Part 11

Cutter staggered sidewise, trying to cock the gun in his hand, but English Ed caught him in his arms and flung him to the floor. Wind River Jim vaulted the railing and fell upon Ted Ames, who was trying to reach the aisle, and from further back in the room came the triumphant yell from Slim Regan:

“Ho-o-o-old fast, Henry! Take his feet, Bill!”

They had captured Henry Miller. Horse-Collar had fired one shot at Ryker, who had drawn his gun, and then had whirled and run swiftly from the courtroom.

“Got Mister Miller!” yelled Regan.

* * * * *

From outside the building came a fusilade of shots, a wild yell. Some of the men ran out, crowding at the doorway, and some of them fell down. The room was in an uproar. The old judge had drawn his gun from the drawer and was standing very straight, resting the muzzle of the gun on his desk. The room was hazy with smoke. Roaring was shielding Dawn from the crowd.

English Ed got slowly to his feet. One knee of his pin-striped trousers was split wide open and the knot of his necktie was under his left ear. Cutter did not get up. Ryker was sprawled across his desk, one hand hanging limply over the edge, his gun on the floor. Hashknife stepped over to the table and touched the prosecuting attorney on the shoulder.

“Horse-Collar Fields shoots straight,” said Hashknife meaningly.

The crowd of men was coming into the room again, headed by Horse-Collar. They were bringing a disheveled Jud Hardy, whose face was bruised and dusty, clothes torn.

“He tried to git away on his bronc when he heard the shootin’!” yelled Horse-Collar triumphantly. “I had t’ hit him on the fly, by golly!”

“Kent Cutter’s dead,” said Roaring Rigby. “I don’t know yet what it was all about, Hashknife.”

“He’s a liar!” wailed Jud Hardy.

“You don’t even know what he said!” snorted Lovely Lucas.

“Bring ’em down here,” ordered Hashknife. “All three of ’em.”

They came--Henry Miller, Jud Hardy, Ted Ames--brought down bodily by cowboys who longed for a chance to handle them roughly. Hashknife looked them over. Miller and Hardy shut their lips tightly. Hashknife stepped up to Ted Ames.

“You’ll talk,” he said. “I’ve got the goods on all of you; but a talk will help you out, Ames--State’s evidence, you know.”

“Squealer, eh?” defiantly.

“Not now. It’s a hangin’ matter--unless you talk.”

Ames looked around at the faces of the men.

“I’ll talk,” he said. “Cutter and Ryker schemed it, just like you said. Cutter shot Conley; Jimmy Moran almost got Cutter that night. Me and Cutter killed them Big 4 steers. Pete Conley had the only twenty-two in the country, until Cutter sent away for one. Usin’ a twenty-two would cinch it on to Conley. Cutter wanted Mose Conley out of the way, so he could buy the ranch. Dawn Conley admitted to Ryker that she and her mother would be willin’ to sell.”

“Who shot Sleepy, my pardner, and tried to kill me?”

“Me and Jud Hardy. I missed you, Cutter said we’d have to kill you both, and they’d blame English Ed and his gang.”

“All right,” nodded Hashknife. “Cutter knew I found that mine, didn’t he?”

“Ryker came out and told us last night.”

“And Ryker was the one who wrote the warnings, wasn’t he? He used paper that the county furnished.”

“He wrote ’em,” nodded Ames. “Cutter wanted to be judge of this county, and he hated Judge Beal. They warned the sheriff, too. Cutter said he was too honest. But we didn’t know who killed Mallette. We thought Pete was to blame for that. Ryker wanted to marry Dawn Conley. Said he’d get control of the property thataway. Ryker was a bad bird.”

“Thank you, Ames. You’re wise to tell it all, and it won’t hurt you none at the trial.”

Hashknife turned to the old judge, who still stood at the desk, gun in hand.

“You can put up your gun, Judge,” he said. “The whole county will vindicate you for your mistake. Mallette was a thief and a card-sharp. You did just what any man would have done. Now, forget it.”

“I--I’ll have to put these three birdies in jail,” said Roarin’, “and turn Jimmy Moran loose, eh?”

“Y’betcha.”

“Bring ’em along, boys.”

Hashknife turned to meet Dawn and Pete. None of them spoke for several moments. Franklyn Moran stepped beside Dawn; he seemed bewildered. Hashknife smiled at Dawn.

“Let’s not talk about it, Dawn,” he suggested. “Jimmy will be out pretty quick, and he’ll come up the street, you know.”

Dawn glanced quickly at Franklyn Moran.

“It’s--uh--all right,” he said. “Fine, Dawn.”

“I don’t talk much,” said Pete dumbly.

“That’s fine,” grinned Hashknife, “You’re a man after my own heart.”

Dawn and Pete went hurriedly up the aisle. The old judge came down to Hashknife and Moran and held out his hand to Hashknife.

“I don’t pretend to know much about it,” he said slowly.

They shook hands gravely, and Moran shook hands with the judge.

“You know many things, young man,” said the judge. “I have grown very old today, but I’m going to grow younger. I hope you stay with us; Turquoise City needs men like you.”

“I hope he will stay,” said Moran. “I’m still shocked, and I don’t know what to do or say.”

“Will you do me a favor?” asked Hashknife.

“Anything in the world, Hartley.”

“Come out and see Moses Conley with me.”

“Moses Conley? Why, well, that’s quite--I’ll go.”

They walked from the court room and met the doctor on the stairs.

“My goodness!” he blurted. “More shooting! I jump around like a grasshopper. What was it? Nobody talks--they yell. Ten men yelling at me at the same time. I can’t hardly keep Stevens in bed. Fields came up and danced on the foot of the bed. Crazy men.”

“You can’t do any good up there, Doc,” said Hashknife.

“Only in your capacity as coroner.”

They went on down to the street. Jimmy was running up from the jail, and Dawn met him. Pete stood on the sidewalk, blinking around. He didn’t know what to do.

Hashknife took Moran by the arm and led him down to where Dawn and Jimmy were looking at each other. Jimmy looked at his father and grinned foolishly.

“Hyah, Dad,” he said. “How are you?”

“All right, Jimmy. Why don’t you kiss her. We’re all going out to see her father.”

“For heaven’s sake!” Jimmy cried. “Who upset the world?” He stepped past Dawn and held out his hand to Hashknife. “You did,” said Jimmy. “I’m all out of words, Hartley.”

“Good, boy! So am I.”

* * * * *

It was Mrs. Conley who saw them from afar, as they came up the dusty road. There was a top-buggy, and several men on horseback. She had been anxiously waiting for Dawn to come home and bring the news. It had been impossible for her to leave her husband, as there was no one else to take care of him. She went back to the old man.

“Some folks come,” she said. “One buggy, five, six horses. They turn in our gate.”

“Who can it be? What has happened now, Minnie? Dawn said she was sure the case would go to the jury today. Who would be coming here today?”

“I go look.”

Mrs. Conley stood dumbly on the porch and watched Pete and Dawn and Jimmy Moran get out of the buggy, while Franklyn Moran, Slim Regan, Lovely Lucas, Hank Pitts and Hashknife dismounted from their horses.

Dawn ran up and threw her arms around her mother, who merely stared at everybody, especially at Pete, who grinned sheepishly.

“Peter is free, mother!” exclaimed Dawn. “He didn’t shoot Mallette! Don’t you understand? He’s free!”

“Pretty damn good, eh?” The Indian woman smiled.

“Will you shake hands with me?” asked Moran, holding out his hand to Mrs. Conley.

She looked closely at him for a moment.

“Your name Moran. You want to shake hands? You crazy?”

“No, I’m not crazy. I want to be a friend.”

“Damn funny.”

She shook hands with him wonderingly, and they all went into the house. Dawn ran to her father, telling him the good news. Conley patted her on the head and stared at Franklyn Moran, his sunken eyes wide with wonder.

“Conley,” said Moran, coming in close to the bed, “I came to see if we can’t be friends. It seems that our kids have decided to marry each other, and I think it’s time for us to bury the hatchet. Everything else has been straightened out. The 7AL were the ones that caused the trouble. They tried to start war between us. They killed my cattle on your land, and they tried to kill you. Hartley run ’em down. Cutter is dead and the rest of his gang are in jail. Ryker is dead; he was a leader in their crooked work. Will you shake hands with me?”

The old man held out a shaking hand.

“Hartley tells me you are rich,” said Moran, “and I want to be the first one to congratulate you. Ryker and Cutter discovered a rich gold ledge on your ranch, and that’s one of the reasons they wanted to buy you out. Hartley found it, too. That was one of his clews, I suppose.”

The old man’s eyes opened widely and he stared at Hashknife.

“Rich gold ledge?” he queried wonderingly.

“Rich enough to make them do murder to get it,” said Hashknife. “It’s that old prospect you told me about--the one east of Hot Creek, under the big sycamore.”

Conley sank back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling.

“It’s awful rich,” said Hashknife. “Rotten with gold.”

“Rotten with gold,” echoed Conley. “Crooked gold!”

He lifted himself on his elbow and looked at Moran.

“Remember why I got mad at you, Frank? You cut me out of a deal. Mebby it was business; but that’s all past. You had money; you bought several pieces of property and paid a good price on surface showings, you remember?”

“I did, Mose.”

“Oh, I was mad,” smiled Conley. “I was hot-headed in those days. I wanted to get even with you; so I blew over a hundred dollars’ worth of gold-dust into that rotten, red quartz, with a shotgun. I salted it for you, Frank; but before I got a chance to show it to you, you left the country. I hated you for leaving. I hated what I had done so much that I never even tried to hammer the gold out of that little ledge. And that’s what caused all this misery.”

“And it’s been there over twenty-five years, Mose?”

“Yes, my first and last crooked work.”

“Pretty damn good!” exclaimed Mrs. Conley.

“That’s right,” said Hashknife. “I know how they felt. I had a touch of it myself.”

He walked out to the porch and Dawn followed him out.

“Do you realize what you’ve done today?” she asked.

Hashknife looked at her curiously.

“Aw, I didn’t do nothin’,” he said slowly. “It just kinda worked out thataway. I think Jimmy’s lookin’ for you.”

As Dawn turned back to the door, Slim Regan stepped out on the porch, his hat tilted forward. He scratched the back of his hat in evident bewilderment.

“I’ll be darned,” he said slowly. “Lotsa things I don’t _sabe_ yet, Hartley. You say that Cutter and his gang knowed you was after ’em, and jist the same they go and leave a twenty-two shell layin’ around where you could find it.”

“They didn’t, Slim; I dropped it there myself. Their mistake was in admittin’ it.”

“F’r gosh sake! And what made you think Jimmy Moran didn’t shoot Conley?”

“Because there was two shots fired. Jimmy shot one, but Conley didn’t shoot any.”

“The hell he didn’t? There was an empty shell--”

“But it never was fired in Conley’s gun. He always kept the hammer of his gun on an empty shell, Slim. This shell had a queer dent in the primer, so I accidentally fired the gun to see what mark it made. That was the time Horse-Collar and his gang started the trouble. After the gravel in Mallette’s boots proved that he’d been dragged, I picked the judge as the killer.”

“Detectin’,” said Slim slowly, “ain’t nothin’ but jist common sense, is it?”

“And a lot of luck, Slim.”

“Well, I’ll be danged!”

Slim went clumping back into the house, anxious to talk.

* * * * *

Hashknife walked out to his gray horse and swung into the saddle. He was just a trifle weary and he wanted to get back to town, but Moran called to him, hurrying down from the rear of the house.

“How much do I owe you, Hartley?” he asked.

“What for?” asked Hashknife blankly.

“For what you’ve done. I realize it is more than I can ever pay you, but I--”

“Then I’ll always have somethin’ comin’,” grinned Hashknife. “Forget it, Moran. Right now I’m goin’ to town and fold myself around some ham and eggs. And then I’ll have to tell Sleepy what he missed. So long!”

He rode swiftly away, leaving Moran alone, check-book in hand. Mrs. Conley, Dawn and Pete came out on the porch, looking for Hashknife, but he was far down the road. Moran folded up his check-book and came back to the porch.

“I can’t figure him out,” said Moran.

“Pretty hard,” admitted Pete blankly. “He got me loose.”

“He’s wonderful,” said Dawn.

“Damn right!” said Mrs. Conley emphatically.

Which was all right with Hashknife, as long as he didn’t hear what was said.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 1, 1927 issue of Adventure magazine.]