Part 7

“We might capture him and get in good with the cows ag’in,” suggested Sleepy.

“And plumb ruin our conscience,” declared Hashknife. “We’re goin’ back to bed and forget what we’ve seen and heard.”

They piled back into the hay, but not to sleep.

* * * * *

Jack Hartwell faced Eph King and the man he had knocked down, with a cocked six-shooter. He was still a trifle hazy with sleep, but managed to keep them the width of the room away.

“What do you want here?” he demanded.

“I want to see Molly,” said Eph King softly. “I heard tonight that she is in danger, Hartwell.”

Jack turned toward the bedroom door to call her, but she had thrown a wrap around herself and was opening the door as Jack turned. She blinked at her father.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Hello, Molly. I came to see yuh, that’s all.”

“But, Dad, don’t you realize——?”

“I realized that my runaway daughter was in danger, so I came to find out just how real it is.”

“It’s real enough,” said Jack bitterly. “And if any one saw you come here, it would be ten times worse, King. They’d hang me for havin’ you in my house.”

“They didn’t see me, Hartwell. It’s too dark for that. I’ve come down here to ask yuh both to go back with me. I can send you over into Sunland until this trouble is over.”

“Well, that’s fine.” Jack’s lips twisted sarcastically. “You’d like to make me out a traitor, wouldn’t yuh? I suppose that would fit in with yore idea of gettin’ even with Marsh Hartwell, eh?”

“It’s better to be a live coward than a dead hero.”

“Is it? You ought to know, King.”

The big man’s eyes hardened and he started toward Jack, but the big revolver in Jack’s hand did not waver, so he stopped.

“Jack, don’t do that,” begged Molly. “Dad means it all for the best.”

“For the best—yeah, that’s true,” nodded Jack, but added, “for himself.”

“All right,” King turned and looked at Molly. “You go with me, Molly. You can’t stay here any longer. They’ve given you a hard deal, girl. Oh, I know all about it. They treated you like dirt because you happened to be my daughter, but I’ll even things with ’em for that. By ——, I’ll sheep out Lo Lo Valley, if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“That’s fine,” laughed Jack. “Ever since I was a kid I’ve heard that you were goin’ to do that, King. Women used to scare their kids by tellin’ ’em that Eph King would get them if they wasn’t good. That’s what folks over here think of you.”

The big man’s fierce expression softened to one of pain. He looked at Molly for several moments before turning back to Jack.

“They didn’t do that, did they, Jack?” he asked, half whispering.

“The —— they didn’t!”

“They—they made ’em afraid of me—the little kids?”

King took a half step toward Jack, ignoring the gun. It is doubtful that he remembered the gun. Jack nodded emphatically.

“I’ve heard ’em say it, King. I’ve seen kids playin’ a game. They’d draw straws to see who’d be King, and he’d have to run the gauntlet. They’d take slats——”

“Don’t say that!” King rubbed the back of his right hand across his eyes, as if bewildered. “My ——! Even the little kids.” He grasped the back of a chair to steady himself. “Why did they do that? I’ve never harmed a kid. Good ——, what do they think I am?”

“And they think the same of Molly, I suppose,” said Jack wearily. “I didn’t give her a square deal by marryin’ her and bringin’ her here. But I didn’t think how it would be. I married her because I loved her, King. I didn’t ask you for her. I took her. You would have interfered if you had known about it.”

“No, Jack,” King whispered his denial. “Molly had a right to her own happiness.”

“Then why did you use her to spy on us?”

For several moments no one moved or spoke. Eph King looked at Molly, whose face had gone white.

“That’s the rub,” said Jack harshly. “—— knows I don’t blame her, after what she’s had to stand, but you should have known that she would be suspected. And you sent that note.”

“That note?” King’s voice was husky.

“The note that that man—” pointing at Mac—“brought. The note that caused me to cripple him, King. I got a corner off it, anyway. I reckon you were willin’ to take any old kind of a chance to get information. You knew that the men of Lo Lo never hang women, so you used my wife.

“Oh, it don’t matter much now, except that it will cause a few men to lose their lives, and the sheep will make a dust pile out of Lo Lo, like you promised. They’ve branded me a traitor, because Molly is my wife. I wanted you to know all about it, King. But I’m not runnin’ away. I won’t blame Molly if she goes back to you—but I’d—I’d miss her somethin’ awful.”

Jack turned and looked at Molly, as he finished speaking. She shook her head slowly, her eyes filled with tears.

“Well——”

King sighed deeply and moistened his lips with his tongue. He seemed undecided what to say. There was nothing arrogant about him now; nothing that would brand him as the hard fighting sheep king. He seemed to have grown suddenly old.

“I’m not going, Dad,” Molly whispered.

“No, I don’t suppose so,” said her father dully.

He stared down at the floor for several moments. Then he looked up and shook his head.

“That was awful—about those kids,” he said slowly. “I don’t think I deserved that. I—I don’t mind about the grown folks—but kids—little ones.”

He turned toward the door, as if to leave the room. Mac stepped in front of him, opened the door and started outside, when there came the sound of a sudden blow, followed by the ringing report of a rifle. Mac spun on his heel and fell face-down on the floor.

* * * * *

Hashknife and Sleepy had gone back to the hay, where they debated in whispers. Hashknife contended that it was none of their business if Eph King wanted to visit Jack Hartwell, but in spite of his contention, they got out of the hay and went outside the stable.

Once they thought they heard a horse traveling along the side of the hill behind them, but were unable to see anything.

“I don’t feel right about it,” whispered Hashknife. “Somethin’ makes me nervous.”

“Same here,” grunted Sleepy. “Everythin’ makes me nervous. By golly, I won’t feel like myself until I get out of this danged country.”

“Sh-h-h-h!” cautioned Hashknife. “Look toward the front fence. I seen somethin’, Sleepy. —— the dark, anyway! Don’t they ever have a moon around here?”

“I can’t see anythin’,” complained Sleepy.

“I can’t see it now. Probably seein’ things.”

They remained silent, straining their eyes toward the fence, or where the fence should be, but there was nothing to be seen.

Suddenly the door of the house opened, throwing a beam of light into the front yard, and from out by the fence came a streak of orange-colored light, followed by the rattling report of a rifle.

Both Hashknife and Sleepy were on their feet in a moment and running toward the fence, regardless of danger. And beyond them, traveling parallel with the fence, ran the dim form of a man. Hashknife crashed into the fence and almost lost his feet, but righted himself in time to see this man mount a horse.

The man and horse were not more than fifty feet away, an odd shaped bulk in the night. Sleepy almost crashed into Hashknife, and their guns spoke almost at the same time. As fast as they could work their six-guns they fired. The flashes of the guns blinded them and made accuracy out of the question. Some one was running from the house toward them. A horse was galloping away into the hills.

“That horse ain’t got no rider!” yelped Sleepy. “I seen him against the sky. C’mon, Hashknife.”

“It’s Hartley!” panted Jack Hartwell’s voice. “Yoo-hoo, Hartley!”

“Yeah—all right!” yelled Hashknife.

Eph King and Jack ran up to them, questioning, panting from their run.

“Here he is,” said Sleepy, lighting a match.

They gathered around a man, who was lying on his face in the sage, where he had fallen from his horse. A few feet away was his rifle. They turned him over. It was no one that Hashknife and Sleepy had ever seen; a man of about thirty years of age, with a thin face, large nose and a mop of black hair.

Hashknife glanced down at him and looked at Eph King, who was staring down at the face of the dead man.

“Who is he?” whispered Jack. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“I—I don’t know,” said King, but Hashknife knew from the expression on the sheepman’s face that he lied.

“Let’s take him back to the house,” suggested Hashknife.

The four of them carried him back and placed him on the floor of the ranch house, beside the body of the man called Mac. Hashknife looked at the other man and at Eph King.

“Bushed him, eh?”

“Mac just opened the door,” said King slowly. “It could have been me.”

“Was this feller gunnin’ for you?”

King stared at Hashknife for a moment and shook his head.

“No. I don’t understand it at all. Poor old Mac!”

Molly was standing across the room, leaning against the wall, and Hashknife nudged Jack.

“Take care of yore wife, Hartwell. This ain’t no place for a lady.”

Jack turned and crossed the room to Molly, while Hashknife faced King across the two bodies.

“I’m not tryin’ to pry into yore affairs, King,” said Hashknife coldly, “but a while ago you said you didn’t know this man. Lyin’ ain’t goin’ to help things, yuh know.”

The sheepman’s jaw tightened perceptibly, but his eyes turned away from Hashknife’s steady gaze, as he said:

“What right have you got to call me a liar?”

“I don’t need any right, King. I’ve always been able to back up what I say. Come clean, King; it’s always the best thing to do.”

King’s gaze came back to the body of the man who had killed his companion, and rested there for several moments before he looked up at Hashknife.

“I did know him,” he said slowly. “His name is ‘Boomer’ Bates. He used to be a railroad man—a brakeman, I think. But for the last few years he’s been livin’ in Sunland Basin.”

“With what kind of a gang, King?”

King shook his head.

“Not very good.”

“And what was his grudge against the man he killed?”

“Grudge? I don’t believe that Mac even knew him.”

“Hated you, did he?”

“Not for any reason that I knew.”

Hashknife nodded. He knew that King was telling the truth.

“As long as there are so many questions to be asked,” said Jack, “I’d like to ask you how you two fellers happened to be here at my place at this time of night?”

“Well,” laughed Hashknife, “we were tryin’ to get some sleep in yore barn, Hartwell. We’ve lost more doggoned sleep since we hit Lo Lo Valley than we have all our life. This sure is one place where it pays to keep awake.”

“You are not Lo Lo cattlemen?” queried King.

“No-o-o. We got left here, thassall. Cattle-train went away and left us sittin’ on a sidewalk, but we ain’t set down much since.”

“Don’t worry about us,” assured Sleepy. “Instead of soldiers of fortune, we’re cowpunchers of disaster. The only time we ever seen peace was one day when Hashknife found it in the dictionary. The question before us right now, is this: What will we do with these two bodies?”

Jack shook his head.

“I don’t know. There’s too much to be explained.”

“Can’t you two men take charge of them?” asked King.

“With the sheriff and every cattleman in Lo Lo Valley believin’ that we’re spies of the sheep interests?” grinned Hashknife. “We were down at Ed Barber’s inquest and backed out of there with guns in our hands. We’d look well takin’ these two men to Totem City and turnin’ ’em over to the coroner.”

“What makes them think you are spies?” asked King.

“I dunno,” laughed Hashknife. “They’ve got to lay the deadwood on somebody, ’cause somebody told you that old Ed Barber was the man who had blocked yore efforts before, King. Accordin’ to what I can learn, he sat in a cabin up there, where he could watch the slopes into Sunland Basin. Any time the sheep got above a certain level, he signaled the cattlemen, who corked the pass. Now, somebody squealed on the old man.”

“That’s how it is, eh?” King squinted thoughtfully. “Do they blame you for shootin’ the old man?”

“Mebbe not the actual shootin’. Yuh see, they blame you for that.”

“Is that so?” King sighed and looked down at the two bodies.

“I suppose they would,” he said slowly. “I have known for a long time that there was some one who watched the slopes into Sunland Basin. But I’ve never tried to send my herds over the pass. Until a short time ago we’ve had enough feed in our own country, but the long drought—” He hesitated for a moment. “Have you any idea what it means for me to establish my herds in this valley?

“I know the cattlemen’s views on the subject; I know what the law says about it. Possession means nine points in the law, so they say. Well, I don’t know how it will end.”

“I can see yore angle of it,” said Hashknife. “And I can see what it means to the cattlemen. But what I don’t understand is this, King: Why are yuh standin’ still up there? Why don’t cha come on down into the valley with yore sheep?”

King looked keenly at Hashknife, as if trying to read what was back of that pointed question. Then—

“The cattlemen have established a dead-line.”

“Yeah,” nodded Hashknife, and turned to Jack. “There’s only one way to take care of this matter—and that’s the right way. You get us two horses to pack these bodies on, and we’ll deliver ’em to the sheriff.”

“But what will yuh tell him?” asked Jack.

“The truth. He won’t believe it, but we’ll tell it, anyway.”

“And get thrown into jail.”

“Might be all right,” grinned Sleepy. “They can’t shoot us in there.”

They caught Boomer Bates’ horse and got another from Jack. King and Jack helped them rope the two bodies to the saddles, and they started for Totem City.

“We’re runnin’ into a rope,” complained Sleepy. “You danged fool; you gets heroic thataway and declares to tell the truth. It sounds fine. And in days to come they will likely find out that we told the truth, and the little children will come out and strew vi’lets on our graves on Decoration Day.”

“They won’t use no rope on us,” grinned Hashknife. “Mebbe they won’t believe us, and mebbe they’ll talk real big; but me and you are goin’ down there, talk the truth and then get so danged tough that they’ll let us alone; _sabe_?”

“Uh-huh,” said Sleepy doubtfully. “I’ll betcha we can do that in Totem City. They sure get scared easy.”

* * * * *

They were near the forks of the road, traveling along in the moonlight, when they met five riders, who had swung off the Arrow road and were traveling toward Jack Hartwell’s place. They were Gene Hill, Skinner Close, Micky Hart, Mel Asher and Paul Dazey.

Hashknife tried to crowd past them with the two packed horses, but they swung their horses to block the road.

“Jist about who have we here?” asked Gene Hill. He had been drinking.

“F’r ——’s sake!” blurted Micky Hart. “Looks like a killin’ has been done.”

One of them dismounted and began lighting matches, while the others shoved in closer and looked at the bodies.

“Know either of ’em?” asked Hashknife.

“I don’t,” declared Hill. “Do any of you fellers?”

There was a general chorus of negative replies.

“Mind talkin’ about ’em?” asked Micky.

“Down at Totem City I’ll tell about ’em,” said Hashknife. “The sheriff will probably want to know.”

“Prob’ly,” said Gene Hill dryly. “You are the two jiggers that made a getaway from the inquest, eh? I’ll betcha the sheriff will be glad to see yuh. We’ve all been kinda lookin’ for yuh.”

“By golly, that’s right!” exploded Mel Asher.

“And now that you’ve found us?” said Hashknife.

“Well,” said Hill after several moments of silence, “we didn’t want yuh so awful bad, yuh know. The sheriff kinda cussed a little, but as long as you’re goin’ down to see him, I reckon it’ll be all right.”

“Thank yuh,” said Hashknife. “Mebbe you’d like to ride back and hear what I tell the sheriff.”

“We ain’t got time,” said Asher. “We’re on business. But at that, I’d like to hear what yuh tell him.”

“Mebbe he’ll tell yuh later,” laughed Sleepy.

“It all depends,” said Hill, and they moved aside to let Hashknife and Sleepy start on down the road.

As soon as the two cowboys and their pack horses had disappeared, Hill took a bottle from his pocket and passed it around. They were all half drunk, but there was no hilarity.

“That’s enough hooch for now,” declared Hill. “We don’t want to be drunk. I’d sure like to know who them two dead men are. They don’t belong around here.”

“What we ought to have done is to make them two whippoorwills tell us all about it,” said Paul Dazey. “We ain’t got much sense.”

“And if you’d ’a’ seen them two fellers back out of the Arrow bunk house, with their six-guns all set, you’d say it wasn’t none of our —— business,” declared Mel Asher. “We showed pretty good sense, if anybody rises up to ask yuh.”

* * * * *

The sheriff and Sunshine were both asleep in the sheriff’s office when Hashknife and Sleepy hammered on the door. It was nearly morning, but not near enough for Sunshine to awake in good spirits. He came to the door, looked them over with sleepy eyes and wanted to know what in —— they meant by trying to knock down the door.

Hashknife led him out to the horses and showed him the two dead men. This served to jar the sleep out of Sunshine and send him back into the office, where he yelled at the sheriff—

“Hey, Sudden! Git up! There’s been a eppy-demic.”

“Epidemic?” queried Sudden sleepily. “Whatcha mean?”

“C’mon out and look at the dead ones. They’re bringin’ ’em in by the pack load.”

The sheriff came out, sans socks and pants. He squinted queerly at Hashknife and Sleepy, as if wondering just what their attitude would be after what he had done to them at the inquest. Then he turned his attention to the dead men, while Sunshine aided him with matches.

“Bring ’em inside, I reckon,” he said gruffly.

They carried the two bodies in and placed them on the floor, where the sheriff made a closer examination.

“Both of ’em dead,” he decided.

“I’ll betcha that’s why they elected yuh sheriff,” said Sleepy.

“Why is that?” asked the sheriff.

“’Cause yuh catch on to things so easy. Some folks just kinda jump at conclusions, don’tcha know it?”

“Huh!”

Sudden got to his feet and walked over to a chair, where he sat down and looked at the two cowboys.

“Well?” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you fellers ag’in!”

“You didn’t think yuh scared us away, didja?” asked Hashknife.

The sheriff did not seem to know just what to say, so he said nothing.

“Didja ever see either one of these dead men?” asked Sunshine.

The sheriff shook his head.

“Not me. I’d kinda like to hear about it.”

“Yo’re goin’ to,’ grinned Hashknife. “And don’t intimate that I’m lyin’ until after I tell the story.”

“Is there any use of lyin’ about it?”

“Well,” Hashknife grinned softly, “I’ve been tryin’ all the way from Jack Hartwell’s ranch to think up a good lie, but I can’t; so I’ll have to bother yuh with the truth.”

The telling of the story did not take long, as Hashknife did not embellish it in any way. The sheriff and Sunshine listened to every word, exchanging glances occasionally, but neither of them interrupted.

“What was King and this other man doing at Jack’s place?” asked the sheriff, when Hashknife finished.

“I didn’t ask him.”

“And he knew this feller Bates, eh?”

“Yeah—seemed to.”

“Why did Bates kill this partner of King’s?”

“You better ask somebody that knows of their personal affairs, Sheriff. I brought the bodies in, thassall. Outside of my story, I don’t know any more than you do.”

“Uh-huh. Well, we’ll have to take your word for it. There’s a lot of men kinda lookin’ for you two fellers. Some of ’em didn’t leave here so long ago either.”

“We met ’em,” nodded Hashknife. “If they were lookin’ for us, they’ve forgot all about it.”

“My gosh, yuh didn’t kill all five of ’em, didja?” blurted Sunshine.

“Only four,” said Sleepy seriously. “The fifth one saw that he didn’t have a chance, so he shot himself.”

For a moment both the sheriff and deputy swallowed the story, but Hashknife’s grin reassured them that Sleepy was joking.

“I—I wouldn’t put it past yuh,” said Sunshine.

“After what the sheriff did to us at that inquest, I wouldn’t put anythin’ past a human bein’,” declared Hashknife. “It sure was one dirty trick.”

“Aw-w-w-w, ——!” blurted the sheriff, confused. “I—you two——”

“Absolutely,” interrupted Hashknife.

The sheriff’s confusion greatly amused Sunshine.

“Went off half-cocked, eh?” he said. “That’s the trouble with Sudden. That’s where he got his name; always gettin’ himself into a jam. Never thinks twice—that’s Sudden. That’s where he got his name, I tell yuh. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

“Ha, ha, ha ——!” snapped Sudden angrily. “You never got yore name because of yore disposition, that’s a cinch.”

“Aw, that’s all right,” said Sunshine. “One thing, I don’t go and decide, too quick on a thing.”

“You ain’t got brains enough to ever decide.”

“Ain’t I?”

“You sure as —— ain’t.”

“You never give me a chance to show what I can do.”

“I know what you’d do.”

“Well, I’d think first, I’ll betcha.”

“Well, go ahead and fight it out,” laughed Hashknife. “We’re goin’ to hunt a place to eat some food.”

“If I was you I’d fade out of Lo Lo Valley,” advised the exasperated sheriff.

“And if I was you, I’d prob’ly be as poor a sheriff as you are,” retorted Hashknife. “We don’t need advice, pardner. If Lo Lo Valley wants us, you tell ’em we’re eatin’ breakfast. And if Lo Lo Valley wants trouble, we’ll accommodate ’em, _sabe_?”

“Fight ’em all, eh?” sneered the sheriff.

“Yeah—and lick ’em,” retorted Hashknife. “S’long.”

They went up the street, walking stiff-legged and laughing at each other.

“Bad men from Bitter River,” chuckled Sleepy. “I feel as tough as pelican soup. I’ll betcha that single-track-minded sheriff thinks we’re in earnest.”

“If he don’t think we are, he ought to try us,” said Hashknife seriously. “I’m gettin’ tired of bein’ suspected as a sheepherder.”

* * * * *

Totem City was beginning to wake up as they entered the restaurant. They were the first customers of the day, and the sleepy-eyed waiter was none too cheerful. Both Hashknife and Sleepy were badly in need of some sleep, so they drank many cups of black coffee, while the waiter sucked at an extinct cigaret and wondered why these two strangers persisted in staying around Totem City, when they were not wanted. He had heard them discussed considerable.

They had finished eating when old Sam Hodges came in. He had been talking with the sheriff, who had told him about the shooting at Jack Hartwell’s place.

“It’s a danged queer proposition,” he told them. “A lot of them men at the inquest kinda want to salivate you two fellers. That shot yuh fired over our heads made ’em mad, don’tcha know it?”

“If they want us, we’re here,” grinned Hashknife.

“Sure, sure. But that ain’t it, boys. I know yuh. They’d have one —— of a time puttin’ their hands on yuh, but it would be fifty to one, don’tcha see? Now, you fellers show sense. Come out to the Bar 77 and hole up until this is over. There ain’t nobody out there but the cook. ——, I don’t want to see you fellers hurt.”

“That’s fine of yuh, Hodges,” said Hashknife. “We appreciate it a heap. Yo’re plumb white, but we can’t do it. We’ve been shot at. And we never hole up after we’ve been shot at.”

“Uh-huh.” Old Sam squinted thoughtfully. “Well, it ain’t none of my business. I ain’t seekin’ information, but I’ll bet odds that neither one of yuh ever herded sheep nor worked for sheep outfits.”

“Thanks,” dryly.

“Yuh don’t need to thank me.”

“Hodges—” Hashknife slowly moistened the edge of his cigaret paper and shaped his cigaret carefully—“why is that sheep outfit standin’ still?”

“Why? Huh! Well, the dead-line, for one thing.”

“Been any shootin’ up there?”

“A little. Nobody hurt—yet.”

“Just a case of waitin’, eh? Kinda hard on the ranches, ain’t it? All the cowboys on the dead-line thataway.”