THE CALL
Beyond receiving reports from Kennedy and Banks, who in the interval
rode into town and rode out again on their separate and silent ways,
Whispering Smith for two days seemed to do nothing. Yet instinct
keener than silence kept the people of Medicine Bend on edge during
those two days, and when President Bucks's car came in on the evening
of the second day, the town knew from current rumors that Banks had
gone to the Frenchman ranch with a warrant on a serious charge for
Sinclair. In the president's car Bucks and McCloud, after a late
dinner, were joined by Whispering Smith, and the president heard the
first connected story of the events of the fortnight that had passed.
Bucks made no comment until he had heard everything. "And they rode
Sinclair's horses," he said in conclusion.
"Sinclair's horses," returned Whispering Smith, "and they are all
accounted for. One horse supplied by Rebstock was shot where they
crossed Stampede Creek. It had given out and they had a fresh horse
in the willows, for they shot the scrub half a mile up one of the
canyons near the crossing. The magpies attracted my attention to it. A
piece of skin a foot square had been cut out of the flank."
"You got there before the birds."
"It was about an even thing," said Smith. "Anyway, we were there in
time to see the horse."
"And Sinclair was away from the ranch from Saturday noon till Sunday
night?"
"A rancher living over on Stampede Creek saw the five men when they
crossed Saturday afternoon. The fellow was scared and lied to me about
it, but he told Wickwire who they were."
"Now, who is Wickwire?" asked Bucks.
"You ought to remember Wickwire, George," remarked Whispering Smith,
turning to McCloud. "You haven't forgotten the Smoky Creek wreck? Do
you remember the tramp who had his legs crushed and lay in the sun all
morning? You put him in your car and sent him down here to the
railroad hospital and Barnhardt took care of him. That was Wickwire.
Not a bad fellow, either; he can talk pretty straight and shoot pretty
straight. How do I know? Because he has told me the story and I've
seen him shoot. There, you see, is one friend that you never reckoned
on. He used to be a cowboy, and I got him a job working for Sinclair
on the Frenchman; he has worked at Dunning's and other places on the
Crawling Stone. He hates Sinclair with a deadly hatred for some
reason. Just lately Wickwire set up for himself on Little Crawling
Stone."
"I have noticed that fellow's ranch," remarked McCloud.
"I couldn't leave him at Sinclair's," continued Whispering Smith
frankly. "The fellow was on my mind all the time. I felt certain he
would kill Sinclair or get killed if he stayed there. And then, when I
took him away they sprang Tower W on me! That is the price, not of
having a conscience, for I haven't any, but of listening to the voice
that echoes where my conscience used to be," said the railroad man,
moving uneasily in his chair.
Bucks broke the ash from his cigar into the tray on the table. "You
are restless to-night, Gordon--and it isn't like you, either."
"It is in the air. There has been a dead calm for two days. Something
is due to happen to-night. I wish I could hear from Banks; he started
with the papers for Sinclair's yesterday while I went to Oroville to
sweat Karg. Blood-poisoning has set in and it is rather important to
us to get a confession. There's a horse!" He stepped to the window.
"Coming fast, too. Now, I wonder--no, he's gone by."
Five minutes later a messenger came to the car from the Wickiup with
word that Kennedy was looking for Whispering Smith. Bucks, McCloud,
and Smith left the car together and walked up to McCloud's office.
Kennedy, sitting on the edge of the table, was tapping his leg
nervously with a ruler. "Bad news, Gordon."
"Not from Ed Banks?"
"Sinclair got him this morning."
Whispering Smith sat down. "Go on."
"Banks and I picked up Wickwire on the Crawling Stone early, and we
rode over to the Frenchman. Wickwire said Sinclair had been up at
Williams Cache the day before, and he didn't think he was home. Of
course I knew the Cache was watched and he wouldn't be there long, so
Ed asked me to stay in the cottonwoods and watch the creek for him. He
and Wickwire couldn't find anybody home when they got to the
ranch-house and they rode down the corral together to look over the
horses."
Whispering Smith's hand fell helplessly on the table. "Rode down
together! For God's sake, why didn't _one_ of them stay at the
house?"
"Sinclair rode out from behind the barn and hit Wickwire in the arm
before they saw him. Banks turned and opened on him, and Wickwire
ducked for the creek. Sinclair put a soft bullet through Banks's
shoulder--tore it pretty bad, Gordon--and made his get-away before
Wickwire and I could reach the barn again. I got Ed on his horse and
back to Wickwire's, and we sent one of the boys to Oroville for a
doctor. After Banks fell out of the saddle and was helpless Sinclair
talked to him before I came up. 'You ought to have kept out of this,
Ed,' he said. 'This is a railroad fight. Why didn't they send the head
of their own gang after me?'--naming you." Kennedy nodded toward
Whispering Smith.
"Naming me."
"Banks says, 'I'm sheriff of this county, and will be a long time
yet!' I took the papers from his breast pocket," continued Kennedy.
"You can see where he was hit." Kennedy laid the sheriff's packet on
the table. Bucks drew his chair forward and, with his cigar between
his fingers, picked the packet up and opened it. Kennedy went on: "Ed
told Sinclair if he couldn't land him himself that he knew a man who
could and would before he was a week older. He meant you, Gordon, and
the last thing Ed told me was that he wanted you to serve the papers
on Sinclair."
A silence fell on the company. One of the documents passing under
Bucks's hand caught his eye and he opened it. It was the warrant for
Sinclair. He read it without comment, folded it, and, looking at
Whispering Smith, pushed it toward him. "Then this, I guess, Gordon,
belongs to you."
Starting from a revery, Whispering Smith reached for the warrant. He
looked for a moment at the blood-stained caption. "Yes," he said,
"this, I guess, belongs to me."