Part 6

It was nearly supper-time when Brick and Soapy drove into Marlin City. Soapy had promised Barney Devine to have the money for the payroll out to the mine by noon the next day, and now he hungered for a session of poker. Brick was stiff and sore from his fall off the grade, but he got a bite to eat at the restaurant, saddled his horse and headed for Silverton.

Brick was certain that someone knew about Soapy going to take the payroll money to the Red Hill mine. Soapy had sworn that no one knew about it, but Brick knew that Soapy was just a trifle absent-minded.

Brick tied his horse to the Short Horn hitch-rack and went into the saloon. The games were in progress, but there were few players. Several men nodded to Brick as he came in and went to the bar. Brick knew Charley Meecham, the cashier of the bank, but did not know where Meecham lived; so he inquired of the bartender.

“Charley Meecham? Yeah, I know where he lives.” The bartender leaned on the bar and drew an imaginary map on the top of the bar with a stubby finger.

“That’s the old Wheaton house, ain’t it?” queried Brick.

“Yeah, sure. Meecham has been livin’ there nearly a year now. Nice feller, Charley is.”

Brick nodded and went down the street, past McGill’s saloon, turning to the left and going to an old two-story dwelling-house, which was set back considerable distance from the street.

Mrs. Meecham answered his knock. Brick had never met her, but knew her by sight. Mrs. Meecham was a thin, angular, rather young woman, with a mop of blond hair and a knack of talking about everything that was none of her business.

“Charley’s up at the bank,” she told Brick. “He went up to do a little work. Won’t you come in? You’re Mr. Davidson, the sheriff, ain’tcha? Uh-huh, I’m Mrs. Meecham. Come on in and set down in the parlor.

“Nice weather, ain’t it? Charley will be back pretty soon, I think. How is everythin’ in Marlin City? I met your new school-teacher at the last dance. Nice girl. Take that chair over there. This one looks solid, but it ain’t. Sam set down on it the other night and it spread out on him.”

Brick sat down and balanced his sombrero on his knees. Mrs. Meecham made him feel nervous. The parlor was a stuffy little room, high-ceiled, with the walls plentifully hung with crayon portraits. An upright organ occupied one corner, and Brick prayed internally that Mrs. Meecham wouldn’t attempt to entertain him with music.

“We’re going to have another dance Friday night,” continued Mrs. Meecham. “You ought to come, Mr. Davidson. I hear that you are quite a dancer. I sure do love a good dance. Sam is a good dancer. He had the Marlin school-teacher down here to the last dance. He’s kinda crazy about her.”

“Sam Leach?” asked Brick.

“Yes. Sam’s my brother. He’s over here quite a lot.”

“Oh, yeah.” Brick crossed his knees and leaned back in his chair. “Your brother, eh? I didn’t know that.”

“Say, you go ahead and smoke, if you want to. Charley and Sam smoke all the time, and I don’t mind it. Keeps out moths.”

Brick nodded and began rolling a cigaret.

“You been livin’ here long?” he asked.

“About a year—in this house. We’ve been in Silverton for about two years.”

“Like it here?”

“Not so very. Still, it’s all right. Silverton folks are real sociable, what there is of them. Charley’s got a good job and I ain’t got no kick comin’.”

“You came here from the East, didn’t yuh, Mrs. Meecham?”

“I should say not! My folks came from Ohio, but I was born up in the Okanagan country. I never been East. In fact, I ain’t never had no hankerin’ for the East. We came here from Idaho. That’s where me and Charley were married. I liked it up there. It was more like home. Of course we knew everybody, and that helps a lot.”

“Yeah, it sure helps,” agreed Brick, inhaling deeply. “Is Sam from up in that country?”

“Oh, sure. He came down here a couple of years before we did. You know Hank Stagg, don’tcha? Sure, you do. Hank used to be up there. I never knew him, but Sam did. Hank used to drive a stage up there. Him and Baldy Malloy worked for the same outfit. Wasn’t it too bad about Baldy’s little kid. Gee whillikens, that was awful! Just think of that poor little tyke getting lost like that. And Baldy getting killed. I wonder if he went to sleep and ran off the grade.”

“I think so,” said Brick slowly. “Yeah, I don’t think he knew when he went off.”

“That must have been it. Baldy was a good driver, too. You and Hank are rivals for the sheriff’s office, ain’tcha? Well, that don’t have to make enemies out of folks. Hank is a good scout.”

“Well,” grinned Brick, “I ain’t sore at anybody.”

“Sure you ain’t. I’ve always heard that you was good-natured.”

The front door opened and Mrs. Meecham got to her feet.

“That’s Charley. Hoo-hoo, Charley! C’mon in; I’ve got company.”

Meecham came to the doorway and squinted at Brick. He was a fleshy, black-haired man of about thirty-five, quietly dressed. His eyes were deep-set, cheeks florid and his mouth full-lipped. He smiled and came into the room.

“Hello, Davidson,” Meecham held out his hand to Brick. “How are you?”

Brick shook hands with him and they both sat down.

“I’ve been doing a little work,” explained Meecham.

Brick smiled and rolled a fresh cigaret.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions,” stated Brick slowly. “Did you get a good look at the man who held you up in the bank?”

“Well, there were three of them, sheriff. Anyway, I think there were three. I’m sure that one stayed near the door. The one who did the talking was a thin sort of a fellow.”

“Couldn’t recognize his voice, if yuh heard it?”

“Hardly. Still, I might.”

“Wasn’t there a fire broke out about that time?”

“Yes, there was,” said Mrs. Meecham quickly. “It was down at Baldy Malloy’s shack. His wood-shed burned down.”

“Didja ever hear how it got started?”

Meecham pursed his lips and shook his head wisely.

“Mebbe it was set on purpose, eh?” suggested Brick.

“Possibly.”

Brick got to his feet and picked up his hat.

“Well, I reckon that’s about all. It kinda looks like somebody was gettin’ rich off Sun Dog banks. It sure hits Soapy Caswell hard. I reckon I’ll have to ride out and see him soon.”

“I saw him this morning,” volunteered Mrs. Meecham. “He was in front of the bank in a buckboard.”

“He uses a buckboard most of the time,” said Meecham.

“Gray team?” queried Brick.

“Yes.”

“By golly, that must ’a’ been him at the Red Hill mine. I was back on the hill and saw the rig drive up to the mine office. I never thought about it bein’ Soapy. A little later I was down at the office and talked with Barney Devine, but he never mentioned that Soapy had been there.”

As Brick manufactured this out of whole cloth, Meecham stepped over to the organ and arranged the scattered sheets of music. He turned back to Brick, nodding indifferently.

“Possibly he drove out there,” he said. “He didn’t say where he was going.”

“He wasn’t there long—if it was Soapy,” added Brick. “I seen ’em take something from the buckboard and take it into the office. They were in there just a minute, when one of ’em came out, got into the buckboard and drove back down the road. Well, I reckon I’ll be movin’, folks.”

“You ought to come to that dance Friday night,” urged Mrs. Meecham. “We’ll sure have a good time.”

“I’ll betcha yuh will,” smiled Brick. “I dunno whether I’ll have time or not. I’ve got a lot of work mapped out ahead of me and I’ll prob’ly be too busy.”

“Electioneering?” queried Meecham.

Brick thought there was just the hint of a sneer in the question.

“Nope. Just tryin’ to make good on what’s left of this term of office, Meecham.”

“Oh, I see. Well, come and see us again, sheriff.”

“Thank yuh,” nodded Brick. “Come and see me too. _Adiós._”

Brick walked back to the Short Horn saloon, but did not go inside. Leach was in there, standing at the bar, talking to several other men. Brick went to the rack and got his horse, mounted and headed for Marlin City.

He had found out several worth-while things, which paid him for the ride to Silverton. It was interesting to know that Meecham was Leach’s brother-in-law, and that both of them, together with Hank Stagg and Baldy Malloy, were from Idaho. Leach had come first. Brick decided that he would find out from Soapy just how he happened to employ Charley Meecham.

“It’s kinda danged funny, anyway,” observed Brick, as he rode back through the night. “Leach got established, and then he gets his brother-in-law to come down. Then comes Hank Stagg and Baldy Malloy. They used to work for the same outfit. I’ll sure have to talk with Soapy about this. But if Meecham knew anythin’ about Soapy takin’ that payroll to the Red Hill he didn’t show it. Mebbe I’m barkin’ up the wrong tree, I dunno.”

* * * * *

It was after nine o’clock when Brick got back to Marlin City and stabled his horse. Soapy’s team was still at the rack; so Brick felt sure that a big poker game was in progress. He was tired and sore, so he rubbed his bruises with liniment and went to bed. There was no sign of Harp, but Brick knew that Harp would never think of going to bed as long as there was anything going on in town.

And Brick was right. Harp sat between Soapy Caswell and Bill Grant at the poker-table, trying to make his meager stack of chips weather the storm. Harp knew that he had no business in a game with these two men. Banty Harrison, owner of the livery-stable, and Lew Slater, a professional gambler, were the other two in the game.

Harp played carefully, hoarding his money, and drinking hard liquor at regular intervals. He had failed to get up nerve enough to ask Miss Miller to go to the dance with him. Luck and keen judgment kept Harp in the game until three o’clock in the morning, when he grew bold enough to try and make two deuces beat Bill Grant’s full house.

“I’m through,” announced Harp. “I’ve done well to last this long.”

“I’ve got a-plenty, too,” agreed Soapy.

They shoved back from the table, while Slater counted their chips, and then all went to the bar for a final drink. Harp was the first one to leave the place. He stopped on the porch of the saloon and gulped in deep breaths of the cool air.

He turned his head quickly and glanced toward the corner of the building. It seemed to him as though someone or something had moved there. But he was unable to see anything. Anyway, it was probably a dog or a cat.

He stepped off the sidewalk and started to cross the street, going diagonally, toward the office. He heard someone step out onto the sidewalk, and a moment later came the roar of a heavy gun-shot.

Harp almost fell down, as he whirled quickly, jerking out his gun. But there was nobody in sight. A gust of smoke drifted past the open doorway, showing that the shot had been fired from near where he had heard the noise.

Men were crowding out of the doorway now; so he trotted back to the edge of the sidewalk. Someone was stretched out on the boards, and now Bill Grant scratched a match, looking down at the man on the sidewalk.

“What in —— happened?” queried Harp.

“It’s Soapy!” grunted Grant. “Somebody help me take him inside.”

They carried him into the saloon and laid him out on the floor. He was unconscious and bleeding badly.

“I’ll get the doctor,” offered Slater, and went out of the door on the run.

“Now, who in —— shot him?” demanded Grant. “By ——, they must have waited for him to step out.”

“I heard somebody there,” offered Harp. “When I went out I heard a noise over by the corner, but I thought it was a dog.”

“Well, he’s still alive,” said Banty Harrison. “While there’s life there’s hope. By ——, I’d like to get my hands on that dirty murderer. I’d sure——”

Banty stopped when Brick Davidson, half-dressed, came through the doorway. He squinted around at everyone, stepped in close to Soapy and looked down at him.

“I heard the shot,” said Brick. “Tell me about it, somebody.”

“Not much to tell, Brick,” said Grant. “Soapy stepped out on the porch and somebody shot him. They must have been layin’ for him. Slater has gone after Doc Meyers.”

A few moments later the doctor came, half-asleep, half-dressed. He knelt down beside Soapy, while Brick assisted him with his examination.

“Buck-shot,” said Brick angrily. “They wasn’t takin’ no chances, boys.”

The doctor was counting the wounds and estimating just what to do.

“What’s his chances, Doc?” queried Brick.

“Odds against him, I’m afraid. Five of them hit him above the waist and he’s got a couple in his thigh. Somebody get a blanket for a stretcher and we’ll carry him down to my place. None of the lead hit him in a vital spot, but he will have a fight ahead of him. I suppose that some of ’em will be hard to locate, but we’ll do our best.”

“I’ll beat it for Silverton to tell his family,” offered Banty.

They carried Soapy to Doctor Meyers’ office, where the doctor immediately went to work, trying to locate the buckshot. Brick and Harp went to the office and sat down. Brick held his head in his hands, thinking of every angle of the affair; trying to find a reason why anyone would murder Soapy Caswell.

“They waited for him,” said Harp hoarsely. “—— ’em, they was there when I came out. But why did they shoot old Soapy? Why, he’s a good old jigger, Brick. Soapy barked a lot, but he never bit anybody.”

“They rohbed him of twenty-seven thousand dollars today,” said Brick. “He had it in the back of that buckboard, and we were held up on Big Elk grade, near where Baldy went over the edge.”

“You jokin’, Brick?” Harp did not believe.

“Look at the skin off my face,” suggested Brick. “One wheel went off the edge and I took a header down the hill. One man pulled the trick. He was masked—and he knew Soapy was carryin’ that payroll money, Harp.”

Harp swore softly and looked closely at Brick. He still thought that Brick was joking.

“Twenty-seven thousand dollars, Brick? My ——, how much money is that?”

“Well, it’s twenty-six days’ wages for over two hundred men. Soapy said that their wages would average about five dollars per day. Figure it out, cowboy.”

“Well, I’ll be ——ed, if this country ain’t gettin’ awful salty, Brick. But what can we do? When they start shootin’ buckshot from ambush in the dark, what’s the use of us, I’d like to know? By cripes, I’d sure like to swap lead with the jigger that shot Soapy.”

“I hope we will, Harp. In fact, I’m kinda sure we will.”

“When?” Harp jumped out of his chair and grabbed Brick by the shoulders. “When do we start, Brick?”

“As soon as we find out who shot him.”

“Aw-w-w, ——!” Harp exploded his disgust and walked to the doorway. “I thought you had some idea who done it.”

“It was somebody who wanted to kill Soapy Caswell—and they wanted it bad enough to bushwhack him with a shotgun. Now, if we can find out who wanted him dead——”

“That ought to be easy, Brick. We’ll start askin’ questions as soon as it gets daylight, eh?”

But the sarcasm of Harp’s question was lost upon Brick, who sat staring intently at the floor, trying to convince himself that certain things might be true. Bill Grant came to the office and sat down with them.

“Doc’s pickin’ out shot,” he told them hopefully. “Soapy don’t know what it’s all about, but he’s doin’ a lot of cussin’ over it. Soapy’s a tough old customer and he’s got a fightin’ chance, boys.”

“We’re pullin’ for him, Bill,” said Harp. “Brick is pullin’ for him—or for somethin’. When Brick gets to thinkin’ that-a-way, somethin’ is due to rattle real hard.”

Brick looked up, his brow furrowed deeply.

“Got an idea, Brick?” queried Grant.

Brick sighed and reached for his cigaret makings.

“It’s far-fetched, Bill. Mebbe it’s too ——ed far-fetched, but I’m goin’ to work on it.”

They sat and talked until daylight, when they went over to the Dollar Down and searched for evidence. Some distance away from the saloon they found the empty shotgun cartridge. It was a 12 gage, brass shell. Brick examined it closely and dropped it into his pocket.

“No clue in that,” he told them. “Every shotgun in the country is 12 gage, and mostly every one reloads their own shells.”

They went down to the doctor’s office and found that Soapy was doing as well as possible. Grant got his horse and rode back to his ranch, while Harp and Brick went back to the office to get some sleep.

“You goin’ to that Silverton dance Friday night?” asked Brick, as they pulled off their boots.

“I dunno,” Harp shook his head sadly. “I was goin’ to ask Miss Miller, but I kinda lost my nerve. I found out about that dance after you went away yesterday; so I went right down to Wesson’s. Mrs. Wesson told me that Leach had been there early that mornin’ to ask Miss Miller to go with him.

“I thought that ended it. Later on I met Mrs. Wesson and she said—” Harp snapped off a boot and flung it across the floor—“Mrs. Wesson’s the dangdest josher I ever seen, Brick. She said that she only told me that Leach had asked Miss Miller; but she didn’t say that Miss Miller refused him.”

But the point of the joke was lost on Brick, who was looking straight at Harp, a queer expression in his blue eyes.

“Leach asked her, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Before you knew about the dance, Harp?”

“Yeah. It must ’a’ been before Miss Miller went to school.”

“Uh-huh.”

Brick rolled a cigaret thoughtfully, but did not light it. Then he removed his clothes, placed the cigaret on a chair beside the cot and got into bed.

“Well,” Harp yawned and rolled into his blankets, “you’ve lost yore sense of humor, Brick—or didn’t yuh hear what I told yuh?”

“I heard it all right, Harp, and I thank yuh.”

“Yuh thank——”

Harp raised up and squinted at Brick, but there was nothing to see, except the mop of tousled red hair against the pillow. Harp snuggled back down into his blankets and grinned to himself. He knew that Brick’s mind was pretty busy, when he failed to see a joke.

* * * * *

It was nearly noon when someone hammered on the office door and awoke Brick, who wrapped a blanket around himself and went to the door. It was Barney Devine. He stepped inside and Brick closed the door behind him.

“Kinda forgot to wake up,” smiled Brick, shoving out a chair for Barney. “Set down while I put on some clothes.”

Harp awoke and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Hello, Barney,” he said hoarsely. “How yuh comin’?”

“With a little news,” said Barney seriously. “I heard about Soapy Caswell a few minutes ago, and I’m bringing more grief. Last night, or rather about two o’clock this morning, somebody dynamited my safe.”

“Dynamited your safe?” Brick had his shirt half-way on, and his head popped out the collar like a jack-in-the-box.

“Completely,” nodded Barney. “In fact they ruined it.”

“I’ll be ——ed!” exploded Harp.

“What did they get?” asked Brick.

Barney spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

“About ten dollars. They ruined some books and a quart of good whisky—and a good safe. They also ruined one of the walls of the office.”

“They must ’a’ thought there was money in that safe, didn’t they?” queried Harp.

Barney looked questioningly at Brick, who grinned.

“I told Harp about the hold-up, Barney.”

“Well, what’s the answer?” asked Barney. “It looks to me like two gangs working, Brick. One of them evidently thought that the payroll got there O. K. Don’t it look like it to you?”

Brick picked up the cigaret he had rolled before going to bed, moistened it with his tongue and scratched a match on the floor.

“Yeah, it looks somethin’ like that, Barney.”

“What about your payroll?” asked Harp.

“I’ll have to take it from here, I suppose. Soapy told them that the payroll money would go from here today. It’s a lucky thing he spoke to them about it, because I’ve got to have that money at the mine before quitting-time today.”

“We’ll go with yuh, Barney,” stated Brick softly, and added, “And I hope somebody tries to hold yuh up. Get yore clothes on, Harp. We’ll devour some ham and eggs right away, Barney; and then we’ll see that yuh get safely to the mine, if we have to shoot every crook in Sun Dog County.”

“They won’t try any monkey business with us,” declared Harp.

“Tha’sso?” Brick grinned and buckled on his belt. “Yuh must remember that my presence didn’t help much yesterday.”

As a measure of precaution and convenience they split the money into three parts, and rode away. Harp and Brick carried Winchesters handy, and after they reached the Big Elk grades they rode in single file, about fifty feet apart.

And there was no wild riding this time. They took plenty of time, and if there were any hold-up men on the Big Elk grades they changed their mind about trying to hold up the second payroll of the Red Hill mine.

Barney was profuse in his thanks and asked them to stay a while, but Brick shook his head. Barney had enough trusted men to look after the money until pay-time, and Brick was anxious for action. They rode back along the grades to where Soapy and Brick had been held up.

Beyond the curve, where Brick had been thrown off the grade, they dismounted and led their horses along the upper side of the grade, trying to find where the robber had left the road. About a hundred yards beyond the curve, where the road curved sharply around the head of a ravine, they discovered an old trail, which angled up through the brush. They mounted and followed the old trail to the top of the divide, where it disappeared. There was nothing to show that the bandit had taken that trail, except that it was the nearest available place where he could have left the grade and traveled under cover.

It was not far from where Santel’s horse had been killed; so they rode down there and found that Santel had taken his saddle away. Brick had told Harp about his suspicions of Mostano, and they decided to ride over and take a look at Mostano’s place.

But instead of approaching it from the bluff, Brick led the way around to the east, where they came out on the side of a hill about half a mile from the ranch-house. From their elevation they were able to command a good view of the place. There were two horses in the corral, and the half-breed woman was out in the yard.

“Too danged bad we haven’t a pair of glasses,” mused Brick. “I’d like to get a good look at that place.”

“Let’s go down there,” suggested Harp.

They had dismounted, and as they climbed into their saddles and started angling down the hill, they heard the report of a rifle. The shot had been fired from considerable distance away. They drew up and studied the house. The woman was hurrying into the house, as though the rifle shot had been a signal for her to get under cover.

Brick laughed and began rolling a cigaret.

“No use goin’ down there now, Harp,” he said. “We’ve been spotted. Mostano is no fool. My visit to his place warned him that we might be dangerous; so he’s watchin’ for us. I’m bettin’ that he sees everybody that comes over Big Elk grade. Next time we won’t play the game to suit him, and he’s goin’ to be a sorry half-breed. Let’s go home.”

“Do you think he had anythin’ to do with the shootin’ of Soapy?” asked Harp.

“Prob’ly not. Mostano is a meat thief, Harp.”

“Well, what has meat thieves got to do with all this dirty work?” demanded Harp.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Brick yawned and swung his horse around. “I’ve just got a fool idea, tha’sall. C’mon.”

* * * * *

“And I’m here to state that Brick Davidson is jist about all through bein’ sheriff of this county.”

Ike Welden, driver of the Redrock stage, hooked his prominent shoulder-blades over the top of the Dollar Down bar and spat viciously. Ike was a sallow-complexioned young man, with wry-neck, tobacco-stained chin and very bony wrists.