to my ears. I sure was sorry, old-timer. Been a long time since I came
through here, but about a year ago I seen one whole train of Diamond H
beef, and it made me kinda homesick for the Medicine River range.”
“Whole train of Diamond H beef?” queried Hashknife. This was getting
interesting.
“About thirty cars, yeah. That was before I knew anythin’ about Uncle
Billy’s troubles, and I thought somebody was steppin’ in on my
territory, so I hunted up the man who bought ’em. Yuh see, Uncle Billy
always sold to me.
“Anyway, I found out that Harry Peters had bought ’em for the Castleman
outfit; so I went on a still hunt for Harry. I know him so well that he
told me all about the mortgage trouble. It seems that he bought ’em at
Silver Lake from a man who had bought ’em from the bank.
“That’s one reason I’ve been to Silver Lake. Harry told me he got ’em
cheap, and I’m lookin’ for cheap cattle,” Ables laughed softly.
“Didja buy some?” asked Hashknife.
“Nope. Maybe Harry lied to me—I dunno. Anyway, I couldn’t find the man
he bought from, and nobody seemed to know who he was.”
“What was his name?”
“Green.”
Hashknife and Sleepy looked at each other quickly. Uncle Billy paid no
attention to the name, and it meant nothing to Ables, except what he had
told them.
“And yuh couldn’t find him, eh?” Thus Hashknife.
“Nope. Cost me an extra two days. I’ve never made Silver Lake before,
and I’m not goin’ again.”
“Railroad in there?”
“Branch. Twenty miles from main line. Lumber mostly. I’ve got to work
fast around here, because I’m due down in the Rainbow country the last
of the week. When I get back to Chicago, I’m goin’ to crawl all over
Harry Peters.”
“Yuh might get down and rest yore feet,” suggested Uncle Billy, but
Ables shook his head.
“When yuh get more cows, don’t forget me,” said Ables.
“I’ll kinda keep in touch with yuh. Pleased to meet you two gents.”
They shook hands with Ables and watched him drive toward town, humped in
his jiggling buckboard.
“The bank sold my cattle, did they?” mused Uncle Billy aloud. “They sold
everythin’ worth while and then unloaded the place on Ma. By ——, I’m
gettin’ pretty mad, Hashknife.”
“Keep cool,” advised Hashknife. He managed to talk Uncle Billy into
keeping quiet about the cattle sale, but the old man threw up both hands
in desperation.
“Yeah, I’ll keep still,” he agreed. “I dunno why I promise to do it. Yuh
make me tired with yore grinnin’, Hashknife. Ma talks about what we’re
goin’ to do, and I set there and nod like a darn fool. She’ll find out,
I tell yuh.”
“Not from any of us, Uncle Billy,” assured Hashknife. “We know how to
keep a secret—the three of us.”
“Yeah, I s’pose.”
Hashknife questioned Uncle Billy about the town of Silver Lake, and that
afternoon he and Sleepy saddled their horses, told Uncle Billy not to
look for them until they came back, and rode north.
* * * * *
It was about thirty miles and they did not blame Ables for kicking about
the road. But they pushed their horses hard and were at Silver Lake for
supper. Practically the whole town and the surrounding timber country
was owned by one corporation and had been a thriving lumber town, but
the timber was nearly all gone, along with the future of Silver Lake.
There was only one saloon left in the town and this one was doing little
business. Hashknife immediately struck up a conversation with the
bald-headed bartender, who was willing to talk.
“You fellers ain’t lookin’ for jobs here, are yuh?” he asked.
“All depends,” smiled Hashknife. “Is there any cows around?”
“Not around here.”
“Used to be, didn’t there?”
“Not enough to make it a cow-country. Used to be a ranch back in the
hills about two miles from here. I dunno who started it. That was before
my time around here.”
“Who owned it?” asked Hashknife.
“I dunno.” The bartender appealed to a young lumber-jack who was playing
solitaire. “Olsen, do yuh remember who owned that cow-ranch on the west
side of the lake?”
“No,” Olsen shook his head. “There was an outfit there about a year ago,
but they didn’t stay long. Shipped all their cattle. Said something
about the cows gettin’ poisoned by eatin’ larkspur, or some darned
thing. They wasn’t here long enough to get acquainted.”
“Was the man named Green?”
“I dunno. Don’t think I ever heard his name.”
“How many cows?”
“I dunno how many. I know they shipped from here and closed up the
ranch.”
And that was about all they could find out about the short-lived cattle
ranch and the man named Green. The next morning they had a talk with the
postmaster, but without results. He knew that somebody had occupied the
old ranch, but no mail had come to them at Silver Lake. In fact, he did
not remember seeing any of them.
“Somebody by the name of Green stole the Diamond H cattle, drove ’em to
that deserted ranch and made a sale,” said Hashknife, as they rode
homeward. “It was a cinch. Uncle Billy was drinkin’ and gamblin’ and
never missed ’em. That cattle-buyer swallowed the story of the bank
sellin’ the cattle to Green, which he naturally would—and there yuh are,
cowboy.”
“Took nerve to do it,” declared Sleepy. “Them Diamond H cattle were well
known.”
“Took brains to plan it,” said Hashknife. “We’re up against somebody
with brains, I’ll tell yuh that, Sleepy.”
“We’ve got brains, too,” grinned Sleepy. “I hope yore scheme works out.
It looks to me like you was doin’ a —— of a lot of guessin’, but mebby
yo’re right. We could split that six thousand reward.”
“We could split a lot more than that, if we wanted to be crooked, young
feller.”
“And nobody would ever be the wiser, Hashknife.”
“Except us, Sleepy.”
“Yeah, we’re our greatest drawback.”
And when they arrived at the ranch that afternoon they found that their
secret was no longer a secret. Anderson had been out to see them, and Ma
Holton knew that she did not own the Diamond H ranch. A chance remark by
Ables who knew Anderson had caused Anderson to question Laskey, and the
truth of the whole matter came out.
Anderson was furious over it. He lost no time in riding out to the ranch
to fire Hashknife and Sleepy, but did not find them there. He and Uncle
Billy almost came to blows when the old man accused the bank of
double-dealing, and Anderson rode away swearing all kinds of things.
Ma Holton seemed dazed over the shock. She realized that all her money
was gone, and with it had fled all her hopes.
“I bought it honestly,” she repeated several times. “I paid all my
money. I haven’t anything left. Mr. Anderson says we’ll have to move out
right away, because he is going to close up the place. Why, we haven’t
any place to go. Isn’t it funny to not have any place to go?”
“Yeah, it shore is funny,” said Hashknife grimly. “It almost makes me
laugh, Ma.”
“And you knew it all the time, Hashknife?”
“Yeah, we knew it, Ma. Miller showed us that you had been robbed. We
tried to keep it a secret until we was able to try and find the guilty
parties, ’cause we didn’t want to hurt yuh.”
“Well, that was nice of you, anyway. Oh, boys, I don’t want you to think
that I blame you in any way. You have done a lot for me and Uncle Billy,
and we thank you. But it’s all over now. We’ll get along somehow, we
always have.”
“Anderson said he’d bring the sheriff and put us out,” said Uncle Billy
bitterly. “Dang his hide, I almost busted him in the nose.”
“But he was right,” said ma. “We don’t own it, Uncle Billy.”
“No, we don’t own it, but we’ve got feelin’s left.”
“And he came out to fire us, eh?” grinned Hashknife.
“You betcha.”
Hashknife laughed and patted Ma on the shoulder.
“We’re goin’ down and have a talk with him, Ma.”
“Well, lemme tell yuh, he’s mad,” declared Uncle Billy.
“I—I hope the sheriff don’t come up here,” said Ma. “We’ll get out as
soon as we can. The Lord only knows where we’ll go.”
“You have supper ready when we get back,” said Hashknife. “Yuh might not
have to move out.”
“What do you mean, Hashknife?”
Hashknife grinned at her. “I’m goin’ to talk a little, Ma. And when I
talk real serious-like, I mostly always get results.”
They walked out, leaving the old couple staring after them, and went to
the bunk-house. A few minutes later they rode toward Medicine River.
Hashknife squinted seriously ahead, his jaw jutting belligerently.
“Yuh goin’ to take a chance, Hashknife?” asked Sleepy.
“Yeah, I sure am. I’m willin’ to gamble that I’m right.”
“I’ll trail with yuh, tall-feller.”
* * * * *
It was after banking hours when they arrived at Medicine River, but
Anderson and Laskey were still in the bank and let them in. “You was out
at the Diamond H today,” began Hashknife.
“I was!” snapped Anderson. “I found out what has been going on and I
went out there to——”
“Now, this won’t get us anywhere,” interrupted Hashknife. “You told me
you would sell the Diamond H as soon as possible, didn’t yuh? All
right—how much?”
“Huh-how much? You want——”
“Yore best price, Anderson. I know what it’s worth.”
“Well, there’s a ten thousand dollar mortgage——”
“There was, yuh mean. I came here to talk prices. Set yore own price and
don’t go hog-wild on values. The ranch ain’t worth a —— to the bank; so
don’t start any arguments with me.”
“You are rather high-handed, young man.”
“Y’betcha. I always am when I’ve got money in my pocket. How much?”
“Wait a minute.” Anderson walked to the rear of the bank and conversed
with Laskey, while Hashknife and Sleepy waited impatiently. Finally
Anderson came back to them.
“Do you know how many head of Diamond H cattle there are in this range?”
he asked.
“Not over thirty head—mostly culls.”
“That’s what my report shows. If you really want to buy the ranch, it is
for sale—twenty-five hundred.”
“You’ve sold it,” declared Hashknife. “Can yuh make out a deed right
away?”
Anderson called to Laskey, “Frank, see if Polk is in his office. If he
is, have him come here right away.”
It did not take Laskey long to bring the lawyer, who made out the
necessary papers, and Hashknife handed Anderson two one thousand dollar
bills and five hundred in smaller currency. The deed had been made out
to Mrs. William Holton.
“Pretty big bills for this country,” said Anderson. “Don’t see many of
that denomination around here.”
“They’re hard to get cashed,” grinned Hashknife. “We usually carry a lot
of ’em around with us.”
Polk examined them closely, as did Laskey.
“Didja get over yore nightmare all right, Polk?” asked Sleepy.
“Yeah, suh. Funny, wasn’t it. I’d have sworn it wasn’t a dream.”
“I know how yuh felt,” laughed Sleepy. “I’m always dreamin’ about bein’
out in company with nothin’ on but my underclothes. You sure looked
foolish. I’ll betcha Chuck Allard swore off drinkin’ that night. He took
one look at yuh and walked out.”
But Andrew Jackson Polk failed to see anything funny in the
recollections of Sleepy Stevens. Hashknife offered to buy a drink, but
the invitation fell flat; so he and Sleepy mounted their horses and rode
back to the ranch.
Ma Holton had supper ready for them. She was trying to be cheerful and
met them with a smile, but they knew that she was wearing the smile for
their sake. Hashknife and Sleepy ate supper alone.
“We wasn’t hungry,” said Uncle Billy simply.
Hashknife grinned and handed the papers to Ma Holton.
“Here’s an appetizer, Ma,” he said. “Read ’em and grin.”
The two old folks unfolded them under the light and held their breath as
they read the printed lines, while Sleepy choked over his food and tried
to whistle a tune.
“For the consideration of one dollar?” Uncle Billy looked at Hashknife
in amazement. “You—you paid——”
Ma Holton dropped the papers in her lap and her hands trembled as she
removed her glasses. She was unable to speak, but both boys were adept
in sign language, and nodded violently.
“But for—for one dollar!” blurted Uncle Billy. That was the only part of
it that he did not seem to understand.
It was a situation that neither of the boys were prepared to meet, so
they fled for the door and smoked their after-supper cigarets, as they
sat perched on the top-pole of the corral fence, while the big, yellow
moon peeped over the Medicine River hills.
“Yo’re awful crooked, don’tcha know it?” said Sleepy softly.
“Yeah—and I’m awful happy, too,” chuckled Hashknife.
III
The next day Ma Holton tried to get Hashknife to take back the deed, but
he only laughed at her.
“But it belongs to you,” she persisted. “You paid your own money for it,
Hashknife.”
“What’s a dollar?”
“Oh, I know all about that. It only takes a dollar to make it legal, but
you never bought the Diamond H for a dollar. Why do you do all these
things for us?”
“I’m kinda funny,” admitted Hashknife seriously. “Nobody ever understood
me very well. But don’tcha worry about that, Ma. Mebby some day I’ll
tell yuh all about buyin’ this ranch.”
“We’re gettin’ a lot of fun out of it,” added Sleepy.
“Well,” said Ma dubiously, “I hope you are, boys. I know I can’t stand
many more shocks.”
Uncle Billy accepted without a question, because he thought there was
something behind the whole deal. Not that he wasn’t properly grateful.
“Been saved from the poor-farm twice in a week,” he declared. “If I was
a bit superstitious I’d prob’ly figure that it ain’t the place for me.”
A Diamond H yearling came down to the stream behind the stable, and it
did not take Hashknife and Sleepy long to convert it to some perfectly
good veal, which they hung in a cooling shed.
“Have Ma make out a grocery list and we’ll stock up the old place,” said
Hashknife. “We won’t go to any poor-farm as long as our credit is good
and the yearlin’s wander down.”
They patched up an old buckboard, harnessed Sleepy’s saddle horse with
an old Diamond H sorrel which had been in harness for a year and started
for Medicine River. The brake-blocks were so badly worn that the brake
was useless, and the lines would not stand a heavy pull, so they staged
a runaway from the Diamond H to the War Paint hitch-rack. At times they
were completely off the road, but they clung to the seat and whooped
like a pair of wild Indians.
At the War Paint rack Sleepy’s horse proceeded to kick the dash-board
off the antiquated vehicle, much to the amusement of Medicine River
town. Sleepy flexed his weary arms and swore he was the best driver in
the world.
Cherokee Lee was in town and lost no time in having a talk with
Hashknife. Cherokee had talked with Anderson, who had told of the
transaction.
“I don’t _sabe_ why yuh done it, but it sure was a fine thing for to
do,” said the sheriff. “Anderson said he wondered how it was that a
cowpuncher had twenty-five hundred dollars so handy, and I told him he
could prob’ly satisfy his curiosity by askin’ yuh where yuh got it,”
Cherokee chuckled deeply.
“He’d probably be surprized to know how much money I’ve got,” said
Hashknife seriously.
“Prob’ly.” Dryly. “Anyway, it ain’t nobody’s business, and I’ll bet
that’s what he got told, if he asked yuh.”
The stage came in from the north and Hashknife noticed that Charley
Deal, the gambler, was a passenger. He shook hands with the sheriff and
went to the War Paint. Hashknife and Sleepy loaded the buckboard with
groceries, but decided to stay in town a while.
They met Yakima Reed and Chuck Allard in the Medicine River saloon.
Yakima still had his right hand bandaged, but did not seem to bear any
malice toward Sleepy.
“How’s the Diamond H?” asked Yakima.
“Inchin’ along,” grinned Hashknife.
“How’s the mechanic?” asked Sleepy. He wanted to find out how Yakima
felt. But Yakima only grinned and glanced at his bandaged hand.
Sleepy challenged Hashknife to a game of pool, and the other two cowboys
soon left the saloon.
“Yakima is a forgivin’ sort of a cuss,” observed Sleepy.
“Yeah?” Hashknife squinted at the layout of balls and chalked his cue
thoughtfully. “Look out for him, cowboy. He’s cold sober, and he ain’t
forgot. A feller like him is just wise enough to play ’possum. Keep yore
eye on Allard, too.”
“Oh, he ain’t pullin’ no wool over my eyes.”
They finished their game and went to the War Paint. Charley Deal was
running the poker game and Yakima Reed occupied one of the chairs. Bill
Stivers was also in the game, and nodded to Hashknife.
“Here’s a good poker player,” laughed Yakima, looking at Hashknife.
Deal looked coldly at Hashknife, but did not seem interested in Yakima’s
remark. There was a vacant seat at the table, but Hashknife made no move
to occupy it.
“If I had his luck I’d never do anythin’ but play poker,” said Yakima,
grinning widely to cover the sneer.
Hashknife grinned and nodded.
“Yeah, and if I didn’t have any more nerve than you’ve got, I’d never
play it, Reed.”
Yakima flinched and his eyes narrowed angrily, while the other players
lost interest in the game momentarily. But Yakima controlled his temper.
“Thasso?” he said softly, tensely. “I’ll play my nerve against yore
luck, Hartley.”
“All right.” Hashknife slid into the chair opposite Yakima and bought
chips. Stivers shifted uneasily in his chair. This had all the earmarks
of trouble. Allard had moved in behind Yakima’s chair and Sleepy took a
similar position behind Hashknife.
After a few hands had been played Stivers cashed in his chips and drew
out of the game. This left only Deal, Hashknife, Yakima and another
cowboy, Cliff Montell, who worked for O’Leary.
“I play poker for pastime,” declared Stivers. “That —— game ain’t
pastime.”
Deal watched the play closely, raking out the percentage for the house
on each pot, playing conservatively. Montell, in the parlance of poker,
played his cards “close to his belt-buckle.” In other words, he kept out
of the pot until he had a good hand.
But not so with Yakima and Hashknife. They contested nearly every pot,
with Yakima slowly losing.
“Nerve against luck,” smiled Hashknife, as he drove Yakima out of a pot
with a twenty dollar bet. “I had a set of fours that time—four
diamonds.”
Sleepy watched the dealing. He knew that Hashknife would deal honestly,
but kept his eyes on Yakima and Charley Deal, whose long slender fingers
hinted of an ability to do queer things with cards.
But as far as Sleepy could see, the professional gambler was playing a
square game. At least he was not winning. But it was his deal which
brought the game to an abrupt close.
* * * * *
Hashknife picked up three kings and opened the pot. Yakima studied his
hand closely, exposing it to Chuck Allard, indicating certain cards, as
though asking Chuck’s advice. Chuck nodded and Yakima discarded one
card, flipping it carelessly to the table.
“Gimme one card,” he said.
“One to me,” said Hashknife.
The dealer took three cards, but dropped out when Hashknife made a small
bet, and got up from the table to get a drink at the bar. Yakima made a
substantial raise. He seemed tensed, like a runner waiting for the
starter’s gun.
Hashknife squinted at him closely, a half-grin on his lips, as he called
the bet. It was the first time that Hashknife had merely called on the
first raise.
“Show ’em to me,” said Hashknife. Yakima relaxed slightly and spread two
small pair.
“Three kings.” Hashknife exposed a king of clubs, king of hearts and a
king of diamonds, but did not show the other two cards in his hand. He
mixed them up in the discards, raked in the pot and told the dealer to
cash in the chips.
“Quittin’, are yuh?” sneered Yakima.
Hashknife had got to his feet.
“Yeah, I reckon I will, Reed. I don’t care to play for pastime.”
He took his winnings and walked out, followed by Sleepy, who did not
understand why Hashknife had quit. They untied the team and went out of
town in a cloud of dust. But this time they were able to control the
team. It was up grade most of the way, and the load was fairly heavy.
“What did yuh quit for?” asked Sleepy. “You was cleanin’ up that game.”
“Didn’t you see it, Sleepy?” Hashknife’s dusty face broke into a wide
grin.
“I didn’t see anythin’, Hashknife. What do yuh mean?”
“It was kinda well framed up, Sleepy. The gambler knew what was goin’ to
happen, so’ he moved out. Yakima showed Allard his hand and they agreed
on a one-card discard, if yuh remember.
“We both drawed one. Yakima didn’t help his hand. I helped mine.”
“Yuh did? Yuh showed—”
“I showed my original three kings. Yakima figured on callin’ me,
don’tcha see, Sleepy? He wanted me to spread my hand.”
“No, I don’t see,” wailed Sleepy. “You talk foolish. You had him beat,
so what in —— difference did it make who called?”
“Just this difference, Sleepy.” Hashknife grinned. “Yakima Reed
discarded one card—the king of spades. After the draw I had that king.”
“You had that king of spades?”
“Uh-huh. Yakima had Chuck to prove that it was the same card.”
“But it was dealt to yuh, Hashknife.”
“Sure thing. And if I’d ’a’ spread it with the other three, Yakima Reed
would ’a’ shot me, prob’ly.”
“Well, it sure escaped my eye,” admitted Sleepy. “That darned tin-horn
gambler framed it, eh?”
“Between ’em. It sure worked out fine, except that I looked for trouble
and they set the stage too nicely. It was just a case of beatin’ ’em at
their own game. As you mentioned a while ago, Yakima Reed is sure a
forgivin’ sort of a cuss.”
“But what made yuh suspect that it was a frame-up?”
“Well, for one thing, the dealer left the game. He could ’a’ called for
a drink. Another thing, it was the first time that Yakima had showed
Allard his cards, and in the third place I seen the dealer palm Yakima’s
discard. It was smooth work, but not smooth enough. I didn’t want to
lose the pot, nor I didn’t want to kill anybody, so I called Yakima,
made him show his hand and only exposed enough of my hand to win the
pot.”
“Well, yo’re lucky, I’ll say that much, Hashknife.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky. But I’m gettin’ so darned smart that I can make my own
luck, cowboy. And that’s about all there is to luck.”
“Mebbe that’s right,” agreed Sleepy. “Next time I see Yakima Reed, I’m
goin’ to bust him one for luck.”
“Yuh may have to,” grinned Hashknife.
They unloaded their groceries at the ranch-house and unhitched their
mismated team. The sheriff had been at the ranch during their absence
and had questioned Uncle Billy and ma about the purchase of the ranch.
It was evident that Cherokee Lee shared Anderson’s curiosity as to where
Hashknife had secured the twenty-five hundred dollars.
He was probably more curious after a talk with the old folks.
“I told him I didn’t know a darned thing,” grinned Uncle Billy. “Ma
showed him the papers. He knew about somebody sellin’ ma the ranch. I
reckon Miller or Anderson told him.”
“Let ’em wonder,” said Hashknife. “If he wants to know where we got the
money, we can refer him to certain jobs, that paid us more than that
amount.”
“I told him that it wasn’t anybody’s business,” said ma. “And I told him
I knew that the money was honestly earned.”
Ma Holton had a big supper for them and during the meal she insisted on
Hashknife’s taking back the deed again. But he laughed at her and
refused.
“Well, let me give you a mortgage on the ranch, Hashknife. Tell me how
much you paid and I’ll have it drawn up.”
“Not me,” protested Hashknife. “I hate mortgages. Anyway, you don’t owe
me a cent. And more than that, Ma Holton, if you start this argument
again, me and Sleepy are goin’ to saddle our broncs and ride away.”
“Hide the dern thing!” exploded Uncle Billy.
Ma grinned and put the papers away, while Hashknife sprawled on the
couch and blew smoke rings at the ceiling.
Ma Holton came back to Hashknife and he grinned at her.
“I just want to say,” she said slowly, “that the Diamond H will always
be a home to you boys. No matter where you are, this is your home, and
we’ll always be mighty glad to have you home with me and Uncle Billy.
“Yo’re danged right!” exclaimed Uncle Billy. “And if yuh ain’t got money
enough to come home on, write, and we’ll send it, if we have to sell the
last cow we own.”
Hashknife got to his feet and held out his hand to ma.
“That’s the best pay I ever got for any job,” he said. “Me and Sleepy
have always been a pair of range tramps, Ma. Many and many a time have
folks asked us where our home was. Sometimes it kinda hurts to stop and
think it over, when folks ask that question.
“Everybody ought to have a home, somewhere in the world, where somebody
would welcome yuh back. We’ve never had any—me and that bow-legged
saddle-slicker. But we’ve got one now. Sleepy! Do yuh hear?”
“Aw-w-w, I heard,” Sleepy blinked thoughtfully. “It makes yuh feel kinda
funny to have a home. Christmas, New Years and Thanksgivin’ we can come
home, cowboy.”
“And eat,” said Hashknife. “That’s all you think about.”