Part 11

“It took quite a while,” Brick’s voice was pitched low, but plainly audible to every one in the room. “Sometimes things take a long time to work out. A lot of yuh don’t know that Baldy Malloy was shot through the heart before he went over the grade. I knew it, Doctor Meyers knew it, and Grant and Santel knew it. I reckon it’s been kept sort of a secret.

“I reckon that Baldy was shot because he bucked against doin’ any more crooked work. It kinda looks like Baldy wanted to go straight on account of his little kid; but they couldn’t let him get away, ’cause he felt indebted to me for savin’ his kid.”

“You ain’t guessin’ everythin’, are yuh, Brick?” queried Bill Grant anxiously.

“Not all of it. A lot of it is guesswork, Bill; but I’ll bet my life that I’m close to the bull’s-eye. It’s a funny thing—” Brick shifted slightly and a grin passed his lips—“we’ve had several robberies, which never occurred. Baldy Malloy was held up, Ike Welden was held up, and the Silverton bank was robbed.

“The robbers in each case were described as bein’ the same men. And the funny part of it all is the fact that the descriptions cover me, Harp Harris and Silent Slade. Nobody seen ’em except Baldy Malloy, Ike Welden and Meecham. Gents, those robberies never occurred.”

“The —— they didn’t!” Ike Welden’s voice squeaked like a discordant fiddle. “What in —— do you know about it?”

“Why—why, that is ridiculous,” faltered Meecham.

“And you better stay where yuh are,” warned Silent, as Meecham moved slightly backward.

“Baldy Malloy’s shack caught fire just before the bank robbery,” continued Brick. “Everybody went to the fire. It sure was a good chance to rob the bank.”

“Just what is all this conversation about?” queried Leach.

He folded his arms and squinted at Brick, trying to cover his nervousness.

Brick laughed at him—with his mouth; the rest of his face tensed, serious. The crowd shifted audibly.

“Mebbe yuh don’t get the drift of it, Leach,” said Brick. “I’ll start a little further back in hist’ry and give yuh a chance to foller me.

“It began in Idaho.”

Leach jerked slightly and his eyes flashed to Hank Stagg, who was slouched at the bar, looking down at the floor. Hank had stopped crying now and his thumbs were hooked over his cartridge-belt.

“Some folks got to understand each other—in Idaho,” continued Brick. “One of ’em came to Sun Dog and got in kinda solid. He made money, I reckon. But all the time he was lookin’ for bigger money; so he got them Idaho folks to migrate down here, and they formed kind of a little corporation to loot Sun Dog.

“It sure worked, too. But they got scared of the sheriff’s office. The big haul wasn’t pulled yet, and they wanted to keep me quiet until that was cinched; so they imported a detective to handle the mystery.”

Every eye in the place flashed to Santel, but he never moved. His eyes were watching Leach. Even Brick’s statement did not seem to impress him.

“They got him in Idaho, too,” said Brick softly. “He was known as a killer in that country. There’s prob’ly several sheriffs up there that would like to put handcuffs on him.”

But even the direct accusation did not affect Santel. Men moved away from him, but he remained as immovable as a statue.

“I kinda blame myself for Soapy Caswell gettin’ shot,” said Brick. “Yuh see, I lied about that hold-up. I told ’em down here that Soapy got through to the Red Hill mine with the twenty-seven-thousand-dollar payroll, when I knew better.

“It must ’a’ been that Soapy got hold of a dummy payroll, and that the gang couldn’t get in touch with the man who was to pull off the job to see if he had failed; so they shot Soapy and blew the mine safe to try and save themselves. They thought that I knew it was a dummy payroll and that I could trace ’em through the man who fixed up the dummy for Soapy; so they dynamited my office and burned half of the town of Marlin.”

Santel laughed hollowly, as if greatly amused. Leach shot a glance at Santel and his hands dropped to his sides.

“Didn’t trust me, eh?” said Santel.

“I seen you shoot Mostano today, Santel,” said Brick.

“Yeah,” Santel nodded, but did not look at Brick. “What about the frog on the holster? What did the kid mean?”

“He remembered that much,” said Brick tensely. “When his dad was shot and the stage swung off the grade, Whizzer was dumped off onto the grade. He was kinda badly hurt, but he remembers hearin’ the shot fired. The man who fired the shot wore a mask, but the kid remembers that he had a frog on his holster.”

“Leach!” Santel spat the name. “—— you, I thought you was the one!”

As Santel spoke he whipped out his gun. But Leach was not caught napping, and two guns thundered almost at the same time. There was only a short space between them—too short for either of them to miss. It was all being done in split-second time.

Brick felt the burning shock of a bullet into the muscles of his left arm, which staggered him back against the bar; but his gun came up and he fired at Ike Welden, who was standing on the chair shooting at him. Leach was falling into Brick, who fended him away with his gun-hand. Santel was on his hands and knees, coughing his life away, and Silent, with Meecham clutched in a wrestling grip, came crashing down in the middle of the floor.

Ike Welden was still on his feet, trying to pull the trigger, a vacant look on his face, as he leaned against the wall. The crowd had scattered like a covey of frightened quail. Some of them were flat on the floor, several were behind the bar, and many of them had faded out through the rear exit.

Hank Stagg was the only one who did not show fight. He still leaned against the bar, dazed, half-crying. The shooting had ceased now. Harp stepped away from the far end of the bar, a smoking gun in his hand, and stared at Ike Welden, who seemed asleep, standing up in the chair.

“He’s dead, Brick,” said Harp in an awed voice. “He’s dead, but won’t lay down.”

Then Hank Stagg suddenly came to life. With an animal-like scream he sprang away from the bar, drawing his gun, and whirling on Brick, only to be met with a bullet that caused him to spin on his heel, and a second later he went crashing to the floor, with Harp on his back.

Brick backed against the bar and looked at the wreckage. Leach was sprawled on his face, arms outstretched; Silent was sitting on the prostrate figure of Meecham, while Harp sat on Hank Stagg and tried to find out just how badly hurt his victim was. Santel was still on his hands and knees, but now he sat down, supporting himself with one arm, while he tried to brush the mists away from his muddled brain.

The crowd came drifting back in, questioning, wondering, coughing from the fumes of burnt powder which clouded the room.

There was silence, as the crowd realized the tragedy which had just been enacted. Came a crash, as Ike Welden fell from his standing position on the chair, and the crowd started to duck for cover again.

“He decided to quit,” said Harp blandly. “Takes some folks a long time to find out anythin’.”

Santel looked around the circle of faces until he found Brick. He seemed dazed, sick, but his voice was still strong enough.

“Much obliged, Davidson,” he said. “I was in on the deal, but you found out more than I could. Leach had me come here to keep you from investigating. He wanted me to kill yuh.” Santel hesitated, forcing a grin. “I suppose I would, if they hadn’t killed Baldy Malloy.

“They offered me a thousand dollars to force yuh into a gun-fight, and I—I fell down on the job. I’m glad I did—now.

“I held up you and Soapy Caswell. That was a dummy sack. They didn’t trust me. Meecham fixed it up. They took a —— of a big chance, didn’t they? Leach wanted to loot Sun Dog, just like you said. Baldy and Ike Welden robbed themselves, and then Ike set the fire that day, while Meecham hid the bank money.

“They all gave the same description. Leach thought it might put you three fellers in bad—and he wanted to elect Hank Stagg. Leach wanted too much, I reckon. I—I never got my split of the money, but it’s in the cellar of Meecham’s house. Welden set the dynamite off under your office, and Hank Stagg shot Soapy Caswell.

“Meecham was out there the night you found Mostano killin’ the beef, and one of your bullets hit his saddle. He came huntin’ for me to find out about the payroll. I don’t know who killed the livery-stable keeper, but it was some of the gang. They didn’t want you to question him about the bullet-hole in the saddle.”

“Thank yuh, Santel,” said Brick weakly. “That all proves that I’m a good guesser. But I don’t know yet why yuh killed Leach.”

Santel smiled softly and his eyes wandered around the circle of interested faces.

“Some of yuh take care of the kid, will yuh?” His voice was weaker now. “Baldy was my brother. I—I took the name of Santel, because I was no good—a killer. Baldy must ’a’ been led into doin’ wrong. They named the kid after me—Whizzer. Hank knew this, but Leach didn’t until later—and he was afraid I’d find it out. I killed Mostano today, but I couldn’t find the kid.”

“By golly, that’s where the resemblance came in, Brick,” exclaimed Harp. “Little Whizzer looks like Santel.”

“I’ll take care of Whizzer,” said Brick.

“We’ll all take care of Whizzer,” amended Silent. “Don’tcha never worry about that, Santel.”

Santel nodded as if satisfied, and little Whizzer came out from behind the bar, his eyes wide with fright, and ran to Brick.

“Geeminy gosh!” he shrilled. “Is all that shootin’ over?”

“It’s all over, buddy,” said Brick weakly. “There ain’t goin’ to be no more shootin’—not for a while, I hope.”

“I hope there never will be again,” said Santel slowly. “It don’t pay.”

He swayed sidewise on his hands and sank down on his face.

“When do I see my daddy?” asked Whizzer impatiently.

Brick drew the youngster to him with his one good arm, and looked around at the crowd, as if appealing to them for an answer.

“You better see a doctor, Brick,” advised Harp. “You’re losin’ a lot of blood.”

“Ain’t nobody goin’ to tell me where my dad is?” demanded Whizzer. “Is he out on his trip?”

“Yeah, he’s out on his trip,” whispered Brick.

Whizzer turned his head and looked out through the open door into the darkness. He knew that his father always came home before dark. His eyes came back to Brick, as he said—

“He must be takin’ a long trip this time.”

“Yeah, a long trip, buddy,” breathed Brick.

There was a silence. Then—

“Aw-w-w, —— the luck!”

It was Banty Harrison. Tears were trickling down his cheeks and his lips trembled. He started angrily toward the door, but turned and looked back at the crowd.

“Wh-what’s the matter?” choked Harp.

Banty pointed at his flopping necktie, which had crawled up above the top of his celluloid collar.

“That —— string busted—that’s what’s the matter.”

The rest of them had no alibi. But the looting of Sun Dog was over and they looked at each other unashamed, while Brick, with Whizzer clinging to his one good hand, went hunting for a doctor, and the orchestra across the street struck up a waltz.

[Transcriber’s Note:

1. This story appeared in the August 30, 1924 issue of _Adventure_ magazine. 2. This story also exists in extended novel form in the Distributed Proofreaders Canada collection at www.fadedpage.com ]