A MURDER AND A KILLING
Loudon and Laguerre did not ride directly to Farewell. The three
months Loudon had given Blakely would not be up for five days. The two
men spent the intervening time in the country between the Farewell
trail and the Dogsoldier River. Of their quarry they found no trace.
Not at all disheartened, however, they rode into Farewell on the
morning of the day set for the meeting. As usual, Bill Lainey was
dozing in front of his hotel. They put their horses in the corral, and
awakened Lainey.
"Shake hands with Mr. Laguerre, Bill," said Loudon, "an' tell me what
yuh know."
"Glad to know yuh, Mr. Laguerre," wheezed the fat man. "I only know
one thing, Tom, an' that is, Farewell ain't no place for you. I've
heard how there's a warrant out for yuh."
"Is Block in town?"
"Not just now. He rid out yest'day. But he may be back any time. The
Sheriff o' Sunset's here. He's lookin' for Rufe Cutting. Seems Rufe's
been jumpin' sideways up north--killed a feller or somethin'. The
Sunset Sheriff allows Rufe drifted south in company with Block. Block,
he says he never seen Cutting. Looked like a shootin' for a minute,
but Block he passed it off, an' left town 'bout a hour later."
"Well, the Sheriff o' Sunset don't want me," observed Loudon, "an' he's
a good fellah, anyway. Guess I'll stick here to-day. Maybe Block'll
come back an' make it amusin'. See anythin' of our friend, Mr. Sam
Blakely?"
"Sam don't never drift in no more," replied Lainey. "Ain't seen him
since I dunno when. Some o' the boys do now an' then, but even they
don't come like they useter. Why, last Monday, when Rudd an' Shorty
Simms sifted in, was the first time in three weeks that any o' the 88
boys had been in town. Shorty said they was powerful busy at the
ranch."
"That's good. It's probably the first time they ever was busy. See
yuh later, Bill. S'long."
"So long."
"I'll bet they was busy them three weeks," said Loudon, as he and
Laguerre walked away. "The evidence is beginnin' to show itself, ain't
it?"
"You bet," assented Laguerre, his eyes shining.
Most of the citizens they met regarded Loudon with noncommittal eyes,
but a few of the glances were frankly unfriendly. The two men entered
the Happy Heart Saloon, there being sounds of revelry within.
On a table sat the Sheriff of Sunset County. He was heartily
applauding the efforts of a perspiring gentleman who was dancing a jig.
Loudon perceived that the sheriff, while not precisely drunk, was yet
not sober. His gestures were free and his language freer.
There were at least a score of men in the saloon, and they were all
Block's close friends. They muttered among themselves at Loudon's
entrance. The story of Block's tarring and feathering had lost nothing
in transmission.
Loudon and Laguerre made their way to the far end of the bar and
ordered drinks. With the wall at their backs they were reasonably
secure from treachery. The Sheriff of Sunset nodded to the two men
from the Bend and continued to shout encouragement to the jigging
citizen. Finally, the dancer succumbed to exhaustion. The sheriff
slid from the table.
"Well, I got to be wrigglin' along," he said. "See yuh later."
"Not yet, Sheriff, not yet," protested a tall man with wolfish
features. "Have another drink first. Just one. Step up, gents, step
up. Name yore poison."
"No, not another one," said the sheriff, but his tone lacked conviction.
He had another, two in fact. Again he started for the door. But the
wolf-faced man barred the way.
"Sheriff," he wheedled, "what yuh say to a little game? Just one
little game. Only one. Yuh can't be in such a all-fired hurry yuh
can't stop for just one."
"I got to get Rufe Cutting," said the sheriff. "I ain't got no time
for poker."
"Now, looky here, Sheriff," coaxed the tempter, "yuh'll stand just as
much show o' gettin' Rufe right here in Farewell as yuh will anywhere
else. What's the use o' ridin' the range an' workin' yoreself to
death, when yuh can stay here cool and comf'table?"
"Aw, shut up! I'm a-goin'."
"Well, o' course, if yo're broke----"
"I ain't broke. What do----"
"No offence, Sheriff. No harm meant. None whatever."
"I'll play yuh one game an' that's all. C'mon."
The sheriff played more than one game, for he won the first. He
continued to win. He thought no more of Rufe Cutting. And he sat with
his back toward the doorway. Which position is the most eminently
unsafe of any that an officer of the law may assume. Once, during that
time, Laguerre suggested to Loudon that they go elsewhere. But Loudon
had whispered:
"Wait. There's somethin' crooked here."
So they waited, Loudon watching for he knew not what piece of evil,
Laguerre mystified but thoroughly prepared for eventualities. It was
noticeable that, excepting the card-players, the men in the room were
afflicted with a strange restlessness. They moved aimlessly about;
they hitched their chairs to new positions; they conversed by fits and
starts; they threw frequent glances toward the doorway.
Suddenly it happened.
A squat-bodied man with bat ears appeared on the threshold. As at a
signal, the three men playing with the sheriff flung themselves down on
the floor. The hand of the squat-bodied man shot up and forward. A
revolver cracked twice, and the Sheriff of Sunset County quietly
crumpled across the card-table.
Through the swirling smoke of the discharge two red streaks flashed as
the six-shooters of Loudon and Laguerre barked in unison. The
squat-bodied man fell forward on his face.
Head and shoulders on the floor of the saloon, his legs on the
sidewalk, he lay motionless. Side by side, the souls of the sheriff
and his murderer sped homeward.
The habitues of the Happy Heart unhurriedly deserted their points of
vantage against the wall, on the floor, or behind the bar, and gathered
about the corpse of the squat-bodied man. They gazed upon the body for
a brief space of time, then, one by one, they stepped carefully over it
and departed.
"Gents," squeaked the perturbed bartender, "would yuh mind goin' out in
the street? I--I'm goin' to close up."
"It's only the mornin'," said Loudon. "Why close up?"
"I'm sick. I got indigestion right bad," the bartender explained.
Indeed, the bartender looked quite ill. His complexion had turned a
pasty yellow and his teeth were clicking together.
"Yuh look right bad," agreed Loudon. "But yo're mistaken about closin'
up. Yo're a-goin' to keep open. Telescope, let's get the sheriff
spread out right."
They pushed two tables together. Then they lifted the sheriff's body
and laid it on the tables. They unbuckled the spurs, straightened the
limbs, covered the still face with the neck handkerchief, and put the
hat over the gaping wound in the chest where the bullets had come out.
When they had done all that they could they needed a drink. The
shivering bartender served them.
"For Gawd's sake, gents!" he pleaded. "Block'll be here in a minute!
Go out in the street, won't yuh?"
"'Block'll be here,'" repeated Loudon. "How do yuh know he'll be here?"
The bartender began to stutter. His complexion became yellower.
Loudon turned to Laguerre.
"Talks funny, don't he?" he observed. "Can't say nothin' but 'I.'"
Reaching across the bar, he seized the bartender by the shoulder.
"Say, fellah," he continued, "how do yuh know so much about Block?"
"I--I--I----" sputtered the bartender.
"I thought Block had left town. How do yuh know he's back?"
The bartender changed his tune.
"Ow! Ow!" he yelled. "Yo're hurtin' me! My shoulder! Ow!"
"I'll hurt yuh worse if yuh don't spit out what yuh know about Block
an' his doin's."
"He--he--oh, I can't! I can't!" wailed the bartender.
"Block shore has you an' the rest o' these prairie-dogs buffaloed. I
just guess yes. Well, yuh needn't tell me. I'm a pretty good guesser
myself. Telescope, let's you'n me go call on Block."
"I am you," said Laguerre, and slid through a rear window. Loudon
followed. They hastened along the rear of the line of houses and
crouched beneath the windowsill of a small two-room shack at the end of
the street. There were sounds of a hot discussion in progress in the
front room.
"Guess he's home!" whispered Loudon. "Might as well go in."
Gently they opened the back door, and very quietly they tiptoed across
the floor of the back room to a closed door.
"We've got to hurry," a voice was saying.
"Shore," said the voice of Sheriff Block. "You three cover 'em through
the back window when me an' the rest come in the front door. Yuh know
there won't be no fuss if yore fingers slip on the trigger. I'd rather
bury a man any day than arrest him."
With a quick motion Loudon flung open the door.
"'Nds up!" cried he, sharply, covering the roomful.
Ten pairs of hands clawed upward. There were eleven men in the room.
Every one of the lot, save the eleventh man, had the impression that
the six-shooters of Loudon and Laguerre bore upon him personally.
The eleventh citizen, being nearest the door and possessing a gambler's
spirit, attempted to reach the street. He reached it--on his face.
For Loudon had driven an accurate bullet through the fleshy part of his
thigh.
"The next fellah," harshly announced Loudon, "who makes any fool breaks
will get it halfway beneath his mind an' his mouth. There's a party in
the corner, him with the funny face--he ain't displayin' enough
enthusiasm in reachin' for the ceilin'. If he don't elevate his
flippers right smart an' sudden, he won't have no trouble at all in
reachin' the stars."
The biceps of the gentleman of the face immediately cuddled his ears.
The ten men were now painfully rigid. They said nothing. They did not
even think to swear. They knew what they deserved and they dreaded
their deserts.
"Telescope," observed Loudon, softly, "s'pose yuh go round an' unbuckle
their belts. Better go through 'em, too. They might carry
shoulder-holsters under their shirts. Take the hono'ble Mister Sheriff
Block first. That's right. Now, Mister Sheriff, go an' stand in that
corner, face to the side wall, an' keep a-lookin' right at the wall,
too. I wouldn't turn my head none, neither. Yuh see, I don't guess
there'd be no fuss made if my finger should slip on the trigger. It's
a heap easier to bury a man than arrest him, ain't it?"
Loudon laughed without mirth. Block's nine friends, murder in their
eyes, stared at Loudon. He stared back, his lips drawn to a white line.
"Yo're a healthy lot o' killers," commented he.
The last belt and six-shooter thudded on the floor just as Loudon
perceived that the wounded citizen in the street was endeavouring to
crawl away.
"Telescope," he said, "I guess now the party in the street would feel a
heap easier in here with all his friends."
Telescope marched out into the street and removed the wounded man's
gun. Then he seized him by the collar, dragged him into the shack, and
dumped him in a corner. Meanwhile, Loudon had lined up the nine
beltless citizens beside Block against the side wall. They stood,
stomachs pressed against the planks, a prey to violent emotions.
"Yuh can rest yore hands against the wall," said Loudon, kindly, "an'
that's just all yuh can do."
"Gimme a drink!" gasped the wounded man.
Telescope scooped up a dipperful from the bucket under the table. When
the man had drunk, Telescope proceeded to cut away his trouser-leg and
wash and expertly bandage the wound. His work of mercy finished, the
efficient Telescope took post near the doorway where he could watch the
street.
Loudon seated himself on the edge of the table and rolled a cigarette
one-handed. A silence, marred only by the flurried breathing of the
stuck-up gentlemen, fell upon the room.
"Block," said Loudon, suddenly, "where's Blakely?"
Block maintained his attitude of silent protest. Loudon gently
repeated his question. Block made no reply.
Bang-g! Block convulsively shrank to one side. The line of citizens
shook. Smoke curled lazily from the muzzle of Loudon's six-shooter.
"Block," observed Loudon, serenely, "get back in position. That's
right. Next time, instead o' shadin' yore ear I'll graze it. Now
where's Blakely?"
"I dunno," replied Block in a choked tone of voice.
"Well, maybe yuh don't, maybe yuh don't. Ain't he at the ranch no
more?"
"I ain't been to no ranch."
"I didn't say yuh had, did I?" mildly reproved Loudon. "But now that
yuh've brought it up, where did yuh pick up Shorty Simms?"
"What do yuh mean?"
"Oh, I'll explain to yuh. I always do that. Habit I got. Yuh see,
Block, yest'day after you an' the Sheriff o' Sunset had a few words yuh
left town. To-day in comes Shorty Simms an' kills the sheriff--shoots
him in the back, which is natural for a killer like Shorty.
"Well, Block, between the time of yore ridin' away yest'day an' the
murder o' the sheriff to-day a fellah on a hoss like yores would just
about have time to ride to the 88 ranch an' back. O' course the fellah
wouldn't have time for pickin' posies on the way, but he could make it
by steady ridin'. Think hard now, Block, think hard. Ain't it just
possible yuh rid over to the 88?"
"No, ---- yuh, I didn't!"
"No? Well, now, ain't that curious? I shore thought yuh did.
Telescope, I think I see a couple o' hosses in Block's corral. Would
yuh mind ridin' herd on this bunch while I go out an' look at 'em?"
Loudon went out into the street. Far down the street a group of men
had gathered. Otherwise the street was deserted. Even Bill Lainey had
disappeared.
Loudon stopped and stared at the distant figures. They made no hostile
motions, but appeared to hold converse with each other. One detached
himself from the group and came toward Loudon. He saw that it was his
friend, Mike Flynn, the one-legged proprietor of the Blue Pigeon Store.
The red-headed Irishman, his mouth a-grin from ear to ear, halted in
front of Loudon and stretched out his hamlike paw.
"H'are yuh, Tom, me lad," he said, giving Loudon's hand a terrific
grip. "I'm glad to see yuh, an' that's the truth. Others are not so
glad, I'm thinkin'." He peered through the doorway. "I thought so.
'T's all right, Tommy, me an' me friends is with yuh heart an' soul.
Though Farewell don't look it they's a few solid min like meself in the
place who are all for law an' order an' a peaceful life. But they
ain't enough of us, djuh see, to get all we want to once.
"Still, we can do somethin', so, Tommy, me lad, go as far as yuh like
with Block an' his constituents yuh got inside. Put 'em over the
jumps. Me an' me frinds will see that they's no attimpts made at a
riscue. We will that. Be aisy. If yuh have a chance come to the Blue
Pigeon. Not a word. Not a word. I know yo're busy."
Mike Flynn returned whence he came. Loudon was considerably relieved
by what the Irishman had said. For only ten of the men who had been in
the Happy Heart were in Block's shack, and the absence of the others
had given him much food for thought. He hastened to inspect the horses
in the corral. Within three minutes he had resumed his seat on Block's
table.
"'Course I ain't doubtin' yore word, Block," he observed, "but one o'
them hosses is yore black, an' the other hoss is a gray pony branded 88
an' packin' a saddle with Shorty Simms's name stamped on the front o'
the cantle. Both hosses look like they'd been rode fast an' far.
Well, Shorty's dead, anyway. You yellow pup, yuh didn't have nerve
enough to shoot it out with the sheriff yore own self! Yuh had to go
get one o' Blakely's killers to do yore dirty work for yuh."
"Wat you say, Tom?" queried Laguerre. "Keel heem un tak hees hair,
huh?"
"It'd shore improve him a lot. I got a plan, Telescope. Just wait a
shake. Block, where's Rufe Cutting an' what happened to my hoss
Ranger?"
"I dunno nothin' about Cutting," mumbled Block.
Instantly Loudon's six-shooter cracked. With a yelp of pain Block
leaped a yard high and clapped a hand to his head.
"Up with them hands!" rapped out Loudon. "Up with 'em!"
Block, shaking like a cedar branch in a breeze, obeyed. From a ragged
gash in the Darwinian tubercle of his right ear blood trickled down his
neck.
"Block," said Loudon in his gentlest tone, "I wish yuh'd give me some
information about Rufe. I'll ask yuh again, an' this time if yuh don't
answer I'll ventilate yore left ear, an' I'll use one o' these guns on
the floor here. Yuh got to make allowances for ragged work. I won't
know the gun like I do my own, an' I may make more of a shot than I
mean to. Yuh can't tell."
He drew a six-shooter from one of the dropped holsters, and cocked it.
"Where's Rufe Cutting an' my hoss Ranger?" continued Loudon.
"I dunno! I tell yuh I dunno!" squealed the desperate sheriff.
One of the two guns in Loudon's hands spoke twice. Block fell to his
knees, his hands gripping his head.
"Get up!" shouted Loudon. "Get up! It's only yore ear again. I used
my own gun after all!"
Then, both what he had undergone at the hands of Block and the loss of
his pet suddenly overwhelming him, he leaped at the crouching sheriff
and kicked him.
"You ---- murderer!" he gritted through his teeth.
"Where's my hoss? Where is he? ---- yore soul! What did Rufe do to
him? Tell me, or by ---- I'll beat yuh to death here an' now!"
And with his wire-bound Mexican quirt Loudon proceeded savagely to lash
the sheriff. Loudon was a strong man. He struck with all his might.
The double thongs bit through vest and flannel shirt and raised raw
welts on the flesh.
The sheriff writhed around and flung himself blindly at his torturer.
But Loudon kicked the sheriff in the chest and hurled him, a groaning
heap, into his corner. Nor did he cease to thrash him with the quirt.
Between blows he bawled demands for news of his horse. Loudon felt
sure that Ranger was dead, but he wished to clinch the fact.
"He's gone! Oh, my Gawd! He's gone south!" screamed Block, unable to
withhold utterance another second.
Loudon held the quirt poised over his shoulder.
"Yuh mean Rufe Cutting?" he inquired.
"Both of 'em! Rufe an' the hoss! They're both gone!"
"Yuh mean Rufe has took my hoss away?"
"Yes! Yes! Don't hit me with that again."
Loudon did not know whether to believe the sheriff. It was more than
possible that Block was lying to escape further punishment. Loudon
stared at him. He made an ugly picture lying there on the floor, his
face a network of red welts. His shirt was dabbled and stained with
the blood from his wounded ears.
"I was goin' to give yuh a chance," said Loudon, slowly. "I was aimin'
to give yuh yore gun an' let yuh shoot it out with me. But I can't do
that now. Yuh ain't in no shape for shootin'. It'd be like murder to
down yuh, an' I ain't goin' to practise murder even on a dog like you.
I'm kind o' sorry I feel that way about it. Yuh don't deserve to live
a minute."
"You keel heem," put in Laguerre. "She try for keel you een de Ben'.
Or I keel heem. I don' care. So she die, dat's enough."
"Can't be did, Telescope."
"I tell you, my frien', you let heem go, she mak plenty trouble."
"We've got to risk that. Yuh can't murder a man, Telescope. Yuh just
can't."
Laguerre shrugged expressive shoulders and said no more. It was
Loudon's business. He was boss of the round-up.
"Yuh see how it is, Block," observed Loudon. "I can't down yuh now,
but next time we meet it's shoot on sight. Next time yuh see Blakely
tell him I expected to meet him here in Farewell. I don't guess he'll
come now. Still, on the off chance that he does, me an' my friend will
stay till sunset. Telescope, I feel sort o' empty. Guess I'll go in
the back room an' rustle some chuck."
While Loudon and Laguerre were eating, the sheriff fainted. The strain
of standing upright combined with the rough handling he had received
had proved too much for him. Laguerre threw the contents of the water
bucket over the sheriff.
When the sheriff recovered consciousness Loudon gave the nine citizens
permission to sit on the floor. And they sat down stiffly.
Slowly the long hours passed. Occasionally Loudon walked to the door
and looked up and down the street. Apparently Farewell dozed.
But it was far from being asleep. Here and there, leaning against the
house walls in attitudes of ease, were men. These men were posted in
pairs, and Loudon saw Mike Flynn stumping from one couple to another.
One pair was posted across the street from the sheriff's shack. The
first time Loudon appeared in the doorway these two nodded, and one
waved his arm in friendly fashion. There were only twelve in all of
these sentinels, but their positions had been chosen with strategic
wisdom. Any attempt at a rescue would be disastrous to the rescuers.
"Well," said Loudon when the sun was near its setting, "we might as
well be movin', Telescope."
"Mabbeso our hosses been rustle'," suggested Laguerre.
"If they are we'll get 'em back. Our friends here'll fix that up O.K."
The friends glared sullenly. They wanted blood, and lots of it. They
had been stuck up and reviled, two of them had been wounded, and their
self-respect had been grievously shattered. Vengeance would be very
sweet. They wished for it with all the power of very evil hearts.
Loudon gathered up all the cartridge-belts and six-shooters and strung
them together. He slung the bundle over his shoulder and addressed his
captives.
"You fellahs stand on yore feet. Yo're goin' down street with us.
Telescope, I'll wait for 'em outside. Send 'em out, will yuh."
Loudon stepped into the street. One by one the men came out and were
lined up two by two in the middle of the street.
The last man was the sheriff. He did not shamble, and he did not keep
his eyes on the ground in the manner of a broken man. It was evident
that the virtue which passed with him for courage had returned. Even
as Captain Burr had remarked, Sheriff Block was not as other men. He
was a snake. Nothing but the bullet that killed him could have any
effect upon his reptilian nature. This Loudon realized to the full.
"I'm watchin' yuh, Block," he said. "My hand ain't none shaky yet,
even if I have been holdin' a gun on yuh all day."
Block shot him a venomous side glance and then looked straight ahead.
"Git along, boys," ordered Loudon. "We'll be right behind yuh."
With Loudon and Laguerre marching on the right and left flank rear
respectively the procession trailed down the street till it arrived
opposite Bill Lainey's hotel. There, in obedience to Loudon's sharp
command, it halted. While Laguerre guarded the prisoners Loudon went
to the corral. He found Lainey sitting on a wagon-box beside the gate,
a double-barrelled shotgun across his knees. Lainey was excessively
wide awake.
"Did somebody come a-lookin' in at our hosses?" drawled Loudon.
"Somebody did," wheezed Lainey. "Somebody near had both of 'em out the
gate, but I had this Greener handy, an he faded. By ----! I'd shore
admire to see any tin-horn rustle hosses out o' my corral. They're fed
an' watered, Tom, an' my wife's done----"
"Yes, Mr. Loudon," interrupted Mrs. Lainey, sticking her lean head out
of the kitchen window. "I knowed yuh wouldn't have no time to eat, so
I just rolled up some canned tomatters an' canned peaches an' some
beans an' some bacon an' a little jerked beef in yore slickers. Ain't
it hot? My land! I'm most roasted to death. How'd yuh like it up
no'th?"
"Fine, Mis' Lainey, fine," replied Loudon. "I'm obliged to yuh, ma'am.
I hope next time I'm in town I won't be so rushed an' I'll have time to
stay awhile an' eat a reg'lar dinner. I tell yuh, ma'am, I ain't
forgot yore cookin'."
"Aw, you go 'long!" Mrs. Lainey giggled with pleasure and withdrew her
head.
"Bill," said Loudon, "yo're a jim-hickey, an' I won't forget it. Let's
see--four feeds, two dinners. How much?"
"Nothin', Tom, nothin' a-tall. Not this trip. It's on the house.
This is the first time I ever had a real chance to pay yuh back for
what yuh done for my kid. Don't say nothin', now. Tom, I kind o'
guess Farewell is due to roll over soon. Me an' Mike Flynn an' Piney
Jackson, the blacksmith, an' a few o' the boys are gettin' a heap tired
o' Block an' his little ways."
"I thought Piney was a friend o' Block's."
"He was, but Block ain't paid for his last eight shoein's, an' Piney
can't collect, an' now he ain't got a bit o' use for the sheriff. Some
day soon there's goin' to be a battle. Downin' the Sheriff o' Sunset
just about put the hat on the climax. Folks'll take us for a gang o'
murderers. Well, I'm ready. Got this Greener an' a buffler gun an'
four hundred cartridges. Oh, I'm ready, you bet!"
Loudon, leading the two horses, rejoined his comrade. The animals were
fractious, yet Loudon and Laguerre swung into their saddles without
losing for an instant the magic of the drop.
"We got here without no trouble," Loudon observed in a loud tone.
"We're goin' back the way we came. We'll hope that nobody turns loose
any artillery from the sidewalk. If they do you fellahs won't live a
minute."
No shots disturbed the almost pastoral peace of Farewell as prisoners
and guards retraced their steps. Opposite the sheriff's shack the
convoy began to lag.
"Keep a-goin'," admonished Loudon. "We don't like to part with yuh
just yet."
The prisoners were driven to where a tall spruce grew beside the
Paradise Bend trail, three miles from Farewell.
"Yuh can stop here," said Loudon. "We'll drop yore guns an' belts a
couple o' miles farther on. We're goin' back to the Bend, an' we'll
tell the boys what a rattlin' reception yuh give me an' my friend. If
yuh see Sam Blakely, Block, don't forget to tell him I was a heap
disappointed not to find him to-day. So long, sports, yo're the
easiest bunch o' longhorns I ever seen."
Loudon laughed in the sheriff's blood-caked face, and set spurs to his
horse.
"How far we go, huh?" queried Laguerre, when a fold in the ground
concealed the tall spruce.
"About four mile. There's a draw runnin' southeast. We'll ride down
that. We'd ought to be at the Cross-in-a-box round two o'clock. We
could turn off right after we dump this assortment o' cannons. They
won't follow us to see whether I told 'em the truth or not. They'll
just keep right on believin' we're a-headin' for the Bend hot-foot."
"I guess dey weel. Say, my frien', why deed'n you geet dat warran'
from de sher'f un mak heem eat eet? I would, me."
"I don't want to let on I know anythin' about the warrant. Block wants
to spring it nice an' easy. All right--let him."
Between two and three in the morning they dismounted in front of the
Cross-in-a-box ranch house. Loudon pushed open the front door and
walked in. He closed the door and set his back against it.
"Hey, Jack!" he called. "Wake up!"
"Who's there?" came in the incisive voice of Richie, accompanied by a
double click.
"It's me--Tom Loudon. I want to see yuh a minute."
"That's good hearin'. I'll be right out. Light the lamp, will yuh,
Tom?"
Tousle-headed Jack Richie brisked into the dim circle of lamplight and
gripped his friend's hand. He was unfeignedly glad to see Loudon.
"C'mon where it's light," invited Richie. "What yuh standin' by the
door for? I'll turn the lamp up."
"No, yuh won't. Don't touch the lamp, Jack. There's plenty o' light
for my business. I'm standin' here 'cause I don't want nobody to know
I come here to-night--nobody but you an' Ramsay."
"I see," said Richie. "Want a hoss?"
"No, ours'll do. Yeah, I've got a friend with me. I can't bring him
in. Got to be movin' right quick. I just stopped to know could I
borrow Johnny Ramsay for a while. It's on account o' the 88 outfit."
"Yuh shore can. The 88, huh? Well, I wish yuh luck. When yuh need
any more help, let me know."
"Thanks, Jack. I knowed I could count on yuh."
"I'll get Johnny right away."
"No, to-morrow 'll do. There's somethin' I want Johnny to do first.
I'd like him to ride over to the Bar S an' tell Chuck Morgan that if he
feels like makin' a change there's a job waitin' for him at the Flyin'
M. I hate to take one of his men away from Old Salt, but it's root hog
or die. I need another man, an' Chuck'll just fill the bill."
"Lemme fix it up. I can borrow Chuck for yuh. Old Salt'll listen to
me. No, I won't have to tell him nothin' about yore business. Leave
it to me."
"All right. That's better'n takin' Chuck away from him. Yuh needn't
mention no name, but yuh can guarantee to Old Salt that Chuck's wages
will be paid while he's off, o' course. Yuh can tell Chuck on the side
that Scotty Mackenzie will do the payin'."
"Scotty, huh? I did hear how he lost a bunch o' hosses. How many--two
hundred, wasn't it?"
"One hundred. But that's enough."
"Yuh don't suspect the 88, do yuh? Why, the Flyin' M is two hundred
mile north."
"What's two hundred mile to the 88? An' didn't Scotty ride it just to
find out whether I was straight or a murderer?"
"He shore did," laughed Richie. "Yuh couldn't blame the old jigger,
though. That 88 brand on yore hoss was misleadin' some."
"That hoss o' mine's been stole. Yep, lifted right in the street in
Paradise Bend. Rufe Cutting done it."
"I don't remember him. Is he anybody special besides a hoss thief?"
"Friend o' Blakely's. Block says Rufe's drifted south--him an' the
hoss. But Block may be lyin'. Yuh can't tell."
"Did the sheriff give yuh that information free of charge?"
"Not so yuh could notice it. I got it out of him with a quirt, an' I
had to drill both his ears, he was that stubborn."
"Drilled both his ears. Well! Well! Yuh'd ought to have killed him."
"I know it. He went an' got Shorty Simms to kill the Sheriff o'
Sunset."
"What?"
"Shore. It was thisaway."
Loudon related the circumstances of the sheriff's murder.
"An'," he said in conclusion, "Sunset ain't a-goin' to take it kindly."
"Which I should say not! His friends'll paint for war, that's a cinch.
This country's gettin' worse an' worse!"
"No, only the people are, an' maybe we can get some of 'em to change.
But I been here too long already. We're ridin' to Marysville, Jack,
an' we aim to stay there a couple o' days. Tell Johnny an' Chuck to
meet us there, an' tell 'em not to bawl out my name when they see me.
It'd be just like the two of 'em to yell her out so yuh could hear it
over in the next county. An' I've got plenty of reasons for wishin' to
be private."
"Don't worry none. They'll keep their mouths shut. I'll fix that up.
I wish yuh luck, Tom. I shore hope yuh get the 88 an' get 'em good. I
ain't lost no more cows lately, but I don't like 'em any better for
that."
"I wish I could make Old Salt see the light," Loudon grumbled.
"I kind o' think he's comin' round. I seen him a week ago, an' he
didn't talk real friendly 'bout the 88. But then, he might have had a
bellyache at the time. Old Salt's kind o' odd. Yuh can't always tell
what he's thinkin' inside."