DAVE MORGAN TAKES CHARGE
“What right have you got to open the safe?” demanded Dell Bowen. “This
ranch ain’t never been turned over to you, Dave.”
Dave Morgan, standing in the center of the 6X6 ranch-house living room,
smiled sarcastically at Dell Bowen. With Morgan was Ed Jones, his
right-hand man. Spike Cahill and Bert Roddy were standing beside a
small, old-fashioned iron safe against the west wall of the room.
On the table, beside Morgan, was a collection of papers, some money, the
miscellaneous stuff which had been taken from Peter Morgan’s pockets.
Dave Morgan had in his hand a key which he had taken from the table.
“It _will_ be, as far as that’s concerned,” said Morgan.
“Then you better wait until it is, Dave.”
“Yea-a-ah? Well, I’m just a little curious to know what’s in that safe,
Dell. All this talk about wills has kinda made me wonder if there is
such a thing. You boys can check up everythin’ in there, and I won’t
take anythin’.”
“Well, that might be all right. As long as we put everythin’ back, Dave.
I don’t want to get in bad with the law, you know.”
They went over to the safe and watched Dave Morgan insert the key. The
safe opened easily. For a moment there was no sound, and then Spike
Cahill whistled softly.
The safe was empty! Not even a scrap of paper. Dave got to his feet,
looking from face to face.
“Looks pretty clean, don’t it?” he asked softly.
“It does,” admitted Dell Bowen.
Dave walked back to the table and dropped the key. He did not bother to
lock it again.
“I don’t quite _sabe_ that empty safe,” said Bowen. “The boss must ’a’
cleaned it out before he got killed.”
“You think he did, eh?” sneered Morgan.
“Well, it shore looks thataway, Dave.”
“Yea-a-ah? Huh! I don’t _sabe_ why that key wasn’t turned over to the
sheriff. Leavin’ it layin’ around—”
“Wait a minute,” cautioned Bowen. “You ain’t aimin’ to put the deadwood
on any of us, are you?”
“I’m not aimin’ at anybody,” said Dave angrily, “but it don’t look right
for that safe to be empty, does it?”
“Aw, what the hell?” snorted Spike. “It’s empty, and that’s all there is
to it.”
“Mebbe not _all_,” retorted Dave. “Pete must have had some money.
There’s very little in the bank; I found that out.”
“Well, what are you goin’ to do about it?” demanded Dell. “It shore
looks to me as though you was a little previous, Dave.”
“You think so, do you, Bowen?” Dave hooked his thumbs over his cartridge
belt and glared at the red-faced cowboy who had acted as Peter Morgan’s
foreman.
“Lemme tell _you_ somethin’. This 6X6 belongs to me. It’s only a matter
of a few days until I move in here and take charge.”
“Suits me,” grunted Bowen.
Dave hunched his shoulders and scanned the faces of the three 6X6
cowboys.
“And I’ll prob’ly hire my own crew,” he added meaningly.
“And far as I’m concerned, you can hire ’em right now, Morgan; I’m
through.”
“Same here,” nodded Spike, and Bert nodded in agreement.
“You don’t need to go off half-cocked,” said Dave quickly.
“As far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell,” said Bowen coldly. “And
another thing, Morgan; don’t ever make the crack that any of us unlocked
that safe. If you do, we’ll shore take you apart to see what makes you
tick.”
“I don’t reckon I need to make any cracks, Bowen. And as far as takin’
me apart is concerned, I’ll be right there, showin’ you what makes me
tick.”
* * * * *
The three cowboys headed for the door.
“You might take Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs along with you,” said Dave. “I
reckon I can find a cook.”
“He’s gone already,” growled Spike. “Pulled out several days ago. The
night the tenderfoot made us back water with an empty shotgun, Old Man
Briggs headed for Cañonville.”
“Well, if you see him, you can tell him he don’t need to come back.”
“If he knows you’re here, it’s a cinch he won’t want to.”
It did not take the three boys long to pack their belongings in their
warbags. Dave Morgan and Ed Jones sat on the spacious porch of the
ranch-house and watched them saddle their horses and leave the ranch.
Dave Morgan smiled around at his possessions. The 6X6 was the biggest
ranch in the country. Even the stable was a better building than the
ranch-house at the Flying M.
“Got kinda salty, didn’t they?” grinned Dave.
“They allus have been,” said Ed slowly. “I was wonderin’ about Old Man
Briggs, Dave. He pulled out several days ago, and he had plenty chance
to open that safe.”
Dave smiled thoughtfully.
“I’ll betcha you’re right, Ed. That old pelican cleaned out that safe
and skipped the country. I’ll get in touch with the sheriff as soon as I
can, and we’ll see if we can’t find Briggs. He’s the man.”
“Another thing,” said Jones. “You’ll have to hire some punchers, Dave.
We can’t run both places. What you ort to do is to hire a crew to run
the Flyin’ M, and let us come here.”
Dave pondered a moment.
“Might be a good idea. I dunno where I’d find any men right now.”
“How about them two jiggers at the Lane place. Oh, I know you don’t like
’em, but they look like cowmen, Dave.”
“I know,” nodded Dave. “I kinda hate to go ahead and hire a crew until
this thing is all settled up, but I reckon I might as well. Tomorrow
I’ll go down to Cañonville and have a talk with a lawyer. He can fix it
all up for me, and in the meantime I’ll ride down to the Lane place and
have a talk with them two fellers. I don’t quite _sabe_ what they’re
doin’ around here, and it might be a good scheme to have ’em where we
know what they’re doin’.”
“You don’t think they’re in here to pull anythin’ crooked, do you,
Dave?” asked Ed.
“_Quien sabe?_ They’re shore backin’ the Lane family, and I might be
doin’ the law a favor by hirin’ ’em away from the Lane ranch.”
“You can stay here, Ed. Mebbe you better ride back to the ranch and get
Red to come over with you. Move your stuff over. I’ll stay at the Flyin’
M with Cal, until I get things fixed up. And I’ll see if I can rustle a
cook for here. Then I’ll be all set.”
* * * * *
That same morning Hashknife had been doing considerable thinking about
the dead horse they had found, so he decided to ride to Cañonville and
have a talk with the sheriff. Nan wanted to send some clean clothes to
the jail; so Sleepy decided to go along. With both of the Lanes in jail,
there was nothing for Nan to be worried about, as far as the 6X6 was
concerned. Anyway, Rex would stay.
After Hashknife and Sleepy went away Rex investigated the Navaho rug and
found it practically dry. He carried it up beside the house and
proceeded to hammer the dirt out of it. Armed with a section of broom
handle, he beat industriously, and was so engaged when Dave Morgan rode
up.
Rex was a bit apprehensive when he saw who the rider was, but Dave’s
grin was reassuring.
“Cleanin’ house?” he asked, glancing at the rug.
“Not exactly,” said Rex, wiping the perspiration off his nose. “Mr.
Hartley discovered this rug in the creek yesterday. I doubt that I shall
ever be able to beat the dirt out of it.”
“Found it in the creek, eh?”
“Yes. Queer, isn’t it? Looks like a good rug. It has a very distinctive
pattern, don’t you think?”
“Yea-a-ah, it has.”
Nan came to the door and saw Dave Morgan. He smiled at her and lifted
his hat.
“How do you do, Miss Lane?”
Nan nodded coldly.
“Aw, let’s be friends,” he laughed. “I don’t blame you for the way you
feel. No? Well, I’m sorry. Where’s Hartley and his pardner?”
“Oh, they went to Cañonville today,” said Rex quickly. “We found the
horse and saddle which belonged to Ben Leach last night, and I think Mr.
Hartley wished to talk to the sheriff about it.”
“Thasso? Where did you find it?”
Rex pointed vaguely toward the hills.
“Out there. It had a broken shoulder, and the coyotes had eaten it
nearly all up.”
“Yea-a-ah?” Dave rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, that’s funny.”
He turned to Nan.
“Mebbe your brother didn’t take Ben’s horse, after all. That’ll be good
evidence in his favor.”
“I hope something will be in his favor,” she said wearily.
“You just leave it to Hashknife Hartley,” said Rex. “He knows things.
Sleepy told me that Hashknife saw things that other men overlooked.”
“Is that so? I wanted to have a talk with ’em today. I’ve taken over the
6X6, and I need some help. In fact, I’d like to get them to run the
Flyin’ M for me, because I want to move my crew over to the 6X6.
“I might be able to use you, too,” he said to Rex. “You can learn.”
“Certainly, I can learn,” said Rex smiling.
Dave looked at Nan thoughtfully.
“You’ve been cookin’ for these three men, ain’t you?”
Nan nodded.
“After a fashion.”
“Well, now here’s what I was thinkin’ about. This place don’t need much
attention. Why don’t you all move over to the Flyin’ M, Miss Lane. You
can do the cookin’. Take what little stock you’ve got over there. It’s
better than this. Under the circumstances, there ain’t a thing you can
do here. That trial won’t come off for another month, at least. Why not
try a whirl at the Flyin’ M? At least you’ll get paid for your work.”
“Why, I don’t know—” faltered Nan. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, think it over. When Hartley comes back, talk it over with him. If
you want the jobs, you’ll probably find me at the Flyin’ M. I’m goin’ to
Cañonville tomorrow to see a lawyer, but I’ll be back late in the
afternoon. Don’t hold it against me for the things my cousin done to
you. I’m owner of the 6X6 now, and I don’t mind a nester.”
“It is nice of you to make us that offer,” said Nan.
“Nothin’ of the kind; I need you. Let me know what you decide to do.
Well, I’ll see you later.”
* * * * *
Dave Morgan tipped his sombrero and rode away, while Rex essayed an
awkward dance toward the half-cleaned rug. He was delighted with the
chance to get a job; but Nan did not share his enthusiasm.
“Why, Nan, he’s all right,” said Rex. “He’s so different than he was the
last time he was here.”
“Very much different,” said Nan seriously. “I can’t trust men who suffer
such great changes. Hang that dirty rug on the fence and get me some
wood. I’m trying to bake an apple pie for supper, and I need a hot
oven.”
Rex shouldered the rug and turned toward the corral, then swung around,
facing Nan.
“If I had a lucrative position, would you marry me?”
Nan flushed slightly.
“That question is a whole lot like the saying ‘If we had some ham we
could have some ham and eggs, if we had some eggs.’”
“I see,” blankly. “Well, I shall get you the wood, Nan. I’m afraid I’ll
never get this rug cleaned. It seems to be badly stained.”
“Well, hang it on the fence.”
* * * * *
Dave Morgan decided to go to Cañonville that day, instead of waiting
until the next, and he was within a couple of miles of the town, when he
met the sheriff, Hashknife and Sleepy. The sheriff had considered the
dead horse worthy of further investigation, and they were on their way
to the Lane ranch.
Dave greeted them in a friendly manner and told them he had been at the
Lane ranch.
“Didja see old Briggs in Cañonville?” he asked Lem.
“He ain’t there, Dave. What do you want Briggs for?”
Dave told them of the empty safe at the 6X6. He did not directly accuse
Briggs of theft, but he intimated that the guilt lay between Briggs and
the three other cowboys, with most of the evidence against Briggs,
because he had seemingly left the country.
“How do you know there was anythin’ in the safe before Peter Morgan was
killed?” asked Hashknife.
“I don’t know that there was, Hartley; but there should have been. Pete
wasn’t very strong for banks, and it don’t seem reasonable that the safe
would be empty, does it?”
“Who had charge of the key?” asked Lem.
“Anybody at the ranch. They had the keys, along with the other stuff
they took from Pete’s pockets, in a drawer of the table. Any of them
could have swiped the key and looted the safe, Lem.”
Lem considered the matter gravely.
“It’s kinda hard to accuse anybody of theft, when you don’t know
anythin’ has been stolen, Dave. There’s no record of what was in the
safe. Old Briggs has had several days to make his getaway, and nobody
knows which way he went.”
“Yeah, that’s true. I suppose we might as well forget that safe.”
“Best thing to do, Dave. Have you taken over the 6X6?”
“Just about. I’m goin’ to see a lawyer now, and have him fix it up.”
He turned to Hashknife.
“I need two good men, Hartley. The crew at the 6X6 have quit, and I’m
kinda short handed. If you’ll take the job, I’ll put you in charge of
the Flyin’ M. I had a talk with Miss Lane and the young feller a while
ago, and I made her a proposition to cook for you. She’s cookin’ for you
now; so she might as well make some money out of it. I can use the kid,
too. He ain’t worth much, but he’ll learn. What do you say?”
“I dunno,” smiled Hashknife. “Sounds all right. I’ll talk it over with
Miss Lane and see what she thinks. We can’t step out and leave her
alone, you see.”
“No, that wouldn’t be right. You talk it over with her, and let me know.
I want to move my outfit over to the 6X6 as soon as I can. As far as
Lane’s stock is concerned, he’s only got a few head, and you can herd
them over to my place.”
“Well, that’s nice of you, Morgan.”
“It’ll help me out a whole lot.”
* * * * *
Hashknife promised to talk it over with Nan, and they rode on. Sleepy
was rather jubilant over the chance to go to work, especially if
Hashknife was to have charge of the ranch. But Hashknife had little to
say about it.
“Don’t you think he’s a little previous about takin’ over the 6X6?”
asked Hashknife.
“Looks thataway,” replied Lem. “Still, he might as well, I suppose. Now
that he owns the Oasis, he’ll probably drink himself to death. Dave’s
all right though. He’s all excited over that 6X6.”
“Probably was an awful blow to find the safe empty,” grinned Sleepy.
“Sure. Just between us, I’ll bet old Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs did clean
out that safe. He just about emptied it, and headed out of the country.”
“What about his share of the 6X6?” queried Hashknife. “The banker at
Mesa City mentioned it to you, didn’t he?”
“Mebbe Briggs’ share was in the safe,” chuckled Lem. “Briggs hated Dave
Morgan, and he knew Dave would inherit the 6X6; so he just took his
share out of the safe and busted up the partnership. Anyway, it’s too
bad they didn’t turn that key over to me.”
They left the main road and soon came to the spot where Ben Leach had
been killed. Hashknife had never had much of that incident explained to
him, but Lem pointed out where Ben had fallen, according to what the
others had told him; they had moved the body before the sheriff had had
a chance to view it.
The old road was very rocky at this point. Hashknife dismounted and
walked along the right side of the road, which was piled with broken
boulders. Suddenly he grunted aloud and reached down among the rocks.
He had found a Colt .45 revolver. The two other men swung down from
their horses and came over to him. The spur of the hammer had been
broken off, and one shot had been fired. It was a single-action gun,
well oiled.
Hashknife examined it closely and smiled at Lem, as he handed him the
gun.
“There’s the missin’ six-shooter,” he said. “Ben Leach shot himself.”
“Shot himself? How do you—”
“Probably ridin’ with the gun in his hand, Lem. The horse stumbled on
this rocky ground, fell and broke its shoulder, throwin’ Ben. See where
the spur of that hammer hit a rock?”
“You mean, the hammer hit the rock, fired the shell—and killed Ben?”
“Don’t it look reasonable, Lem? He was probably ridin’ fast, and when
the horse fell he flung the gun on the rocks. The horse got up and went
limpin’ off across country, until it got the other front foot tangled in
the reins, and went down for keeps. You can see that the hammer of the
gun hit the rocks and fired that shell.”
“Well, by gosh!” blurted Lem. “I can see it all now, Hashknife. It’s all
simple, when you can see it. Ain’t that fate for you?”
“It was his way to die,” said Hashknife thoughtfully.
“That’s right, I reckon. Nobody ever thought of it bein’ an accident.
Let’s go and find that horse. I want to take the saddle back to
Cañonville for evidence, too. After I explain things to the prosecutin’
attorney, he’ll have to turn young Lane loose. Now, if we could only
discover that Peter Morgan accidentally killed himself.”
“Mebbe he butted his head against the stable,” suggested Sleepy, as they
rode up through the swale.
“I reckon we’ll have to look further than that,” smiled Hashknife.
They found the carcass of the horse, and Lem verified what Hashknife had
told him about the broken shoulder. The reins were still twisted around
the left foot of the animal. They fastened the saddle behind the saddle
on Lem’s horse and went back to the road, where Lem left them and went
back to Cañonville. He was anxious to get Walter Lane out of jail.
* * * * *
It was still early in the afternoon, and they discovered that both of
them were almost out of tobacco.
“Might as well head for Mesa City and stock up,” said Hashknife. “We can
get back by supper time. Might also pick up a few cans of groceries,
’cause I figure Nan’s cupboard is jist about cleaned out.”
They found the three boys from the 6X6 in town, already a little more
than half-drunk, quarreling over a dice game.
“We’ve done quit the 6X6,” said Spike Cahill, “so you don’t need to be
scared of us. We’re plumb neutral now. Old Dave Morgan came out and took
charge today. In fact he became so full of ownership that we pulled out
and left him flat.”
“That’s what he told us,” said Hashknife.
“Yeah? I suppose he’s braggin’ about it. I’d jist like to bend him so
bad that every time he coughed he’d snag his nose on his own spurs.”
“What became of your cook out there?”
“Old Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs? Did Morgan say anythin’ about him,
Hartley?”
“Somethin’ about bustin’ a safe at the 6X6.”
“Uh-huh.” Spike wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Well, I
dunno. Far be it from me to say he did or didn’t. I’m no mind reader.
Dave Morgan found the safe empty, and he kinda intimated that some of us
had a hand in the thing. We shore called his bet—and quit. I don’t say I
wouldn’t snag me an _orejano_, but I won’t rob no penny-ante safe. Let’s
have us a drink, tall feller. How’s the tenderfoot?”
“He’s all right,” laughed Hashknife.
“What’s that lunatic doin’ here, anyway? Nobody knows what he came for.
I thought he was a weak sister, and I found m’self flat on m’ back. I
could almost be friends with a feller who can hit that hard. Let’s go
and have that drink.”
Hashknife accepted the drink in order to find out a few things from
Spike. He wasn’t quite certain of Spike; so he didn’t want to rush
matters.
“What are you boys goin’ to do now?” asked Hashknife.
“We don’t know,” replied Spike. “We got to get jobs. I think I’ll head
south, down into the Juniper River country. Used to punch cows down
there, and I mebbe can land a winter job.”
“You’ve been on the 6X6 quite a while, ain’t you?”
“Two seasons is all.”
“I’m goin’ to ask you somethin’, Cahill,” said Hashknife confidentially.
“You’ve been in the 6X6 ranch-house quite a lot, ain’t you?”
Spike looked curiously at him, but nodded slowly.
“Yea-a-ah, quite a lot.”
“Are there any Navaho rugs on the floor?”
“Mm-m-m-m. Yeah, I think there is a few.”
“Didja ever notice one that had a lightnin’ mark—zigzag streak of white
on a black background?”
“Lemme see.” Spike scratched his head thoughtfully. “I’m not awful sure
about that, but it seems to me-e-e that I’ve seen somethin’ like that.
Now, I can’t swear to it. Mebbe Bert or Dell would remember.”
* * * * *
Dell and Bert had settled their quarrel over the dice and were ordering
their drink, when Spike moved in beside them and propounded the
question. They looked solemnly at Spike and wanted to know why he wanted
to know.
“This tall feller asked me,” said Spike humbly. “I didn’t know for sure,
so I ask you.”
Bowen and Roddy moved over closer to Hashknife, prompted by curiosity.
“What’s the idea?” queried Bowen.
“I can’t tell you,” smiled Hashknife. “I just wanted to know, thasall.”
“Uh-huh. We-e-ell,” drawled Bowen, “I reckon there is.”
“Is it there now?”
“Now, you got me guessin’, pardner. I reckon it is.”
“Do you remember it, Bert?” asked Spike.
“No,” growled Bert. “And I’d crave to know what a darned Injun rug has
got to do with this drink I jist won off Dell.”
“You didn’t win it,” contradicted Dell. “You was throwin’ sixes, Bert.
You had four sixes agin my five sixes, on the last horse.”
“I had five sixes and I beat you on the throw off.”
“You had four. On your last throw you saw that six on the _side_ of the
dice—not the top. But whatsa use of arguin’ with a drunken cowboy? Have
a drink, Hartley?”
“I’ll have a cigar, Bowen.”
“You know your own limitations. Their cigars are a lot older than their
liquor. Would you mind tellin’ me what made you ask about that rug?”
“I can’t tell you—yet,” replied Hashknife, examining the ancient sample
of a cigarmaker’s art, which fairly crumbled between his fingers. “You
don’t happen to know where Napoleon Briggs went, do you?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t tell,” said Bowen quickly. “Mebbe you been talkin’
with Dave Morgan.”
“Mebbe I have.”
Hashknife tried to light the cigar, but it was too porous; so he
discarded it in favor of a cigaret.
“Did you boys know that Ben Leach was killed accidentally?” he asked.
“Accidentally hell!” snorted Spike, while the others merely smiled their
disbelief.
“He shot himself accidentally,” declared Hashknife, and proceeded to
describe just how it happened.
“Well, for gosh sake!” blurted Bert. “So that’s why we never found that
gun and horse. Can you imagine that?”
“It sounds reasonable,” agreed Bowen. “Didja work all that out yourself,
Hartley?”
“With the aid of the buzzards.”
“I know. By golly, I’m glad we never caught young Lane. We would have
lynched him sure.”
“Why don’tcha go ahead and clear the old man?” asked Bert. “You might
prove Pete hammered himself over the head.”
“Aw, he couldn’t ’a’ done it,” protested Spike. “He couldn’t rope
himself on a horse, Bert.”
“Might ’a’ roped himself on first, and left one hand loose.”
“You’re a bright pair,” said Bowen disgustedly.
* * * * *
Dave Morgan came in, nodding pleasantly to Hashknife, but ignoring the
three cowboys with him. He talked for a few minutes with Jack
Fairweather, and they went together to the rear of the saloon, where
they entered a private room.
“Morgan’s probably takin’ over this place,” said Spike. “He’ll be the
stud road runner of the Black Horse River country, I suppose.”
Dell wanted to shake the dice again, and while they were arguing over
the game, Morgan came from the private room. Hashknife stepped away from
the bar and met Morgan near the door.
“I ain’t had a chance to speak with Miss Lane about takin’ that job,” he
told Morgan. “I dunno how she’ll feel about it now,” and he told Morgan
about the evidence which would release Nan’s brother.
“I heard about it,” replied Dave. “Lem told me about it.”
“Oh, you met him, eh?”
“Yeah. Well, if she don’t want the job, I’ll rustle another cook. You
and your pardner and the kid can take the jobs, can’t you?”
“Might do that, Morgan. Anyway, I’ll talk it over with you tomorrow.”
“That’s fine. I’m takin’ over this place, too.”
“Goin’ to run it yourself?”
“Ain’t decided yet. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Morgan left the saloon, and Hashknife went back to the bar, where Sleepy
joined them in a few minutes. He had made the purchases and was ready to
go home. The ex-6X6 cowboys wanted them to make a night of it, but
Hashknife and Sleepy declined.
It was nearing supper time when they rode away from town, and it was
almost dark when they arrived at the ranch. There were no lights in the
ranch-house, no sign of any one about the place. When they stabled their
horses they discovered that the two extra saddle horses and riding rigs
were missing.
“Betcha Nan and Rex went for a ride,” said Sleepy, as they headed for
the ranch-house.
There was no one in the house. The two cowboys lighted a lamp in the
kitchen, and on the table they found a penciled note:
If we miss meeting you, this note will tell you that
we decided to ride to Cañonville. May be back tonight.
Don’t worry.
—Nan and Rex
P.S. There’s an apple pie in the oven.
“Well, that explains it,” said Sleepy, visibly relieved.
“Uh-huh,” grunted Hashknife. “I suppose she wanted to see her folks.”
“Can’t blame her for that, cowboy.”
“No, I reckon you can’t. That apple pie in the oven sounds good to me.”