The following morning, shortly after daylight, Lem Sheeley and Joe Cave
arrived at the ranch with the hack from the 6X6 and a top-buggy. They
were going to take Peter Morgan’s body to Cañonville in the hack, and
Lem brought the top-buggy to take Nan to the inquest--or rather the
double inquest.
This had been the date set for the inquest over the body of Ben Leach;
so they were going to hold one over Peter Morgan on the same day. Lem
had appointed Joe Cave to act as his deputy while Noah Evans was out of
commission.
‘They know Nan was here at the ranch when her brother came from Mesa
City, and heard what he said about fixin’ one of the 6X6 outfit,’
explained Lem. ‘Me and Noah heard it; but they want her testimony.’
Nan agreed to go, and while she was getting ready, Hashknife took Lem
aside and questioned him about the gun he found in the corral.
‘Are you goin’ to offer that as evidence?’ asked Hashknife.
‘I’m kinda stuck about that,’ said Lem. ‘I hate to do it, and still I
figure I ought to, Hashknife. It’ll hang Lane as sure as hell.’
‘They’ll have to catch him first.’
‘Yeah, I know; but I’ll catch him. I wasn’t goin’ to do a thing until
the coroner’s jury decides; but if they say it was murder and name the
murderer--what can I do? I’m jist an instrument, Hashknife.’
‘I know, Lem. How’s Noah this mornin’?’
‘Crazy as a shepherd. The doctor was with him all night, and he says
Noah’s got a fightin’ chance. That ride last night didn’t do him a bit
of good, and the doctor says we can’t take a chance on shippin’ him to a
hospital.
‘The folks down in Cañonville want to go right out and hang a rope on
old man Lane and his son. They figure one of ’em mistook Noah for
somebody from the 6X6.’
Sleepy and Joe Cave were putting the body into the hack, while Rex stood
against the side of the stable, watching them.
‘What do yuh think of that young Morgan?’ asked Lem.
Hashknife grinned slowly. ‘He’s so damned ignorant that he might do
somethin’ smart. I figure he’s been raised in a hothouse, Lem. Still,
he’s got a sense of humor, and he ain’t all fool. Just between me and
you, he’s got somethin’ on his mind.’
‘Mebby it’s the wallop he got on the head, Hashknife.’
‘Mebby.’
Nan had come out to the buggy; so the two men sauntered toward the front
of the house.
‘We’ll stay here at the ranch,’ said Hashknife, as Nan held out her hand
to him.
‘Thank you,’ she said simply.
‘And when they put yuh on the witness stand,’ said Hashknife slowly,
‘don’t offer anythin’. If yuh don’t feel like answerin’ a question, jist
say yuh don’t know. The law never hung anybody for not rememberin’.’
‘That’s fine advice to a witness, right in my presence,’ grinned Lem, as
he untied the horse.
‘I shall follow that advice,’ said Nan firmly. ‘Good-bye, Mr. Hartley.
Take good care of Rex.’
‘Can’t he take care of himself?’ growled Lem.
‘I don’t think so, Lem. He needs somebody to look after him.’
‘He ort to get a keeper, or a nurse.’
The two vehicles rolled away up the dusty road, leaving Hashknife and
Rex together at the front porch. Sleepy had gone to the rear of the
house to wash his hands.
‘So that’s the opinion she has of me, is it?’ queried Rex wearily. ‘Need
some one to look after me.’
‘I don’t think she meant it exactly that way,’ smiled Hashknife.
‘Oh, I guess she’s right as far as that goes, Mr. Hartley; I guess I do
need some one to look after me. I--I don’t know anything.’
‘Uh-huh?’ Hashknife considered Rex gravely. ‘Morgan, if it was rainin’
real hard right now, what would you do?’
‘Why--er--go in the house, I suppose.’
‘I reckon you’ve got as much sense as the rest of us, but yuh lack in
experience.’
Sleepy came around the house and they all sat down in the shade of the
porch. Rex wanted to know what an inquest meant, and Hashknife explained
all about it.
‘And if that jury decides that Mr. Morgan was killed by Mr. Lane, they
will hang Mr. Lane?’
‘Well, not immediately,’ said Hashknife. ‘They will have to capture Mr.
Lane and give him a fair trial.’
‘Have they any evidence that Mr. Lane killed him?’
‘Only that Lane hated Morgan and threatened to shoot any of his outfit
that might come over here; and the fact that the horse bearing the body
of Morgan came from this direction. Of course those are merely
circumstantial facts. And there’s the fact that the sheriff found Peter
Morgan’s gun in the corral down there.’ Hashknife was watching Rex
closely when he brought out the last evidence, and he saw Rex change
color quickly, shutting his lips tightly. And he did not look at
Hashknife when Hashknife added:
‘That last bit of evidence might hang him.’
‘I don’t know anything about it,’ said Rex slowly.
‘Of course not.’
‘I--I didn’t see the gun.’
‘Prob’ly not. The sheriff found it. He said that you fainted in the
corral.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Rex tried to laugh. ‘We--Miss Lane and--we heard a chicken
crowing, and she made up a little poem about eggs for breakfast; so we
went to find the egg, you see. Yes, I fainted. Foolish thing to do,
wasn’t it?’
‘Mebby not. But neither of you saw the gun, eh?’
‘Oh, no. We were excited and----’ Rex stopped quickly.
‘Excited over what?’ asked Hashknife quickly.
Rex shut his lips tightly and looked away for several moments. Finally
he sighed softly.
‘Eggs,’ he said simply.
‘Excited over eggs?’
‘Yes. Oh, it doesn’t require much to excite me.’
‘Uh-huh.’
Hashknife and Sleepy exchanged glances. Hashknife was sure that Rex
Morgan knew more than he was willing to tell. It was evident that this
young tenderfoot was protecting Nan Lane--and Hashknife admired him for
it.
‘Do you intend to stay in this country?’ asked Sleepy.
‘Do you mean always?’ Rex shook his head slowly. ‘No, I--well, I don’t
really know. Do you know, everything has been more or less like a dream
since my mother died. I have been jerked around so badly that I hardly
know what to do next. I realize that I shouldn’t be here, sponging, I
believe you’d call it, on the Lane family. But I just simply don’t know
what to do.’
‘Didn’t you ever have a job?’ asked Hashknife.
Rex pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment.
‘Yes, I did. I believe it lasted less than an hour. Mr. Weed, a grocer,
employed me as a driver for one of his delivery wagons, but I tried to
outrun a fire department.’
‘And didn’t make it?’ smiled Hashknife.
‘Oh, but I did! But when I was forced to stop, I--I threw out the
anchor, and----’
‘Uh-huh!’ snorted Sleepy. ‘That’s what Bunty Smith said.’
‘Threw out the anchor?’ queried Hashknife.
‘That is what one of the men called it. It was a heavy weight which they
have fastened to the horses, and when you make a delivery you leave it
on the ground. It prevents the horses from running away, don’t you see?’
Hashknife laughed softly. ‘I know what yuh mean, kid.’
‘Well, when I threw it off, I believe it wrapped around a pole. At any
rate, we stopped so suddenly that I entered a store on the back of my
neck, and by the time I had recovered, I had lost my position.’
‘And that’s the only job yuh ever had?’
‘The only one.’
‘How old are yuh, Morgan?’
‘Twenty.’
‘Yore folks have plenty of money?’
‘I didn’t have folks--just a mother.’
‘Yea-a-ah?’ Hashknife leaned back, resting his shoulders against the
wall, and began rolling a cigarette.
‘What became of yore father?’ asked Sleepy.
Rex shook his head. ‘I never knew him. In fact, I never heard his name
mentioned.’
And while Hashknife and Sleepy lounged in the shade and listened
closely, Rex Morgan told them of his life. He did not condemn his mother
for the way she had raised him.
‘Mebby she wanted yuh to be a preacher,’ suggested Sleepy. ‘Was she very
religious?’
‘No; not very. In fact, she seldom went to church.’
‘And you say that check was on the Mesa City Bank?’ asked Hashknife.
‘Yes. That was why I came here; trying to find out who sent her that
money. Perhaps they might tell me more.’
‘Did yore mother ever mention Mesa City?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s shore a queer deal, Morgan. Even if you never find out
anythin’, I think you came to the right country. It’ll make a man out of
yuh. Get a job. Even if yuh don’t know anythin’, take the job and learn.
Make good out here. Folks are rough out here, but if yuh make good with
them, they’ll stand at yore back until yore belly caves in.’
‘I suppose you are right, Mr. Hartley.’
‘Call me Hashknife.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m Sleepy.’
Rex turned his head and glanced at Sleepy.
‘Why don’t you go in and lie down?’ asked Rex.
Hashknife grunted so explosively that he blew his cigarette out into the
yard, while Sleepy slid down on his shoulders, shaking with laughter.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Rex blankly.
‘That’s what made it so damn funny,’ choked Hashknife. ‘He meant that
his nickname was Sleepy.’
‘Oh, I knew that; but I--I didn’t realize it at the time. I guess it did
sound rather like a joke.’
‘Rather,’ chuckled Sleepy. ‘But don’t mind me; I’m just a bow-legged
puncher, tryin’ to get along in the world.’
‘Morgan, you must have had quite an experience the night you arrived
here,’ said Hashknife.
Rex grinned slowly. ‘I surely did, Hashknife. I wonder why that man
struck me over the head.’
‘Some of the folks,’ said Hashknife slowly, ‘seem to doubt that yuh got
hit. They think yuh fell off the horse and hit yore head on a rock.’
‘I did not!’ indignantly. ‘Not that I couldn’t have done such a thing.
You see, I had never ridden a horse before. But there is something that
has bothered me, Hashknife. Just before I reached the house I went
through a big gate.’
‘You went through a big gate?’ pondered Hashknife.
‘I was obliged to get off the horse to open the gate.’
‘But there is no gate here.’
‘That is the queer part of it.’
‘Hm-m-m-m,’ Hashknife grunted softly as he rolled another cigarette.
‘Went through a big gate, eh? How was it fastened?’
‘I don’t remember that it was fastened.’
‘Uh-huh. But this was the house, eh?’
‘I suppose so. It was very dark that night, and I was unable to see more
than the outline of the house.’
‘Are yuh shore yuh didn’t dream about that gate?’
Rex frowned thoughtfully.
‘Perhaps I did, Hashknife. As far as that is concerned, I might have
dreamed all of it. But if you do not think I was struck on the
head--look at it.’
‘I saw it,’ grinned Hashknife. ‘That’s no dream.’
‘Well, that’s no more true than the rest of it.’
‘You ain’t been to Mesa City yet, have yuh? I mean, to make any
investigations about that check.’
‘No; I haven’t had a chance. But just as soon as possible, I shall go
over there.’
* * * * *
It was late in the afternoon when Nan came home, accompanied by a man
from the Cañonville livery-stable. Hashknife met her and they walked
from the buggy to the house. She did not mention the inquests until
Sleepy and Rex met them in the living-room, and the four of them sat
down together.
‘They asked the sheriff to arrest Walter for shooting Ben Leach,’ she
said bravely. ‘They say, because he took Ben’s horse and gun, it don’t
look like self-defense.
‘But they say Dad murdered Peter Morgan.’
‘Who testified?’ asked Hashknife.
‘Some boys of the 6X6 testified that Peter Morgan’s body came on, roped
to the saddle of his horse. That was all the testimony, except what was
said about the fight Dad had with Peter Morgan in Mesa City, and that
Dad swore he’d kill them if they came here.’
‘And that’s all the evidence they needed to name yore dad as the
murderer?’
‘That was all. They didn’t ask me to testify. Lem told them about Walter
coming home from Mesa City drunk, and what he said about “fixing” one of
the 6X6 outfit. Lem tried to give his opinion of Ben Leach following
Walter, but the coroner wouldn’t let him talk, and they almost had a
fight.’
‘And will the sheriff be obliged to capture your father and brother
now?’ asked Rex.
Nan nodded wearily. ‘I guess he will. Oh, I don’t know what to do. We
haven’t any money to hire lawyers; nothing to fight with.’
‘The court will appoint a lawyer to defend them,’ said Hashknife.
‘To represent them,’ corrected Nan quickly. ‘But of what value will he
be to us? It is merely a matter of form. Oh, I know enough about the law
to know what it will mean. A cow-town jury, sitting in judgment on a
nester.’
‘Well,’ said the optimistic Sleepy, ‘they ain’t got ’em in jail yet,
Nan.’
‘But they will have. Dad and Walter are not far away from here.’
‘I’d like to have a talk with ’em before the sheriff gets his hands on
’em,’ said Hashknife.
‘What for?’ asked Nan.
‘Oh, just to talk about things. I’d like to get their version of things
ahead of the rest.’
Later that day Hashknife and Sleepy talked things over from the top-pole
of the corral fence.
‘I tell yuh, it’s no puzzle,’ declared Sleepy. ‘Old man Lane killed Pete
Morgan, jist as sure as a Californian will lie about his climate. Of
course, Pete had no business bein’ here. He’d been warned to stay
away--and didn’t. If me and you was on a jury, we’d turn him
loose--because we don’t hate a nester.
‘Likewise, this here Ben Leach got his needin’s. Hunted for trouble, and
found it. Self-defense of course; but yuh never can convince these
natives that Lane didn’t bushwhack Leach. Of course, Lane made a mistake
in takin’ the horse and gun, but he was drunk and mad.’
It was a long speech for Sleepy to make. Hashknife lifted his brows in
mock astonishment.
‘Yore gettin’ kinda technical, ain’t yuh, Sleepy?’
‘Well,’ confessed Sleepy, ‘that’s the way she looks to me. Whatsa use of
stayin’ around here any longer? We’ve got to land a couple of jobs for
the winter, ain’t we?’
‘Did we ever quit before the last dog was hung?’
Sleepy shook his head gloomily. They had been together for quite a
number of years, these two drifting cowboys. Their trails had led from
the wide lands of Alberta to the Mexican border, and no matter where
they were there was always a hill just beyond which beckoned them on.
Sleepy had been christened David in the little Idaho town where he was
born, but it had been soon changed to his present cognomen because of
the fact that, like a weasel, he seemed to sleep with both eyes open.
He and Henry Hartley had met on the old ranch which gave Henry the name
of Hashknife, and together these two cowboys of the itching feet struck
out for themselves. The ranges were wide and there was plenty of demand
for the services of top-hand cowboys, but they did not stay long in any
one place.
Fate had given Hashknife an analytical mind. In a different environment
he might have been a famous detective instead of a drifting cowboy, a
Nemesis of range crooks, where, in most cases, the six-shooter
superseded the court of law.
It seemed as though Fate continually threw them into troubled places, no
matter which way they traveled, until even Sleepy, prone to argument,
admitted that there was little use trying to dodge the issue. Sleepy
analyzed nothing. He was content to follow the lengthy Hashknife, no
matter where the trail led, and to be ready for trouble at the finish.
Their remuneration had been small. In fact, they might better have been
working at forty dollars a month, as far as the financial end of their
partnership was concerned. Two horses, riding rigs, clothes, guns, and a
few dollars were all they ever had.
‘Yuh can’t take anythin’ with yuh,’ Hashknife had often said when Sleepy
remarked about their financial returns.
‘The farther we go, the less chance we have of livin’ to a ripe old age;
so what good is the money? I’d rather give while I’m alive to see the
happiness it brings. And if we had a lot of money, we wouldn’t know what
in hell to spend it for.’
Hashknife debated over Sleepy’s resume of the case. It was the
reasonable decision, and was probably the decision of everybody who knew
of the case; but Hashknife withheld his opinion because he refused to
agree with the masses. To Sleepy, the case was closed; but to Hashknife,
it was just beginning to open.
‘They tell me that Paul Lane is a salty old jigger,’ said Sleepy
thoughtfully. ‘It would be like him to kill a man and send him home on
his own horse. I wish I knew what Pete Morgan was doin’ over here that
night?’
‘Evidently tryin’ to “get” old man Lane, Sleepy.’
‘Why?’
‘There yuh are. He came alone. Why?’
‘Don’t ask me--I’m no mind-reader.’
‘And still yuh think there’s nothin’ to the case?’
‘I wasn’t figurin’ any reasons for the killin’.’
‘There’s got to be a reason for the killin’, Sleepy. I want to know why
Pete Morgan got up long before daylight, saddled his horse, and came
over here--if he did come here. Of course, we’ve got no proof that he
did except that the sheriff found his gun in the corral.’
‘Guns don’t fly.’
‘This ’n didn’t have any wings. Sleepy, didja ever see a girl with more
nerve than Nan Lane? By golly, she’s a dinger. Wants to cry, but won’t.
It’s a hell of a position for her to be in, don’tcha know it. She’s up
there in the kitchen cookin’ up a meal for us, when down in her heart
she wants to lie down and cry her eyes out. If I ever get married, I
hope I get her kind.’
‘One that won’t cry, Hashknife?’
‘Sure.’
‘Yuh never will, cowboy. Mebby she won’t cry from ordinary causes, but
jist let you put on a boiled collar and a white shirt, and she’ll cry.’
‘Is it that bad?’ sadly.
‘Worse than that, Hashknife. Yuh look jist like a half-broke Apaloosie
lookin’ over a whitewashed fence.’
‘I might get one with a sense of humor, Sleepy.’
‘She’d have to have, cowboy.’
Rex was wandering around the yard, like a lost pup, and finally joined
them at the corral.
‘I wish I knew what to do,’ he said sadly. ‘Nan is up there in the
kitchen, crying. I--I tried to solace her, but it didn’t seem to do much
good. She’s afraid they are going to hang her father, you know. Perhaps
I handled the situation badly when I told her we’d both be orphans if
such a thing happened. And then I asked her to marry me.’
‘You damn fool!’ exploded Sleepy. ‘That ain’t no time to propose to a
girl.’
‘I didn’t know. You see, I--I never proposed before.’
‘There’s a hell of a lot of things you don’t know.’
‘There’s a hell of a lot of things I want to learn,’ retorted Rex
heatedly.
‘That’s a lot better,’ grinned Hashknife. ‘Use a little profanity and
less dictionary. Correct English is great; but out here they think
you’re crazy. You’ll forget how to talk it soon enough. As far as you
marryin’ Nan Lane--I’d forget it, Morgan.’
‘What in hell would you support a wife on?’ asked Sleepy.
‘I’m sure I don’t know.’
‘Well, you’re honest,’ grinned Hashknife. ‘I reckon you’re a good kid,
Morgan. You mean well enough. Now, forget the marriage stuff for a
while.’
‘The sheriff wants to marry her.’
‘Fine. Lem’s a good man; got a good job.’
‘But I don’t think she loves him.’
‘No? Does she love you?’
‘I--I never asked her.’
‘A-a-aw, hell!’ snorted Sleepy. ‘Let’s go and help her cook supper
instead of talking about her feelin’s.’
It was after supper that night when Paul Lane came home. Rex was washing
the dishes and Hashknife was wiping them, much against the wishes of
Nan.
‘It’s the only thing I can do well,’ declared Rex.
‘I used to wash them for my mother.’
Nan was in her room and Sleepy was perched on the woodbox, smoking a
cigarette, when Paul Lane stepped into the kitchen, gun in hand. Rex was
the only one of the three who had ever seen him before.
He stopped just inside the door and looked at the men.
Rex stopped washing dishes and started to introduce the old man to
Hashknife, but the old man stopped him.
‘Where’s Nan?’ he demanded.
‘Here, Dad.’
Nan had stepped from her room and now she crossed the kitchen to her
father, who put one arm around her, but still kept his eyes on Hashknife
and Sleepy.
‘Who are these men?’ he asked.
‘Friends, Dad; Mr. Hartley and Mr. Stevens. You have met Mr. Morgan
before.’
‘Yeah, I’ve met _him_. I’ve been around here quite a while, lookin’ ’em
over through the windows. I didn’t quite figure out who they were, but
it didn’t look to me as though an officer of the law would be washin’
dishes. I had to come back, Nan. What’s the news? What has happened?’
With as few words as possible she told him everything that had happened
since he left the house. She told him of the shooting of Noah Evans, the
double inquest, and their verdicts. Hashknife watched the face of the
old man during her recital, and decided that Paul Lane was a tough old
ranger. He did not flinch at the verdict, but his blue eyes clouded a
trifle.
He was not a big man, and age had sapped some of his vitality, but he
was wiry, keen-eyed, and the hands that gripped the Winchester were
muscular and steady.
‘Kinda looks as though they had the dead wood on me and the kid,’ he
said bitterly. ‘We been hidin’ out in the brush, wonderin’ what was
goin’ on; so I took a chance. We got a look at you fellers to-day and
wondered who yuh might be. And we seen Nan come back in that buggy; so I
decided that there had been an inquest at Cañonville.’
‘Why don’t the both of yuh sneak down and give up to the sheriff?’ asked
Hashknife. ‘Looks like the only way out of it, Lane.’
‘And get hung for it, eh?’
‘Mebby not. The law won’t hang yuh without a trial.’
‘Meanin’ that the 6X6 outfit will, eh?’
‘Might be more than them in on the deal. There’s always a pack of
wolves, yuh know.’
‘That’s right, Hartley. It shore makes it tough for Nan.’
‘And she’s been mighty game,’ said Hashknife quickly.
‘I--I’m not so game,’ choked Nan. ‘I don’t know what to do except to
grin and bear it.’
They moved to the living-room, leaving Rex to finish the rest of the
dishes, and sat down together. Hashknife wanted a chance to talk with
Paul Lane, and this seemed like the opportune time, but before he could
frame the opening question, the front door was flung violently open, and
three rifles were covering them through the doorway.
There were Dave Morgan, Red Eller, Spike Cahill, and Ed Jones. There was
only one thing to do; so the three men in the room threw up their hands.
It took Spike Cahill about ten seconds to collect their guns, and then
the captors relaxed.
‘I reckon that about ends the deal,’ growled Dave. ‘We been watchin’ for
yuh, Lane. Knowed you’d have to come home, sooner or later.’
‘Well?’ said Lane coldly. ‘What now, Morgan?’
‘A lot depends. Get a rope, Spike.’
‘Just what’s the idea of a rope?’ asked Hashknife.
‘Keep yore nose out of it,’ growled Morgan. ‘I’d advise you two to
high-tail out of this country. About the time we tell folks about
findin’ yuh here, hobnobbin’ with a man wanted for murder, they might
talk of more ropes.’
‘Oh, is this man wanted for murder?’
‘You know damn well he is! Wasn’t that girl at the inquest? Don’t try to
be funny.’
Spike Cahill stepped in and flung out the coils of his rope, preparatory
to roping Paul Lane.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Nan. ‘Don’t put a rope on him. Dad
will go to jail peacefully.’
‘Jail, eh?’ Spike laughed softly. ‘Yuh think he will? After we exhibit
him in Mesa City? Guess ag’in, sister.’
‘You better put your hands up,’ said a voice at the doorway to the
kitchen, and the captors jerked around to see Rex Morgan, holding the
heavy, double-barrel shotgun against his shoulder, the twin muzzles
covering them.
Dave Morgan’s hands jerked shoulder-high, and the other three were quick
to follow his lead. Even a tenderfoot could score a bull’s-eye with a
shotgun at fifteen feet.
‘Good, kid!’ exclaimed Hashknife, while Dave Morgan swore bitterly, as
he watched Sleepy and Hashknife gather up all the guns.
‘You can take a rest with that gun now,’ laughed Hashknife.
‘Well, I’m glad,’ sighed Rex. ‘It is very heavy, and I was afraid some
one might know it isn’t loaded.’
Hashknife backed against the wall, gun in hand, and laughed at the
expressions on their faces when they realized that the shotgun was not
loaded.
‘You can’t get away with this,’ gritted Morgan, facing Hashknife. ‘By
God, we’ll show you how to tamper with things that don’t concern yuh.
And we’ll make that half-witted, white-faced kid wish he’d kept out of
it.’
‘I got away with it--my part of it,’ said Hashknife coldly. ‘I think
that kid outsmarted yuh, and saved yuh from lynchin’ a man to-night. And
as far as yuh doin’ anythin’ about it--cut yore wolf loose.’
‘We were goin’ to take him to jail,’ said Eller.
‘You’re a liar!’
Eller bristled angrily. ‘You wouldn’t call me that if I had a gun, you
hatchet-faced bum.’
‘Step into the middle of the room,’ ordered Hashknife. ‘Right out there,
away from the rest. Watch ’em, Sleepy.’ Hashknife stepped up to the bed,
picked up a six-shooter and walked back to Eller, who stared at him
foolishly. With a flip of his wrist, Hashknife dropped the gun into
Eller’s empty holster, and stepped back about six feet and bolstered his
own gun.
‘It’s an even break, Eller,’ he said coldly. ‘You’re a liar; a dirty,
forked-tongued liar. You’ve got a gun in yore holster, and I’m talkin’
to yuh straight.’
Red Eller hesitated. Hashknife’s right hand hung limply at his side,
swaying back and forth past his holster, but there was nothing about his
pose or expression that would indicate a quick draw. For several seconds
there was no sound except the breathing of people. Then:
‘Don’t do it, Red,’ whispered Spike. ‘It ain’t worth the chance.’
Eller licked his lips and shook his head.
‘I pass,’ he said softly. ‘Mebby I did lie, Hartley.’
Swiftly Hashknife stepped over and removed the gun.
‘What’s next?’ asked Morgan angrily.
‘Go home and try to mind yore own business.’
‘All right--but wait until we tell what happened.’
‘Suits me, gents. Vamoose!’
Hashknife and Sleepy followed them out to their horses, where the four
men mounted quickly.
‘What about our guns?’ asked Morgan.
‘One of yuh come back in daylight and get ’em.’
‘Oh, all right. But you two better not be here.’
‘We will be, Morgan. Adios.’
Hashknife watched them ride away in the darkness, and went back into the
house, where he found Lane shaking hands with Rex and thanking him for
his timely aid with the shotgun.
‘Oh, it wasn’t anything,’ said Rex. ‘I just saw the gun in the corner,
and thought I might frighten them with it.’
‘Well, yuh shore did,’ laughed Hashknife. ‘They know what a shotgun will
do at short range, and they took no chances. Now,’ he turned to Lane,
‘What are you goin’ to do?’
‘I’m goin’ to see Walter and get him to go to Cañonville with me. We
might as well give up and take a chance with the law. I didn’t realize
until just now how safe a jail could be.’
‘Oh, I’m glad!’ exclaimed Nan. ‘Anything would be better than this
suspense. But will Walter go with you, Dad?’
‘I think so. He is tired of dodging in the hills.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t lose any time,’ declared Hashknife. ‘That bunch will
probably get drunk in Mesa City, and yuh never can tell what they will
do.’
‘I know,’ nodded Lane. ‘But I don’t know what to do about Nan. She can’t
stay here----’
‘I can’t stay anywhere else, Dad. I can’t afford to live at a hotel. Oh,
I’ll be all right.’
‘We’ll stay awhile,’ offered Hashknife. ‘I can’t run away now; not after
that warnin’. As soon as yuh see the sheriff, send him up here. I want
him to understand about that warnin’, ’cause I might need an official
reason for throwin’ lead.’
‘All right, Hartley. I’ll leave my rifle and shells here, in case yuh
need long range.’
He shook hands with each of them, kissed Nan, and vanished down past the
corral in the darkness.
Nan sighed with relief and tried to smile.
‘I guess I better finish washing the dishes,’ said Rex. ‘But I wish some
of you would load that shotgun. I might have to shoot next time.’
‘You spoke yore piece, pardner,’ laughed Hashknife. ‘I’ll load the gun
for yuh.’
He took a box of shells off a shelf and dropped one in each barrel,
after which he stood the gun in a corner.
‘Thank you so much,’ said Rex.
‘Good huntin’ to yuh, brother,’ grinned Hashknife.
‘Oh, but I’m not going hunting for any one.’
‘You won’t have to. In Arizona, that kind of game comes right up to yore
door.’