that in my life!” snorted Cale.
“I’ll betcha yuh got it right now,” grinned Brick. “Anybody that would
speak to Ma Wesson that-a-way has got stummick trouble.”
Cale picked up his hat and started for the door.
“All right, all right! I s’pose I’ve got to stand for it. If I’d ’a’ had
any sense I’d never invited the sheriff’s office to settle down in my
house. Between Ma and Brick, I’ll prob’ly have to pitch a tent, if I
want to have any peace.”
“Didja want me, Brick?” queried Silent, “or is that part of the joke?”
Brick laughed and shook his head.
“I was just wonderin’ if you’d like to ride to Silverton with me this
evenin’.”
Silent squinted closely at Brick’s face. Their eyes met for a moment and
a grin spread Silent’s lips. He knew that Brick was not riding to
Silverton just for the ride.
“Yeah, I’d like to go along,” said Silent indifferently. “I’m ready any
time you are. Is Harp goin’ along?”
“No, I don’t think so. He better take care of that shoulder for a day or
two.” Brick turned to Miss Miller. “Are you goin’ to the dance tomorrow
night with Harp, Miss Miller?”
“Not that I know of,” she replied.
“I must remind Harp of that,” said Brick seriously. “He told me to be
sure and remind him to ask yuh—but it slipped my mind completely.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Miss Miller’s brows lifted slightly and she glanced at Mrs. Wesson, who
was still chuckling.
“And if I forget it, Ma will remind him of it when he comes back.”
Brick picked up his hat and walked out behind Silent, while Ma Wesson
wiped away her tears and patted Miss Miller on the arm.
“Don’t mind him, dearie,” she choked. “Brick don’t lie, but he sure does
twist the truth around until it won’t neither lay down nor stand up.
Harp would do the same to Brick, if he had the chance. They’re both salt
of the earth.”
“And you—” began Miss Miller accusingly.
“Oh, me!” Ma Wesson laughed heartily. “I’ll back either of ’em, ’cause I
love ’em both. Don’t mind me. If Harp don’t ask yuh to go with him, I’ll
have Cale take both of us. By golly, I’d like to tromp around over a
dance floor ag’in myself.”
“I think that would be fun, Mrs. Wesson.”
“Fun, ——! It’d be a riot.”
* * * * *
It was dark when Santel rode into Silverton. He took his horse to the
livery-stable and turned it over to a skinny youngster. Santel had
bought a bottle of liquor at Marlin City and had emptied it on the way
down. He threw it away, as he came out of the stable and went toward the
Short Horn saloon.
He was pretty drunk, but did not stagger as he went into the saloon and
stopped at the bar. Leach was in the rear of the room, talking to Al
Hendricks, and Santel went to them. They gave him a chair and he sat
down with them at a card-table.
“Well, what’s the news?” asked Hendricks guardedly.
“I’m quittin’ the job,” announced Santel. “I told Grant what I decided
upon, and he didn’t seem to believe me.”
“You mean to say that you couldn’t find out anythin’?” asked Hendricks.
Santel laughed angrily. Leach watched him closely. He knew that Santel
was drunk.
“I reckon I could find out enough,” said Santel hoarsely, “but what the
—— is the use? We all know that these robberies were done by three men,
don’t we?”
“Well?”
“Three men,” continued Santel. “A big man, a medium-sized man and a
tall, thin man. I’ve been lookin’ for three men of that
description—three men who are close enough together to do this work.
And—” Santel shook his head slowly—“there’s just three men in this
county that answer that description, and that is the sheriff, his deputy
and the big fellow, Slade.”
“Aw, ——!” snorted Hendricks.
“There yuh are,” Santel shrugged his shoulders wearily.
“And why not?” queried Leach. “Are they so ——ed pure that they wouldn’t
do a thing like that, Al?”
Hendricks frowned heavily and looked at Santel.
“Is this the best you could do, Santel?”
“Suits me.”
“Where’s your proof?”
“Proof? What in —— do yuh want—a confession?”
Hendricks shook his head quickly.
“You couldn’t convict anybody on that evidence.”
“There’s a murder or two connected with this,” reminded Leach meaningly.
“It might not be a jury case, Al.”
Hendricks laughed and shook his head.
“Don’t be a fool, Leach. Brick Davidson never done these things. Santel
may be a good detective, but he sure got off on the wrong foot that
time. I’d stake my life on Brick.”
“There yuh are,” said Santel disgustedly. “It’s about time for me to
quit.”
“It sure is—if Brick finds it out.”
“All right,” Santel got to his feet. “I’ve quit. Now I’m goin’ to get
drunk and as soon as I get paid for my work, I’m goin’ to pull my
freight, _sabe_?”
He swaggered back to the bar, leaving Hendricks and Leach at the table.
“You sure picked a good man,” observed Hendricks.
“Did I?” Leach smiled crookedly. “I guess that Santel found out what he
came here to find. It’s no fault of his if we don’t agree with him.”
“It’s a free country, Leach, and—here comes Brick now.”
Brick was coming into the place, with Silent behind him. Santel was at
the bar, taking a drink, but he turned and looked at Brick, who stopped
short and faced Santel.
Hendricks started to get up from the table, but Leach grasped him by the
arm, drawing him back. Santel was just drunk enough to forget caution,
and his lips drew up in a wolfish grin.
“Well,” he said, as his voice carried to all parts of the room, “here’s
Sun Dog County’s little tin god.”
The bartender scuttled to the upper end of the bar, out of line with the
two men, and those at a card-table behind Brick immediately lost all
interest in their play and moved quickly. Brick was grinning and it
irritated Santel.
“You, I’m talkin’ to!” snarled Santel.
“To me?” Brick laughed. “Well, that’s nice of yuh, Santel. I sure
wondered who yuh meant, and I’m glad that Sun Dog likes me so well.”
“Tha’sso?” Santel sneered. “You ain’t got sense enough to know when
yo’re insulted.”
“Have you insulted me?” questioned Brick wonderingly.
He turned his head and looked around the room, as if asking someone to
confirm it. Hendricks caught his eye and tried to signal a warning.
Silent moved in beside the bar and began rolling a cigaret, as if
nothing was the matter. Santel shot a glance at Silent, and it seemed
that the big man’s unconcerned attitude irritated him.