Baldy waited until the three men had gone back to the Tumbling H before
leaving the game to go to the hotel. He found Jack in the little office,
moodily reading an old newspaper and smoking. The office was empty,
except for the young man, so Baldy lost no time in opening the
conversation.
“Yo’re Doc Meline’s son, ain’t yuh?” he asked softly.
Jack looked up quickly and considered this hard-faced cowpuncher, but
did not reply.
“Thassall right,” grinned Baldy. “Yore old man is out at the K-10.”
“My father?”
“Yeah.”
“What in hell is he doing out there?” demanded Jack.
“Well, he ain’t askin’ fool questions,” retorted Baldy. “I’ll pick yuh
up after dark tonight. Be down at the other end of town about eight
o’clock, will yuh?”
“Who are you?” asked Jack curiously.
“Baldy Kern.”
“Oh. Eight o’clock, eh? I’ll be there.”
Baldy whirled on his heel and went out. In front of the Greenback he met
Kohler.
“Didja see the son and heir?” grinned Kohler.
“Yeah, I seen him,” growled Baldy.
“What kind of a rooster is he, Baldy?”
“He’s fine.” Baldy wrinkled his nose disgustedly. “Too damn bad that
holdup jigger was such a bad shot. I hope Meline takes his damned
offspring home with him, before somebody kills him.”
Jack Baum joined them and they headed for the K-10. Baldy was anxious to
tell Meline what he had heard about the lost cargo, and to see what
plans they might formulate to recover it. Considering the fact that it
was worth a fortune, Baldy was willing to make an effort to recover
those lost packages.
Doctor Meline was anxiously waiting for news, and Baldy was in a
position to deliver it. Meline listened to Baldy’s narrative, as told by
Cloudy Day, and jumped at conclusions.
“The Tumbling H did the job,” he declared. “Torres is in with them. They
headed straight for the Tumbling H, where they shook off the pursuit and
left the cargo, which was removed by someone at the ranch.
“Possibly it was done by those new cowboys. They were probably in
cahoots with the men who robbed the stage that night. Anyway, that cargo
is at the Tumbling H. They will keep it hidden until the affair has died
down, unless we get it.”
Baldy told Meline about his son and of their agreement to meet at eight
o’clock. The arrangement seemed to please Meline greatly.
“Jack might know more than we do about it,” said Meline. “He is no fool,
that boy.”
“Ain’t he?” asked Baldy innocently.
“He is not,” declared Meline warmly. “In fact he knows as much about
this deal as I do. He’s game, too. Nobody heard him crying for
assistance, did they? Kept his mouth shut, didn’t he? Nobody knows who
he is. Calls himself Jack Hill.” Meline laughed softly. “Jack’s all
right, you bet I trained him myself.”
“All right,” Baldy spoke disgustedly. “I’d hate like hell to have you
train anythin’ for me.”
“You are entitled to your private opinion,” said Meline coldly.
“I hope so,” smiled Baldy. “What are we goin’ to do about that stuff at
the Tumblin’ H?”
“Wait until we talk with Jack. If we make a foolish move, it might ruin
our chances for any further work; and the game is too good right now for
us to take a chance. I’d like to have a talk with Lee Yung. He might
have some good ideas, Kern.”
“Damn slant eye!” grunted Baldy.
“He’s a square shooter, Kern.”
“Aw, I suppose he is. I just don’t like the breed.”
Meline walked the length of the room, thinking deeply, while Baldy sat
on the edge of the table, indolently smoking a cigarette. Meline halted
near him and cleared his throat.
“Kern, I don’t like your attitude,” he said coldly. “You take exceptions
to everything. I am at the head of this outfit. This ranch belongs to
me. Lee Yung is my partner in everything, and I trust him implicitly. We
pay you and your men well for everything you do, and you must remember
that we can always hire men to take your places.”
“Is that so?” Baldy laughed and shook his head. “No, yuh can’t, Doc.
You’d have to bring strangers down here and teach ’em the border. The
revenue officers would watch ’em like hawks. Eventually yuh might put it
over, but not for a long time. And in the meantime”--Baldy laughed
softly--“we might not be idle. Yuh see, Doc, we know the tricks of the
trade.”
Meline scowled heavily, but was forced to admit that Baldy had the
better of the argument.
“We can’t afford to quarrel,” declared Meline, anxious to square
matters. “We’ll wait for Jack. I wonder if you could get Lee Yung to
come back with you.”
“I can try,” agreed Baldy. “We’ve got to figure this thing out some way,
and if Lee Yung can plan as well as he can play poker, he’s a wizard.”
* * * * *
Hashknife was just a little worried over the way things had worked out.
Cloudy Day’s story spread the news, and Hashknife felt sure that the
interested parties would suspect that the contraband was hidden on the
Tumbling H.
He was not familiar enough with the stuff even to estimate its value,
but felt that it was worth a good many dollars, if handled in the right
way. And he was also sure that its original owners would leave no stone
unturned to recover it. As far as the cargo itself was concerned he did
not think they would be able to uncover it, but he was afraid of what
they might do to some of the Tumbling H people.
Hashknife had never studied the smuggling game, but he knew that the
smugglers were as desperate as rustlers or outlaws of any other
description.
Big Medicine did not comment on the fact that their star invalid was
missing. Lucy had explained why she had sent him to town--which Big
Medicine had told her to do, in case he talked with Wanna again--and the
explanation was satisfactory to Big Medicine.
Wanna said nothing. She did not understand why Jack had been sent from
the ranch. Hashknife was curious to find out her opinion, but she shook
her head sadly and went about her work.
Big Medicine and Hashknife spent the evening on the front steps of the
ranch-house, smoking and talking about Hawk Hole. In an offhand way
Hashknife mentioned Jim Reed.
“Did you see him today?” asked Big Medicine.
“Yeah,” smiled Hashknife. “I mentioned the fact that you threw him out
on his ear.”
Big Medicine smoked slowly, thoughtfully.
“He used to come out here real often,” he said. “I liked him. Jim owned
a mine back in the Greenhorns, and I was going to buy a half interest. I
had seen it and tested the ore. That package which was stolen from the
stage was the money to buy a half interest in that mine, Hartley.
“It looked like a good proposition to me. I was to take half interest,
and between us we were going to put up a stamp mill. Jim was to come
out, fix up the papers, and then leave for the outside to buy the
machinery. I was leaving it all to him.
“The day before the money was due, I met a prospector from the
Greenhorns.” Big Medicine knocked the dottle from his pipe and began
filling it again. “From that prospector I learned that Jim Reed never
owned a mine. He was merely showing me another man’s property, going to
sell me a half interest in something he did not own. And he was going to
take my money, leave me a worthless piece of paper, and never come back
to Hawk Hole again.
“He came out here to complete the deal, and I told him what I had
learned. He denied it all, of course. In fact he became indignant,
slapped his paper on the table and demanded that I keep my end of the
bargain. I kept it, by throwing him out. That is the last I have ever
seen of Jim Reed.”
“What about the paper?” asked Hashknife anxiously.
“Didja see it?”
Big Medicine laughed shortly.
“I kept it, Hartley. It was just several sheets of blank paper, folded
together.”
Hashknife laughed softly and began rolling another smoke.
“I have a suspicion that Jim Reed is crooked,” he said.
“Everything points that way,” admitted Big Medicine.
The talk drifted to things along the border and Hashknife asked him if
he knew Steve Guadalupe.
“I have only seen him once,” said Big Medicine. “Guadalupe is afraid to
cross the border. It is five years since he was on this side--at least,
openly. He hates the whites, but they say he will do anything for gold.
“He’s a small man, Hartley. Steve Guadalupe is not much over five feet
tall, but inside his dirty brain is all the deviltry, cunning, and
avarice of the low-bred Mexican and Yaqui combined.
“The Rancho Sierra is isolated; an ideal place for him to offer as a
hangout for every type of outlaw. The Mexican Government is too busy
with its own troubles to bother with him, and he is careful to keep out
of the clutches of the men on this side.
“I have no doubt that Guadalupe is in constant touch with men in this
part of the country. Many of the Tumbling H cattle have gone to fill the
coffers of Guadalupe, and to fill the bellies of him and his men. I
should like to wring his neck.”
“Might be a pious deed,” agreed Hashknife. “I wonder if the K-10 lose
any cattle?”
“I don’t know. There is no friendship lost between the Tumbling H and
the K-10, so we should not be informed of their losses.”
Big Medicine did not quiz Hashknife about what had been said to the
revenue officers that morning, nor was Jack Hill mentioned. They
finished out their smokes and went into the house, where Musical was
trying to improve on the phonograph patents.
That night Hashknife and Sleepy sat until midnight in a corner of the
corral, where Sleepy shivered in the chill wind and swore in an
undertone at himself for being partner to a lunatic.
Nothing happened, except for the wailing of a few wandering coyotes and
the peevish hooting of an owl, far back in the dark cañon. Finally
Hashknife decided that it was useless to stay longer, so they went back,
crawled through the window, so as not to disturb anyone, and went to
bed.
“I know one thing that I wasn’t sure of before,” declared Sleepy, as he
snuggled down into bed.
“What’s that, cowboy?” asked Hashknife.
“I know,” said Sleepy drowsily, “that there’s two damn fools in Hawk
Hole, and you’re both of ’em, Hashknife.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you was right,” sighed Hashknife.
* * * * *
And while Hashknife lay awake trying to puzzle out some of the mysteries
of Hawk Hole, Doctor Meline, Jack Meline, Lee Yung, and Baldy Kern sat
in the K-10 ranch-house debating over their next move.
Jack had overheard Hashknife’s conversation with McGurk, which proved to
them that Hashknife knew something of the missing cargo. But Jack was
unable to say whether or not the Tumbling H crew had been away from the
ranch that night.
His room had been nearer the front of the house, but he thought that no
one could move about in the house without making much noise, because of
the creaking floors and stairs. He had heard no conversation which might
connect them in any way with the hijacking.
“Hartley is our man,” declared Doctor Meline. “He knows.”
“And he is no fool,” said Lee Yung. “I have watched him.”
“And I’d like to pay him back for that deal the other night,” said
Baldy, indicating his bandaged wrist. “But I don’t know just how to work
it. Hartley is no fool, that’s a cinch.”
“We could force him to tell,” suggested Jack.
“If we had the chance,” said Lee Yung softly. “Not being a fool, he may
not give us the chance. Still, one can never tell what the gods have
written, and it is well to have a plan in mind, in case the gods should
be kind to us.”
“The gods don’t mean much to me,” said the practical Baldy. “Just give
me a chance. To hell with the gods.”
The hired men on the Tumbling H were never overworked. Big Medicine was
no slave-driver, and let the cowboys plan out most of their own work.
Musical opined that the corral needed a lot of repairs. He did not fancy
riding around in the heat.
Cleve thought they really should investigate some of the water holes
back in the hills. Ike thought that somebody ought to go to Pinnacle
after the mail. Being of different minds, they let Ike go to town, while
Cleve and Musical sat down at a four-handed poker game with Hashknife
and Sleepy.
None of them having much money, they “owed” the game. It was uneventful,
and lasted most of the day. In fact it lasted so long that they grew
disgusted with each other, and finally went out to the corral, where
they saddled a steer.
Steer riding may not sound eventful, but any bronc rider will tell you
that a bucking steer is harder to stick to than a bucking horse. They
solemnly drew straws to select a rider, and the lot fell to Sleepy, who
protested that he had been framed.
“If you’re afraid----” suggested Musical.
“It ain’t that,” replied Sleepy. “It’s the principle of the thing.”
“It don’t look like it had much,” grinned Hashknife, looking the steer
over.
It was a white-faced animal, long legged, evil eyed. Sleepy tightened
his belt and spat reflectively.
“Somebody pick out a soft place for him to land,” said Cleve, snubbing a
rope around his hip. “If yuh find yourself goin’ plumb out of the State,
Sleepy, cut the cinch. That saddle belongs to me.”
“Yore saddle don’t mean nothin’ to me,” grunted Sleepy. “Such things are
below me, cowboy.”
They had the steer snubbed close to a post, and held it until Sleepy had
adjusted himself in the saddle. Musical kicked open the gate, while
Hashknife slacked the rope enough to slip it off.
Then the three cowboys raced for the corral fence, where they perched on
the top pole and hugged their knees.
For several moments the steer stood still, its back humped, its nose
close to the ground. Then it bawled shudderingly, a deep-toned wail, as
though the sins of the world might be weighing upon its mind.
And then it moved so suddenly that Sleepy was almost unseated. Once
around that dusty corral went the gyrating steer, lunging against the
sides of the corral, bucking in its own peculiar, side-wheel way, and
finally headed out through the open gateway.
Big Medicine and Lucy were on the front steps, watching the fun. Perhaps
the steer had never done any bucking before, but it was wise,
resourceful, and very wicked. So it picked out Big Medicine and Lucy as
being part and parcel to this ignominy, and headed for them, still
bucking and bawling.
Big Medicine and Lucy beat a retreat inside the doorway, while the steer
sheered off slightly, just as a horse and rider came around the corner.
It was McGurk, the revenue officer, who had ridden up unobserved from
that side of the ranch-house, and had moved into view right in the path
of the bucking steer.
McGurk and his horse were not a dozen feet away from the bucking steer,
which was also covering distance at a rapid rate, and running blind,
with its head nosing the dirt. And almost before McGurk could realize
what was going on Sleepy threw up both hands, collided with McGurk, and
was knocked backwards into a stunted rosebush, when the steer elected to
go under McGurk’s mount.
The impact was so great that the big steer lifted the horse off its
feet, dumping McGurk out of the saddle, and upended the frightened horse
on its head, while the steer, minus the saddle, the cinch of which had
snapped at the impact, went bawling into the hills.
Hashknife, Cleve, and Musical came running from the corral, while
McGurk’s horse got to its feet and trotted in a circle, as if undecided
which way to go.
McGurk got to his feet, spitting sand and profanity, while Sleepy, his
feet elevated in the rosebush, looked up at them with a vacant stare and
tried to argue with them over the climate of Puget Sound.
“He’s all right,” grinned Hashknife. “That wallop knocked him back one
season, but he’ll catch up.”
“McGurk, you picked a bad time to come around that corner,” said Big
Medicine seriously.
McGurk rubbed the back of his head and sat down on the steps.
“I didn’t have a chance,” he explained. “That damn steer was into me
like a shot.”
Sleepy was sitting up now, and Musical began singing softly:
“To-o-o-re-e-e-e-adore, don’t spit on the floor; use the cuspidor, what
do yuh think it’s fo-o-o-er?
“You think yo’re damn smart, don’tcha?” wailed Sleepy. “My God, how did
I know that London Bridge was failin’ down?”
“Serves yuh right,” declared Hashknife. “You knowed danged well it
wasn’t the right thing to do, Sleepy. Evry time yuh do wrong, yo’re
goin’ to run into the law.”
“Yeah, run into the law,” complained McGurk, twisting his head to find
out if it was still movable. “He sure ran into me. One of my legs is
inches longer than it was, and my head popped when it hit the dirt.”
McGurk got to his feet and walked over to his horse, which was being
held by the grinning Cleve.
“Don’t run away,” said Big Medicine. “Supper is almost ready, and we’d
like to have you eat with us.”
“Well, I dunno.” McGurk squinted at the setting sun and handed the rope
back to Cleve. “I suppose I might as well, thanks. A little settin’ down
won’t hurt me none. By grab, I sure shook myself awhile ago.”
“I’m sorry I shucked yuh loose,” grinned Sleepy painfully. “But yuh see,
my steer wasn’t no hurdle racer. I had aplenty. Hereafter I may eat it,
but I’ll be darned if I ride it.”
“Yuh made a good ride,” complimented Musical. “Ain’t many riders in this
country that’ll stick as long as you did. I’m glad I didn’t get the
short straw.”
“That’s the straw that almost broke several backs,” said Hashknife.
They were just starting in to supper when Ike came into sight, riding
furiously. He drew up his horse at the steps and spat out his
information in one word----
“Rustlers!”