Cleve and Musical did not wait for any further information, but raced
for the stable.
“Where are they?” asked Big Medicine anxiously.
“They cut the Greenhorn road near Smoky Cañon,” panted Ike. “Olsen had
been to Greenhorn and seen ’em on his way back. He said he couldn’t
swear that it was Tumbling H cattle, but there ain’t no other brand in
that range.”
“Heading for the border?” asked McGurk.
“Yeah.”
Hashknife and Sleepy raced for the stable, while Big Medicine went into
the house. They saddled Big Medicine’s horse and joined him at the front
steps, where he was examining three rifles. It was not more than ten
minutes after Ike’s arrival until the seven men were riding away from
the ranch-house, while a hot supper went to waste.
They swung to the west of Pinnacle and struck the road near where the
three men and the packed horse had left it. About halfway to the summit
the road branched. Big Medicine drew up for a consultation. It was about
three miles from there to where the road swung in around the head of
Smoky Cañon.
“What’s the best bet?” asked Hashknife.
“There’s no use going to Smoky Cañon,” declared Big Medicine. “The
cattle were passing there, and must be a long ways from there now.
Unless I’m mistaken, they are heading for the border near the Rancho
Sierra.”
“Then let’s try and cut them off,” suggested McGurk.
They spurred on over the hill, following the old road. Darkness came
down before they reached the border, and they rode slowly, listening for
sounds of the herd.
“How big was the bunch of cattle?” asked Cleve.
“He didn’t say,” replied Ike. “He just said it was a big bunch.”
Big Medicine swore at the darkness as they moved along. Unless they ran
into the herd there was no chance of finding them. It would be several
hours before moonlight, and there was a possibility of the rustlers
being able to cross the border in the dark.
Mile after mile they followed the border, working westward, but they saw
no cattle. It was too dark for them to detect the trail of a big herd,
even if the cattle left tracks on that hard ground. They swung back,
working slowly, and passed the point where they had come down.
Midnight came and found them still hunting. It was moonlight now, but
they were little better off.
“It’s no use,” declared Big Medicine. “They’ve got all the best of it,
so I’ll have to swallow the dose and go home.”
“Kinda looks like it,” agreed McGurk. “I’ll get the boys out early in
the mornin’ and swing down this way. Good night.”
He rode away toward the west, while the Tumbling H crew disgustedly
turned their weary horses and went back toward Hawk Hole.
“It is some of Torres’ work,” declared Big Medicine. “If I ever get a
chance I’ll break his neck. He thinks he is safe in running my cattle
across to the Rancho Sierra, but some day I’ll go down there and make
him pay for every head he stole.”
“You’ll have company,” said Ike glumly. “I’ve always wanted to go down
there and whip me some Mexicans.”
“They’re not all bad, are they?” asked Sleepy.
“Not at all,” replied Big Medicine. “There are some mighty good men in
Mexico--lots of ’em. I suppose they average as well as any other race,
but the types which frequent the border are the scum of both sides. A
bad Mexican is a terror, but a bad white man is worse. We’ve got ’em
both down here.”
They swung down into the valley in sight of the lights of Pinnacle and
turned to the left, following about the same trail as that taken by the
chase two nights before.
There were no lights in the ranch-house. They stabled their horses,
after Big Medicine had gone into the house, and were halfway to the
house when Big Medicine called to them.
Wanna and her mother were not at the ranch house, which had been
ransacked from top to bottom. The rooms were strewn with everything, and
boards had been pried up from both living-room and kitchen floors.
“There has been no rustling,” said Big Medicine weakly. “It was a ruse
to get us away from the ranch.”
“But where are the women?” asked Ike.
“They are not here,” said Big Medicine hoarsely.
He was holding the lamp in one of his big hands, which trembled
nervously.
“But--but why were they taken?” faltered Musical.
“Who would take them away, Big Medicine?”
The big man shook his head and went from room to room, with the five
cowboys following him. Everything indicated that the searchers had left
nothing untouched. The drawers of an old dresser in Big Medicine’s room
had been emptied in a pile and the drawers thrown aside. The bedding was
strewn widely, and even the pictures were torn down and kicked aside.
They came back to the living-room and sat down, silently wondering who
had done this thing. Big Medicine did not rave nor curse. He only
wondered in a painful way. Hashknife alone knew that the work had been
done by the men who had lost that valuable cargo of drugs, and he felt
responsible for Big Medicine’s loss.
“What can we do?” wondered Cleve aloud. “There’s no use in runnin’
around.”
“No use.” Big Medicine shook his head. “They probably saw us ride away,
and it gave them plenty of time.”
His big hands clenched convulsively, and Hashknife wondered how long the
ordinary man would live in the clutches of Big Medicine in his present
frame of mind.
“No use,” echoed Musical.
He got to his feet and crossed to the phonograph. The record case had
been emptied, the records smashed. He picked up two pieces, which fitted
together, and looked them over before holding them out for inspection.
“They sure knocked hell out of ‘The Holy City,’” he said.
No one even smiled. Musical did not mean to be funny. He placed the
pieces tenderly on the table, his eyes saddened as he looked at them.
“I sure liked that piece,” he said simply.
“I know you did, Musical,” said Big Medicine.
It seemed as if he had forgotten his own troubles to sympathize with
Musical.
“Do yuh think that Torres done this?” queried Hashknife.
“I don’t know,” said Big Medicine.
“But what did they expect to find in here?” asked Cleve. “I don’t _sabe_
why they tore everythin’ to pieces like this.”
“Money,” said Big Medicine. “They thought I kept it hidden, I suppose.”
Hashknife wondered if someone had been looking for money. If that was
it, he felt better about it. He decided to keep quiet about the hidden
drugs, and see how things work out.
* * * * *
It was a long wait until daylight, but they realized that nothing could
be done in the dark. They breakfasted on a pot of coffee, mounted their
horses, and headed for Pinnacle.
“What’s our first move?” asked Hashknife.
“I don’t know,” replied Big Medicine. “I want to find Olsen and choke
the truth out of him. Perhaps he did not lie, but it sounds like a
scheme to get us away from the ranch.”
They dismounted in town and went on a hunt for Olsen. The town was
hardly awake, but they found that Olsen had not been there that night.
They did not spread the news of what had taken place at the Tumbling H,
because they knew it would do no good. From a man at the Greenback
Saloon they found that the sheriff and deputy were asleep at the hotel,
after a night of poker. Hashknife mentioned Lee Yung, but the man had
not seen him. They realized that they had not eaten a meal since noon of
the previous day; so they went into a restaurant and had a meal.
The proprietor remembered that Jim Reed had been there with Olsen about
six o’clock the night before, and they had gone away together. The
proprietor remembered Hashknife as the man who had ducked Torres in the
blacksmith’s slack tub, and told him that he had seen Torres the evening
before.
“What was he doin’ here?” asked Hashknife.
“He wasn’t in here. I live out back of town a little ways, and I took
some stuff out to the house about supper time. Torres rode past just
after I got to the house. I guess he didn’t stay, ’cause I didn’t see
him again.”
They paid their checks and went outside.
“Olsen and Reed together,” said Big Medicine. “Torres passes here about
the right time. Torres is our man.”
“And Olsen and Reed are in with him.” Thus Ike vehemently.
“Wait a minute,” said Hashknife. “I want to find out somethin’.”
He hurried across the street and into the hotel, where he found the
proprietor scrubbing out the office.
“Is that young Jack Hill here yet?” asked Hashknife.
The man wrung out his mop, spat reflectively, and shook his head.
“Nawsir, he ain’t. Engaged a room and never used it. Walked out of here
the night he came, and I ain’t see hide nor hair of him since.”
“Don’t know where he went, do yuh?”
The man scratched his head and leaned the mop handle against his hip.
“No. Ike Marsh unloaded him here, yuh remember? Little later on I hears
voices down here. So down I comes and sees Baldy Kern jist goin’ away. I
asks the young feller what Baldy wanted, but he don’t seem to know who I
mean. But at that, I reckon Baldy was a-talkin’ to him.”
Hashknife thanked him for the information and went back to the
hitch-rack where the rest were waiting.
“We’ve decided to cross the border and visit the Rancho Sierra,”
declared Ike jubilantly. “Here’s where I git me a Mexican. C’mon.”
“Just a moment,” begged Hashknife, and turned to Big Medicine. “Don’t do
anythin’ rash until we have to, Hawkworth. There’s a few things I’d like
to look into first. For instance, I think that me and Sleepy will take a
little ride out to the K-10.”
“To the K-10? What is the idea, Hartley?”
“To satisfy my curiosity. They haven’t anythin’ against me and Sleepy,
so we’ll go out and have a talk with Baldy. Just kinda drop in, tell him
about the rustlin’, and advise him to keep his eyes open, _sabe_?”
“And what will we do all this time?” asked Musical.
“I’m honin’ to make somebody pay for this deal.”
“Wait here,” suggested Hashknife. “You may hear somethin’ that will help
us out a lot. We’ll make the trip as fast as we can.”
Big Medicine nodded doubtfully. He was anxious to head for the Rancho
Sierra, but was willing to listen to reason.
“That’s fine,” grinned Hashknife. “You wait here and say nothin’. Mebbe
Olsen will show up, and if he does, save me a piece of his hide. C’mon,
Sleepy.”
* * * * *
The K-10 outfit had not decided on just what to do. Half the night had
been spent in planning, but no decision had been reached. It all
depended on Hashknife. Lee Yung intended to go back to Pinnacle after
breakfast and stay there until there was need of his services.
It was Kohler who first saw Hashknife and Sleepy coming. They were half
a mile away, and Kohler was not sure of their identity, but the sharp
eyes of Jack Meline detected the horses long before the identity of the
riders could be learned.
“Right into the net,” grinned Baldy. “Talk about fate.”
“The gods have decided,” declared Lee Yung.
Jack Baum was down at the corral, so they did not call him. Kohler
flattened himself against the wall near the door, a rifle in his hands,
while the rest took points of vantage. Doctor Meline peered between the
curtains at a front window, while Baldy stood at another--an open
one--sixshooter ready.
Hashknife and Sleepy dismounted and came toward the door. Jack Baum saw
them and called from the corral. They saw Sleepy stop and turn toward
the corral, just as Hashknife knocked.
“Come in,” said Baldy, cocking his gun.
Hashknife swung the door open and stepped half inside, blinking from the
strong light outside, and before he could distinguish objects inside the
room, Kohler brought the rifle barrel down across his head and Hashknife
crumpled to the floor.
Sleepy heard the blow and saw Hashknife fall. The door slammed in his
face and he sprang back, reaching for his gun, but Baldy fired from the
open window and Sleepy went sprawling.
Jack Baum came running from the corral, stopped long enough to look down
at Sleepy, and dashed into the house. Baldy whirled from the open
window, holding his smoking gun, and laughed loudly.
“Got him,” he said, indicating the open window.
He walked over to Hashknife and looked down at him, his face registering
great satisfaction. Lee Yung was on his knees beside Hashknife,
examining his head.
“Not hurt much,” said the Chinaman. “He’ll wake up in a few minutes.”
Kohler grinned with satisfaction and stepped back to the window. His
expression changed and he darted for the door, mouthing a curse. He
flung open the door and stepped out, swinging up his rifle.
There was only one horse in the yard and no dead man. About two hundred
yards down the road went Sleepy, riding madly toward Pinnacle. Kohler
threw up his rifle and emptied the magazine in a wild attempt to drop
either horse or rider, while Baldy ran out to Hashknife’s tall gray and
mounted hurriedly. He was going to try and overtake Sleepy.
But he reckoned without the gray, which only admitted of one master.
Baldy had hardly settled in the saddle when the gray whirled wildly and
lunged into a bucking orgy that was a revelation even to those hard
riders.
Baldy stayed five jumps and then went end over end, falling on his hands
and knees, skinning his chin and otherwise paying well for his temerity.
Baldy’s gun went spinning away, while the tall gray trotted down toward
the corral, holding up its head to keep from stepping on the reins.
Jack Baum helped Baldy to his feet. The boss of the K-10 looked as if he
had stuck his chin against a grindstone, and his knees and hands were
badly bruised. He staggered into the house and flopped into a chair,
while Lee Yung brought water and towels.
“This is a hell of a mess!” wailed Baldy. “Stevens has gone back to
town, and we’ll have the whole damn works on our trail.”
“You shot him, didn’t yuh?” asked Kohler. “You said yuh did.”
“I seen him fall,” declared Baum. “I didn’t know what it was all about.
He sure fell like he was killed.”
“He was a wise man,” said Lee Yung. “Knowing that the odds were against
him, he fell down. And we, like fools, accepted what he gave us.”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” said Meline nervously.
“We sure have,” agreed Baldy. “Tie that damn fool tight and somebody
bring his horse. Get plenty of ropes. For God’s sake, move fast,
can’tcha? This is no time to gawp.”
And while the K-10 moved swiftly, Sleepy Stevens left a screen of dust
behind him, as he pounded along the road. He had felt the sting of
Baldy’s bullet, which had burned his neck, and had dropped flat, feeling
that his complete collapse would stop further shooting.
As soon as Baum had gone inside the house, Sleepy had run to his horse,
mounted, and headed for town. It was not cowardice on his part. He knew
that it would be impossible for him to fight that outfit singlehanded,
especially as they were protected by the walls of the ranch-house, so he
went for help.
Owing to the fact that he had escaped, he did not think they would kill
Hashknife. It might have been a different story if they had caught both
of them. Knowing that he would report against them, they might be afraid
to do anything rash.
He raced in to Pinnacle and found the Tumbling H men in the Greenback
Saloon. Without exciting too much suspicion he drew them aside and
hurriedly told them what had happened. The sheriff and deputy were in a
poker game, but they did not bother to enlist their services.
They mounted and rode swiftly out of town toward the K-10, while Sleepy
gave the details of what had happened.
“Mebbe I’ll git me a white man,” gritted Musical. “Gimme one li’l chance
to notch a sight on any of that bunch. If one of them sons of guns
busted that record, I’ll borry his ears.”
Regardless of the fact that there might be desperate men inside the K-10
buildings, the five riders spurred their horses almost to the front
steps, dismounted hurriedly, and smashed in the front door.
But except for a frightened Mexican cook, the place was deserted. Sleepy
pinned him against the wall and promised to shoot the ears off his head
if he did not tell them where everyone had gone, but the Mexican did not
know.
Musical talked to him in his own language, but all Musical could get
from him was a protestation that he knew nothing, except that they had
tied a wounded man to a horse and had all ridden away. No, he did not
know their direction nor destination.
They let him go and went back to their horses. The K-10 corral was
empty. Sleepy leaned dejectedly against the shoulder of his horse and
squinted out across the hills.
“Darn his long-legged soul,” he said hoarsely, blinking into the sun.
“Went and run his head right into a trap. Never did have any sense, dang
him. Now he’s up against a tough deal, and here I am, standin’ here in
the sun, like a danged galliwimpus. It kinda seems”--Sleepy
hesitated--“It kinda seems that me and him have been together so long
that I’ve let him do my thinkin’.”
“Well,” said Big Medicine wearily, as he swung his leg across his
saddle, “it seems like a lot of things have gone wrong. I haven’t the
slightest idea where the K-10 outfit have gone.”
“Mexico!” snapped Ike angrily.
He wanted to invade the country.
“Perhaps,” nodded Big Medicine. “I suppose we may as well tell the
sheriff and enlist his help.”
“And have him tell us that it’s all wrong to go across the border,”
grumbled Musical. “We don’t need his help. Anyway, he’s prob’ly in a big
pot jist now and won’t want to be bothered.”
They rode slowly away from the K-10 and headed back toward Pinnacle.
Sleepy humped in his saddle and pictured what he would do when he met
any of that K-10 outfit. The loss of Hashknife had driven away his
habitual sense of humor, and all he wanted to do was to find something
or somebody to shoot at.