Part 6

Thus the sheepherder explained his slowness in making an appearance. He picked up Peace’s gun and shoved it inside the waist-band of his overalls.

“It’s a good thing to be sure about,” admitted Peace calmly. “Now that yo’re satisfied--will yuh try and move that dead animal enough to let my foot loose?”

“Can’tcha move your foot loose?”

“Do I look like a person that needs somebody to wait on him?” retorted Peace.

“No, I reckon yuh don’t.”

The man walked away toward the house and came back in a few minutes with a coil of rope with which he proceeded to tie Peace’s arms to his side.

“I’m cautious, I am,” he declared. “She’s a lot easier to rope yuh now, pardner. Don’t have to order yuh to so-and-so; _sabe_?”

“You sure got the right idea,” applauded Peace. “I’d ’a’ never thought of that. But what’s it all about?”

The scar-faced man laughed but did not reply while he managed to drag the inert mass of horse-flesh off Peace’s leg. Peace flexed his knee slowly and was glad to find that it was hardly injured at all.

“What’s it about, eh?”

The scar-faced man sat down on the saddle-fender and rolled a smoke.

“You thought yuh was makin’ me believe that you was the sheep inspector, didn’t yuh? Pardner, I wasn’t born yesterday. I _sabe_ that there ain’t no such animal. Also--” he leered at Peace, “I knowed who yuh was all the time. My old friend Gus Sinks described yuh many a time.”

“Then you knowed that these sheep didn’t belong to Gus, eh?”

“’Course I knew it,” the man laughed throatily. “Me and Gus had that all fixed.”

“Yeah?” Peace grinned widely. “Mind rollin’ me a smoke?”

“Yuh do need waitin’ on, don’tcha? Well, I’ll----”

“Untie my hands and I’ll roll my own.”

“Any old time I do! Nope, I’ll roll ’em for yuh.”

He rolled a cigaret, lighted it and put it between Peace’s teeth.

“You sure busted up my poor bronc,” observed Peace sadly.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t shootin’ at the ----ed horse.”

The man was a frank sort of a murderer and Peace grinned at his honesty.

“Well, I’m glad that yo’re a rotten shot, pardner.”

“Oh, I ain’t so bad. I kinda hurried, thasall.”

“Wasn’t lookin’ for me, eh?”

“Wasn’t I? Huh! I sure was lookin’ for yuh. I knowed you’d trail me down here. I didn’t want to down yuh out in the open.”

“Danged considerate of yuh,” observed Peace. “Whatcha goin’ to do with my sheep?”

“Your sheep! Sa-a-ay, git that idea out of yore mind. These are my sheep; _sabe_? Well, as soon as I fix you a-plenty I’m goin’ to herd ’em into Tarp City, throw ’em into a corral and sell out.”

“Fix me a-plenty, eh?”

“Y’betcha. What else can I do? I ain’t no ---- fool and I ain’t no shepherd. These sheep are worth a lot of money, don’tcha know it? Enough to keep me a long time.”

“Pardner, I’ll make you a trade.”

Peace spat out the remnant of his cigaret and grew serious.

“You tell me where Gus Sinks is and I’ll give you a straight bill-of-sale to these sheep.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” incredulously.

“Just that. If you know anythin’ about me, you’ll know that I keep my word. You show me Gus Sinks and you can have these danged woolies.”

The man shook his head.

“Nothin’ like that, pardner. Gus is my bunkie and I won’t squeal on him.”

“That’s danged square of yuh,” observed Peace dryly, “and I appreciate it in yuh. Just the same, I’d make the trade with yuh.”

“Nope. I ain’t tradin’ t’day, Parker.”

“Too bad. Yuh know I trusted Gus Sinks. How long have yuh known him?”

The man reflected for a moment.

“I dunno. Anyway, it’s a long time; too long to squeal on him.”

“I see,” Peace sighed deeply. “I liked him, too. I’ve only knowed him a few months. You remind me of him a little.”

“Thasso?”

“Yeah. ’Course yuh don’t look like him, but that scar on his face is kinda like yours.”

The man felt on his face and nodded slowly.

“How’d he get the scar?” asked Peace.

“I dunno. I never asked him.”

“Got it in a fight, I know that much about it,” said Peace. “Said he lost the little finger off his left hand in the same fight. But Gus handled the truth kinda carelessly and I never believed him much. Likely lost his finger when he was learnin’ to split wood.”

The man grinned and nodded.

“That’s how he lost it. Gus told lots-a stories about that finger. I dunno how he got the scar on his face, but he likely got kicked by a cow.”

Peace laughed softly over the troubles of Gus Sinks and watched his captor closely, as he said--

“Well, whatcha goin’ to do next?”

“I dunno.”

The man seemed undecided but motioned Peace to get to his feet.

“I’ll keep yuh in the old house for a while. I don’t want to rub yuh out right away--if yuh behave. Can’t let yuh loose, that’s a cinch. I ain’t got nothin’ agin’ yuh personally--except that yo’re in my way, and when folks git in my way, I usually fix ’em a-plenty.”

“Where do you bury yore dead?” grinned Peace, stretching his long legs.

“Ne’ mind where I plant ’em. You toddle along ahead of me and be glad that I’m in good humor t’day. I ain’t no mean _hombre_, but I don’t let nobody stand between me and a lot of money, yuh understand?”

Peace went into the old tumble-down ranch-house and the scar-faced man motioned him to sit down in a corner. It was a dusty old place, with a broken floor, sway-backed roof and smelled strongly of pack-rats.

Scar-face proceeded to hog-tie Peace, who was unable to make any resistance. Satisfied that the job was well done, the scar-faced man went back to his cooking.

Peace squinted up at the sagging ceiling and a grin spread across his face. But Peace was not grinning over the fact that the roof sagged. Something had struck him as being funny and he chuckled to himself.

“Anyway,” he reflected when his period of mirth had passed, “that posse of Chinookers ain’t liable to find me here. Every cloud has a silver linin’, if yuh only look at it in the right way. And if that shepherd is goin’ to bump me off, I hope he don’t wait until I get hungry enough to eat a mutton stew.”

The scar-faced man shoved his head inside the door.

“Gittin’ hungry?” he asked.

Peace sniffed. There was an odor of frying mutton. He shook his head quickly.

“Not for sheep meat.”

“Huh! Before I git through with yuh, I’ll betcha you’ll be glad to eat sheep meat, Parker.”

“I’ll betcha I won’t.”

“Why won’tcha?”

“’Cause,” grinned Peace, “I’ll be so old and toothless that I can’t chaw it.”

The man laughed and went back to his fire. He was not without a sense of humor which was a lucky thing for Peace Parker.

* * * * *

It was early that morning when Cross L Marshall arrived at Tarp City with his two cowboys, but Claypool and his men had already been there nearly an hour. They had secured a warrant which had been turned over to the sheriff.

Houston had complained bitterly over being dragged out of bed at that time of night and had declined to make a search in the dark for Peace Parker. But as soon as they had gone he had made preparations to warn Peace, who had already gone toward Sun Prairie.

Marshall was in just the right mood to do battle with Claypool or any of his crowd, which consisted of Chris Sorensen, Mike O’Neil and six cowpunchers. Mike owned the 77 outfit and a grim sense of justice, so he brought Sam Barill and Tony Laughlin, his two punchers, who were old gun-men.

Cross L, Jim and Bert found them all in the Royal Saloon, drinking success to their affairs, with Claypool as toastmaster. He growled at sight of Cross L, and Cross L returned the growl with fair interest.

“What are you doin’ down here?” demanded Claypool.

“That’s some more of your ----ed business, I suppose,” observed Cross L.

“Yeah--mebbe it is.” Claypool felt that there was strength in numbers and had little fear.

“I don’t have to ask yuh what you’re doin’ here,” said Cross L. “You’ve done told me, Claypool. And I don’t mind tellin’ yuh that we’re here to hope real hard that yuh fall down on the job.”

“Go ahead and hope,” grinned O’Neil. “We’ve got the sheriff on Parker’s trail.”

“Lot of good that’ll do yuh,” said Jim Horn quickly. “Buck Houston couldn’t trail a load of hay through a mesquite thicket.”

“Mebbe,” said Claypool meaningly, “he won’t have to trail him. Parker was here last night and he’s here yet.”

“And you fellers ain’t went after him?”

Cross L laughed scornfully and counted them.

“Nine of yuh. Why didn’t yuh bring a dozen more and surround the town? Yuh might starve him out.”

“That’s the sheriff’s business,” said Claypool.

“And it took nine of yuh to come to see him, eh?” Thus Bert Hart sarcastically, “Yuh sure picked a swell bunch, Claypool. I s’pose it took nine of yuh to remember what yuh came for, didn’t it?”

Claypool was mad. He hated to be ragged by these three men, but he knew that if this went much further some one was due to get hurt; so he invited the three to drink with them.

This was profanely declined by Cross L who turned and led his men outside.

“Claypool, yuh better stop ’em,” advised O’Neil quickly. “They’ll get to Parker ahead of the sheriff, if yuh don’t.”

Claypool started toward the door but stopped and came back to the bar.

“Why should I stop ’em?” he asked, emphasizing the personal pronoun. “You go and stop ’em, O’Neil.”

But O’Neil turned back to the bar and poured out his drink.

“Somebody ought to stop ’em,” observed Sorensen half-heartedly.

“All right,” snapped Claypool, “you do it, Chris.”

But Chris made no move to accept the commission. Every man at the bar knew that Cross L and his two men had gone to warn Peace Parker, but none of them felt in the mood to attempt to stop them.

“I never came down here to do battle with anybody,” declared Claypool. “Marshall is one of our own people and he’s a danged old fool--but I don’t want to fight him.”

“One alibi is as good as another,” grinned O’Neil, “so what you said goes for me, too. Let’s have another, gents.”

“That’s a lot more sensible than fightin’,” observed a cowpuncher joyously.

But Cross L did not find Peace Parker. He was not at either of the two hotels, and inquiries showed that he had not kept his horse in the livery-stable that night. They went down to Houston’s house and were informed that the sheriff was not at home.

Barney McManus swore sleepily when they rapped on the door of the sheriff’s office where he slept, and disclaimed all knowledge of everything, except that he was sleepy.

“I seen Peace yesterday afternoon,” said Barney yawning. “Frank Campion rode toward the Pass with a cattle-buyer and in a few minutes Peace rode the same way. Nossir, I ain’t seen him since.”

“Peace headed back toward Chinook?” queried Cross L.

“Well, he went that direction,” declared Barney. “And what in the ---- do yuh want him for so badly?”

“They think he was in cahoots with Gus Sinks.”

“With Gus Sinks? In the Pasiooks robbery? Now would yuh listen to such ----ed foolishness?”

Barney snorted his indignation.

“I think that Buck Houston is out lookin’ for him,” said Jim Horn. “They’ve sworn out a warrant for Peace.”

“Who did?”

“Aw, there’s Yeabut Claypool, Chris Sorensen, Mike O’Neil and some of their punchers. They’re over at the Royal.”

“They are, eh?”

Barney wrinkled his nose, as though an offensive odor annoyed his nostrils.

“Well, the best thing we can do is to split up the four of us and try to warn Peace. He’s some’ers around this here country. Wait’ll I git m’ pants on.”

“You can’t go and warn him, Barney; there’s a warrant out for his arrest,” reminded Bert Hart.

“Can’t, eh?”

Barney thought it over for a moment.

“Well, I can resign, can’t I? This ain’t no good job, anyway. If Buck Houston serves that warrant he’ll git a new deputy, y’betcha.”

About an hour later Buck Houston showed up. He had stabled his horse, and none of the Chinook outfit knew that he had carried a warning to the man they were after.

Cross L and Barney cornered him immediately, but the sheriff was non-committal. Then Barney tendered a verbal resignation, handed back his badge of office and went over to the Royal saloon with high hopes of talking out loud to Claypool & Co.

Houston pocketed Barney’s star, grinned widely over Barney’s emphatic resignation--and did nothing.

Claypool waxed profanely eloquent over Houston’s lack of initiative, but the sheriff did not seem to care. Not so with Cross L Marshall. He followed Claypool around and tried to annoy him into argument. Every one expected momentarily that there would be a gun-battle, but Claypool had not misrepresented his own feelings when he said that he did not want to fight with Cross L.

Finally Claypool gathered his forces and rode away toward Sun Prairie. Most of the punchers were unsteady in their saddles and in no shape to do anything, except yell and sing, but they rode away without caring where they were going or why.

As they rode out of town, Frank Campion, Bender, Mehl and Erne rode in. They stopped at the Royal saloon and it did not take them long to find out the news. Campion listened to the evidence against Peace Parker seriously.

“Well,” he announced, “Parker and I are not the best of friends; so the best thing I can do is to keep my mouth shut.”

“Then I’ll give yuh credit for havin’ a little sense,” applauded Cross L seriously.

Campion eyed Cross L, but said nothing. He realized that the old man was looking for trouble and he had heard that Cross L Marshall was not at all crippled in his gun-hand. At any rate he turned back to his drink.

“Mebbe you know where Peace Parker is,” suggested Jim Horn.

“Me?”

Campion turned and stared at Horn.

“Yeah. You and that cattle-buyer pulled out of here last evenin’, and Peace follered yuh out.”

“Eh?”

Campion upset his glass of liquor accidentally, but was too interested to right it.

“Peace Parker followed me--us?”

“That’s what he done,” declared Jim. “You two headed for Poncho Pass and Peace was right on your trail.”

Campion’s eyes narrowed and he stared down at the floor, deep in thought. His eyes flashed sideways to Bender who was watching him. Then Campion seemed to pull himself together and looked at Jim Horn.

“It’s funny we didn’t see him,” he said slowly. “We didn’t ride fast. Did he go all the way into the valley?”

“I dunno.”

Jim shook his head.

“He was around here before midnight,” thus the bartender horned into the conversation. “I seen him about that time. He didn’t play--just kinda in and out, like he was lookin’ for somebody.”

“How long before midnight?”

Campion was interested.

“Oh, I dunno. Mebbe it was eleven o’clock--mebbe later, but it was before midnight.”

“You fellers have a little drink with me?”

Campion nodded to the three from the Cross L.

Cross L was about to refuse, but Jim Horn accepted the invitation, and they joined Campion’s party. Jim gave the old man a sharp glance, and he accepted the invitation without a word.

“We rode over here to warn Peace Parker,” offered Jim, “but Claypool and his gang beat us to it. Didn’t do ’em any good, ’cause Peace wasn’t here. They’re huntin’ for him now, but they’re too drunk to last long.”

“Well, here’s to Parker,” Campion held up his glass and examined the liquor. “And may he get so far out of the country that the sheriff would have to pay ten dollars to send him a postal-card.”

“Which he won’t,” chuckled Cross L. “Peace ain’t the runnin’ kind. Nossir, he’ll play out his hand. What gets me is the fact that he was headed for Chinook Valley.”

“Why do you suppose he’s hanging around here for?” asked Campion.

“I’ll betcha he’s lookin’ for Gus Sinks,” Bert Hart seemed convinced that this was the reason. “Mebbe he’s got a hunch that Gus is still in the Chinook.”

“He’d be a fool to stay in there,” observed Campion.

“Yeah--from our point of view. Sinks may be a fool, but he’s sure fooled us good and plenty. Forty thousand dollars and a clean getaway.”

“He ain’t got away--yet,” declared Cross L. “If Peace Parker can keep away from the law long enough, I’m bettin’ he finds Gus Sinks.”

“I’m trailin’ my bet with yours,” said Jim Horn enthusiastically. “Peace Parker likes to play a lone hand and he mebbe pulled out of the valley just so we’d let him run things to suit himself. He’s a salty rascal.”

“Well, I wish him luck,” said Campion slowly. “I had no money in that bank, but I probably would have had some in there if this had happened a little later.”

“Sell off some cows?” queried Cross L.

“No, I didn’t. There was a difference of opinion on prices. These buyers want all the best of it.”

“That’s a fact,” nodded Cross L. “I’ll buy somethin’ this time.”

They all drank a good-luck to Cross L, and Campion and his men left the Royal. At the edge of the sidewalk, Campion spoke to Bender who nodded and went straight to the hitchrack where he mounted and rode back toward Poncho Pass.

Jim Horn stood beside a window and watched him leave. The other three crossed the street to the store and were in there a few minutes; when they came out each carried a number of bundles.

They came across the street, mounted their horses and followed Bender. Jim scratched his head and told Cross L what the Three Dot outfit had done. Cross L bit off a big chew of tobacco and frowned deeply.

“Whatcha suppose Bender went away ahead for?” queried Jim. “Why didn’t he stay and pack his share of plunder?”

“Jim,” Cross L’s mustache bristled and twitched violently, “I ain’t no mind-reader.”

“I ain’t either but I’ve got a hunch that somethin’ ain’t just what it ought to be. I’ll betcha that Campion knows where Peace Parker is.”

“You don’t think that Peace had a run-in with him, do yuh, Jim?”

Jim shook his head. “No, I don’t. If they had a run-in, Peace would be here and we’d be lookin’ for Campion.”

Cross L grinned and slapped his leather-chapped leg.

“That’s a cinch, Jim! Well, we’ve just got to wait and see which way the pickle is goin’ to squirt.”

* * * * *

Peace soon found that the sheepherder was no novice when it came to hog-tying a human being. He tried in every way to loosen his bonds but only succeeded in rubbing a lot of skin off his wrists.

Once that afternoon, Peace thought he heard voices. It was a dull murmur, as though two people were arguing; but no one came near the shack. The sheepherder had left shortly after eating his meal and it was about two hours before he returned.

He sat down in the doorway and rolled a cigaret for Peace. He seemed very thoughtful over something and talked but little.

“Have yuh run out of words?” grinned Peace.

“Not exactly. I’m takin’ the sheep to Tarp City late this afternoon and I’m goin’ to leave you here. Mebbe I’ll come back and mebbe I won’t. Anyway, I won’t be back before I sell the sheep; so you better pray for a quick sale.”

“I suppose I don’t eat while yo’re gone, eh?”

“Don’t look like it, does it? I suppose I’d save myself a lot of trouble by puttin’ a bullet into yuh right now.”

“Pleasant thing to think about,” grinned Peace.

“Well, put yourself in my place. I can’t let yuh loose to block me, can I? I can’t come back here and let yuh loose, ’cause that would give yuh a chance to trail me down. We’re both up against it, don’tcha know it?”

“Well,” grinned Peace, “I ain’t goin’ to be a hero and ask yuh to sacrifice me to save yourself. Yuh know, that proposition I made yuh still holds good. You show me Gus Sinks and the sheep belong to you.”

“Thasso? Suppose I just keep the sheep, anyway. You can’t force me to accept your proposition; yuh must remember me and Gus had this all framed. He was to lift the money from the Pasiooks bank, while I disposed of the sheep. We’re in cahoots on this, and yore offer don’t interest me none.”

“Kinda looks like a dead-lock,” said Peace seriously.

“Yep. Well, I’m goin’ to herd my sheep right now and we’ll see about the rest.”

The man got to his feet and stretched his arms. He was still carrying Peace’s six-shooter in addition to his own. He studied Peace for a moment and came over to him.

“Got to kinda look yuh over, pardner. Can’t take no chance on yuh workin’ them ropes loose.”

He rolled Peace over on his side, loosened the ropes a little and tied them off again. It eased the pressure on Peace’s arms a little for which he was thankful.

“I reckon you’ll stay put,” he remarked. “I’ll see yuh later. _Adios._”

He walked away from the shack and Peace heard him swearing at the sheep as he rounded them up with the dogs. Peace could not see out of the door, but the shadows showed that it was well past mid-afternoon. The sound of the sheep and sheepherder died away and there was no sound, except the drone of insects.

Peace hitched back toward the wall and tried to sit up. He twisted at his wrists and a thrill went through him. The rope was slack enough for him to work one hand loose, and inside of a minute he had shucked the ropes from his body and got to his feet.

He took one step toward the door and stopped.

“Too easy,” he muttered. “Too ---- easy! Whatcha know about that?”

He backed to the wall and frowned down at the loose rope. Had the man made a mistake in the tying, or did he do it intentionally? Peace shook his head.

“Planted the whole thing, I betcha,” he reflected bitterly. “When I walk out I get a bullet.”

Cautiously he sidled to the door and peered out. His angle was limited and he could see nothing. There was no sound. He peered a little closer. Within six feet of the doorway, leaning against the house, was that Winchester rifle.

Peace grinned, but without mirth. He knew that the rifle was there for a purpose. The scar-faced man knew that Peace would go after that rifle immediately, and Peace was just as sure that the scar-faced man was out there at that fringe of brush, waiting for him.

Peace squinted at the rifle and wondered if he dared to make a dash for it. It was a long chance.

“Betcha forty dollars it ain’t loaded,” he mused. “No danged fool would leave a loaded rifle that handy.”

He had noticed the rifle the day before and a thought suddenly came to him. Peace, like all range men, instinctively noted the caliber of a rifle and the thought suddenly struck him that this rifle might mean something to his side.

He gathered up the rope and tied a heavy knot on one end. The muzzle of the rifle was leaning against the side of the building, which precluded any chance of roping it with a loop, but Peace had an idea.

He backed to the corner and circled the room, which put him on the opposite side of the door and on the same side with the rifle. Estimating the distance to the gun, he flung out the length of rope, throwing it the opposite direction from the gun.

Then, with a jerk of his wrist, and only exposing his forearm, he whipped the rope toward the gun. He felt it strike the gun, and jerked quickly, but the knot whipped loose and the rope came back.

Quickly he tossed it again and whipped back. This time the rope was a little longer and his forward jerk captured the gun. He dragged it swiftly through the doorway, and picked it up.

A flip of the lever showed the gun to be empty, but a glance at the caliber number on the top of the barrel caused Peace to grin with joy.

The scar-faced man had Peace’s six-shooter but he had neglected to remove Peace’s cartridge belt which was studded with 32-20 revolver cartridges. The rifle was a 32-20 caliber and would chamber the revolver cartridge. Both the 32-20 rifle and revolver were fairly new to the range-land, and the Cross L had made uncomplimentary remarks anent Peace’s pop-gun. But Peace had showed them that the smaller caliber gun was more accurate and just as deadly as the more cumbersome ones. His gun was of .45 caliber frame which gave him the accustomed weight.

The question now was to find the location of the sheepherder. Peace took off his coat and hung it over a short piece of the broken flooring. Then he took his hat in his other hand and projected them past the edge of the doorway. At a distance it would seem that the point of a man’s shoulder and the edge of his hat were in sight.

_Whap!_