Part 9

Hashknife smiled at him, shoved his plate aside and rested his elbows on the table,

“Mebbe it’s because I haven’t lived here so long that I’ve got cobwebs in my brain and scales over my eyes, Sheriff. Another question: Who owns the JN brand?”

“JN? I don’t know it. What’s the JN brand got——”

“I’m askin’ questions—not answerin’ ’em. Have yuh got a brand registry at yore office?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one.”

“Then let’s go and find out where it is located—this JN outfit.”

They paid for their meal and went outside. Hale was interested enough to go with them. As they crossed the street, going toward Hork’s store, the sheriff stopped, with a muttered exclamation. It was too dark to distinguish clearly, but in the yellow lights from the opposite building, there appeared to be a number of horses in front of the sheriff’s office.

“What the —— is goin’ on down there?” wondered Sudden.

The sheriff grunted and started down the middle of the street, when, from a point about midway between them and the office, some one fired a gun. The shooter blended into the wall of the building and was not visible, and his shot was evidently fired into the air as a warning.

A moment later several bullets whispered past the five men in the street, and they all broke for shelter. Hashknife and Sleepy ran across toward Hork’s store, while the others scattered separately.

Men came running out of the store, only to be driven back by a fusillade of bullets, which splintered the wooden sidewalks and bit chunks out of Hork’s porch posts. Hashknife and Sleepy flattened themselves against the building. Here and there a door crashed shut, as men decided that the street was no place to be in that storm of lead.

And about a minute later a group of horsemen swept up the street from the jail, shooting promiscuously to drive every one off the street. A bullet smashed through a window beside Hashknife and Sleepy, and they dropped flat. But as the horsemen rode through the cross lights of the Totem Saloon and Hork’s store, they saw the huge figure of Eph King, sitting straight in the saddle, leading his men out of the town where he was so badly hated.

The dust of the passing horsemen had settled before Totem City crawled out of their holes to see what it was all about. Hashknife and Sleepy ran down to the sheriff’s office and found the sheriff and Sunshine in there viewing the wreckage. For once in his life, Sudden Smithy could not find words to express his feelings.

Both prisoners were gone. The front door of the office sagged on one hinge, and two of the cell doors had been sprung so badly that they would never function again. The sheepmen had left two big crowbars, an ax and ten pounds of dynamite. It was evident that they were prepared for any emergency.

In a few minutes the office was filled with inquiring men. Sudden Smithy finally recovered his powers of speech, and their questions were met by a flow of bitter profanity. Sudden had, at one time, been a muleskinner, and his profane vocabulary was almost inexhaustible. In fact, Sudden was in no condition to talk coherently of what had happened, so Sunshine told them that the sheepmen had smashed the jail and had taken away Eph King and Jack Hartwell.

“Yuh should ’a’ known they’d do that,” said a cowboy.

This was sufficient to send Sudden into paroxysms of profanity, as he congratulated the cowboy on his wisdom.

“Well, we should,” agreed Sunshine, and this caused Sudden to choke on his own words and become silent.

“Jist about how did the sheepmen know that King was here?” asked one of the crowd.

Sudden looked at the speaker for a moment. He remembered that Hashknife and Sleepy had ridden out of town immediately following the locking up of King and Jack Hartwell, and he also remembered that Hashknife had seemed to know too much about the death of the man who had come to Hartwell’s place looking for King. Then Sudden threw up his hand in a signal for silence.

“I’ll tell yuh who told ’em!” he yelled. “The same men I accused of bein’ King’s spies last night.”

Hashknife was almost at his elbow, and between him and the door, looking at a book, which he had picked up from Sudden’s desk, while Sleepy was further back in the room.

As the sheriff spoke he whirled to grasp Hashknife by the arm, as if to place himself between Hashknife and the door, but Hashknife was fully alive to his danger, and when Sudden tried to jump past him, Hashknife’s right hand whipped through in an uppercut, and the Lo Lo sheriff’s teeth shut with a dull “cluck!” and he went down on his shoulders.

The sheriff had hardly hit the floor when Hashknife ducked out through the doorway, knocking a cowboy spinning along the wall. Sleepy sprang across the sheriff and tried to escape, but they fell upon him in a group, and he went down on his face, with half a dozen men on top of him.

The room was in an uproar, as others jammed into the doorway, trying to get a glimpse of Hashknife; but all they glimpsed was a rider going away from the Totem hitch rack. Whether or not it was the leanfaced cowboy they did not know. So they went back and helped the rest subdue Sleepy, who was making life miserable for everyone concerned. But there is strength in numbers, and in a few minutes Sleepy was behind the bars of the only intact cell in the jail, while the sheriff held on to his jaw with both hands and swore through his nose. There were others who had suffered from Sleepy’s toes and fists, and they were equally divided as whether to hang him right away or to wait until they all had a drink. The drink idea finally carried, and they trooped over to the Totem Saloon, leaving the sheriff and Sunshine alone in the office.

“You talked too —— much,” said Sunshine with little sympathy. He had been kicked in the ankle.

“Ozz zhut ’p!” groaned Sudden.

“If yuh had any sense, you’d ’a’ shot ’em both and then told the crowd what yuh shot ’em for. By ——, if I’m ever elected sheriff of this county, I’ll show ’em.”

Sudden did not think it worth while replying to Sunshine. It was difficult for him to talk, and he felt that all of his teeth had been driven at least an inch deep into his jaws. He got to his feet, kicked his chair aside and started for the door.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “Goin’ ’fter drink.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay here,” snapped Sunshine. “But if them snake-hunters come and want to lynch that jigger—they can have him.”

Sudden grunted and walked out. Sunshine rubbed his ankle, after removing his boot, and the pain made him wince. He had stepped into range of Sleepy’s kicks, and now he cursed reflectively.

“Mary Sunshine!” called Sleepy. “Can I have a drink of water?”

Sunshine told him in plain profanity where he could go and get water.

“Got a mean disposition, ain’t yuh?” laughed Sleepy. “What are you so sore about? Did you get hurt?”

“Well, I got kicked in the ankle, and it’s all black-and-blue.”

“Oh, excuse me,” said Sleepy seriously. “I didn’t mean to kick you, Sunshine.”

“Well,” said Sunshine doubtfully, “I dunno whether yuh meant to do it, but yuh sure done it real good.”

He got up and limped into the rear, where he got a cup of water. He carried the oil lamp with him to the cell door and handed the cup to Sleepy. But it was not a hand that reached for the cup—it was the barrel of a big six-shooter that shoved out through the bars and almost punched Sunshine in the waist.

“Now,” said Sleepy, “you open this door and be —— quick.”

“Uh?”

Sunshine almost dropped the lamp. He did drop the cup, which clattered on the floor inside the cell.

“Wh-where did yuh-yuh get that gun?”

“Unlock that cell!” snapped Sleepy. “My finger itches, Sunshine.”

The deputy’s hand went gingerly to his pocket and he took out the key. The big gun fairly bored into his middle, as he leaned forward and unlocked the cell door. Then he stepped back and let the prisoner out.

“That’s a lot better,” said Sleepy, grinning. “I reckon I’ll go out the back door and take you along with me. C’mon.”

“I don’t _sabe_ where yuh got that gun,” complained Sunshine.

“Foresight,” grinned Sleepy. “I was afraid there might be a lot of foolish questions asked, with all them folks gatherin’ around, so I put my gun inside my shirt. Mebbe it was a foolish thing to do, but I didn’t want to have to kill somebody, yuh see.”

“Yo’re smart,” applauded Sunshine as he preceded Sleepy out to the rear. “I s’pose Sudden will be sore as —— but he mostly always is, anyway.”

“Now, you can go back with yore light,” said Sleepy. “_Adios._”

“So long,” said Sunshine sadly.

He marched back into the building, carrying his lamp, while Sleepy ran swiftly back out of the narrow alley. He did not know where to find Hashknife, and was not going to try, but he was going to be sure that those cattlemen did not get hold of him in their present humor.

* * * * *

But Hashknife had not deserted his partner. He had “lifted” a good-looking horse from the Totem hitch rack, circled the town and tied it to another hitch rack on the opposite side of town and on a side street. Now he was planning just how to get Sleepy freed. He did not know what had been done to Sleepy, but he felt sure that Sleepy was in jail.

The crowd was drinking in the Totem Saloon across the street from him, which made him feel more sure that Sleepy was behind the bars. He could see the sheriff at the bar. No doubt they had decided that he—Hashknife—had left Totem City, so they would not be looking for him to show up very soon.

He had made up his mind to go down and stick-up the guards, when he saw Sunshine come out of the office and hurry diagonally across the street toward the Totem Saloon. Some men had come out of the saloon, and Sunshine met them. Hashknife strained his ears to hear what was being said. One of the men called to the sheriff, who came out, still caressing his sore jaw.

Came a low buzz of conversation, and then the sheriff’s voice was raised in lamentation and profanity.

“Got away?” he wailed. “Had a gun inside his shirt? Gone?”

“I jist told yuh——”

Thus Sunshine angrily.

“Yo’re a —— of a deputy!”

“You put him in!”

“Don’tcha blame me!”

They were talking at the top of their voices, so Hashknife sneaked away, laughing. Sleepy had escaped. By the light of a match Hashknife examined his horse and found that it wore a Bar 77 brand, belonging to old Sam Hodges.

“I’ve got a good horse and no place to go,” he told himself.

He leaned against the hitch rack and tried to figure out what to do, but the lack of sleep had muddled his brain until he thought in circles.

“Got to have some sleep or lose my place in the procession.” He rubbed his nose and considered things. He did not dare go to the little hotel, and he did not want to sleep out in the open. Then he got an inspiration. Leaving the horse at the rack, he went around back of the buildings until he came to the sheriff’s stable. Cautiously he went inside and climbed into the loft. There was plenty of nice soft hay.

He crawled back to the rear and started to burrow down, when his hand came in contact with human flesh. It was a man’s face. Hashknife’s hand stole slowly back to his gun and he waited for the man to make a move. But instead of a move, the man said:

“Lemme alone, will yuh? ’S funny a feller can’t sleep.”

“Sleepy!” blurted Hashknife. “Is this you?”

“Go sleep. Who in —— do yuh think it is—Rip Van Winkle?”

And their snores blended thankfully.

* * * * *

Marsh Hartwell was at home that night when Bert Allen, of the Circle V, rode in and told him of the jailbreak. Allen was on his way back to the dead-line, and stopped only long enough to tell what had happened in Totem City.

“And them other two jiggers got plumb away, too,” declared Allen disgustedly. “The tall one knocked Sudden cold, swiped one of the Bar 77 broncs from the Totem Saloon hitch rack and hit for the hills.

“We caught the other one and threw him into a cell. But he had a gun inside his shirt, and when Sunshine brought him a cup of water he stuck the gun into Sunshine’s ribs and made him unlock the door. They’re kinda bad medicine, them two, Marsh.”

“I wonder if they are workin’ for King?” said Marsh.

“I’ll be danged if I know. If they are, King’s got two danged capable men, Marsh. Jist think of them two hangin’ around all the time, with most everybody ready to take a shot at ’em. I’d sure hit for the timber, if I was them.”

Mrs. Hartwell and Mrs. Brownlee had heard Allen’s story. It was the first time that Mrs. Hartwell had known that Jack had been arrested. After Allen’s departure, Marsh and the two women sat in the living room of the ranch house; Marsh puzzling his mind over what to do; the two women waiting for him to speak.

“Well,” he said slowly, bitterly, “I suppose that Jack is on the other side of the dead-line now—to stay.”

“Could you blame him, Marsh?” asked Mrs. Hartwell softly.

“Blame him? Why not?”

“After the way he has been treated, Marsh.”

The man sighed deeply, as he humped over his chair. He was physically and mentally tired, weary of the struggle. Just now he did not care if the sheep engulfed the whole valley.

“What about Molly?” asked Mrs. Hartwell.

Marsh looked up at her.

“What do you mean, Mother?”

“She’s alone over there, Marsh.”

“She’s probably across the dead-line, too.”

“Probably. But we don’t know that she is. And you know that there isn’t a more lonesome place in the valley. And more than that, Marsh: It isn’t safe for a woman to be alone now.”

“Jack isn’t in jail now. He’d be with her.”

“Would he? With every cattleman in the valley against him?”

“Even his own father,” said Mrs. Brownlee dismally.

“No!” Marsh Hartwell threw up his head. “Don’t say that! —— knows I’m sorry for what I’ve done to Jack. I hated Eph King so much that—well, it made me bitter to have my own son marry his daughter. I didn’t realize what it meant, I tell you.

“I’m not against my own son! I’ve been against him—yes. I’m a big man in Lo Lo Valley. They say that Marsh Hartwell is the biggest man in this county. I know I am.” His voice softened as he looked at the two astonished woman. “I’m big—in this valley—but I’m just findin’ out that I’m a ——ed small man in my own home.”

“Marsh!” Mrs. Hartwell got to her feet and crossed to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Marsh, you—you’ll help Jack and Molly?”

“Yes, I’ll help them, Mother—if they’ll let me. It’s awful late in the game to talk about helpin’ ’em, but I’ll do all I can to make up for what I’ve done to them.”

He got to his feet, shoved her gently aside and started for the door.

“I’m goin’ after my horse,” he told them. “I’ll see if I can coax Molly into comin’ over here to stay until this trouble is all over.”

He went out, leaving the door open. Mrs. Hartwell sank down in a rocking-chair, burying her head in her arms. Mrs. Brownlee patted her on the shoulder, the tears running down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, Ma,” she begged. “Don’t cry about it.”

“Cry about it?” Mrs. Hartwell lifted her old face, her eyes misty with tears. “Cry about it? I’m not crying—I’m laughing. It has taken your father twenty years to find out that God made him just like other men.”

“Maybe,” said Mrs. Brownlee softly, “Maybe dad has found out that he isn’t such a big man after all, Ma.”

“And maybe,” said Mrs. Hartwell wistfully, “I have found out that he is bigger than he was.”

* * * * *

Came the scrape of a footstep on the porch, and they looked up at Jack, standing in the doorway, the palm of his right hand resting on the butt of his gun.

“Is Molly here?” he asked hoarsely.

“Molly?” His mother got up and came close to him. “She isn’t here, Jack.”

“Ain’t she?” He leaned his shoulder wearily against the doorway, shaking his head. “I—I thought she might be. I just came from home. There’s a dead man on the sofa, and the furniture is all upset. It wasn’t that way when they took me and Eph King to jail.”

“Didn’t she leave any word, Jack—no note nor anything?”

He shook his head and came into the room.

“Where’s Marsh Hartwell?”

He did not call him “Dad.”

But before either of the women had a chance to reply, the sheriff and Sunshine Gallagher stepped through the doorway behind Jack. The sheriff held a gun in his hand. Jack turned quickly, his hand going instinctively toward his holstered gun.

“Don’t do it, Jack,” warned the sheriff quickly.

“Well, what do you want?” queried Jack coldly.

“Well, I dunno,” Sudden Smithy seemed uncertain. “I—uh——”

“Don’t move!” growled a voice at the door.

Marsh Hartwell was humped in the doorway, a gun tensed in his big hand, a scowl almost concealing his eyes. He looked like a big bear, reared on its hind legs, looking for fight.

“Don’t move,” he cautioned again.

“Who in ——’s movin’?” grunted Sunshine.

“Just don’t,” warned Marsh. “I seen you come, Sudden. Now, what do you want here? Better drop that gun on the table.”

The sheriff tossed the gun on to the table, and relaxed.

“I don’t know just what I did expect to find, Marsh. You know what happened tonight in Totem City, don’tcha? Hartley and Stevens got away, and I kinda wondered—we were headin’ for Jack’s place, but decided to come here first.”

He turned to Jack.

“Have you been home?”

Jack nodded quickly.

“Is yore wife there?”

“No. That’s why I came——”

“Hartley said she was gone. Was there a dead man——?”

“On the sofa.” Jack came close to Sudden. “What do you know about it, Smithy?”

Sudden told him what Hashknife had said.

“Did he mean that some one had taken her away by force?” demanded Jack.

“I don’t know. Did she know any one by the name of Ed?”

Jack shook his head quickly.

“There’s nobody around here by that name, Sudden.”

“Mebbe it’s some of the sheep outfit,” suggested Sunshine.

“But, if it was, why did he kill one of King’s men? Hartley said the dead man was sent there to find out why King didn’t come back. He lived long enough to say a few words, it seems.”

“Well, who is this Hartley?” queried Marsh. “Every one talks about him and nobody seems to know for sure who or what he is. They say he’s a spy for King, but——”

“That’s a lie,” interrupted Jack. “Eph King never seen either of them two fellers until just before they captured and took us to jail. I’ll stake my life that they are not spies.”

“They’re somethin’, that’s a cinch,” declared Sunshine. “It ain’t reasonable to suppose that two men of their brains would be just bummin’ around. Them two jiggers think. Stevens thought far enough ahead to hide a gun inside his shirt. By golly, that’s lookin’ into the future.”

“Would they have anything to do with the disappearance of your wife?” asked Sudden of Jack.

“No. They’re not that kind.”

“If they merely got left by a train, why do they stay here and take all these chances?” asked Marsh. “What is there here for them? It don’t look reasonable.”

Sudden shook his head slowly.

“I dunno, Marsh. Somebody shot a horse—my horse—from under Hartley the night they came. I don’t think they had any idea who it was, and it may be that they’re tryin’ to find out. I’ve had an idea that they were hired by Eph King, but mebbe I’m wrong.”

“Well, we’ve got to find out what became of Molly,” said Marsh, “and we’d better start right now. Goin’ with us, sheriff?”

“That’s what I’m hired for, Marsh. C’mon.”

It did not take long for them to ride over to Jack’s place. The sheriff examined the house, looking for a possible clue, which he did not find. Then he loaded the body of the dead sheepherder on to his saddle.

“There ain’t nothin’ we can do,” he declared helplessly. “We ain’t got a thing to go on.”

“That’s true,” agreed Marsh.

Jack made no comment. He realized that it would be useless for him to go searching the hills for his wife. In fact, he was not sure that she had not gone of her own free will. He did not know any one by the name of Ed.

The sheriff mounted behind the dead man and they rode back to the Arrow, where Marsh invited Jack to spend the rest of the night. But Jack refused.

“I’m goin’ to town,” he decided. “I’ve got to find some trace of Molly. They’d know at the depot if she went away on a train. I’m not afraid of the cattlemen now.”

And so Jack Hartwell rode back to Totem City with Sudden Smithy, Sunshine Gallagher and the sheepherder who had not lived long enough to tell who Ed was.

* * * * *

“Yep—took the whole —— stock. Never even left a box of .22 shells. Even took a couple boxes of ten gage shotgun shells. And, by gosh, them shells cost money! Yuh can’t buy ca’tridges for nothin’, y’betcha. If I ever find out who took ’em, they’ll sure think they’re at a shivaree.”

It was the following morning that Hork bewailed the loss of his ammunition to Hashknife and Sleepy. It was a blow from which he would never quite recover. Hashknife and Sleepy had crawled out of Sudden Smithy’s stable, washed in the horse trough, and eaten a big breakfast at the restaurant.

Their escape from the cattlemen the night before had not seemed to teach them caution. They had heard Sudden and Sunshine ride away from the stable the night before, and later on they had heard them come back and unsaddle their horses. Sudden had talked about taking a dead man to Doctor Owen, so Hashknife decided that they had been out to Jack Hartwell’s place.

A good sleep and a full meal had put new life into both of the cowboys, and they were ready for anything that Totem City might have to offer them. They had purchased some Durham from Hork, who swore that he was crippled from the loss of the ammunition, and that the profit on two sacks of Durham looked smaller to him than the thin end of nothing, whittled to a point.

“I heard about you two fellers last night,” he told them. “I dunno whether yo’re wise in stayin’ here or not. Sudden don’t quite figure you fellers out, and he said last night that when the gall was passed around, you two must ’a’ been served first.”

“We slept in Sudden’s loft,” grinned Hashknife.

“In his loft? Huh! Well, I reckon Sudden was right. Jimmy Healey was worryin’ around about one of yuh swipin’ his horse from the Totem hitch rack. He howled his head off, until he finds it around on a side street, and everybody swore that Jimmy was so absent-minded that he forgot where he left it.”

A customer came in and engaged the attention of Hork, so Hashknife and Sleepy sauntered back to the front of the store. Two men had just ridden in and were dismounting at a hitch rack across the street. Jack Hartwell came out of the Totem Saloon and started across toward the store. He paid no attention to the two riders who crossed in close behind him.

As Jack reached the sidewalk in front of the store, the two men came up to him, and one of them made an sneering remark. Jack turned quickly and looked at them. They were Casey Steil and Al Curt, of the Turkey Track outfit. Hashknife stepped swiftly out through the open doorway, so softly that Curt and Steil did not hear him.

“Just what did you say, Steil?” asked Jack calmly.

“You heard me; didn’t he Al?” Casey Steil laughed throatily.

“I wasn’t sure,” said Jack. “I’d want to be sure, Steil.”

“Touchy, eh?” Al Curt spat thoughtfully. “Go ahead and tell him what yuh said, Casey.”

“Since when did they start callin’ you by a good Irish name?”

Hashknife spoke softly, but, from the way Steil and Curt whirled to face him, it might have been an explosion.

Curt’s hand had made a motion, as if to reach toward his holster, but the hand and arm seemed paralyzed.

“Well, if it ain’t ‘Wide-loop’ Curt!” exclaimed Hashknife. “Sleepy, c’mere and take a look. Introducin’ Lee Steil and old Wide-loop, Sleepy. Gents, get used to lookin’ at Sleepy Stevens.”

Hashknife’s eyes bored into the faces of the two confused cowboys, while behind him Sleepy laughed joyfully.

“Mamma mine!” he chuckled. “Only two like ’em in captivity, Hashknife. Somebody must have a taste for knickknacks.”

“Couple of soiled souls,” declared Hashknife seriously.