Part 4

“I wasn’t gunnin’ for anybody,” said old Hank slowly, “but I hate to disappoint anybody when they ask me for trouble.”

“Thasall right, Hank.” Swan River turned to Allenby--“Some day, Allenby, you’ll make a mistake. And it’ll probably be the kind of a mistake that a man only makes once in a lifetime. I don’t blame yuh for bein’ mad--but yuh ought to use judgment.”

“What was this to you?” demanded Allenby hotly. “You had no right to interfere with my business. Give me back that gun!”

Swan River grinned and shoved the gun inside the waistband of his overalls.

“When yuh get ready to go home, I’ll just do that,” he said. “I’m kinda responsible for the wear and tear on Moolock, yuh know.”

“You’re responsible for a lot of things,” sneered Allenby. “I came to town to get a little information from you, Smith. This morning I had a little talk with a man named Pierson. He’s from Tecoma. He told me a little story about you being at Tecoma the other night--the evening of the day that the express robbery was pulled off.

“He told me about two men whose horses were stolen by the bandits--and he told me about a pinto and a gray that were left at the hitch-rack. The pinto had a coal black head. Pierson saw the brands, too. What about it?”

Swan River squinted at Sleepy and his brows drew into a deep frown. He realized that there was nothing more he could do to keep that evidence under cover. Hank Bell and Bud were looking straight at each other, and now Bud got to his feet.

“Take it easy,” advised Sleepy softly. Bud flashed a glance at him, as though wondering why Sleepy had said that.

“Well, what about it?” asked Allenby triumphantly.

He felt that he was putting the screws to Swan River Smith, and he knew that it was not welcome news to the Bell family.

“What about it?” queried Swan River vacantly. “Huh! Pierson told yuh this, did he?”

“Yes, he did. Would he have any reason to lie?”

“No-o-o, I don’t reckon he would, Allenby.”

“What about the pinto and gray?” asked Bell wonderingly.

Swan River pursed his lips, as he shook his head slowly.

“You’ve got those horses,” declared Allenby. “You’ve had them ever since that night.”

Swan River did not deny it. Sepulveda turned to Sleepy.

“That’s how you lost your two horses, eh?”

Sleepy ignored the question.

“Are they in your stable or at the livery barn?” asked Allenby.

“Yuh might find out by lookin’,” said Swan River.

“All right!” snapped Allenby. “You know as well as I do that those two horses belong to Hank Bell. Now what are you going to do about it?”

“Do about it?” parroted Swan River.

“Yes! Are you going to let them escape while we go to look at the evidence?”

Swan River squinted at Hank and Bud.

“Are yuh?” he asked.

Old Hank shook his head and said--

“I’d rather fight than run, Swan River. Suppose we go with yuh.”

“That’s a ---- of a way to run your office!” exploded Allenby. “Some of these days----”

“Suppose you stay here, Allenby,” suggested Swan River blandly.

“No, by ----! All I want is a square deal. Will we go to the livery-barn first?”

“Suit yoreself.”

* * * * *

They all trooped to the livery-stable, where it did not take them long to find that the horses were not there. Back they went to the sheriff’s stable, behind his office, where they found Hashknife, busily currying the tall bay. In the next stall stood the JK roan, belonging to Sleepy, and in the other two stalls stood Swan River’s sorrel and Forty Dollar’s buckskin.

Hashknife looked curiously at the crowd, but did not cease grooming his horse. Swan River leaned against the doorway and rubbed his chin, while the rest of the crowd looked around blankly and came outside.

“I--I hope yore satisfied,” said Swan River chokingly.

“Satisfied, ----!” snorted Allenby. He was no longer the triumphant person of a few minutes ago. Old Hank scratched his head foolishly, and motioned to Bud.

“You don’t want us for anythin’ more do yuh?” Old Hank spoke to Swan River.

“Shucks, no,” said Swan River. “I reckon everybody’s satisfied.”

“I hope so,” said old Hank. “C’mon, Bud.”

They walked back through the alley, leaving Allenby staring after them, his lips working painfully. He turned on the sheriff.

“What crooked work is this?” he demanded hotly. “You just the same as admitted that you had those horses.”

“I didn’t admit nothin’,” denied Swan River. “I was willin’ to prove that I didn’t.”

Allenby went back toward the street without another word.

“I’d buy a drink,” stated Pete Sepulveda. “I’d buy a drink for everybody.”

Sam Bass, Merton and several more of the crowd accepted on the spot; but Sleepy had already gone to work grooming his roan.

Swan River sat down on the feed-box and watched the two cowboys work on their horses, until the rest of the men had gone back.

“I thought they had yuh, Swan River,” said Sleepy, pausing to clean his currycomb. “Yuh could ’a’ knocked me down with a straw.”

“Yeah, I felt the same about it.” Swan River squinted at Hashknife questioningly, but the tall cowboy’s face was serious. For several minutes there was nothing but the “swish” of the currycomb and brush to break the silence. Finally Hashknife stepped back, looked the bay over carefully and threw the comb and brush into a box against the wall. He walked to the door and looked out, as he brushed off his shirt.

“Hartley,” said Swan River softly. “Did you know that Pierson had talked with Allenby?”

“Pierson?”

“Yeah. He’s the feller who runs the saloon at Tecoma. Didja know that Pierson told Allenby about those two horses--the pinto and the gray?”

“No-o-o, I didn’t know it. We needed a place to put our broncs, and I didn’t feel like payin’ a livery-stable to keep ’em.”

Swan River took a deep breath and looked at Sleepy, who had ceased work while Hashknife was talking.

“And that’s about all you’ll ever get out of him,” said Sleepy knowingly.

“Well,” Swan River sighed with satisfaction, “that’s enough to suit me. Mebbe we’re all wrong, I dunno. Anyway, I thank yuh, Hashknife. It saved me from a lot of explainin’.”

“Yo’re welcome, sheriff,” said Hashknife. He was thinking of a girl who wanted a boy to say hello to her; a boy who was afraid that even a hello from him might harm her.

“This is a ---- of a world,” he said thoughtfully.

“It sure is,” agreed Swan River. “We don’t ask to get in; get ---- while we’re here, and get out because we can’t help ourselves. My old dad used to say--

“‘Eat a lot of green vegetables, keep yore mouth shut and yore gun cocked--and you’ll live a long time.’”

Sleepy laughed and put up his brush.

“How close do yuh foller that advice?” he asked.

“Well,” grinned Swan River, “I keep my gun cocked quite a lot of the time. I figure that’s what they call a necessary of life--anyway around here.”

* * * * *

A lapse of twenty-four hours had made little difference in Allenby’s feelings toward the rest of the world. Seeley was still alive, but the doctor held out little hope for his recovery. The soft-nose bullet had just about wrecked one of his lungs, and the other had caused a slight concussion of the brain.

Clayton has just brought in the latest report of Seeley’s condition, and Allenby had called a meeting at the bunkhouse. Harry was sober but just a bit shaky; Omaha amused; Hoban serious. It was then that Allenby told them all about hiring Seeley to investigate for him.

“They shot him down like a dog,” Allenby told them angrily. “They have probably added murder to their other crimes. There is no doubt in my mind that either the sheriff, his deputy, or one of those two strange cowboys turned that pinto and gray horse loose, to ruin the evidence.

“Just what interest those two cowboys have in this deal, I do not know. I feel sure that Swan River Smith thought those two horses were in the stable, and that he was as surprised as anyone else when we did not find them. The sheriff is against us; so it is up to us to handle it in the only way possible--go and settle it ourselves.”

“How do yuh mean?” asked Hoban.

“I mean that we’ll ride down to the HB ranch, force them to confess and take them to jail ourselves.”

“Christmas daisies!” grunted Omaha. “You talk like we was goin’ out to bring in a cow.”

Allenby glared at Omaha. He did not believe in anyone questioning an order or a suggestion from him.

“Are you afraid to do this, Olsen?” he asked.

“No, I ain’t afraid,” said Omaha meaningly. “I just don’t think it can be done, tha’sall. You might get a ---- of a lot of hot lead, but yuh won’t get no confession.”

“Would you refuse to go?” asked Allenby.

Omaha squinted at the floor for several moments before he looked up at Allenby and nodded slowly--

“Yeah, I reckon I would. If I caught a man stealin’ yore cows, I’d shoot him as quick as you would; but I don’t reckon I’m goin’ to try and take the law in my own hands and try to make a man confess. That’s up to the officers--not to me.”

“All right,” said Allenby briskly. “Your wages up to date are ready for you, Olsen. I want men who will do my bidding. How about you, Hoban?”

“I’ll ride with Omaha,” said Hoban calmly. “We came here together, yuh know. I’ve handled yore cows, Allenby--you handle yore own killin’.”

Allenby snorted audibly and looked around. He had been sure of Hoban, because Hoban was his foreman. It left only three of them to do the job--and he wasn’t so sure of Clayton.

“Well, that makes things different,” he decided grudgingly.

“Decidedly,” agreed Clayton. “Perhaps the idea wasn’t as good as it might have been. You see, Allenby, you haven’t enough evidence yet to force a confession from either of the Bell family.”

“Well, how can I get it?” demanded Allenby. “I’d give five thousand dollars for evidence enough to convict those two men.”

No one seemed to know--which was not surprising.

“Who are those two cowboys?” asked Allenby.

“One is named Hartley and the other one Stevens,” offered Harry. “I heard that much about ’em. The tall one is nicknamed Hashknife.”

Allenby squinted closely at Harry.

“Are you sure of that, Harry?” he asked.

“Well, that’s what they’re called.”

“That’s funny,” muttered Allenby, turning to Clayton. “That is the names of the two men that Freeman, the secretary of the Cattle Association, spoke to me about. They refused my offer, but still they came here.”

“Hartley and Stevens, eh?” said Clayton wonderingly. “Who sent them in here, I wonder?”

“I’ve done all the wondering I’m going to,” declared Allenby, turning to the door. “I’m going to town and find these two men. My offer is still open, and I think they’ll accept it, after I tell them what it means to me.”

“How soon can I get my pay?” asked Omaha. Allenby halted half-way outside and looked back.

“We will take that up later, Olsen. Are you going with me, Clayton?”

“Yes, I’ll go with you,” agreed Clayton.

They drove away in a cloud of dust, swinging out through the main gate on two wheels. Omaha grinned and sat down on his bunk.

“I suppose that me and you are canned, Chet,” he said.

“Yo’re canned,” corrected Chet, “I quit.”

“Aw, ----!” blurted Harry. “The old man will forget all that in an hour. You fellers got anythin’ drinkable around here?”

“You lay off the booze,” advised Hoban. “The first thing you know the old man will cut you off his will.”

“Is that so?” Harry laughed sarcastically. “That’ll hurt me a ---- of a lot. He never did give me a ---- cent; and he’ll live longer than I will probably.”

“If you don’t keep your mouth shut,” agreed Hoban dryly.

Harry laughed and went up to the ranch-house, while Omaha and Hoban began packing their war-sacks.

It did not take Allenby and Clayton long to make the drive to Moolock, and they were greeted at Elk saloon with the information that Seeley had died. The doctor wanted some information regarding this man, in order to notify his relatives; and Swan River Smith wanted some information regarding him, to use at the inquest.

Allenby knew nothing about him, except what Clayton had told him; and Clayton’s information was almost as vague. He knew that Seeley was a detective--a cattle detective--but he did not know where Seeley’s relatives lived.

Swan River Smith went back to his office, where Forty Dollar, Hashknife and Sleepy were playing seven-up at two bits a corner, and told them what Clayton had told him regarding the dead man.

“Name is Seeley, and he was a cattle detective, eh?” mused Hashknife. “It kinda looks to me like his profession reacted upon him. Mebbe he wore a star, or somethin’ that advertised his callin’.”

“That’s why Allenby told me to keep out of it,” grinned Swan River. He sobered in a moment, shutting one eye, as he considered the situation.

“I’ll tell yuh, it ain’t so much of a joke, at that,” he said. “Murder is murder, by golly. That Seeley was shot from behind; and it ain’t noways healthy nor conductive of pleasant thoughts to think that there might be a killer behind the next bush.”

“Looks to me like it might be a warnin’,” observed Forty Dollar. “I sure believe in them kinda signs. I’ve had my fortune told five times, altogether. Had ’em told by a different person every time--and every fortune was different. Doggone it, yuh never know who to believe.

“One of ’em told me to beware of a tall, dark man; another told me that I was goin’ to have a lot of trouble with a light complected man, and the rest of ’em dilated on trouble with three other kinds of men. And they all was different. If I tried to run my existence accordin’ to their warnin’s, I’d have to hide out in the hills. Whooee! I sure have got a lot of mixed sizes and colors tryin’ to make life hard for me.”

“I never had my fortune told,” said Swan River. “I’d a lot rather get along in my own dumb way. I don’t want to know what is jist around the next turn; but I’d sure like to have just a little inside information on who is doin’ this dirty work.

“We’ll have to hold this inquest tomorrow and shove that poor ---- under the sod without knowin’ anythin’ more about him. Clayton, the cattle buyer, hired him for Allenby; but Clayton don’t know where Seeley’s relatives live.”

* * * * *

While they were talking, Doctor Edwall, the coroner, came in. He was a fussy little man, partly bald, and talked jerkily.

“Very little information to be had,” he declared. “Clayton knows very little. No known relatives. Came here from Omaha, Nebraska. Pockets yielded very little. Nothing worth while. Here--” he handed the sheriff a soiled envelope--“that is a letter to Seeley, written, I presume, by Mr. Clayton. I have read it.”

Swan River Smith took the letter out of the envelope and read it carefully. Swan River did not read very fast. Finally he placed it on his desk.

“Well, that don’t give us much information, doctor,” he decided. “We’ll just have to go ahead and hold the inquest, bring in the usual verdict, and bury the corpse, I reckon.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose so, sheriff. Well, good-by, gentlemen.”

The doctor bustled away, as busy as a bee. Hashknife picked up the letter and looked it over. It had been sent from Moolock, and was directed to Jim Seeley, Omaha, Nebraska, care of general delivery. The letter read:

Dear Jim:

Frank Allenby, the biggest cattleman in Moolock, is up against a very dangerous proposition and needs help. It looks like a plain case of spite work by somebody and you can make five thousand dollars for a few days work.

This gang of rustlers are able to pull off big jobs and get away without the slightest chance of anyone detecting them. Your work must be done without anyone knowing who you are; _sabe_?

I will explain everything to you when you get here. You will like Allenby. If you can’t take this job, Jim, it will disappoint me greatly. If you come, keep it dark, or it might make things very bad. Wire your decision.

Sincerely Ed.

“Well, Allenby’s life is still worth the five thousand, I reckon,” smiled Hashknife, as he handed the letter back to the sheriff. “Mebbe he’ll raise the ante after awhile.”

“Speak about the ----,” muttered Forty Dollar.

Allenby was entering the office as Forty Dollar spoke, but he could hardly have heard what Hashknife said. Allenby was trying his best to be pleasant as he greeted all of them. He sat down and fanned himself with his hat.

“Going to hold the inquest tomorrow?” he asked the sheriff.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” nodded the sheriff. “Probably want you to testify, Allenby. It won’t amount to anythin’; but it’s accordin’ to law.”

“Certainly,” agreed Allenby warmly. “I wish I could give you more information regarding this man Seeley; but I knew nothing about him. There is no question but what he was murdered.”

“Well,” said Swan River slowly, “I never knowed a man to shoot himself twice in the back with a rifle. I suppose there is some of them con-tor-shunists that might shoot themselves once in the back; but I’ll betcha that a thirty-thirty would sure take the kink out of ’em real quick. No, I reckon we’ve got to look the facts square in the face and admit that Seeley was shot with malice aforethought and a high-powered rifle.”

“Mm-m-m-m,” muttered Allenby.

Swan River’s face was so serious that Allenby wasn’t quite sure whether Swan River was joking or not. He decided to drop the subject; so he turned to Hashknife and said--

“I was just wondering if you two cowboys were looking for work.”

Hashknife grinned widely.

“You might change that question to read, ‘lookin’ for jobs,’ and get us to nod our heads.”

Allenby forced a laugh.

“I suppose it’s just as well to be honest about it,” he said. “There will probably be two vacancies on my ranch, and you two can have the jobs, if you care to take them.”

“Hoban and Omaha quittin’?” asked Forty Dollar.

“Well, it amounts to that. I shall make Harry foreman, I think. He needs responsibility.”

“He sure as----needs somethin’,” grinned Swan River.

Allenby’s lips formed a hot retort, but he curbed his feelings. He knew that there was nothing to gain in quarreling with the sheriff; so he shut his lips and waited for Hashknife to decide.

“Forty a month?” asked Sleepy.

“Yes.”

The forty dollars per month did not appeal to Sleepy, but he was willing to leave the decision to Hashknife, who was thinking deeply over the offer.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose we might take it. It ain’t none of my business, but I’d like to know why yore foreman and the other man are quittin’ yuh.”

Allenby’s expression indicated that it was none of Hashknife’s business, but he replied evenly--

“They are leaving the Half-Circle Cross because they would not obey orders.”

“Yeah? Well, mebbe we won’t obey ’em either, Allenby. But if you want to take that chance--we’re willin’, eh, Sleepy?”

“We can always quit,” said Sleepy indifferently.

“Well, that is settled,” said Allenby, with a certain amount of satisfaction, as he got up and started for the door. “You will be out to the ranch today?”

“Before supper time,” said Hashknife.

A few minutes later Omaha and Hoban rode into town, with their war-sack, containing their belongings, tied to the back of their saddles. Allenby met them on the street and paid what was due on their salaries.

Clayton was not going back to the ranch; so Allenby left town alone.

“What did yuh take these jobs for?” asked Sleepy, as he and Hashknife saddled their horses at the sheriff’s stable.

“Just a fool notion thasall,” said Hashknife seriously.

“All right,” Sleepy retorted grudgingly. “Forty a month, and take orders from some kid.”

“We ain’t took no orders from him yet, Sleepy.”

“That’s true. I’d kinda like to know what kind of orders he passed out to them other two hired men.”

“Wait and see,” advised Hashknife. “We’ll likely find out.”

About a mile out of town they overtook Allenby, who had driven off the side of the road and was waiting for them.

“I didn’t want to say too much there in town,” he told them. “Freeman told me your names at the time he spoke about me hiring you; so I know you are the same men. I think I need your help now more than I did before, and I just want to say that I’m still willing to pay you the sum of five thousand dollars for evidence that will convict those who have been stealing my stock.

“The men who have been stealing my stock are the same ones that killed Seeley. A conviction for rustling will fasten the murder on them also. For some reason or other, it appears that we have been working at cross purposes. I think you know what I mean.”

“Don’t reckon I do,” said Hashknife thoughtfully.

“That matter concerning the pinto and gray horse.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard the sheriff sayin’ somethin’ about it. What was it all about, Allenby?”

Allenby studied Hashknife and Sleepy for several moments. Sleepy’s expression was as innocent as that of a child, while Hashknife’s was merely indifferent, as he carefully shaped a cigaret and struck a match with his thumb nail.

“Well,” said Allenby dubiously, “perhaps--but it doesn’t matter.”

He spoke sharply to the team, which surged back into the road, and the two cowboys followed leisurely behind him.

“He’s still got that five thousand,” laughed Hashknife.

“Yeah, and he can keep it,” said Sleepy. “I don’t want no thirty-thirty bullets between my shoulders, y’betcha.”

* * * * *

Hashknife and Sleepy did not go to Moolock the next day. Allenby and his son left early, as they were not sure what time the inquest was to be held. They gave no orders to Hashknife and Sleepy. Allenby told them to get used to the ranch, and to take it easy for their first day.

The two cowboys had instinctively liked Mrs. Allenby, a quiet little woman. June had colored slightly during her introduction to Hashknife as she recognized him, and wondered if he had remembered her meeting with Bud Bell.

Sleepy did not like the Half-Circle Cross ranch buildings.

“Ain’t noways homelike,” he complained. “Makes yuh feel like yore civilized. Even the bunkhouse door don’t squeak. By golly, I’d put some sand into them hinges if I stayed here long. Carpet on the bunkhouse floor and a re-cep-tickle for cigaret butts!”

“It sure is kinda dude-like,” admitted Hashknife. “But you have to excuse Allenby; he’s from the city. If he runs cows long enough he’ll develop squeaky hinges, bare floors and weather-beaten exteriors.”

About an hour after Harry and his father left the ranch, June asked Hashknife if he would saddle her horse. She rode a racy-looking little sorrel, a swell-fork saddle; and her riding clothes consisted of a divided skirt, flannel shirt, cowboy boots and a floppy sombrero.

“_Mucho buena!_” exclaimed Sleepy softly, as she rode away.

“That’s right,” agreed Hashknife.

They watched until she disappeared in the hills to the east. There was nothing for them to do except to loaf around.

The inquest at Moolock caused a certain amount of interest, and there was quite a crowd present. Allenby admitted that Seeley was a detective, hired for him by Clayton, the cattle-buyer. Clayton said he had met Seeley a number of times, and knew that Seeley was a man of ability. The sheriff produced and read Clayton’s letter to Seeley, which had been among Seeley’s effects; and the hastily picked coroner’s jury brought in a verdict that Seeley had been shot in the back by a party or parties unknown.

There was considerable discussion among the cattlemen, following the inquest. They had ignored Allenby’s statements regarding the number of cattle he had lost lately; but they were forced to admit that it was serious enough to cause a man to get shot in the back.