Part 7

Ike had little imagination, which made him dangerous. Danger had little terrors for him, because his mind was of the single-track variety, and his future did not extend beyond the next meal time. Just now he was rather drunk and inclined to be quarrelsome. His thin waist-line sagged sidewise under the drag of the heavy, holstered gun on his thigh, as though weakening under the strain.

There was a motley crew in the Dollar Down, but only one of them, Silent Slade, paid any attention to Ike’s remark. Silent was standing beside a poker table, watching the play, but now he considered Ike Welden closely.

Several of the men were from Silverton, who had come to Marlin City upon receipt of news regarding Soapy Caswell. Leach was in the poker game, as was Al Hendricks. Santel was tilted back in a bar-room chair, seemingly paying little attention to anyone. Banty Harrison and Slim Hunter were engrossed in a game of pool, while several others stood around the table and offered advice.

“And I know ——ed well what I’m talkin’ about,” declared Welden loudly.

Hank Stagg came into the room, nodded to everyone who paid him any heed, and went to the bar.

“Ain’t I right, Hank?” queried Ike.

“I dunno what yo’re talkin’ about, but I’ll bet yuh are,” laughed Hank. “Have a drink?”

“I can’t refuse,” grinned Ike widely. “I’m a he-buzzard and I’m soarin’ strong. I jist said that Brick Davidson is all through in this county, Hank. Nobody had guts enough to say that I was wrong. No, I don’t want no water with mine. I’m a he-buzzard. Here’s how.”

A moment later Ike squealed like a rabbit. As he lifted his glass of liquor, a strong hand grasped his collar, while another gathered up the slack of his pants. He twisted his head enough to see that Silent Slade was behind him, and then he was lifted bodily, carried to the door and cast out into the street.

Ike landed on his hands and knees on the hard ground, busting the knees out of his overalls and bruising his hands on the gravelly earth. His gun went spinning out of its holster and skidded into the dust.

It was an ignominious thing to happen to a man such as Ike thought he was. He got slowly to his feet, cursing wickedly, and looked at Silent, who stood in the doorway. He turned from Silent, dusted off his sore knees with his sore hands and went to his gun. As he stooped over to pick it up, the dust fairly exploded under his hand, while from behind him came the crashing report of Silent’s six-shooter. Ike yanked away and almost fell down.

“Yo’re kinda ignorant, ain’t yuh?” queried Silent coldly. “Better leave that gun alone until yuh sober up.”

Ike squinted at Silent for a moment, straightened up and went across the street. He stopped in front of Wesson’s store and looked back, before he headed down the street. Silent went back into the saloon, where the poker game was resuming play. Banty Harrison and Slim Hunter had crowded in behind Silent, carrying their billiard cues, and now they whooped loudly and dragged Silent to the bar.

“That’s bouncin’ ’em!” applauded Banty. “I’ll betcha he won’t do much crawlin’ for a while. I just knowed that Ike was goin’ to talk himself out of here.”

Banty lowered his voice and glanced at Hank Stagg, who had moved over by the poker table.

“Look out for Ike, Silent. He’s a dirty little pup, and he’s a streak with his gun.”

“Kill him first, that’s my motto,” grinned Slim.

“That’s right,” nodded Banty. “Every man that Slim has killed has been killed in just that way.”

They finished their drinks and went back to their game. Silent remained at the bar, where he could watch both front and rear. He noticed that Santel had paid no attention to the trouble, not even getting out of the chair to see what was going on outside.

“A salty gent,” decided Silent, “and worth watchin’!”

Silent had hoped to find Brick and Harp in town, but had been informed that they had ridden away with Barney Devine. Soapy Caswell was still unconscious, but the doctor was optimistic.

Slim and Banty finished their game and Silent joined them.

“Yore fussy friend decided to sleep off his jag, I reckon,” opined Slim.

“Mebbe.” Silent wasn’t so sure. “How does it come that Ike ain’t drivin’ stage today?”

“He quit the job,” laughed Slim. “It was prob’bly too much for his brain. The strain must ’a’ been awful.”

They walked outside and stood on the porch. Ike’s gun was not in the street and they all noticed this.

“Sneaked back and got it,” said Silent seriously. “It’ll take him quite a while to clean the dust out of it, I’ll bet.”

Brick and Harp were riding into town and the three men crossed to the office to meet them.

“Hyah, pleecemen,” greeted Silent. “What do yuh know that’s worth the wear and tear on our ear-drums?”

“Not much,” grinned Brick, turning his horse over to Harp, who took them away to the little stable at the rear of the office.

“Silent just throwed Ike Welden out of the saloon,” laughed Slim. “Took him by the collar and the seat of his pants and throwed him plumb into the middle of the street.”

“What for?” queried Brick.

“Too much talk about you.”

“Yeah,” Brick grinned affectionately at Silent. “What’s the latest from Soapy?”

“Last report said he was still alive,” rumbled Silent.

Bill Grant and Al Hendricks came out of the Dollar Down and went toward the doctor’s office. In a few moments Santel came out and went to the hitch-rack, where he mounted a gray horse and rode toward the Star-Dot. Banty and Slim started arguing over their respective pool abilities, and adjourned to the Dollar Down to settle the championship of the world, as far as they were concerned.

Silent, Brick and Harp went into the office and sat down.

“I ain’t gettin’ a square deal,” declared Silent seriously. “There’s a lot of dirt blowin’ around and I ain’t in on it, Brick. Somehow, I’ve kinda got a feelin’ that somebody is goin’ to burn powder, and that I ain’t goin’ to smell none of it.”

“Just be danged thankful yuh ain’t, Silent.”

“How in —— do yuh figger it? I’m a strong, good-lookin’ young feller, and it ain’t noways fair. I just had a taste of action a while ago, and I kinda hankers for somebody to shoot at me.”

“Yo’re crazy all right,” declared Harp. “Any old time that I wish somebody to shoot at me, he don’t. I ain’t been shot at for quite a while, but with all these things happenin’ around here, I’m gettin’ so’s I duck every time anybody sneezes.

“Sun Dog is gettin’ so she ain’t no place for to live into. Every day there’s a hold-up or a murder. When I think of these ——ed fools fightin’ for the sheriff’s office, I have to laugh. They sure must seek suicide, by golly.”

“All right,” grinned Silent. “You resign, Harp. I’m willin’ to take yore job, if yo’re gettin’ scared. No use frazzlin’ out all yore nerves, cowboy.”

“Yeah?” Harp stretched out on a cot and crossed his knees. “Any old time, Silent. It ain’t because I hanker for the job, but I’d hate to leave Brick in the lurch. Right now he needs a man with brains—so I stay with him; _sabe_?”

* * * * *

At supper-time there was no change in Soapy Caswell’s condition. His wife and daughter had come from Silverton and were with him at the doctor’s home. Ike Welden had come back to the Dollar Down, but now he minded his own business and drank alone.

It was nearly dark when Brick called Harp aside.

“Sneak the horses out, Harp,” he said, “and tie ’em back of the stable. Don’t let anybody see yuh, if yuh can help it. Mebbe yuh better wait ’till it’s a little darker.”

“Y’betcha,” grinned Harp.

He had visions of a ride and of possible trouble. Silent had taken a seat at the poker-table and would stay there as long as the game, or his money, lasted.

A little later Harp joined Brick at the saloon, where they stayed until about nine o’clock.

“Want to set in on the game, Brick?” asked Grant.

Brick yawned and shook his head.

“No-o-o, not tonight, Bill. I’m goin’ to fold up a little of the sleep stuff.”

“Same here,” grinned Grant. “I’m gettin’ old, I guess. Just a few more hands and I’ll be ridin’ toward the blanket.”

Brick got up and started for the door, with Harp behind him. They went to the office, drew the curtains, lighted the lamp and sat down.

“What’s the idea?” queried Harp.

Brick did not reply, so Harp did not repeat the question. For probably fifteen minutes they sat there before Brick blew out the light. Then they went to the rear of the place, crawled out through a window, closing it carefully behind them, and went out to their horses.

They led the horses quite a distance from the stable before mounting, and then Brick led the way straight back toward the Big Elk grades. There was no moon to light their journey, but Brick set the pace at a steady gallop until they reached the upgrade of Big Elk cañon. Harp asked no questions. He knew that Brick would explain things to him when he got good and ready, and not before.

They turned off the grade at the little trail and wormed their way up through the brush to the top of the divide. There the rising moon silvered the timbered hills and lighted their path, making it much easier for Brick to lead the way to where he and Harp had been when the warning shot had been fired.

Here they stopped and rested the horses. There was a dull glow, as from a fire, at Mostano’s place, but it was impossible for them to tell whether it was within the house or outside. Then they saw someone go from the house to the fire, carrying a lighted lantern.

“We’ll take a li’l trip over and look at ’em,” decided Brick. “But we’ve got to be danged careful, Harp.”

They rode down the hill, circled the ranch, and came in on the opposite side from the fire. At a tumble-down corral they left their horses and went on afoot. There was no light in the house, so they sneaked up to the side and circled toward the rear.

At the corner they were able to get a look at the fire, which seemed to be burning inside the corral. There was an odor of burning hair, mixed with wood-smoke, and Brick chuckled to himself, as he instructed Harp:

“They’re butcherin’ inside the corral and burnin’ the hides. We’ve got ’em dead, Harp; but look out. Keep down low.”

Brick led the way toward the corral, both of them almost crawling the last fifty feet. They gained the side of the corral unseen, and it was then that Brick realized that he had miscalculated on the gate. It would be suicide to try to climb the fence, and possibly disastrous to try to arrest them from that distance. And it would be almost impossible to go as far as the gate without being detected.

The fire was burning briskly, but the green hides were cutting off the blaze to such an extent that it was impossible for them to see how many men were there and just what they were doing. The lighted lantern was sitting on the ground, but it did little to light up the scene.

“Got to take a chance on ’em, Harp,” breathed Brick. “If they look this way they’ll see us. C’mon.”

Slowly, cautiously, they raised up, gun in hand, and started to climb the fence. Someone picked up the lantern swung it around and the yellow light picked them up instantly.

Came a quick word of warning, a guttural grunt, and the lantern was dashed out. Then a tongue of yellow light flashed at them, and Brick felt the bullet brush his cheek. He and Harp were only half-way up the side of the fence, and in a bad position to shoot.

Brick climbed swiftly to the top, while Harp dropped to the ground and raced for the gate. Two more shots licked out into the night toward Brick, who was shooting at the flashes, while Harp was pounding along, trying to block the one exit.

He gained the gate, shooting swiftly at a shadowy figure, when he felt a thudding blow against his shoulder and the gun fell from his fingers. Someone darted past him and faded into the night. Brick came running across the corral, calling to Harp, who was leaning against the fence, searching dizzily for the thing that was searing his shoulder.

Brick almost ran into him.

“Where’d they go, Harp?” he panted.

“I dunno,” muttered Harp. “Come and help me, will yuh, Brick? I’ve got hit with somethin’.”

“You got hit, Harp? For —— sake! Wait a minute.”

Brick lighted a match and held it between them. Then he whistled softly.

“Hang onto yourself, Harp,” he cautioned. “They knifed yuh. Grit yore teeth, cowboy.”

They both grunted softly and Brick laughed shortly.

“There she is, Harp. I don’t think it was deep enough to be dangerous. Does it hurt much?”

“Not so much now.” Harp’s voice sounded weary. “The ——ed thing kinda paralyzed my whole arm. It feels a lot better, but it’s soakin’ me a-plenty. Didja get any of ’em, Brick?”

“No, I don’t think so. How many did you see, Harp?”

“Just one—the one that threw the knife at me. I think it was the squaw. Now what do we do?”

“Go back and have your arm fixed up. Aw, ——, this was a fizzle. We don’t know any more than we did before, except that we’re dead sure that Mostano’s outfit are the meat-thieves.”

Brick went over to the smoldering fire and kicked the green hides aside. The flames flared up, and as Brick leaned over to search for brands on the hides, a bullet splatted into the fire and threw sparks up into the air.

Brick swore at himself for being such a fool, and ran back to Harp, dragging the hides with him.

“We better be high-tailin’ it out of here,” panted Brick. “Can yuh run all right, cowboy?”

“I never got hit in the leg,” retorted Harp. “—— this moonlight! C’mon!”

They ducked low and started back toward the house, running as fast as possible. A rifle bullet screamed past them and hit the old ranch-house a resounding _thwack_. Brick had glimpsed the flash of the rifle and knew that the shooter was off to their right; so he ducked to the left and led the way around the other side of the ranch-house, where he halted their headlong flight.

They were in the heavy shadow now. Brick stepped back to the corner and peered in the direction where he had seen the flash, but the light was not good enough to distinguish objects clearly. The fire in the corral was blazing merrily, painting the old pole corral with red high-lights.

“We’ve got to bust out across that open space to the horses,” declared Brick. “Mebbe we better separate quite a ways apart, ’cause one man is a hard target in this light.”

They went to the other corner of the house and looked in the direction of the horses. Brick grasped Harp by the arm and pointed toward the bluff trail, where two shadowy objects were plainly visible in the moonlight, going away.

“Our broncs!” snorted Harp. “By ——, they’ve set us on foot, Brick!”

“It sure has all the earmarks of such a deed,” agreed Brick sadly. “Our rifles are on them saddles, too; and we’ll have one sweet waltz home, cowboy. How’s the arm?”

“Feels kinda numb, but I think it has quit bleedin’. I don’t care a dang how sore it gets, but I can’t afford to lose a lot of blood. What’s the next thing to do, I wonder?”

“Walk home, I reckon.”

“Yeah—and get plugged when we start.”

“Looks that-a-way,” reflected Brick, squinting out into the hazy distance. “We bit off more than we could chaw, cowboy. If we’d had any sense we’d ’a’ cached them broncs.”

“Hind-sight ain’t noways valuable,” sighed Harp, and a moment later a bullet showered splinters off the side of the house.

They dropped flat on the ground and swore foolishly.

“Somebody is prospectin’,” opined Harp. “A foot lower and they’d ’a’ made a strike. Mebbe yuh like this, Brick, but old man Harris’ offspring desires a change of climate. Right above me is a window-sill, Brick; and from my point of view, I’d rather be inside that house.”

“Might be a happy idea,” admitted Brick. “Get up and see if the window is locked.”

“Thank yuh very kindly—but that ain’t my suggestion, Brick.”

Brick slid to a crouching position, straightened up close to the wall and examined the window. It slid up silently.

“C’mon,” whispered Brick.

Swiftly they slid in through the window and the cheap calico curtain dropped behind them, leaving them in total darkness.

* * * * *

Silent Slade lowered his head and looked at himself in the back-bar mirror. He tilted his hat down over his eyes, lifted his head as he sang—

“When I’m dead don’t bury me a-ta-a-a-a-all, Pickle m’ bones in alcoho-o-o-ol. Put a bottle of boo-o-o-oze at m’ head and feet And then I kno-o-ow I’ll surely kee-e-ep.”

He turned and looked at Sam Leach, who was leaning on the bar, looking solemnly at a glass of liquor. The poker game had just broken up, leaving Silent Slade winner. And Silent was just intoxicated enough to crow over his poker-playing ability.

“Aw, you were just kinda lucky,” observed Leach.

“Tha’sso?” Silent laughed. “Lucky, eh? Any time you whippoorwills from Silverton mingle cards with a Marlinite—look out. They tell me that yo’re backin’ Hank Stagg for sheriff.”

“Well, what if I am?”

“Are yuh tryin’ to be funny—or don’tcha know any better?”

“What’s the matter with Hank Stagg?”

“What?” Silent stared at Leach in amazement. “My ——, yuh don’t expect me to stand here and tell yuh everythin’ that’s the matter with him, do yuh? I’m limited to just so many words, and they ain’t enough to tell yuh more than half what’s wrong with Hank Stagg.”

“Let’s all be good friends, eh?” suggested the bartender, lifting a bottle to the top of the bar. “Election ain’t nothin’ between friends.”

Silent squinted gravely at the bartender.

“Li’l dove of peace, this ain’t between friends.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to quarrel with you, Slade,” said Leach. “Yo’ve got your own opinions on the matter.”

“You ain’t goin’ to quarrel with me?” Silent seemed sad over the information. “You ain’t? Well, I won’t quarrel with the bartender; so I guess I’ll go home. My ——, I’m sorry yuh won’t quarrel with me, Leach. I’m feelin’ quarrelsome, I am.”

Silent adjusted his hat to his satisfaction and walked out of the door, heading straight for the hitch-rack. It was almost midnight, and Marlin City was truly a deserted village. At the hitch-rack Silent stopped and studied the situation. His horse was not there.

Just to be doubly sure he put his hand on the rail of the rack and walked all the way around it.

“If there was a horse there I’d encounter same,” he said aloud. “The question is this: Where’s my horse?”

As far as he could see there was not a horse at any of the hitch-racks. He deliberated deeply. It might be that someone had put the horse in the livery-stable, he thought. Perhaps Brick and Harp had done this as a joke.

He wended his way to the stable and woke up the stableman, who swore witheringly at Silent for dumping him off his cot.

“You want your horse? ——, you ain’t got no horse here!”

“Ain’t I?” Silent seemed surprized. “Well, now, that’s funny.”

The stableman turned up the light of his lantern and spat thoughtfully.

“You never brought your horse here, Silent.”

“Nope. But she ought to be here, Jimmy.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Silent spread his big hands, “she ain’t at the rack where I left her, that’s why.”

“Oh, for gosh sake, can yuh beat that?” Jimmy Meeker’s voice was squeaky with disgust. “Go on home, Silent.”

“Hu-huh,” Silent had a new idea now. “Say, Jimmy, didja see anythin’ of Ike Welden this evenin’?”

“He left here about nine o’clock, I think.”

“It’s a —— good thing he did, too,” growled Silent. “I’ll betcha he turned my bronc loose. That ornery little pup! When I catch him he’ll wish——”

“Go and catch him,” advised Jimmy sleepily. “Either do that or hire a hall. Good-night.”

Silent turned on his heel and went outside. He did not want to go to the hotel and he couldn’t walk to the Nine-Bar-Nine. There was only one thing for him to do—wake up Brick and occupy one of their cots for the night. A cold wind was blowing and Silent shivered. He knew that Brick and Harp would swear at him for waking them up, but he did not care.

He crossed the street and went up to the door, where he knocked several times. There was no response. Silent deliberated. They were probably sleeping in the rear half of the office, with the door shut in between.

He walked through the narrow alley between the sheriff’s office and the old feedstore and went up to the back door. There was someone going away from the rear of the office, going past the little stable, and Silent wondered who this might be.

It looked suspicious to Silent, who started after this mysteriously-acting person, but turned and came back to the door. He felt that there was no use in chasing around in the dark after someone.

“Anyway, I dunno who he is,” said Silent to himself. “Mebbe it’s all right. Hey, Brick!”

He hammered on the back door until the lock threatened to rattle loose, but no one answered him. He grasped the knob and gave it a twist, finding the door locked.

“That’s funny,” he mused, and as he started to turn away from the door, the world seemed to come to an abrupt end.

Came a deafening crash, a glaring flash of light. Silent was dimly conscious of these things, and felt that he was being hurled away by a great force. Then he seemed to hear men shouting and the world was lighted with the glow of a fire.

He managed to get to his feet and take stock of himself. His body felt numb, but his mind was clearing swiftly now. Just beyond him the flames were eating swiftly into the flimsy old frame buildings, while men and women darted in and out of the glow, fighting it with buckets of water and axes. There were more people arriving at each moment, until every man, woman and child in Marlin City fought to save the town.

Silent went slowly to them. He was unable to walk fast, but he knew that none of his bones had been broken in the explosion. Swiftly the flames were eating toward Wesson’s store, and a gang of men began removing the stock.

“Watch the other side of the street, boys!” yelled Cale Wesson. “The —— himself couldn’t stop it from takin’ this side.”

Silent took hold of Cale Wesson’s arm and pointed to the spot where the sheriff’s office had been.

“Where’s Brick and Harp?” he croaked. “Did they get out?”

Wesson stared at him.

“Were they in the office? My ——, look at your face, Silent! What happened to you?”

“Where are they?” insisted Silent.

“By gosh, I’m ’fraid for scare,” said Le Blanc, the blacksmith. “De sheriff h’office she’s gone for good. Don’ somebody know w’ere Breek and Harp be?”

“They went to bed about nine o’clock,” volunteered the bartender. “I know that much. But what in —— happened, Wesson? Was it some dynamite exploded?”

“It hit me,” said Silent. “I was tryin’ to wake Brick up at the back door.”

“If they were in the office, they’re done for,” declared Cale Wesson. “That was a heap of ruins when I got here, and I was one of the first.”

Mrs. Wesson and Miss Miller, their dresses scorched, faces red from the heat, heard Cale Wesson’s opinion.

“Do you mean to say that Brick and Harp were in their office?” demanded Mrs. Wesson shakily.

“They went to bed at nine o’clock,” declared the bartender.

“My ——!” gasped Mrs. Wesson. “I can’t believe it. What was it, Cale? What started it?”

“I dunno.” Cale was glumly watching the flames eat through the buildings toward his store. “I’ve got to save what I can, Ma. You keep out of it, can’tcha?”

Cale hurried away toward the store, while Silent, Mrs. Wesson and Miss Miller went as near as possible to the blazing heap that had been the sheriff’s office and stood together, watching it.

The bucket-brigade had shifted their operations to putting out any small blaze that might occur on the opposite side of the street, as they knew that their puny efforts would avail nothing against that blaze, which sent fire-streamers far up into the sky, showering blazing cinders in the wind.

“Can it be possible that they were in there?” asked Miss Miller wearily, pointing at the flames.

“Somebody dynamited the office,” declared Silent.