"Saint Pether ... who hold'st th' Keys av Hivin--
Oi'm poor ... an' Oi'm old ... comin' sixty-sivin--
Thru' booze ... ? Eyah!--partly ... but honust, Oi've bin--
Saint Pether ... Och!--won't ye--plaze--let me--come in?"
--_The Derelict_
With a feeling of exultation he loped swiftly away. His morning had not
been wasted, he reflected. "All over but th' shoutin'," he muttered.
"Wish I'd got time to go an' see that nitchie, though. Can't make th'
Agency today, now. Well, let's see how this comes off. I can get that
old beggar any old time."
Then, suddenly, an uneasy thought crossed his mind. What if they didn't
show up. If they were hanging around somewhere close at hand, and had
seen him coming and going from Tucker's. His alert eyes flickered around
the rolling stretch of prairie unceasingly, but nothing more disturbing
than a few scattered bunches of horses and cattle appeared to his
vision. Presently, topping the summit of a small rise on the familiar
trail, he came within sight of the detachment again.
Suddenly he pulled up sharply.
"Why, hello!" he ejaculated. "What th' devil's up now?"
For, in the distance, he saw a team and wagon outside the dwelling, with
two figures scuffling at the horses' heads, and the wind brought to his
ears the sounds of a violent altercation. Jabbing the spurs into the
buckskin, he raced towards them, and his speed soon brought him up to
the combatants, who were just picking themselves up from a clinch on the
ground. In one of them he immediately recognized a rancher in the
district named Pryce--commonly known as "Ginger" Pryce, from the
somewhat sanguine color of his hair and corresponding temperament. The
other, a tall, stooping, shrunken-faced old man, was a stranger to him.
The latter's face was bleeding, and he was gasping for breath from his
encounter with his younger antagonist with long, wheezy, asthmatical
sobs that shook his emaciated body terribly.
"Here, now! What in h--l's this racket about?" shouted the Sergeant,
dismounting.
Spitting, and breathing heavily, Pryce burst out: "Them hawsses an'
wagon is mine!" He choked with his rage, and paused to regain his wind.
"Yu' 'member I come around to yu' when they was stole 'bout three weeks
ago?" he ran on excitedly. "I was comin' along th' trail 'bout a mile
nor'west o' here when I meets this old stiff comin' sailin' along with
_my_ team an' wagon, as bold as yu' like. He says he bought 'em, an'
he's showed me a bill o' sale that he says he got off'n th' feller he
bought 'em from ... but I'll gamble it's only a faked-up one, an' _he's_
th' feller what stole 'em. I made him drive on here to yore place. Yu'
wasn't in, so we gets arguin', an' he calls me a 'red-headed rooster.' I
won't take that off'n any man--old or young."
"Why didn't yu' put th' boots to him while yu' was at it?" said Ellis,
with sneering sarcasm. "He's only an old man an' I guess yu' could easy
do it.
"Well, old gentleman," he continued. "What about this outfit? Where'd
yu' get 'em?"
Pale and exhausted, the aged man strove to recover from his distress.
His agitation was pitiable, and the Sergeant gave him time and waited
quietly.
Speech suddenly broke from him, in a torrent of expostulation.
"I didn't steal 'em!" he shrilled, in a thin, high, cracked falsetto. "I
didn't!--I bought 'em honest ... an' I've got th' bill o' sale to prove
it. I'm an honest man ... always have bin ... an'--an' this feller
here's abused me an' beat me up ... an' he's twenty years younger'n me,
if he's a day. O-oh, o-oh, oh, my God!..." And the tears ran down his
lined old face into his gray beard.
"Yu' did steal 'em, you old liar--yu' know yu' did!" Pryce commenced to
yell back at him.
"Aw, quit yore squallin', Pryce," snarled the policeman angrily, "or
I'll damned soon give yu' somethin' to squall about. This ain't a dog
fight. _I'm_ runnin' this inquiry, an' I'll have it conducted in a
proper manner. Just yu' keep yore traps closed--both of yu'--an' only
open 'em to answer my questions. D'yu' hear?"
This roughly administered tonic had its effect, and the agitators grew
perceptibly quieter. The Sergeant watched them narrowly.
"Now, let's start in again," he said. "Yu', Pryce! Yore team, wagon an'
harness disappeared on th'--th'--wait a bit, I've got it in my
notebook--'on th' sixth o' June. Team o' dark bays, branded E four on
th' right shoulder. One with white star on forehead an' two white
hind-fetlocks, an' t'other, white strip on forehead, an' a small
kidney-sore on left side o' back. Heavy, double-stitched harness, with
brass-mounted hames. Wagon--Studebaker--almost new.'"
He leisurely examined the brands on the team and nodded as if satisfied.
"That's yore team all right," he said. "Now, let's have a look at th'
wagon. 'Studebakers' is common enough. Is there any marks, or somethin'
yu' can positively swear to, about it--harness, th' same?"
The other, nodding sulkily, indicated various features of
identification.
With a final scrutiny, Ellis turned to the old man who, by this time,
had recovered sufficiently to give fairly coherent answers.
"Let's have a look at yore bill o' sale, Dad," he said.
The other, fumbling with shaking old hands about his pockets, at length
produced a dirty folded paper. Benton opened it and proceeded to scan it
closely, with a running commentary.
"'Sold to Hiram Bryan. One bay team. Branded E four on right shoulder.'
H'm, h'm. 'Thirteenth of June.' Unlucky day for yu', Dad. 'One horse,
two white'--h'm, h'm, descriptions correspond O. K. 'Two hundred an'
fifty.' Got th' outfit cheap enough ... but I don't know ... nigh horse
is all right, but th' off'n ain't worth a d--n with them bog-spavins.
Seems to be made out in order, all right. Hello! Whose signature's this?
'Gordon Brown'!" He looked up suddenly. "Now, perhaps you'll tell me
who, an' what like of a feller this 'Mister Gordon Brown' is?"
The old man gazed at his interlocutor out of watering, rheumy eyes.
"Why, he's a big feller, with a black beard," he piped unhesitatingly.
And slowly and haltingly, with heavy, asthmatical breathing, he began
his labored explanation.
"I'd just come over th' Line, from Nebrasky. Things was bad down ther',
an' I figgered on filin' on a bit of a homestead somewheres around this
part o' th' country. I was in th' hotel at Sabbano when I first met this
feller--him an' his partner, a younger chap--an' we got a-talkin'
together. He said as how they'd had a homestead down this ways, but had
got burnt out ... so they was--or he was--goin' ter take up 'nother
place, somewheres up in th' bush, west o' here ... later. I told him as
I had a bit o' money an' was a-figgerin' on buyin' a wagon an' team ...
an' he says: 'Why, we'll sell yu' our'n ... we ain't got no use fer 'em
jest now, an' afterwards I kin offer yu' a job--freightin' some stuff o'
ours up to our new place.' He said as how him an' his partner were
a-workin' fer an outfit called th' Wharnock Cattle Company." (Ellis
started involuntarily.) "They was a freightin' some supplies back ter
th' outfit with a four-horse team, an' he says ter me: 'Yu' kin come
back with us, ef yu' like, an' see th' team an' wagon ... an' ef yu' buy
'em, I guess I kin get yu' a job teamin' fer th' company till we're
ready ter pull out ter our own place.' They'd got a big load on, so it
was a two-days' trip, an' th' night we gets ther', he says: 'We've got
'em bein' kept over at a friend o' our'n. Me partner here'll go get 'em
in th' mornin'.' Well, th' young feller brings 'em in th' next afternoon
an', as they looked as th' kind I wanted, an' th' price bein' all right
why, I buys 'em, an' he gives me this bill o' sale."
"D'yu' pay him cash?" inquired Ellis.
The old man nodded wearily. "Two hunnerd an' fifty dollars," he
murmured. "I on'y had a hundred left, but they got me inter a poker game
at th' outfit, an' they skinned me o' that. Th' big feller, he fixed it
up with th' foreman fer me ter work ther' with me team fer a week or
two. Th' day before yestiddy he comes ter me an' he says: 'Termorrer
mornin' yu' get yore team an' pull out fer Cherry Creek. We're ready ter
quit now, an' there's some stuff down ther' as we wants yu' ter freight
up ter our place in th' bush.' He tells me th' way, an' he says: 'Yu'
hit th' trail that goes south, past a feller called Barney Gallagher's.
Don't yu' _stop_ ther', though. Ther'll be a feller with red hair, on a
white hawss, meet yu' somewheres around ther', and' he'll show yu' wher'
ther' stuff is, an' help yu' ter get it loaded.' Well, I pulls out, an'
comes over here, an' fust thing I know is, I meets up with this feller"
(here he indicated Pryce), "an' he holds me up, an' says as how th' team
an' wagon's his'n," he wound up, with a hopeless inflection in his
tones.
There followed a long silence. The policeman remained in deep thought
awhile.
"See here; look," he said. "Yu' tell me as near as yu' can, what this
big feller's like."
The old man looked at him absently a moment.
"Eh?" he said. "Why, he's a big feller with a black beard. They calls
him 'George' around th' outfit. Th' young feller ... they calls _him_
'Scotty.' I dunno what his other name is. All my dealin's has bin mostly
with th' big feller--'George.' He does all th' talkin' ... an' th' young
chap ... seems ter do as he tells him."
The Sergeant nodded gravely. "That settles it," he said sharply.
Pryce, who, all this time, had been an eager listener, now sputtered
excitedly: "Why, why--that's George Fisk an' Scotty Robbins he's
a-meanin'. Must be. H--l! _They're_ all right. I know 'em both well. It
ain't likely as _they'd_ come a-sneakin' 'round a feller's place while
he was away an' steal his outfit. I'm a-goin' ter ride over ter th'
Wharnock outfit right now an' see'f this old gink's a-tellin' th'
truth," he ended, with a spiteful glance at the old man.
Ellis turned and regarded him with his peculiar, blank, aggressive
stare.
"Well, I guess yu' _ain't_," he drawled coldly. "That's _my_ end o' this
business. I know more about them same two fellers'n what yu' do. I know
this much, too. From information I've received, yu' wouldn't find 'em
_at_ th' outfit just now, anyways."
The other stared at him sullenly.
"That ther' team an' wagon's mine, no matter whether them fellers is at
home or abroad," he began blusteringly. "An' I guess I'll take 'em back
with me."
"Reckon yu've got another guess comin', then," rejoined the policeman
dryly. "Th' outfit may be your'n, all right, but yu' don't get 'em till
this business is all cleared up, an' th' Court orders 'em to be returned
to yu'. When I'm ready, I'll notify yu' to come into Sabbano--with yore
witnesses, yu' understand--to prove yore ownership. D'yu' get me now?"
he rapped out harshly, with a rising inflection in his tones.
The red-headed rancher regarded him with a sulky, brooding stare, the
premeditated retort dying on his lips. For there was _that_ in the
Sergeant's face and voice, just then, that forbade any talking back; so,
with a last, lingering, dissatisfied look at his newly found property,
he slowly mounted his waiting horse and rode away.
Benton noted the course he took with grim satisfaction. No fear of his
meeting _them_ now. He was going home, all right--his place _lay_
nor'east, he reflected. _They_ would come in from the sou'west. He
turned to the old man, whom the bill of sale had named as Bryan.
"Unhitch that team an' put 'em in th' stable, Bryan," he said. "An' take
th' harness off 'em. I'm a-goin' to hold yu' on a charge of vagrancy
till this mix-up's all squared out."
Slowly the other complied with the Sergeant's order and, leading the
horses into the stable, endeavored to unharness them; but the weight of
the heavy, brass-mounted hames seemed too much for his strength to raise
and hang on the stable-pegs. He staggered and almost fell, the Sergeant
coming to his assistance, and giving him a hand.
"An' _yu'_ figured on takin' up a homestead, Dad?" he said
incredulously. "Why, with yore age, an th' shape yu're in, it'd kill
yu'. Yu' ain't fit for nothin' like _that_. Whatever d'yu' come over
here for? Ain't yu' no friends--relations, or family, back where yu'
come from--to look after yu'?"
The old man shook his gray head despondently and, with a weary sigh and
long-drawn whistling breaths, sank down on an oat bin.
"I did hev one time," he wheezed, in the cracked, querulous tones of the
aged. "Plenty o' money, too! Oh, I hed lots o' friends--then. I raised
four of a family--three boys an' a girl. They're all married, an' livin'
in different parts o' th' States. They don't bother none over th' ol'
man--now. Th' wife--she was th' last one as I hed in th' world ter call
friend. She died last Christmas, so I come over here. Son," he said,
with an impressive solemnity, pausing a moment, "whin yu' see a man o'
my years down an' out, what d'yu' gen'rally figger's wrong?"
Ellis, with an inscrutable face, was thoughtfully studying the
venerable, weary countenance of his elderly vis-a-vis.
"Booze?" he queried slowly.
"I reckon yu' hev it," was the hopeless reply. "Me own worst friend!
But--I hev always bin honest."
The policeman considered the other's face a moment or two longer, then
suddenly made up his mind.
"I'll take a chance on it," he muttered; then, raising his voice. "See
here; look, Bryan," he said. "Sizin' things up as they've panned out up
to date, I believe yu've been tellin' me th' straight tale, all right.
Now, I've got another feller in here--locked up. There's only one cell.
But I'm not a-goin' to shut yu' in with a dirty criminal like him, if
yu'll give me yore word as th' honest man yu' call yoreself, yu' won't
try to skip out on me. I'll be away tonight--or th' best part o' th'
night--on duty. So yu' an' this feller'll be alone in here. Yu're not to
talk to him, mind. Yu' can give him a cup o' water thru' th' bars if he
wants it, but no matches or anythin' to smoke. I'm takin' no chances on
a fire while I'm away. Yu' can just lay around an' sleep on my cot, an'
let that feller think as yu're a-watchin' him. 'Member," he added
warningly, "if yu' _did_ try to skip, I could easy catch yu' ag'in ...
an' it'd be a sure sign yu' was a guilty accomplice o' these fellers. I
need yu' as an all-important witness, an' this is th' only chance yu've
got of gettin' clear. D'yu' get me now?"
The old man, seeming grateful at the trust thus reposed in him, eagerly
gave the required promise.
"Son," he said solemnly. "I give yu' my word. Yu're treatin' me like a
white man."