Part 11

“Oh, they must ’a’ knowed about it, Hartley.”

“How would Taylor have found it out?”

“That’s hard to say. Chet Le Moyne, the paymaster, is kinda sweet on Miss Taylor, and—”

“And he might have told her, eh?”

“I don’t say he did, Hartley.”

“But for the sake of an argument, it could ’a’ happened. She might ’a’ mentioned the fact that Chet was comin’ in to get the pay-roll, eh? Is that what yuh was thinkin’?”

“Mebbe.” The sheriff did not want to commit himself.

“And this Le Moyne was at the depot to get the pay-roll?”

“Yeah. He was here earlier in the evenin’, and somebody said he went out to see Miss Taylor.”

“But he was at the depot to get the money, was he?”

“Yeah.”

“And you think there was four men in on the deal?”

“Sure. The fourth one got on at Encinas. It was his job to put the messenger out of commission, I reckon.”

“This happened out where the AK road turns off the Encinas road, near the railroad track, I understand. They cut the express car loose from the rest of the train, ran it up there, blew the safe and got the money. The engine crew say they had sort of a battle with ’em, after they left the car. Then the engine crew ran the engine and express car back to where they had cut loose from the rest of the train, picked it up and came on to Blue Wells. Is that it?”

“Yeah, that’s what happened.”

“This express messenger and the man who got on the car at Encinas fought in the car, but finally fell out. Do yuh know if this was before or after the train was cut in two?”

The sheriff cogitated deeply.

“I never did hear, but—say, it must ’a’ been after the train was broken, because they picked up the messenger on their way to here. Yessir, it must ’a’ been after they cut off the express car, because that messenger sure was picked up. He never walked to the train.”

“The messenger described the man who fought him, didn’t he?”

“Well, he said it was a big, husky sort of a feller. I don’t think there’s any question about him bein’ one of the gang. He used that dog as a reason for gettin’ on that car.”

“They why did he walk to the scene of the robbery, take the dog from the express car and disappear?”

“Prob’ly scared that some one would recognize the dog?”

“The messenger and engine crew had already seen it. If it belonged to Taylor, do yuh reckon they’d take the dog back to their ranch, where any one could find it?”

The sheriff twisted his mustache thoughtfully. This was something he had not thought about.

“Anybody would recognize that dog,” said Hashknife.

“Yore argument sounds pretty good,” admitted the sheriff. “But it don’t make much difference, because we can’t find that dog. Al Porter is glad, I suppose. The darn thing hates him. Bit him every time it had a chance. Growls every time he shows up.”

“You’ll have to find the dog before the trial, won’t yuh?”

“I s’pose the prosecutin’ attorney will raise —— if it ain’t here. Still, it’s been identified; so that prob’ly won’t make a lot of difference.”

“What became of Wade, the railroad detective?”

“Oh, he went back. Yuh see, he decided that Taylor was guilty; so there wasn’t anythin’ more for him to do here.”

Hashknife went back to the saloon, and they made it a three-handed game of pool. It was about nine o’clock when they decided to go back to the ranch, as there was no excitement at all in Blue Wells. The moonlight was so bright that, following Hashknife’s suggestion, they rode in single file, about fifty feet apart.

That shot from the hills had made Hashknife cautious, and he knew that three riders, bunched, would make an easy target in that moonlight. But their return was uneventful, except that there were no lights in the windows of the ranch-house.

“That sure looks all wrong,” declared Hashknife.

“Mebbe not,” said Sleepy. “Marion and Nanah might be enjoyin’ the moonlight.”

“They might, but we’ll play safe by thinkin’ they’re not.”

The three men dismounted a hundred yards from the house and went cautiously to the patio gate. There was not a sound. The rear of the ranch-house flung a long shadow across the patio. Hashknife watched and listened for a while, and then strode boldly inside. A door creaked, and they heard Marion’s voice—

“Is that you, Hashknife?” she spoke softly.

“It sure is,” replied Hashknife. “What’s the matter?”

“Come here.”

They went softly across the patio and up to the door, where she let them in. They could see the silhouette of Nanah against a window, where she was watching. Marion closed the door softly.

“There wasn’t any light,” said Hashknife.

“Nanah saw you leave your horses,” said Marion. “She knew who it was. About half an hour ago Nanah and I were sitting on the back porch in the moonlight. It was wonderful out there, but it was getting cool; so we came in. There were no lamps lighted.

“And Nanah swears she saw a man looking in the window, where she is now. I told her she must be seeing things, but she persisted. So we did not light a lamp. We watched and watched, but the man did not come back. I went to the rear door and opened it a little. It squeaks a little, you know. Then I saw a man cross the patio. He was all humped up, and it seemed to me as though he had been looking in the window of the bunk-house. I can’t be sure about it. I’m sure he did not suspect that I had seen him, because he stopped in the gateway for quite a while. Then he stepped into the shadow on the other side of the wall.”

“How long ago was this?” asked Hashknife.

“Not over thirty minutes ago.”

“He must have been lookin’ for us,” grinned Sleepy.

“And if he seen us sneak in here he’ll know we’re on to him,” said Hashknife. “But we’ve got to take a chance. Come out on the porch. Tell Nanah to light the lamps.”

The old Indian woman bustled around, lighting lamps, while the rest of them followed Hashknife to the rear porch.

“I’ll go first,” whispered Hashknife. “One man only makes one target. If the coast is clear, I’ll whistle a tune, and Sleepy, you and Jimmy come over there.”

Hashknife kept well in the shadow in crossing the patio, and in a minute or two he began whistling. Sleepy and Jimmy crossed to the bunk-house, where the door was open. Hashknife lighted the lamp, which was on a table about midway of the room.

Then he motioned Sleepy and Jimmy back to the doorway, where he followed them out, closing the door.

“Duck down as low as yuh can and sneak back to the house,” he whispered. They got back to the house and crept silently in.

Hashknife stepped in close to a rear window, where he could get a clear view of the patio, and watched through a break in the curtain.

“If he didn’t see our horses, he’ll think we’re in the bunk-house,” said Hashknife. “If he seen us leave our horses and do an Injun sneak, he’ll know we’re on to him, and prob’ly fog away from here.”

“Do you think it’s the man who has been trying to kill me?” asked Jimmy.

“Might be.”

Suddenly Hashknife jerked back. A blinding flash filled the room, followed by a terrific jarring crash, which fairly threw them off their feet. The lamp was extinguished; pictures fell from the walls, and a moment later the house seemed to be bombarded with missiles from every angle.

Hashknife had fallen back against a table, but now he got to his feet, groping in the dark. Sleepy was swearing dazedly. Dust and smoke eddied in through the broken windows, and with it was the odor of dynamite; the unmistakable scent of nitroglycerine.

“Is anybody hurt?” gasped Hashknife, scratching a match and holding it above his head. Nanah was sitting against the wall, her eyes goggling out of an impassive face. Marion had got to her feet and was reaching for something to steady herself with, while Jimmy had backed against the wall, his arms outspread against it, his feet braced.

“What was it?” whispered Marion, staring wide-eyed at Hashknife.

“Somebody dynamited us, I reckon.” He strode to the door and flung it open, while the others crowded close behind him. Where once had stood the adobe bunk-house, there was only a pile of adobe bricks, twisted timbers. The patio was a mass of adobe. On the porch of the ranch-house was the splintered door, torn from its hinges and flung across the patio.

Hashknife ran across the yard, vaulted across the débris and went out through a gaping hole in the patio wall, heading for the stables. Through some freak of dynamite explosion, the force seemed to have been in the opposite direction to the stables, with the result that none of the stock was injured, and the stable still intact.

It did not take Hashknife long to find that nothing had been injured in the stable. A decidedly feminine shriek from the patio sent him running back through the broken wall, where he almost ran into Apollo, the ancient burro.

“He was under that pile of stuff,” yelled Sleepy. “Rised up like a darned ghost and almost scared Marion to death.”

Marion was laughing foolishly, almost hysterically.

“—— good thing I see man,” declared Nanah solemnly.

“You bet it was!” agreed Hashknife warmly. “If yuh didn’t see that man, we’d be in bad shape now, Nanah. Good gosh! Can yuh imagine what would ’a’ happened to us, if we’d ’a’ been in that bunk-house?”

“Yeah, and we’d better look a little out,” said Sleepy nervously. “The little sidewinder that touched off that blast will prob’ly want to see if he done a good job.”

“He’ll not come back tonight, Sleepy. He’s high-tailin’ it out of this section right now. I’ll betcha yuh could hear that explosion in Blue Wells.”

Marion shivered in the cold breeze, as she looked at the moonlit wreck.

“Oh, what will happen next?” she wondered aloud.

“Somebody,” said Hashknife, “is goin’ to hear the echo of that blast, and it sure is goin’ to ache his ears.”

They tried to find their bed-rolls, but the outer wall of the bunk-house, which was about two feet thick of adobe, had fallen in on the floor, and it would require much digging to get down even to the bunk-levels.

They went after their horses and put them in the stable, after which they borrowed a few blankets from Marion. Jimmy insisted that he be allowed to stand guard with them, but Hashknife decreed that Jimmy sleep in the house, while Sleepy rolled in his blankets at the hay-mow window of the stable, which, since the bunk-house was no more, gave him a fair view of the patio and rear of the house. Hashknife went out about a hundred feet from the front of the house, and coiled up in his blankets in the cover of a mesquite, where he could watch the front of the ranch-house. But nothing came, except the cold, gray dawn, which was a long time coming.

There was an exodus from Blue Wells, when the news of the dynamiting reached there, and the Double Bar 8 held a great gathering of the cattle-clan, who came to view the ruins and to give an opinion. Some of them seemed to think that perhaps Apostle Paul Taylor had had some dynamite stored in the bunk-house, and that it had exploded.

Tex Alden came and viewed the ruins with gloomy eyes; Barnhardt perched on a pile of adobe and crumbled the clay between his fingers, and looked wise. The sheriff talked to every one who seemed to have any kind of a theory—and knew no more about it than he did when he came.

The women grouped around Marion, and “Oh’d” and “Ah’d,” like a lot of old hens clucking over a sudden fright. Hashknife said nothing, but listened much. Le Moyne came to him and tried to find out what Hashknife thought about it, but went away with the feeling that this tall cowboy knew less than any of them.

With Le Moyne was Dug Haley, who quarreled loudly with Al Porter over what dynamite would or would not do. Sleepy Stevens horned into the argument with a dissertation on “the dynamic principles of combustion,” in which he used the words “epiglottis,” “atomizer” and “dogmatic” numberless times; much to the confusion of Al Porter, who was forced to admit that all he knew about dynamite was that “the —— stuff busts and raises ——.”

It was not often that Antelope Neal, owner of the Oasis, went out of Blue Wells, but he did ride down to see what had happened to the Double Bar 8. Neal was a small, gray-haired man, who seldom had anything to say. He was a square gambler, and was respected as such in Blue Wells.

Hashknife noticed that Tex Alden and Antelope Neal stood apart from the crowd for quite a while, talking confidentially, eying him at times, and causing Hashknife to suspect that he was the subject of their conversation.

When the crowd began to thin out, it seemed that Tex tried to start a conversation with Marion, but she evidently preferred the attention of Jimmy Legg, and Tex retired, his lips set in a thin line, his eyes hard and speculative.

Lee Barnhardt noticed that Marion had evaded Tex, and it seemed to amuse the Blue Wells attorney. He sidled in beside Tex, who paid no attention to him.

“Tex, you’re not going to let a tenderfoot tramp cut you out, are you?” he asked, possibly trying to be sympathetic.

Tex’s action was almost as sudden as dynamite. He hooked his right fist against Barnhardt’s jaw, knocking him almost through the patio gate. Needless to say, Barnhardt stayed down. Tex stepped over to him, glanced down, turned to the crowd and studied them coldly. Then, without a word, he walked to his horse, mounted and rode away.

Several men ran to Barnhardt and tried to help him to his feet; but standing up was one thing that Barnhardt did not care about in the least. He sagged weakly, goggle-eyed.

“As cool as a cow-cumber,” said Al Porter.

“Cucumber,” corrected Dug Haley.

“I said what I meant!” snapped Porter. “If you wants to correct me on vegetation, you better mean the same thing that I do.”

“There’s been enough fightin’,” observed the sheriff. “Did anybody hear what caused Tex to hit Barnhardt?”

Nobody had. Some one secured a bucket of water, which they sluiced over the helpless Barnhardt. It made a mess of him, but served to jolt him back to consciousness. After a minute or two he was able to stand on his feet, but his jaw did not function properly. Hashknife examined it but found it was not broken.

“Why did he hit yuh, Lee?” asked the sheriff.

“Idnuk,” said Lee painfully. Interpreted, this might be construed to mean “I don’t know.”

And this was all the explanation he was willing to mumble. He went out to his sway-backed horse, and headed for Blue Wells, riding slowly and caressing his jaw.

The sheriff was the last to leave, and he would have stayed longer, except that the four cowboys from the AK ranch rode in. They had heard of the dynamiting, in Blue Wells. The sheriff did not care for their company; so he rode away.

“My ——, that shore is another wreck of the Hesperus, ain’t she?” said Eskimo Swensen. “Wham! I’ll betcha she made some noise.”

“It came near being serious,” said Jimmy. Johnny Grant grinned widely and slapped Jimmy on the back.

“You derned hoodoo! It looks as though this was the third time they’d tried to kill yuh off. I dunno what they’ll use next.”

“Tie him on a railroad track,” suggested Oyster.

Johnny drew Hashknife aside, and they sat down together on a pile of shattered adobe bricks.

“I’ve been wantin’ to talk with you, Hartley,” said Johnny seriously. “Yo’re workin’ on this hold-up case, ain’t yuh?”

“Well?” Hashknife admitted nothing.

“I heard yuh was; so I’m goin’ to tell yuh what I know about it.”

And while the other boys examined the wreckage, Johnny Grant told Hashknife of that night in Blue Wells, when they got drunk and locked the sheriff in his own cell. And of the incident at the train, when they staged an impromptu battle with the engineer and fireman; not knowing what it was all about.

He told Hashknife of the man who came along the track in the dark, went into the express car and got the dog.

“Somebody cut our broncs loose that night,” said Johnny. “I understand that the sheriff’s horses were also turned loose, and it kinda looks as though it was done to prevent a posse from trailin’ ’em. Of course, they wouldn’t know that Al Porter was in Encinas, visitin’ his girl, and that the sheriff was in jail.”

Hashknife grinned widely and thanked Johnny for his information.

“Thasall right,” said Johnny. “Yo’re sure welcome. Yuh see, we don’t care much for the sheriff and his deputy. They said we ought to be run out of the country; so we kept still about what happened to us. But when they jailed the Taylor outfit, I just got to thinkin’ that mebbe our evidence might help to land the right ones. I didn’t want to give it to Wade, the railroad detective, because he acted so —— smart; but I’m givin’ it to’ you, because you—because I had a talk with Goode, over at the X Bar 6.”

“Well, that may not help us all the way out, but it’s somethin’ to grab on to,” smiled Hashknife. “That feller Goode probably lied a lot about us, but he means all right, I guess.”

“Well,” confessed Johnny gravely, “he sure scared me into tellin’ yuh all I knew.”

“You look like a feller that scares easy,” grinned Hashknife. “I’ll betcha all three of you fellers would run from a shadow.”

“Well, yuh can’t do much damage to a shadow, yuh know. We’d like yuh to know that if yuh need three fellers that are strong in the muscle and weak in the head, yuh might call on us.”

“Thanks, Grant. I reckon Nanah and Marion are cookin’ dinner, and if I was you, I’d stick around for the meal. Marion wants to thank yuh for offerin’ accommodations to us on the round-up.”

“George Bonnette done that, Hartley. ’S funny Tex Alden didn’t offer to take care of yuh.”

“I reckon he’s sore about Jimmy bein’ here.”

“M-m-m-m-m-m. Hartley, no matter what yore personal opinion is of Tex Alden, he’s a white man, and a —— of a good cow-hand. Mebbe he’s kinda off-color on account of carin’ a lot for that girl, but he’s a square shooter—all the time.”

“Yeah? He ordered Jimmy Legg to get out of the country. That night Jimmy was shot, just after he had left Marion Taylor, at the front of the Blue Wells hotel. A little later on, a shot from the hill out there almost got him again.”

“I know that,” Johnny shook his head. “If I was goin’ off at half-cock, I’d nod toward Tex, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I would, Grant—but I don’t.”

“No? Well, that’s good. I talked with Tex the other day. He admits that it looks as if he done it.”

Marion called to them from the rear door, and they headed for the wash-bench, dropping the subject of Tex Alden.

And while they ate dinner at the Double Bar 8, Lee Barnhardt rode into Blue Wells, stabled his horse and went to see the doctor, who did a little to alleviate the pain in his jaw. Back in his office, he filled his pipe and tried to enjoy a smoke, but flung the pipe aside, because he couldn’t keep his mind on tobacco. It was the one time in his life that Lee Barnhardt was thoroughly mad. Just now he hated everybody, and everything— especially Tex Alden.

And while his anger was at fever-heat, Scotty Olson, the sheriff, walked into the office.

“How’s yore jaw?” asked the sheriff.

“None of your —— business!”

The exclamation seemed to hurt Lee’s jaw, and he clapped a hand to the side of his face, shutting one eye tightly.

“I reckon it’s all well,” said the sheriff sarcastically. “Tex hit yuh a dinger of a punch, didn’t he. I never did see a feller flatten out prettier than you did. My ——, you was jist about as animated as a scarecrow, after yuh pull the braces out of it! I asked Tex a while ago why he hit yuh, and he said for me to ask you.”

“And you came to ask me, did you?” Barnhardt was almost crying with anger. “You haven’t a brain in your head.”

“I thought there was a reason,” said the sheriff mildly. “Of course, if he was jist doin’ it for fun—”

“Fun, eh?” gritted Barnhardt. “I’ll make him think it was fun. He owes the X Bar 6 eight thousand dollars, and he’ll pay it, or go to jail for embezzlement. I’ll show him! And for your own information, I’ll tell you that Tex knew the money for the Santa Rita was coming in on that train.”

“How did he know that, Lee?”

“By ——, I told him it was!”

“How did you know?”

“I guessed it.”

The sheriff sat down and studied the situation, while the lawyer caressed his sore jaw and wondered if he was showing good judgment in telling all this about Tex.

“And you think Tex held up that train, Lee?”

“I didn’t say that, Scotty.”

“No, I know yuh didn’t; but yuh hinted at it. If Tex hears this, he’ll hit yuh with somethin’ besides his fist.”

“I suppose.” Lee looked gloomily at the wall, one eye half shut from the pain in his jaw.

Came the sound of a step at the doorway, and Tex Alden came in. Barnhardt jerked up his head quickly and stared at the man who had knocked him cold.

“Hello, Scotty,” said Tex evenly.

He did not speak to Barnhardt, as he came up to the lawyer’s desk, drawing a bulky package from his pocket.

“I owe yuh that much, Barnhardt,” Tex said coldly. “Mebbe yuh better count it.”

Barnhardt swallowed heavily, but made no move to pick up the money. Tex eyed him for a moment, turned and walked out, without saying anything more. Barnhardt shifted uneasily, but finally picked up the package, walked to his small safe, opened it with a key, and put away the package.

He came back and sat down, making no explanation.

“Tex wasn’t very cheerful,” observed Scotty.

Barnhardt shook his head and sighed deeply.

“I think I’ll take a little trip, Scotty; kinda get away until time for that trial. I’ve been pretty steady on the job for two years, and a little change would do me good.”

“A change does anybody good,” admitted the sheriff. “I’d like to go with yuh. What’ll yuh do, close yore office?”

“I think so. I won’t be gone more than a week, but I think, under the circumstances, I should go away until things clear a little.”

“I suppose so, Lee.”

The sheriff thought it would really be a wise thing for Barnhardt to go away for a while, and he said so to Hashknife that evening, when Hashknife stopped at the office for a few minutes. They were discussing the incident at the Double Bar 8, and Hashknife wondered how Barnhardt’s jaw was feeling. The sheriff told of Tex’s bringing a package of money to Lee Barnhardt, and he also told Hashknife what Barnhardt had said about Tex knowing about that shipment of money.

“I wouldn’t tell that to anybody else,” said the sheriff. “But it appears that you’re workin’ on the case, and yuh ought to know about these things.”

“When does Barnhardt intend to leave?” asked Hashknife.

“He didn’t say; but I expect he’ll leave tomorrow. Between me and you, he’s scared of Tex Alden, and he wants to git away for a few days to let Tex cool off. Lee talks too —— much.”

“That’s a human failin’,” smiled Hashknife.

But Lee Barnhardt did not go on any trip. When he got up the following morning he found that some one had opened his safe during the night, and had looted it of everything it contained. The bank did not have a safety vault; so Barnhardt found himself cleaned out, as everything he owned was in his own safe.

He sat down at his desk and stared at the empty valise, which he had brought along and placed beside the safe. His clothes were packed in a larger valise. He seemed stunned, his vacant gaze fixed upon the half-open door of the safe.

The fruits of two years’ work had been in that safe, when he locked the office the night before. He had never feared a robbery, because a lawyer’s safe usually only held papers, of no value to any one, except to the lawyer.

His dazed condition passed, leaving him in a state of perspiration. He got to his feet and staggered over to the safe, peering within, trying to convince himself that it was only a dream. He went to the front door and gazed out at the street. It was fairly early in the morning, and there were few people in evidence. He heard the train leave the station; the train he had intended leaving on, and he turned away, choking a curse.