Part 4

“H’lo, Clayton,” said Cross L. “How are yuh feelin’?”

“Not very good,” faltered Clayton. “My head is all wrong for figures right now.”

He sat down in a chair and held his head in his hands.

“Any idea how much money he got?” asked one of the men.

“About all there was in the vault,” groaned Clayton. “I’d hate to even make a guess. Of course it will all check up.”

“About how much?” queried Marshall anxiously.

“Well,” Clayton lifted his head, “there was thirty thousand in currency in one box. I don’t know how much gold there was, but it was about ten thousand dollars.”

The cattlemen looked at each other seriously. It meant that they were about cleaned out. It was their own institution--their loss.

“It was a foolish idea,” said Clayton heavily. “We should have invested this money. But--well, there’s no wisdom in hoarding money, gentlemen.”

“That’s a cinch--now,” said one of the men bitterly.

“Any idea who done it?” queried Peace.

Clayton squinted painfully at Peace and nodded slowly.

“Yes, I know who did it, Parker.”

“Yuh do?” exploded Cross L. “Who was it, Clayton?”

Clayton rubbed his aching head.

“I don’t know his name, Marshall. It was the man that came here yesterday with Peace Parker.”

Peace stared at Clayton and around at the cattlemen, who were watching him, wondering what it meant. Peace went to Clayton and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Clayton, are yuh sure of that?”

“Just as sure as the world, Parker. I noticed that he was looking the place over yesterday.”

“But he was masked, wasn’t he?” queried Cross L.

Clayton nodded.

“Yes, he was masked, but that was no disguise. He was wearing an old yellow velvet vest, a gray sombrero and a wide cartridge-belt which was studded with brass rivets. I even recognized his boots with the stitched tops.”

Peace turned away and stared across the room. He knew that it had been Gus Sinks. Gus was square with him, but he was still a thief. Peace turned and looked at Cross L.

“It was Gus Sinks. I brought him here yesterday to give him some money, Cross L. He rode North when I went to the Bar X Bar with Sorensen.”

“Does that description cover him, Peace?” asked one of the men.

Peace nodded.

“Yes, that covers him.” Then to Clayton--“Tell us how he done it, Clayton.”

Clayton squinted painfully and pointed toward the open door of the vault.

“I had the vault open and was just coming out with some papers, when I happened to look up. I didn’t hear this man come in but there he stood, just inside the railing with his gun pointed at me.

“I couldn’t hardly realize what it was all about. Then he motioned for me to turn around and go into the vault. I had to do it, gentlemen. He stepped in behind me and held a gun against my back while I unlocked the strong-boxes.

“Yes, he ordered me to do it. Then he must have hit me over the head with his gun.”

Clayton rubbed his hand tenderly over his bandages.

“I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I woke up he was gone.

“I was so weak I couldn’t stand up; so I crawled half out of the vault, when Hazelton discovered me. I think the robber intended to lock me in the vault, because the bolts were thrown. In his haste to escape, he accidentally threw the bolts and was unable to shut the door.”

Peace went over to the vault door. The bolts were still blocking it. He examined it closely.

One of the cattlemen laughed shortly. “Lookin’ for finger-prints, Peace?”

Peace smiled grimly and shook his head.

“Wouldn’t do us any good, Pierce.”

“You wouldn’t find any,” said Clayton. “He wore gloves.”

“Well,” observed Cross L hopefully, “if he didn’t get to the Pass ahead of the boys, he’s bottled up in the valley.”

“Plenty of places to hide,” declared Peace. “He can take his time and get away. What we’ve got to do is to curry this old valley until a chipmunk couldn’t get away.”

As they started out of the door, Hazelton met them at the door, and with him was a ten-year-old boy.

“Say, this kid seen him!” blurted Hazelton. “He seen that robber after he got the money.”

“Where was he?” asked Cross L.

“Well, I seen a man, but I dunno whether he was the one,” said the boy. “This’n had his horse tied just the other side of the schoolhouse. I seen him get on his horse and he had a big bundle in his arms.”

“What did he look like?” asked Peace.

“I don’t just remember,” confessed the boy, “but I know he had on a gray hat and a fancy belt. I seen the sun sparkle on that belt. And he had a sorrel horse that singlefooted.”

Peace nodded to the men.

“That’s the horse.”

“Was the man wearin’ a mask, Buddy?” queried Cross L.

“No. I wasn’t close enough to see his face, but he didn’t have no mask on that I could see.”

“He’d take it off right away,” said one of the men. “He likely slipped it on when he went in and slipped it off as soon as he got outside.”

“Didja notice which way he went, Buddy?” asked Peace.

“He went up the valley, but he didn’t seem to go in a hurry. Just kinda singlefooted along.”

“He’s a smart son-of-a-gun,” admitted Cross L. “Didn’t do anythin’ to attract attention. Likely went ---- for-leather as soon as he got out of sight. Prob’ly twisted off the road and circled into the hills. Mebbe the boys’ll beat him to the Pass. If they don’t--we’re about half-out of money around here.”

“Half-out, ----!” snorted Billy Pierce, who owned the Crescent outfit. “If they don’t nail him, I won’t have money enough to pay my two punchers a month’s salary. I might have to sell a cow or two to make a payday.”

“You’d have a ---- of a time sellin’ one to me,” said Cross L sadly. “I might be able to trade, but I couldn’t buy the hole in a doughnut.”

“I reckon that about covers us all,” said another.

“It’s a hard old world, and few of us ever get out of it alive,” observed Peace seriously. “I feel that I’m partly to blame. I brought Gus Sinks here with me. Why, he didn’t even know we had a bank here.”

The cattleman smiled grimly. Peace remembered that he had told Gus Sinks that the Pasiooks bank was the richest little bank in the state and that Sinks had seemed interested in that fact.

He and Cross L stood around awhile and listened to arguments, pro and con, which arrived at nothing. Then they got their horses and headed for the Cross L ranch. There was nothing they could do just now.

“You’ll have to hire somebody to take your sheep,” observed Cross L as they rode home, “or will yuh go out and sell ’em, like yuh intended to do?”

“I dunno, Cross L,” Peace shook his head. “It kinda hurts me to think that Gus Sinks done this job to us folks. He’s an ignorant son-of-a-gun and he don’t know any better than to do wrong most of the time, but I trusted him--kinda.”

“In God we trust,” quoted Cross L. “That’s the only safe thing to do.”

Marshall went straight to Jess with the news of the robbery, but Peace did not go up to the house with him.

“We had fifteen thousand dollars in that bank, Jess,” he added, after he had explained the robbery. “It kinda crimps us.”

“But they will catch the robber, won’t they?” she asked.

“I’m hopin’ fifteen thousand dollars worth, Jess. He had a fair start, but he might ’a’ circled far enough to let the boys beat him to the Pass.”

“Who went up there?”

“Le Page, Hyatt, Jud Smith and Frank Campion.”

Jess nodded thoughtfully.

“I reckon I forgot to tell yuh that Peace is leavin’ us, Jess,” said Marshall slowly.

She looked up quickly at him--

“Leaving us?”

Marshall nodded.

“Yeah.”

“What for, Dad?”

“Well,” Marshall squinted thoughtfully, “well, he said he kinda wanted t’ see what’s on the other side of the hill. Mebbe he’s tired of the valley, Jess.”

She walked to the door and stared across the hills.

“I don’t blame him,” continued Marshall. “Sometimes a feller does kinda itch to see the other side of the hill. Says he’s goin’ down into Arizona. He ain’t much of a hand to write letters; so we won’t likely hear from him. I’m kinda glad t’ see him go, m’self.”

Cross L picked up his hat and walked quietly out through the kitchen, leaving Jess still staring out of the door. He went out through the rear entrance, slapped his hat on his head and grinned wickedly.

“I’ll betcha that’ll hold her for a while,” he chuckled and went down to the barn to find something to swear at.

It was after dark that night when Sheriff Houston and Barney McManus stopped at the Cross L on their way to Pasiooks. They had ridden straight in from Tarp City, but had left the Pass guarded.

“Gus Sinks, eh?” grunted Houston, after Cross L had told them what he knew about the robbery. “Well that gives us one man to look for. He’s likely hid out here in the valley and will wait for a chance to get out.”

“He don’t know the valley, though,” objected Peace. “Never was in here before.”

“That helps some,” grinned Barney. “Mebbe the danged fool is tryin’ to cross the range.”

“Likely tryin’ to get back on to the Fossilshell,” observed Houston. “He knows that country like a book and he’d likely get protection over there. Mebbe he’d hit for the Sun Prairie country.”

They rode on toward Pasiooks, and it was about dark when Jim Horn and Bert Hart rode in at the ranch. They had run into one of the searchers further down the valley and had spent the rest of the day riding the hills. None of their party had even the slightest clue to where the robber had gone.

“We was with Blackie Erne,” laughed Jim, “but he never mentioned the tin can. Bender and Mehl was with two of the boys from the Crescent, but we didn’t see ’em. This is the most excitin’ day I ever seen in this old valley. Whatcha think about Gus Sinks, Peace? I’ll say that he’s a real cute little jasper. I betcha he’s got more money than he could ever count.”

“I hope he stopped to count it,” grunted Cross L angrily.

* * * * *

For two more days the cowboys searched out every corner of the valley. In twos and threes they combed it; making a drive of the entire country, but nothing came of it. Peace had said no more to Cross L about leaving the ranch, and Cross L was careful not to mention it.

Jess had said nothing to Peace. In fact, they had not spoken half a dozen words to each other since her father had said that Peace was going away.

But in spite of the fact that there was no trace of Gus Sinks, the cowboys still guarded the Pass and stopped every one going through. There was always the chance that Gus Sinks was hidden away, waiting the time when the cattlemen would relax their vigilance.

Then Peace Parker acted abruptly. He saddled his own horse, tied his war-bag behind the cantle and went up to the ranchhouse. Cross L had seen him tie the sack to the saddle and knew that Peace Parker was leaving the Valley of the Chinook.

Peace had already told Jim and Bert good-by. They were sitting on the bunkhouse steps waiting for him to leave. Cross L Marshall got to his feet and looked awkwardly at Peace, who put one hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“Yo’re goin’, are yuh?” asked Marshall.

Peace nodded.

“Yeah, I’m goin’, Cross L. I reckon that the other side of the hill is callin’ me.”

“I s’pose,” Marshall sighed heavily and looked keenly at Peace. “You’ve got a few days’ pay comin’, Peace.”

“Thasall right. I’ll come back and collect it some day.”

“By grab, I’d keep it if I thought yuh would, Peace.”

“Keep it and see if I do,” smiled Peace, and looked toward the door where Jess was standing. He turned to her and held out his hand.

“Are you going away?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah, I’m goin’, Jess.”

They looked steadily at each other for several moments, as they shook hands. It was an awkward situation. Cross L Marshall began to have throat trouble again and Peace grinned widely.

“’S funny,” said Peace slowly, “but folks never seem to be able to say much when they’re sayin’ good-by. I reckon I’ll be siftin’ along, folks.”

He turned on his heel and went down the steps, but stopped at the bottom and looked back at Jess.

“Be good to yoreself, Jess,” he said softly, “mebbe I’ll see yuh sometime.”

He glanced at Cross L and went toward the barn, where Jim and Bert were coming to meet him. Cross L looked at Jess, his mustache bristling belligerently, but she was looking at Peace Parker.

“Aw, ----!” exploded Cross L. “That’s what vas-leen does.” He shook a finger in the general direction of the barn and spat viciously, “Vas-leen and per-fumed notes! By ----!”

He struck the porch post with a clenched fist.

“If you think for one ---- minute that you--aw, ----!”

Jess had turned and looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. They looked at each other for a minute before she turned and went into the house.

Peace Parker was riding away now, and he waved back at Cross L Marshall, who looked at him and half-waved one hand as though in doubt. He glanced back at the open door and then at Peace Parker.

“I dunno,” he told himself, “I dunno which one of yuh is the biggest darned fool, but I reckon it’s horse-and-horse. Good-by, you homely son-of-a-gun. I hope yuh don’t find nothin’ on the other side of the hill and have to come back for the rest of yore salary.”

Peace went slowly up the valley road, which wound in and out of the hollows. He had no idea of where he was going after disposing of his sheep. The Valley of the Chinook was home to him--the only real home he had ever known, and it was with a dull ache in his heart that he rode up the steep grades that led to Poncho Pass and looked back down the misty length of the finest cattle range in the world.

Below him he could see the silvery flash of sunlight on the headwaters of the Chinook river, and on each side the green, rolling hills, dotted with clumps of dark trees, faded away into the blue haze of the distance. It was good to look upon and Peace Parker feasted his eyes upon it before riding on into the tall crags of the Pass which would cut off his view.

As he rode into the narrow defile which was the Pass three men stepped into the road in front of him. It was Dud LePage, “Baldy” Hyatt and Frank Campion, and each of them was carrying a rifle.

Peace stopped and grinned at them.

“Hyah, Peace,” greeted Le Page, a big, raw-boned, grizzled cowboy, grinning back at Peace.

“Hello, Dud. Still guardin’ the Pass, eh?”

LePage nodded and grounded his rifle.

“Yeah, we’re not takin’ any chances, Peace. Are yuh travelin’ or goin’ somewhere?”

“Travelin’,” grinned Peace. “I’m leavin’ the valley.”

“Naw!”

Baldy Hyatt removed his hat and polished the shiny top of the head that gave him a nickname.

“You ain’t leavin’ us for good, are yuh?”

Peace nodded quickly.

“I reckon so, Baldy.”

Frank Campion had taken no part in the conversation, and Hyatt turned to him.

“You know Peace Parker, don’tcha, Campion?”

Campion nodded indifferently.

“Yes, I know him.”

Hyatt and LePage glanced at each other quickly, but turned back to Peace.

“She don’t seem right that yo’re leavin’ us,” said Hyatt. “Cripes, I thought yuh was personal property of the Cross L.”

The inference was plain, because every one in the valley surmised that Peace was to marry Jess Marshall. Peace only grinned and shifted in his saddle.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I been thinkin’ of takin’ a trip for quite a while.”

“Well, yo’re comin’ back, ain’tcha?” asked Hyatt.

“No-o-o, I reckon not, Baldy--not for a while; so I’ll tell yuh good-by and be on my way.”

He held out his hand and shook hands with Baldy and LePage, while Campion looked on indifferently. But when Peace started on Campion stepped in front of him.

“You know why we’re here, Parker, and you know that we’re not letting any one go out of the valley without bein’ sure about them. You’ve got a bundle behind your saddle.”

“Yeah, I have,” Peace squinted at Campion closely.

“----’s bells!” snorted Hyatt. “Why Peace Parker is----”

“That makes no difference,” retorted Campion. “We’re not here for our health.”

“No, it kinda looks like you wasn’t,” agreed LePage warmly. “Do yuh suspect Peace Parker? Ha, ha! Ha, ha!”

“What is in that bundle, Parker?” demanded Campion angrily.

“A couple of shirts, a pair of socks, some overalls and a couple of blankets. Oh, yeah, there’s a necktie, too. Do yuh want to try and search it, Campion?”

Peace was leaning forward in his saddle, his right arm crooked at the elbow. Campion had seen him in that same position before, and he knew that Peace Parker was a very sudden person with a gun.

“No,” Campion shook his head, “I don’t want to search you.”

Peace nodded and rode on through the Pass, while Baldy and LePage congratulated Campion on his lack of curiosity. Campion smarted under their rough humor, but knew better than to incur their enmity.

“What I don’t _sabe_ is why he’s leavin’ here,” complained Baldy. “I thought that him and Jess Marshall was goin’ to hook up for life.”

“Yeah, I heard they was goin’ to get married,” nodded LePage. “She could do a dang lot worse, y’betcha!”

“He is not going to marry Miss Marshall,” stated Campion.

“How do yuh know?” queried Baldy.

“Because I am going to marry her myself.”

“You are?” Baldy gasped audibly. “Whatcha know about that!”

“What I just said goes as she lays,” said LePage seriously, and added, “I reckon she’s goin’ to.”

* * * * *

Peace rode to Tarp City and spent the night there. Tarp City was not interested in the troubles of Chinook Valley, but Peace talked things over with Sheriff Houston who was of the opinion that Gus Sinks had got out of the valley ahead of the posse of cowboys and made his escape into the Fossilshell.

The next morning Peace saddled his horse and headed for the Sun Prairie country which was located north and east of Tarp City and about fifteen miles away.

It was a desolate, sheeped-out country of bald buttes, swept clean of verdure and smelling strongly of sheep. Bands of sheep, marked by dust clouds, were moving about the hills. The road was entirely blotted out by the passing of numberless sheep. Peace had no idea of where he might find his band of sheep, so he swung into the hills and accosted the first sheepherder he ran across.

The man confessed total ignorance. Peace explained that the herd was marked with a painted cross on their backs, but this meant nothing in the life of this sheepherder.

Peace spent the whole day, riding from place to place, but no one could tell him where the cross-marked band was located. Finally he wrinkled his long nose in disgust and headed for Tarp City.

“I reckon I just dreamed that I owned sheep,” he reflected as he swung along the side of a bald butte, which had been cultivated by the sharp hooves. Below him, a band of sheep were moving slowly southward, an indistinct mass in the clouds of dust stirred up by their passing.

Peace rode down, intending to pass them, but he happened to see his own brand on the back of a wooly straggler. The herder was a man about middle-age, gray as a badger, and with a scar running from above his left temple to a spot near the left corner of his mouth.

It gave him a leering expression, which did not belie the evil of the rest of his countenance. He carried a Winchester rifle in the crook of his arm and looked suspiciously at Peace Parker.

“Kind of a dusty job, ain’t it?” grinned Peace.

“Yeah, yuh bet it is,” agreed the man.

Peace sized him up and looked at the sheep. Surely this was not the Basque herder spoken of by Gus Sinks, thought Peace.

“Feed gettin’ pretty short, ain’t it?” asked Peace.

“---- short!”

The herder motioned a dog to pick up some stragglers, and they watched the trained sheep-dog round them up and close up the rear of the band.

“I wonder if there’s any chance to pick up some cheap woolies,” said Peace. “Must be money in ’em now.”

“Not much.” The man spat dryly.

It was dry work following that drifting herd.

“Who owns this herd?”

The herder squinted up at Peace, looking narrowly at him.

“I do,” he grunted.

“Don’t want to sell ’em, do you?”

“No. Just bought ’em myself.”

“Just?” queried Peace.

“Huh?” He squinted at Peace again.

“How long ago did yuh buy ’em?”

“Long ago?”

The sheep-herder repeated that much of the question and looked away for a moment. Then--

“What’s it to you, stranger?”

“Well,” Peace grinned widely, “yuh see, there’s been a lot of sheep-herders sellin’ off stock that don’t belong to ’em, and I’m here investigatin’.”

“I _sabe_. Hired by the sheep men, eh?”

Peace did not say, but the shepherd dug into the inside pocket of his vest and drew out a soiled paper.

“I reckon you’ll find that this is all right,” he said as he handed Peace the paper.

It was a bill of sale for three thousand sheep, in favor of John Smith, and was signed by Gus Sinks. Peace studied it closely and handed it back to the man.

“All right?”

The sheep-herder looked closely at Peace as he tucked the paper back into his pocket.

Peace nodded.

“Yeah, it’s made out properly, I reckon. Yuh see, we’ve got to be careful.”

“That’s right.”

The man smiled broadly for the first time and seemed at ease.

“I suppose there’s crooked work done every little while.”

“Yeah--every little while. Well, I’ve got to be movin’ on. You headin’ for Tarp City?”

“Uh-huh. Slow work movin’ sheep, but I’ll likely be in there by noon tomorrow.”

Peace nodded and rode around the band, which had belonged to him. He could still prove ownership. He had plenty of witnesses to prove that Gus Sinks was only a hired man, but he was not going to argue with this man.

He rode back to Tarp City and went to Sheriff Houston. He told Houston what had happened to the sheep, and Houston exploded over the information. But Peace merely grinned and asked Houston to do nothing.

“Well, yuh ain’t goin’ to let ’em get away with anythin’ like that, are yuh?” demanded Houston.

“It ain’t hardly ethical,” agreed Peace, “but let’s not say anythin’ about it.”

“Well, they’re yore sheep,” agreed Houston wearily. “If you want to be a Santa Claus to some ---- sheep-herder, go ahead, Peace.”

As they came out to the door of the office a middle-aged man, wearing a black suit and a wide, black hat, came up to them. He was not a pleasant-looking man with his square chin and thin-lipped mouth beneath a broad, flat nose.

“I beg your pardon,” he said crisply. “I am a stranger around here--a cattle buyer--and I came here to get some information.”

“Well,” replied Houston bruskly, “we’ll listen and do our dangdest.”

A slight smile flashed across the stranger’s lips and he nodded slightly.

“Fair enough. I wanted some information on Chinook Valley. I understand that a lot of cows are shipped out of there and I wanted to find out who was handling their stuff, and whether it would be worth my while going in to talk with them.”

Houston looked keenly at him and motioned to Peace.

“Parker knows every inch of the place and he’d know.”

“Well,” smiled Peace, “I know the place, but I’m darned if I could answer yuh, stranger. I don’t reckon that any buyer has a cinch on the output, and if your prices are right yuh might do business.”

“Fair enough. Who are the big owners?”

Peace gave him the names of several cattlemen and he wrote the names in a note-book. Then he thanked them both and went back across the street.

“A husky lookin’ jasper,” commented Houston.

Peace nodded and studied the back of the man. There was a peculiar stiffness about his walk that betokened the fact that the man had spent much time in the saddle. He twisted slightly at the hips at each step, and Peace drew a mental picture of this same man in chaps and high-heeled boots.

“Old time cow-man,” observed Peace to himself. “Betcha he was a go-getter in his time.”

Some cowboys were riding in from the Fossilshell and waved at Houston as they came past. Peace strolled up the street to a restaurant and went in to eat. He was short of money and wondered just what he was going to do.

His savings had all been in the Pasiooks bank and now he was unable to sell off his sheep.

“Looks kinda like I was goin’ to have to forget the other side of the hill for a while,” he reflected.