Part 6

Roaring found Dawn waiting for him in front of the office. She looked searchingly at him and he grinned rather foolishly.

“You know what happened, don’t you?” she asked.

“Y-yes, Jimmy told me. I dunno.” Roaring shoved his hat on the back of his head and rubbed his chin with the palm of his right hand. “I dunno what to do,” he said.

“I don’t either,” she said. “Dad’s stubborn. It will mean a killing, I’m afraid. But it was wrong for Slim Regan and Mr. Moran to come. Slim knew how Dad feels. Oh, it was lucky that only the horse was killed.”

“Lot of luck depends on your aim, when you shoot as well as your dad does, Dawn. Did he shoot more ’n once?”

“No, just once.”

“Makes it look better,” said Roaring, “but what can I do?”

“Can’t you come out and have a talk with him?”

“And git my earthly envelope all gummed up?”

“I don’t believe he--if he knew you were just coming to talk with him, he wouldn’t harm you.”

“Talk to him about what, Dawn?”

“Oh, about everything. Try to make him understand. He’s bitter. Sometimes I think he’s losing his mind. He hasn’t hired a lawyer for Peter. I asked him why he don’t, and he says it’s no use. He says that the Big 4 and the Black Horse Saloon are running the country and that they’ll hang Peter in spite of any lawyer.”

“Pshaw, that ain’t no way to feel,” said Roaring slowly. “Old Judge Beal ain’t against your dad.”

“No, he’s honest. Dad knows he is; but Dad says they’ll kill him before the trial.”

“Uh-huh,” Roaring caressed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I dunno; mebby they will.”

“And what chance has an honest judge, if a crooked jury brings in a verdict of guilty?”

“Shore, that’s the worst of it. I tell you what you do. You tell your dad I’ll be out this evenin’, and we’ll see what we can figure out. Pers’nally, I think he had a right to hoodie Moran and Regan off the ranch. They had plenty of warnin’.”

“I’ll tell him,” said Dawn wearily. “He likes you. But I hope nobody else comes.”

“I hope to gosh he don’t mistake me for anybody else.”

Dawn climbed into the buggy, while Roaring untied the horse.

“Why did Jimmy Moran’s father come here?” she asked.

Roaring tied up the rope carefully, looked the patched harness over and stepped aside.

“Don’t you know?” she asked.

“You better ask Jimmy,” he said. “He knows more ’n I do about it.”

“Was it about me, Roaring?”

Roaring leaned back against a porchpost and looked at the horse.

“Don’t let that git you down,” he said softly. “Lotsa parents are like that; they prob’ly didn’t pick so well themselves and they want to try and help the kids.”

Dawn drove away from the hitch-rack, and Roaring watched until she disappeared. The men were coming from the restaurant, so he went to meet them. But he didn’t tell them that he was going out to talk with Moses Conley.

Hashknife and Sleepy got a room at the Turquoise Hotel and put their horses in the livery-stable. Jimmy Moran had taken a liking to them and had introduced them to every one they met.

* * * * *

It was about an hour after dark when Lovely Lucas came into the Ranger saloon, where Hashknife, Sleepy and Jimmy were playing seven-up, and announced that the Big 4 outfit had come to town in force.

“The whole works, I tell you,” declared Lovely. “Old Man Moran, Slim Regan, Clayton, Allard, Creswell and Pitts. They’re all in the Black Horse, except Slim. He went down to see the sheriff.”

The game broke up immediately, and the four men trailed up the street past the sheriff’s office, where they found Wind River Jim alone.

“Yeah, it was about that shootin’ today,” said Wind River. “The whole Big 4 is b’ilin’ mad. They hopped all over Roarin’ when he said there wasn’t anythin’ to be done about it. He’s over in the Black Horse, arguin’ about it with ’em right now.”

“Pretty sore, eh?” said Lovely.

“Right to a head.”

Jimmy touched Hashknife on the arm.

“I’ll see you later, Hartley,” he said.

“Yeah, all right,” replied Hashknife, and Jimmy hurried up the street.

They listened to Wind River Jim’s opinion of the case, and then they moved over to the Black Horse. Lovely demurred about going in.

“I owe ’em forty dollars for busted glass,” he said. “If I go in there I might have to kill somebody. You boys go ahead and hear what’s bein’ said.”

Hashknife and Sleepy strolled in unnoticed. The Big 4 gang was at the bar with Roaring Rigby; Slim Regan seemed to have the floor.

“It jist means that there ain’t no law here,” decided Slim, “and when there ain’t no law, it’s up to the citizens to make a little.”

“When you jiggers git through runnin’ off at the neck, I’ll speak my piece,” said Roaring. “Through yet? Can’t think of another thing to say? Fine. You’ve talked a lot and ain’t said anything. In the first place, Old Man Conley owns that land. He’s got it fenced. You know he fenced that to keep the Big 4 off his land. There’s been bad blood between him and Frank Moran for twenty-five years. You and Moran both know that Conley said he’d shoot the first man to come on his place. And yet you went on, didn’t you? Trespassed, didn’t you?

“Started over there with the intention of givin’ him the devil over them steers. And all he done was to make good his promise. You got off easy. That old pelican can hit a gnat in the eye at fifty feet. All you lose is one horse. What you ought to do is to write him a letter tellin’ him you’re much obliged.”

It was a long speech for Roaring Rigby.

“If Conley didn’t have a pretty girl, you’d talk different,” said one of the men farther back in the room.

Roaring whirled quickly, but he did not know who had made the remark.

“Will the dirty bum who made that remark say it once more?” he asked coldly.

But no one spoke. They knew the temper of that sad-eyed, bat-eared sheriff, whose shoulders hunched as his eyes swept the faces under the hanging lamps.

“Your arguments hardly do justice to your office,” said Franklyn Moran. “We have demanded the arrest of Moses Conley on a charge of assault with a deadly weapon. I didn’t know that this county paid you a salary as a debater.”

“You’ve got all the argument you’ll git from me,” said Roaring.

He turned his back on them and stalked from the room. Several people laughed, but he did not turn his head. Nor did he hurry as he crossed the street. They could see him from the lighted windows, as he went slowly toward his office. But once inside that office he did not move so slowly. Wind River Jim stared at him, as he sprang to the gun-rack, grabbed down a rifle and a belt of ammunition.

“You stay here, Wind River,” he ordered, and ran out through the back door.

Wind River walked to the front door, where he leaned out, chewing his tobacco violently. It was possibly five minutes later that Hank Pitts and Mark Clayton strolled past.

“Hyah, Wind River,” greeted Hank. “Howsa job?”

“Swell, elegant, Hank; beats punchin’ cows.”

“I s’pose it does,” agreed Hank. He craned his neck past Wind River and looked into the office.

“Roarin’ ain’t home, eh?”

“No-o-o-o, he ain’t exactly home jist now; he’s out.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Well, he didn’t leave no address,” grinned Wind River. “Didn’t say nothin’ much. He ain’t much of a hand to talk. Pers’nally I think he went huntin’ bear.”

“Bear!” blurted Clayton.

“Prob’ly.” Wind River spat across the sidewalk. “Anyway, I’d say he was heeled for bear. Took a thirty-thirty and a full belt of shells along, and he went out that back door like somethin’ was bitin’ his heels.”

“By golly, I told Slim!” snorted Pitts and, without waiting for any more information, they started on a run for the Black Horse Saloon.

“Well, that’s shore queer,” observed Wind River. “Jist like I’d touched a match to ’em.”

Pitts and Clayton ran to the doorway of the saloon, where they met Regan and Moran, who were coming out.

“Gone!” exclaimed Pitts. “Took a thirty-thirty along. He’s gone out to the Hot Creek ranch.”

“Yeah, and we’re goin’ along,” said Regan. “Get the boys.”

Hashknife and Sleepy came out and Regan saw them.

“Want to ride out and see the fun, Hartley?” he asked.

“What fun?” asked Hashknife.

“Out at the Conley place. Old man’s crazy. When we finish up tonight he’ll be in jail and we’ll strip every strand of wire off his fence. This half-witted sheriff has beat us to it, he thinks. But if he won’t enforce the law, we’ll have to. Better come along and see the fun.”

Hashknife shook his head slowly.

“No-o-o-o, I reckon not, Regan. My sense of humor don’t run to laughin’ at folks who make mistakes.”

“Well, he’s made his last mistake,” laughed Regan.

“I wasn’t thinkin’ about old man Conley,” said Hashknife.

The men were mounting at the hitch-rack, and one of them called to Regan.

“I didn’t quite get what you meant, Hartley,” he said.

“Better think it over on your way out, Regan.”

Regan turned and went to the rack.

“Thank the Lord it’s none of our business,” said Sleepy, as the men rode away.

“Don’t lie,” cautioned Hashknife. “Your knees itch for the feel of a saddle right now. You’re dyin’ to ride with ’em, and you know it.”

“So are you, Hashknife.”

“I didn’t thank the Lord for anythin’, did I? Let’s play three games of pool and then go to bed. I’m tired.”

“Will we play in here?”

“Nope, down at the Ranger. This Black Horse ain’t safe.”

* * * * *

Jimmy Moran lost no time in leaving Turquoise City. He knew the temper of the men from the Big 4, and that they would take the matter in their own hands if his father was willing.

If his father had led them to town to talk with the sheriff, it was a sure thing that the Big 4 intended to do something. Jimmy realized that their intentions might be merely to capture Conley and put him in jail; but the capture might result in bloodshed. Conley was a fighter.

Jimmy intended to ride to the Hot Creek ranch, warn Conley and give him plenty of time to get away. He felt sure that Conley would be sensible enough to hide out until the wrath of the Big 4 cooled off a little.

He ran his horse all the way to the ford and found that the fence had not been repaired; so, instead of going around the road, he cut across the ranch. He wanted all the time he could get to present his argument to Conley. He would invite Conley to come to the Stumbling K. That would be the last place they would ever look for him.

There was no moon, but Jimmy was familiar with the lay of the land. He thought at first that the ranch-house was in darkness, but a thin thread of light peeped out from beside a curtain.

Jimmy dismounted a hundred feet away from the house and dropped his reins. It was ticklish business, he decided. He did not know that Conley was expecting Roaring Rigby. Jimmy sneaked in like an Indian; he meant to announce himself to Conley from a safe position.

A huge wild-rose bush grew at one corner of the porch, and just to the left of the corner of the house grew a twisted cottonwood that nearly covered the side of the house. There was a window just beyond the cottonwood, almost hidden behind the tangle of foliage. Jimmy sneaked in close to the cottonwood and picked up a handful of small pebbles, which he flung against the window with considerable force. For several moments there was no sound. Then came Conley’s voice, muffled--

“Who’s there?”

“Jimmy Moran,” called Jimmy. “I’ve got to talk with you, Mr. Conley; and we better make it fast, too.”

Conley did not reply. Jimmy waited, wondering what Conley was going to do. He thought he could hear the sound of a running horse. From where Jimmy crouched he could not see the doorway, but he did see the lamplight streak across the corner of the porch when the door opened.

The galloping horse was closer now. As Jimmy turned his head, looking down the stretch of road which led to the gate, a gun-shot crashed out so close to him that he sprang back, throwing up one arm, as if to protect his eyes. There was the dull thud of a falling body; a woman screamed.

Jimmy sprang forward, drawing his gun. He thought he saw a man just beyond the rose bush and instinctively he fired his gun at whatever it was. Then he stumbled across the porch and found himself looking down at Moses Conley, who was stretched full length on the porch.

The door was open behind him, the lamplight falling full on Jimmy, and he saw Dawn, white-faced, staring at him. The horse jerked to a stop behind him, but Jimmy did not turn until Roaring Rigby stepped in behind him, putting his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. Dawn came closer, and her eyes were wide with horror. Roaring shook Jimmy slightly.

“How did it happen, Jimmy?” he asked huskily.

Jimmy shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I--I--”

He saw Dawn’s staring eyes. Roaring was taking the gun away from him. Jimmy stepped back.

“You think I shot him?” he asked hoarsely.

“He told you to keep away, you know,” said Roaring sadly. “Don’t try to run away, Jimmy. Help me take him inside.”

“Run away?” Jimmy’s voice was strained. “Oh, my God!”

Together they carried Moses Conley into the living-room and laid him out on the floor. Dawn dropped to her knees beside him.

“He isn’t dead!” she exclaimed. “Somebody get the doctor--quick!”

“Floor no good,” grunted Mrs. Conley. “Put on bed.”

No one had noticed her before. They placed him on a bed.

“I better go for the doctor,” said Jimmy anxiously.

Roaring looked at Jimmy and shook his head slowly.

“Better wait, Jimmy; we’ll go together.”

“You mean I’m under arrest?”

“Somethin’ like that, Jimmy. Good Lord, I’m sorry. I--”

Roaring took Jimmy’s gun from inside his belt and examined the cylinder. One chamber was empty, and the barrel smelled strongly of burned powder.

Roaring turned to Dawn and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know. Dad was expecting you. Some one threw something against a window, and Dad asked who it was. I--I heard Jimmy answer. He told who he was. I don’t think Dad wanted to open the door, but I--oh, I asked him to. And when he opened the door--”

“Yeah,” said Roaring miserably. “He wasn’t armed either.”

“Yes, he was,” said Dawn. “I--I think his gun flew out of his hand. There were two shots fired.”

“I shot one of ’em,” said Jimmy quickly. “I thought I saw somebody.”

“Somebody come,” said Mrs. Conley.

The front door was wide open, and when they looked out the yard was full of men and horses. Roaring met them at the doorway.

“Smart, eh?” growled Regan. “Sneaked out on us, eh? Where’s old Moses Conley?”

“Don’t yell,” said Roaring. “Send one of your men after the doctor; Moses Conley has been shot.”

Franklyn Moran crowded in past Roaring and met Jimmy face to face.

“What are you doing here, Jimmy?” he asked harshly.

Jimmy’s lips were tightly shut and his face seemed pale in the yellow light.

“You let him alone,” said Roaring. “He’s my prisoner.”

“Your prisoner?” Franklyn Moran’s eyes opened wide. “What do you mean, Rigby?”

“Will one of your men go after the doctor?” asked Roaring. “If we don’t git medical help it might mean murder.”

“Do you mean to say that my son shot Moses Conley?”

“Mark,” said Regan, “you and Hank go and get Doc Shelley. Tell him to come as fast as he can.”

Franklyn Moran went to Roaring and grasped him by the arm, repeating his question.

“Oh, hell, don’t paw me!” growled Roaring. “What if he did? You led your men out here to do the same thing.”

Franklyn Moran turned and looked at his men. None of them met his gaze.

“I’m not goin’ to run away,” said Jimmy. “See if you can’t do somethin’ for the old man before the doctor gets here. If you can’t, I can. I know something about first aid.”

“Hop to it,” said Roaring.

Jimmy started to go into the bedroom but Dawn stepped in front of him.

“Mother knows what to do,” she said evenly.

Jimmy stared at her and his face twisted painfully.

“Can’t I help her, Dawn?” he asked.

“I’m helping her,” she said and turned away.

Jimmy walked across the room and stared out through the branch-covered window against which he had thrown the gravel. The men were silent. Some of them rolled smokes, but went out on the porch to light them. They could hear the drip of water, as the old Indian woman squeezed out a towel; they heard a whispered conversation between Dawn and her mother.

Roaring went outside and hunted in the grass just off the porch, where he found Moses Conley’s revolver. It was an old, single-action Colt .45, and in one of the cylinders was an empty cartridge. He brought it into the house to examine it. Franklyn Moran saw the empty shell.

“How many shots were fired?” he asked softly.

“Two,” said Roaring. “I heard ’em both. There’s a chance for him to prove self-defense. Moran must have fired first.”

“That’s good,” whispered Moran. “I’m glad there’s a chance.”

“Oh, as far as that’s concerned, Conley was lookin’ for it,” said Regan coldly. “A Black Horse jury will look at it right.”

“Oh, damn you all!” gritted Jimmy. “That’s all you think about! Beatin’ the law. Damn you and your Black Horse juries! I never shot Conley.”

“That’s all right, Jimmy,” said Roaring. “Don’t yell.”

“Why would I?” Jimmy turned appealingly to them. “Don’t you understand? I--I--” he choked--“I’m goin’ to marry Dawn, if she’ll marry me. Would I harm her father?”

“Any man will shoot in self-defense,” said Regan.

Jimmy groaned and turned away. Roaring went into the bedroom, and Jimmy saw Bill Creswell signal him cautiously to make a getaway, indicating that there was plenty of room to pass between him and the door. Jimmy liked Creswell and he realized that Bill meant it all for the best. But Jimmy shook his head firmly and turned back to the window. Creswell shrugged his shoulders. When Jimmy looked back at Creswell, he pantomimed that Jimmy could take his gun, as he went out. Perhaps he thought that Jimmy didn’t want to go unarmed. But Jimmy declined, and Creswell sighed deeply. He had done the best he could for a friend.

It seemed ages to Jimmy before the doctor arrived, but in reality Hank Pitts and Mark Clayton had broken all speed records in getting old Doctor Shelley from Turquoise City to the ranch. They had taken him through the ford so fast that all three of them were drenched, and the old doctor was as mad as a hornet.

Roaring went into the bedroom with him while he made an examination and, in a few minutes, Roaring came back to the men, advising them all to go home.

“The doctor says he’s got a slim chance,” said Roaring.

“That bullet missed his heart about three inches.”

He turned to Jimmy Moran.

“Where’s your bronc, Jimmy?”

Jimmy told him where he had left it, and Roaring sent one of the Big 4 cowboys to git it. Franklyn Moran went up to the sheriff.

“You going to put him in jail?” he asked.

Roaring cuffed his hat on the side of his head and looked quizzically at Moran. “What do you think?” he asked. “Ain’t there a law ag’in callin’ men to their own door at night and shootin’ ’em down?”

“But--but if Conley shot at him?” spluttered Moran.

“Jimmy ain’t claimed that he did, has he?”

Moran turned to his son.

“He did, didn’t he, Jimmy?” anxiously.

“No,” replied Jimmy wearily. “He didn’t even see me.”

“Don’t be a fool,” growled Regan angrily.

“That’s enough,” said Roaring firmly. “The doctor don’t need you, and I’m sure I don’t, so you might as well go home. C’mon, Jimmy.”

* * * * *

Hashknife and Sleepy knew nothing about the shooting until the next morning, when they found Roaring Rigby and several men in the restaurant, eating breakfast. The Black Horse had had a big play, and two of the dealers, Mack Ort and Keno Smiley, were eating breakfast before going to bed. Lovely Lucas was there, still half-drunk and inclined to be a bit belligerent.

As Hashknife and Sleepy came in, Lovely was at the height of an impassioned defense of Jimmy Moran. It did not take long for Hashknife and Sleepy to gather the gist of what had happened at the Hot Creek ranch. Ort and Smiley eyed Hashknife coldly, and it was evident to him that English Ed had told them who he was.

“I been wonderin’ where you boys were,” said Roaring. He turned to Lovely Lucas. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll put you in jail, Lucas,” he declared.

“By golly, I’ll be with honest men, if you do. Jimmy Moran never shot Old Man Conley. Why, I tell you, he was aimin’ to marry Dawn Conley. He wouldn’t shoot his father-in-law.”

“A-a-aw, what can you do?” wailed Roaring. “To hell with this kind of a job! Business is too good. Set down, boys. I’m glad there’s somebody around here that ain’t got no opinion. Ask me all the questions you like, but don’t offer any advice.”

“This is a free country, ain’t it?” demanded Lovely. “I ask you if it ain’t. You can’t put a man in jail for talkin’, can you, Roarin’? You can’t--”

“Men have been put in the graveyard for talkin’,” said Roaring seriously.

“Is that so? Huh!” Lovely got to his feet. “I’m goin’ home and tell Horse-Collar Fields about Jimmy. Horse-Collar gits some awful good ideas. Jimmy’s our boss, you know. Oh, I’ll be back, Roarin’. All hell can’t stop me, I’ll tell you that.”

Lovely went weaving toward the door, slammed it behind him and headed for the hitch-rack. Ort and Smiley paid for their breakfast and went out. Sleepy grinned widely. He could understand Lovely Lucas.

“Just what happened out there last night?” asked Hashknife.

Roaring placed his knife and fork carefully on his plate and told Hashknife just what he knew about it. Roaring wasn’t sure about the two shots being fired, but he thought that he had heard two. He was riding pretty fast; but there was no doubt that two shots had been fired. Jimmy admitted that there had been, and Dawn spoke of the two shots.

“Jimmy was a fool,” declared Roaring.

“He knew what would happen.”

“You say Jimmy threw somethin’ against the window to attract Conley, and then called to Conley, telling him that it was Jimmy Moran outside?”

“That’s what Dawn said; Jimmy didn’t deny it.”

“And when Conley came to the door he took a shot at Jimmy and Jimmy shot him.”

“Looks thataway. Conley must have shot first. I don’t think he could have fired after Jimmy shot him, unless he happened to have the gun cocked and it went off as he was fallin’.”

“How long was it between the shots?”

“I dunno how long; I didn’t ask. I’m goin’ out there in a little while. Why don’t you ride out with me?”

Sleepy groaned when Hashknife assented.

“What’s the matter with you,” asked Roaring.

“Somethin’ you can’t prescribe for,” grunted Sleepy.

“He groans thataway often,” said Hashknife seriously. “It sounds like he was in pain, but he ain’t; it’s a joy-groan.”

* * * * *

Anyway, Sleepy went along. They found Franklyn Moran, Slim Regan, Kent Cutter and Henry Miller on the porch. The doctor was still there. He had been there all night.

These four men had been waiting for him to report Conley’s condition, which he did shortly after the others arrived. Conley was still alive, but unconscious. And that was about all there was to report; so the men from the Big 4 and the 7AL went to town.

Dawn heard Roaring talking with the doctor and she came out to the porch. It was the first time Hashknife and Sleepy had seen her. She had spent a sleepless night, but in spite of that she was a very pretty girl. Roaring introduced them, and left her with Hashknife and Sleepy while he went in to see the patient.

“You weren’t out here last night, were you?” she asked.

Hashknife shook his head.

“We’re strangers, Miss Conley.”

“I know. I heard your name mentioned. Mr. Moran and Mr. Cutter were talking about you a while ago.”

“That so?” smiled Hashknife. “What about?”

“I just heard a little of it. Cutter said he heard you were a cattle detective. Moran said he didn’t know anything about you. Regan laughed and said you accused English Ed Holmes of being a former bootlegger to the Indians.”

“That last part is true enough,” nodded Hashknife. “Do you know Holmes very well?”

“Not very well.”