Joe Cave, deputy sheriff, was very drunk. He leaned on a saloon bar in
Cañonville, and gazed gloomily about the place, where only a bartender
polished glassware, and a swamper busied himself with mop and
water-bucket.
It was too early in the morning for much activity. In fact, it was
rather out of the ordinary for any one to be drunk that early in the
morning. Joe’s tow-colored hair had not been brushed, and he looked as
though he had slept in his clothes. His thin lips parted over his
prominent front teeth, known as ‘buck-teeth,’ as he indulged in a
foolish grin.
‘Whazzamatter ’round here?’ he demanded.
The bartender studied him gravely. He hated to see a man drunk so early
in the morning, but it was really none of his business, of course.
‘I don’t see anything the matter,’ he replied shortly.
‘Zasso?’ Joe yawned foolishly. He was wearing a once yellow shirt, a
nearly red muffler around his scrawny neck, and his overalls were so
tight that one knee had split over a too prominent knee-cap. Joe’s boots
were run-over on the outside of the heels, causing him to be
knock-kneed. He wore a bolstered gun, and the loops of his belt were
full of cartridges.
Failing to strike up a conversation, Joe left that saloon and went down
the street to another place, where he found conditions much the same.
‘Where’s the sheriff?’ asked the bartender.
‘Dunno. Went away last night.’
‘And so you went and got drunk, eh? Lem will jist about kick yuh off the
job when he comes back.’
‘Zasso? Huh! Let ’im kick. I’m damned if I like thish job. Nawthin’ to
do but feed pris’ners. T’ hell with it. Gimme a drink.’
Joe got his drink and went to the next saloon. It seemed that he was
making the rounds, and still going strong, when Hashknife, Sleepy, and
the sheriff rode in and went to the office. The office and jail were in
the same building, and in fact the sheriff’s office was the main
entrance to the jail.
Sleepy’s eyes were still of a decidedly mauve hue, but the swelling was
gone and he was able to see. Lem had come to the ranch at daylight, and
the three of them had headed for Cañonville. They had tried to read the
signs along the Coyote Cañon road, but the ground was so hard that they
were unable to distinguish one track from another.
They entered the office, which was unlocked, and Lem swore roundly when
he did not find Joe Cave there. It was against the rules to leave the
place unlocked. Lem opened the barred door at the rear of the office and
went down the narrow corridor between the cells.
Old Paul Lane called a cheery good-morning to him, and his son wanted to
know how soon he was to be turned loose.
‘I hope to get yuh out to-day, son. How’s everythin’?’
‘All right, if we had some breakfast.’
‘Ain’t yuh had no breakfast yet? Where’s Joe?’
‘He ain’t been in here this mornin’. I think he came to the office, but
he didn’t come in here.’
‘Well, that’s a fine deal, folks. I’ll get yore grub right away.’
Lem came back to the office and told them to hold down the office while
he went to the restaurant.
‘Go in and talk to ’em,’ he said. ‘They been askin’ about yuh. But don’t
mention anythin’ about Nan bein’ missin.’
Old Paul Lane shook hands with them through the bars, and the son
thanked Hashknife for what he had done to secure evidence that he did
not shoot Ben Leach.
‘We been wonderin’ why Nan didn’t come to see us,’ said the old man
wistfully.
‘She’s been awful busy,’ said Hashknife quickly. ‘Keeps her busy cookin’
for three of us.’
‘I imagine that’s right, Hartley.’
‘Well, I’ll soon be out,’ said Long Lane thankfully. ‘You ain’t been
bothered with any of the 6X6 outfit, have yuh?’
‘They’ve quit the 6X6. Dave Morgan has taken charge of the ranch.’
‘The hell he has!’
‘And of the Oasis saloon, too.’
‘I’ve been worryin’ about Nan,’ confessed the old man. ‘But Lem says
she’s safe as long as you boys are with her. I’m shore much obliged to
both of yuh. How about the tenderfoot?’
‘Oh, he’s still alive,’ smiled Hashknife, wondering down in his heart if
this was the truth.
‘He’s lucky,’ smiled Lane. ‘He done me a good turn--two of ’em. It’s
funny what a green kid will do thataway.’
‘I was just wonderin’ why Joe Cave didn’t bring yuh any breakfast,’ said
Hashknife.
‘I dunno. Usually brings it about eight o’clock. He was kinda snappy
last night when he brought our supper. Somebody rubbed him the wrong way
yesterday.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I think so. We didn’t hear much of it, because the door was almost
shut, but there was some kind of an argument.’
‘Who was he arguin’ with?’ asked Hashknife.
‘We dunno, but we heard Joe say, “Well, don’t blame me. That was yore
fault,” and after a few moments he said, “By God, that was the
agreement, and you better stick to it.”
‘Then there was quite a while that we can’t hear anythin’, except a word
once in a while, but before they quit talkin’, we heard Joe say, “That’s
the way I’m goin’ to work it, and you better stick to yore word.”
‘Afterwards, when Joe brought in our supper, he was mad about somethin’,
and wouldn’t talk to us.’
‘Was he arguin’ with Lem?’ asked Hashknife.
‘I dunno who the other person was.’
A few minutes later Lem brought in their breakfast, and while they were
eating Joe Cave came to the office. He leaned against the side of the
doorway and leered at the men in the corridor.
Lem walked out to him, looked him over carefully, his face registering
disgust.
‘Drunk as a boiled owl, eh?’
‘Whazzamatter with you?’ grunted Joe.
‘What’s the matter with me? I’ll tell yuh what’s the matter with me--I’m
through with you, Joe.’
Lem reached over and unpinned the star from Joe’s vest, while Joe looked
at him owlishly.
‘Go and sober up,’ said Lem coldly. ‘And then come back here and I’ll
give yuh an order on the county for yore salary.’
‘Fired, eh?’ queried Joe.
‘Yore damn right! I don’t want a drunken deputy around here, forgettin’
to feed the prisoners and leavin’ the jail unlocked. Get away from here,
before I flatten yore nose.’
‘A-a-a-aw right.’
Joe surged away from the doorway and went to the edge of the sidewalk,
where he balanced drunkenly for several moments, and then headed his
erratic way toward the livery-stable.
Lem snorted with disgust and turned from the doorway, but Hashknife
watched him disappear through the wide doors of the stable.
‘Gone after his horse?’ asked Hashknife.
‘He’ll probably head for Mesa City, the drunken bum,’ said Lem.
Hashknife stepped outside, but turned to Lem and Sleepy.
‘Wait here for me,’ he said quickly, and hurried out to his horse.
Lem and Sleepy came to the door and watched Hashknife ride out of town,
going north.
‘What in hell struck him so sudden?’ wondered Lem.
‘I dunno,’ grinned Sleepy. ‘He’s thataway, Lem.’
About five minutes later Joe Cave came from the stable, riding a chunky
roan gelding. He swayed drunkenly in his saddle as he rode up the main
street of the town, also heading north.
Lem was carrying the breakfast dishes back to the restaurant when
Hashknife rode back to the front of the office. He did not explain where
he had been nor why he had gone, but, as he waited for Lem to come back
from the restaurant, Sleepy heard Hashknife humming:
I know a girl down Pecos wa-a-ay,
And I’m goin’ to marry her some da-a-ay.
Her pa’s in jail and can’t get bail,
They rode her ma out of town on a ra-a-ail.
Her lips are red and her hair is black,
She shot the sheriff in the ba-a-ack.
Oh, how my heart for her does pi-i-ine,
’Cause she’s my little clingin’ vi-i-ine.
And Sleepy knew the symptoms. It was not often that Hashknife sang. He
was not at all musical. Just now he was deadly serious, and it is
doubtful if he realized that he was singing.
‘Feelin’ good, cowboy?’ asked Sleepy.
Hashknife looked at him quickly.
‘Yeah, I feel pretty good, Sleepy.’
Lem came back from the restaurant. He didn’t ask Hashknife where he had
been.
‘Get on yore horse,’ said Hashknife. ‘We’re goin’ to Mesa City.’
They mounted and rode away after Lem had locked the office door. At the
upper end of the street they met Bunty Smith, and Lem drew up his horse.
‘Goin’ to be here all day, Bunty?’ he asked.
‘Shore am, Lem.’
‘Here’s the key to my office. If I ain’t back by five o’clock, I wish
you’d feed my prisoners, Bunty.’
‘Glad to do it, Lem. What do yuh know?’
‘I don’t know a damn thing, Bunty. See yuh later.’
They rode back along the mesa to the Coyote Cañon grades, riding
swiftly, until they started climbing. It was a long, slow climb to where
the grades flattened out around the cañon. They met the stage coming
from Mesa City. The driver was a man from south of Cañonville. He nodded
pleasantly, as they crowded their horses against the inner bank to let
the stage pass.
‘Joe Cave used to drive stage, didn’t he?’ asked Hashknife.
‘For a long time,’ replied Lem. ‘Been here a long time. Used to work for
the 6X6. Worked for the Flying M, too. I thought he’d make a good
deputy, but I was wrong. Good shot, Joe is. I’ve seen him shoot. Fast
with a gun.’
Lem spoke jerkily. He was too fat to ride fast. Suddenly Hashknife drew
up his horse and looked down into the cañon. A flock of perhaps fifty
buzzards were circling below them; floating without apparent effort.
They could look down on their backs from the grade. They were apparently
keeping about the same level.
‘Quite a flock of buzzards,’ observed Lem. ‘Probably a lion killed a
deer down there, and they want their share. Lots of lions down there,
Hashknife. Rocks full of ’em. Notice the way them buzzards act? Probably
the lion chased ’em away.’
‘Uh-huh,’ grunted Hashknife. ‘It’s a wonder that deer would go down in
that cañon, Lem.’
‘Water. They probably come from out on the mesa. Not very much water for
’em out there. Hard trip, I reckon. I never been in the cañon. Probably
a way in, if yuh know where to look.’
‘Probably.’
They rode on toward Mesa City.