Surprise, consternation, and a trace of suspicion were written on Ma
Basset’s face when she greeted Tad and Kipp at the gate.
“There’s—there’s nothing wrong, Sheriff?” she cried, her
work-reddened hands gripping the gate pole.
“Figgered you and Kipp ’ud want tuh talk over this here Pete
business, so I done brung him back,” Tad explained easily, wondering
why Ma Basset looked at him so sharply.
Fresh in Ma Basset’s memory was Shorty’s fabrication regarding his
partner’s absence at supper the night before and she was searching
the big puncher’s rugged features for traces of his debauch.
Tad’s eyes flitted to the log barn fifty feet away. He smiled
faintly as he saw six inches of blued rifle barrel protruding
between the chinks of the logs. The gun was covering Kipp who had
not seen it.
“Any sign of Pete?” asked Ma nervously.
“Not nary, ma’am,” returned Kipp. “I’d like fer tuh pow-wow some
with Hank regardin’ him and them cattle. Beginnin’ this mornin’, Miz
Basset, I’m turnin’ this here sheriff star over tuh Hank. Then I’m
makin’ a trip into the bad-lands. Iffen I comes out with them lost
cattle I’ll be askin’ fer the badge. Iffen I don’t bring them cattle
out, I won’t be needin’ it no more nohow. As fer Pete, I ain’t
a-huntin’ the boy ner would I lay a hand on him, was I tuh run
acrost him. Until I come back from the Pocket, I’m a plain, everyday
citizen.”
Tad and Ma gazed at the old officer in startled surprise. Tad was
smiling oddly. The rifle barrel slid out of sight in the barn and
Hank Basset, holding the gun in the crook of his arm, stepped into
sight.
“Howdy, Joe. I done heered yuh. What’s the idee in actin’
that-away?”
Kipp grinned.
“A feller done told me a story last night, Hank. I don’t reckon he
meant tuh, but he sorter showed me which trail tuh take, beginnin’
here. I want that you should keep this here badge fer me fer a
spell. After breakfast, I’ll be askin’ the loan of a fresh hoss.”
“Land sakes!” gasped Ma, reminded of her duty to those who ride
within one’s gate. “Light and come to the house. There’s flapjacks
and steak that’s sp’ilin’ to be et.”
Hank gazed thoughtfully for a moment at Kipp’s badge, now lying in
the palm of his hand. Then he pocketed the star and reached for the
bridle reins of the two horses.
“Foller Ma to the house, Joe. Tad, will yuh lend me a hand fer a
minute er so here at the barn?”
Kipp and his wife out of sight, Hank led Tad to the barn with an air
of one who has news to impart.
“Where’s Shorty?” asked Tad.
“Gone,” came the cryptic reply. “He done left a message fer yuh. He
said tuh tell yuh that you was a long-geared, psalm-singin’ ol’
sand-hill crane and that he’d learn yuh to leave him tuh tell yore
lies fer yuh. Likewise that he was free, white and past votin’ age
and that he could take keer uh hisse’f in ary tight. Them’s his
exact words.”
“Then the danged li’l’ banty rooster is up tuh suthin’. What hoss
did he ride?”
“Pete’s Water Dog pony. He——”
“I knowed it! I knowed it!” groaned Tad. “I seen it in his eye, drat
his pesky, speckled hide. I should uh tied him up afore I left. Ever
since you said no man could swim that river, I seen that or’nary,
contrary, mule-minded li’l’ varmint a-millin’ over a idee in his
head. All yuh gotta do is tell that li’l’ ol’ son of a gun that no
human kin do somethin’ and he don’t sleep easy ner swaller his grub
right, till he makes yuh out a liar. I knowed it and when I pulled
out last evenin’, I was plumb skeered he’d do somethin’ like that.
If he’s killed, Hank, I’m tuh blame. How long has he bin gone?”
“They pulled out two hours afore daylight,” came the reluctant
answer.
“They?”
“Pete went with him.”
“Pete?” Tad’s lips pursed in a silent whistle. “Tell me about it,
Hank,” he finished grimly.
“The boy showed up afore midnight. Seems like he’d got word somehow,
while he was at Deer Lodge, that Fox was cleanin’ me out. That’s why
he run away. He made me and Ma tell him the hull thing, how the
cattle had bin run off and how Fox is aimin’ tuh jerk the rope tight
next week when that note falls due. Then he takes my gun and ’lows
he’s startin’ then and there fer town. He’s goin’ tuh kill Fox like
he’d kill a mad dog and Ma’s tears ner my arguments don’t stop him.
“‘Hold on a minute, Pete,’ calls a voice from the door. There stands
Shorty, grinnin’ pleasant like. ‘Put up that gun and listen fer a
spell while we talks sense. Killin’ Fox won’t git yuh nothin’ but a
hangin’ bee. But you and me, barrin’ accidents and good shootin’ on
the part uh the LF polecats, kin git them cattle back. Say we throws
our hulls on yore top-water hosses, swims that crick and kinda give
them gents a su’prise party?’”
Hank’s hands went out in a gesture of helplessness. Tad nodded
understandingly.
“Shorty’s jest plumb fool enough tuh win out, too,” he mused aloud.
“Pete ’lowed that the swimmin’ was a cinch,” admitted Hank. “But
then, mebbeso he was jest lyin’ tuh make me and Ma feel easy. Say,
what’s come over Joe Kipp? He acts plumb queer. Yuh don’t reckon the
ol’ feller’s losin’ his mind, do yuh?”
“Noooo. Don’t know as I’d go so fur as tuh say Kipp was gittin’
weedy. Fact is, I think he’s jest kinda pullin’ hisse’f together.
Yeah. Supposin’ we eases ourselves over to the house, Hank? My
belly’s so empty that the chaw uh terbaccer I swallered tuh keep
from goin’ tuh sleep, is rattlin’ around in my stummick like a bronc
in a corral.”
On the way to the cabin, Hank told Tad how Shorty had excused his
partner’s absence.
“The wust of it is, Tad, she believes it. Said I was a kinderd
spirit and a whisky soak when I tries tuh explain that Shorty was
jest funnin’. I thought fer a minute that she was goin’ tuh haze me
into the blacksmith shop again, dang it.”
Hank grinned twistedly.
“I’ll wring that danged li’l’ rooster’s neck when I ketches him,”
grinned Tad.
“He ’lowed he was breakin’ even fer that windy yuh told Ma about a
hoss throwin’ him and givin’ him the black eye.”
During breakfast, Tad caught Ma Basset’s gaze fixed on him, and he
felt his ears growing red. No doubt the woman thought that bringing
Kipp back with him was some sort of drunken whim. Moreover, Kipp’s
odd behavior did much to convince Ma that the sheriff was also under
the influence of liquor. Tad breathed a sigh of relief when they
were safely back at the corral and Kipp had caught a fresh horse.
“I’d like tuh go along, Joe,” said Hank. “Them’s my cattle, yuh know
and it’s no more’n right that I should be goin’.”
“It’s a one-man job, Hank. There’ll like as not be some powder
burnt. Yuh don’t want tuh leave no widder behind yuh. In case I
don’t come back, here’s the combination to my safe.”
He handed Hank a slip of paper on which were some penciled figures.
“In the safe is a sealed envelope addressed to you. It has some
papers which will be uh use to yuh. But it ain’t tuh be opened till
I’m dead, savvy?”
Hank nodded, then looked at Tad. “Reckon I’d best tell Joe about
Pete?” Tad pondered this a moment, then: “Might as well. Can’t do no
harm, Hank.”
“Pete’s aimin’ tuh swim the river from yon side uh the Narrers and
come into the Pocket, Joe.”
“——!” Kipp’s eyes filled with pain.
“He’ll never make it, Hank. Even if he crosses, there’s a man
watching the trail from the river. He’ll be killed, shore.”
“Then I reckon I’ll be goin’ along with yuh, Kipp,” said Tad.
“Shorty went with Pete. If Shorty gits killed, all —— can’t stop me
till I downs every last man that’s mixed up in this. All of them,
_sabe_?” Tad’s eyes had gone hard as ice. The good-natured
expression had given way to hard, grim lines.
“I reckon,” said Kipp slowly, meeting Tad’s gaze without flinching,
“that I _sabe_, Ladd. That bein’ the case, I want that you should
come along with me.”
They saddled in silence. Tadd slipped a Winchester into the saddle
scabbard and emptied a box of 30–40 shells into his pocket.
“I told Fox I’d meet him at the lone cottonwood to deliver those
cattle, Hank,” said Tad with a grimness that gave the statement the
tone of a threat. “That’ll be Sunday noon. I reckon you’ll be there.
So-long till then.”
“Remember the paper in the safe,” Kipp reminded Hank. “It’ll explain
a heap that I reckon yo’re a big enough man tuh understand, Hank.”
Without another word, Tad and Kipp rode away, leaving Hank standing
in the gateway, scratching his head in a puzzled manner.
“Hank Basset,” called Ma from the doorway, some time later.
“Whatever in the world are yuh standin’ there in the road fer? A
person ’ud think you’d jest said good-by to yore last friend, a
standin’ around like a hoot owl with yore hat in yore hand,
gawkin’.”
“Last friend?” muttered Hank, as he turned to the house. “I don’t
know but what she done guessed it right. The hull danged business
has got beyond me, dad gum it.”
“If you bin hittin’ that bottle,” warned Ma, her voice firm with
determination, “you’ll put in the rest of the week at the blacksmith
shop. I’ll have no drunken rowdies set foot over my door sill.”
Ten feet from the cabin, Hank halted. He saw Ma Basset holding the
bottle of snake-bite medicine to the light. Memory of Shorty’s
healthy-sized drinks came to Hank’s mind.
“A good three inches below my last mark,” he heard his wife mutter.
“I suspected as much.”
With a groan, Hank turned and with dragging steps, entered the
blacksmith shop.
“Beat her to it that time,” he muttered, seating himself on a keg of
horse shoes and biting off a corner of plug tobacco.