BOX-S BUSINESS
A few days later, Bartley stopped at a small town to have his horse
shod. The blacksmith seemed unusually interested in the horse and
complimented Bartley upon owning such a good mount.
"Comes from up San Andreas way," said the smith, noticing the brand on
Dobe's flank.
"Yes. I picked him up at Antelope. I understand he was raised on Senator
Brown's ranch."
"That's Steve Brown's brand, all right. Heard the news from up that
way?"
"Nothing special."
"Seems somebody run off a bunch of Senator Steve's horses, last week.
Thought mebby you'd heard."
"No."
"Well, thought I'd just tell you. I seen one posse ride through
yesterday. They'll be lookin' for strangers along the road."
"Thanks. I bought this horse--and I happen to know Senator Brown."
"No offense, stranger. If I'd 'a' suspicioned you'd stole that horse,
you wouldn't take him out of here. Like I said to Cheyenne, last week;
he could fetch a whole carload of stock in here and take 'em out again
without trouble. He was tellin' me how he lost his horses, and we got to
talkin' about some folks bein' blind when they're facin' a brand on a
critter. Mebby you heard tell of Cheyenne Hastings?"
"I have traveled with him. You say he stopped here a few days ago?"
"Well, not just stopped; he kind of looked in to see how I was gettin'
along. He acted queerlike, for him. I've knowed Cheyenne for years. Said
he was feelin' all right. He ast me if I'd seen Panhandle Sears down
this way, recent. Seemed kind of disappointed when I told him no.
Cheyenne used to be a right-smart man, before he had trouble with that
woman of his."
"Yes? He told me about it," said Bartley, not caring to hear any more of
the details of Cheyenne's trouble.
"'Most everybody knows it," stated the smith. "And if I was Sears I'd
sure leave this country."
"So should I. I've seen Cheyenne handle a gun."
"You got the right idea!" exclaimed the blacksmith, evidently pleased.
"All Cheyenne's friends have been waitin' for years for him to clean
that slate and start fresh again. He used to be a right-smart hand,
before he had trouble."
The blacksmith accompanied his conversation with considerable elbow
motion and the rattle and clang of shaping horseshoes. Presently Dobe
was new shod and ready for the road. Bartley paid the smith, thanked him
for a good job, and rode south. Evidently Cheyenne's open quarrel with
Sears was the talk of the countryside. It was expected of Cheyenne that
he would "clean the slate and start fresh" some day. And cleaning the
slate meant killing Sears. To Bartley it seemed strange that any one
should be pleased with the idea of one man killing another deliberately.
In speaking of the recent horse-stealings, the blacksmith had mentioned
no names. But Bartley at once drew the conclusion that it had been
Sneed's men who had run off the Senator's horses. Sneed was known to be
a horse-thief. He had never been convicted, although he had been
arrested and tried several times. It was also known that Senator Steve
had openly vowed that he would rid the country of Sneed, sooner or
later.
Several times, during his journey south, Bartley was questioned, but
never interfered with. Thus far he heard of Cheyenne occasionally, but,
nearing Phoenix, he lost track of his erstwhile companion. However, he
took it for granted that Phoenix had been Cheyenne's destination. And
Bartley wanted to see the town for himself, in any event.
* * * * *
Cheyenne, arriving in Phoenix, stabled his horses at the Top-Notch
livery, and took a room for himself directly opposite the
Hole-in-the-Wall gambling-house. He refused to drink with the occasional
acquaintance he met, not because he did not like liquor, but because
Colonel Stevenson, the city marshal, had told him that Panhandle Sears
and his friends were in town.
"Why don't you tell me to go git him?" queried Cheyenne, looking the
marshal in the eye.
"I didn't think it was necessary," said the marshal.
"What? To git him?"
The marshal smiled. Then casually: "I hear that Panhandle and his
friends are drinking heavy and spending considerable money. They must
have made a strike, somewhere."
"I see by the paper somebody run off a bunch of the Box-S hosses,"
remarked Cheyenne, also casually.
Then, without further comment, he left the marshal wondering if
Panhandle's presence in town had any connection with the recent
running-off of the Box-S stock. The sheriff of Antelope had wired
Colonel Stevenson to be on the lookout for Bill Sneed and his gang, but
had not mentioned Panhandle's name in the telegram.
The following day, Senator Brown and his foreman, Lon Pelly, arrived in
Phoenix and had a long talk with the marshal. That afternoon Lon Pelly
took the train south. Early in the evening Senator Brown received a
telegram from Pelly stating that Sneed and four men had left Tucson,
headed north and riding horses.
The stolen horses had been trailed south as far as Phoenix. It was
evident that they had been driven to Tucson and disposed of somewhere in
that vicinity. Yet there was no conclusive proof that Sneed had stolen
the horses. As usual, he had managed to keep a few days ahead of his
pursuers. Sneed was known to have left his camp in the hills above San
Andreas. The first posse had found the camp abandoned. Sneed had not
been identified until Pelly got track of him in Tucson.
During his talk with Senator Brown the marshal mentioned the fact that
Panhandle Sears was in Phoenix.
"Did Panhandle come in from the south?" queried the Senator.
"Nobody seems to know."
"Well, if he did, we have got the link that's missing in this chain,
Colonel. Pelly is holdin' one end of the chain down in Tucson, and the
other end is layin' right here in Phoenix. If we can connect her up--"
"But we haven't located the horses, Senator."
"Colonel, I'll find those horses if I can. But I'm after Sneed, this
journey. He has been running things about ten years too long to suit me.
I've got a check-book with me. You have the men. I'm out to do a little
housecleanin' of my own. If we can get Panhandle to talk, we can find
out something."
"He's been on a drunk for a week. I could run him in for disturbing the
peace and--"
"And he'd suspect what we're after and freeze up, tight. No, let him run
loose, but keep your eye on him. He'll give the deal away, sooner or
later."
"I hope it's sooner," said the Colonel. "Cheyenne is holed up down the
street, waiting for a chance to get Sears. Cheyenne didn't say so, but
it was in his eye. He's changed considerable since I saw him last."
"Was there any one with him: a tall, dark-haired, kind of clean-cut boy,
for instance?"
"No, not when I saw him. He rode in with his usual outfit."
"Wonder where he lost young Bartley? Well, I'm glad the boy isn't here.
He might get hurt."
"Wild?"
"No. Quiet. Writes stories. He's out here to look at the West. Stayed at
the ranch a spell. Mrs. Brown likes him."
Colonel Stevenson nodded and offered the Senator a cigar. "Let's step
over to the hotel, Steve. It's a long time since--"
* * * * *
That evening Bartley arrived in Phoenix, put up his horse, and, upon
inquiry, learned that the Grand Central was the best hotel in town. He
was registering when he noticed Senator Brown's name. He made inquiry of
the clerk. Yes, the Senator had arrived that morning. And would Mr.
Bartley prefer a front room? The front rooms on the north side were
cooler. No, the clerk knew nothing about a Mr. Cheyenne. There was no
one by that name registered at the hotel. It was past the regular dinner
hour, but the dining-room was not yet closed. There was a men's
furnishings store just across the street. They carried a complete stock.
And did Mr. Bartley wish to be called at any special hour in the
morning? Breakfast was served from six-thirty to nine-thirty.
Bartley had dinner, and later strolled around to the Top-Notch livery to
see that Dobe was being well cared for. While talking with the
stableman, Bartley noticed a gray pony and in the next stall a
buckskin--Cheyenne's horses.
"Those are Cheyenne's horses, aren't they?" he queried.
"I dunno. Mebby that's his name. He left 'em here a few days ago. I only
seen him once, since then."
"I'll be around in the morning. If a man called Cheyenne should happen
to come in, just tell him that Bartley is stopping at the Grand
Central."
"I'll tell him, all right," said the stableman.
And as soon as Bartley was out of sight, that worthy called up the city
marshal and told him that a stranger had ridden in and stabled a horse
bearing the Box-S brand. A big reward had been offered for the stolen
horses.
At the hotel Bartley learned that Senator Brown had gone out for the
evening. Tired from his long ride, Bartley went to his room. Senator
Steve and Cheyenne were in town. Bartley recalled the blacksmith's talk
about the stolen horses. No doubt that accounted for Senator Steve's
presence in Phoenix. As for Cheyenne--Bartley decided to hunt him up in
the morning.