Part 9

Clayton and the three men from the 27A left the White Horse and went back to the Elk. Frosty Welcome had slipped from the lap of Joe Egan and was now reclining on the floor, with Joe’s feet on his head. Sam Bass snorted an oath, as they turned to the bar and ordered their drinks.

Sticky Clay came in and sat down near the door. He looked more sinister than ever tonight. He knew that some one had suggested that he had met Harry Allenby and they had finished their battle; but Sticky was not going to be frightened out of town by their talk.

A few minutes later Hank Bell came in. He looked around the place, saw Sticky and sat down beside him. The four men at the bar noticed these two. Lem Elder drank only half of his liquor, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and declared himself out of tobacco.

“Be back in a minute,” he said, and went out. At the doorway he almost bumped into Frank Allenby, who was coming in. The three men at the bar turned to look at Allenby, and those at the games hesitated in their play long enough to listen.

“Harry is conscious,” stated Allenby wearily. “But he refuses to tell us who shot him.”

The crowd murmured their wonderment, and none of them saw Hashknife and Sleepy, muddy from their long trip, come in through the rear of the room. They came down behind a roulette layout, where half a dozen players were grouped, and stopped.

“Does he know who shot him?” asked Forty Dollar.

Swan River entered as Forty Dollar spoke.

“I’ll bet he does,” said Swan River. “He’s protectin’ somebody. If it was an even break gun-fight, he don’t need to be afraid to tell who got him.”

“Are yuh sure he’s conscious?” asked Pinon Meade.

“Yeah, he’s conscious,” nodded Swan River. “It’s the queerest deal I’ve ever been up against.”

“Most deals look queer,” said Hashknife, coming toward the bar. His face was splashed with mud and his clothes were sticky with the same substance. The crowd centered their attention on him now.

“Where you been, Hashknife?” asked Forty Dollar.

“Ridin’ in the mud,” grinned Hashknife. He turned to Sam Bass-- “There’s some low places on yore road that yuh ought to bridge. A little rain makes a swamp out of ’em. My bronc turned over in one of ’em.”

“In my road?” queried Sam Bass.

“Yeah--out thataway. I don’t blame yuh for wantin’ to sell out. If I had that kind of a road----”

“Who wants to sell out?” Thus Sam Bass.

“You. Frosty told me he was buyin’ yuh out tonight.”

“Frosty?” Sam was both surprised and indignant.

“That’s why he wanted to wake Frosty up,” declared Forty Dollar. “I’ll betcha forty dollars that’s the reason.”

Sam Bass shut his lips. He did not want every one to know that he was selling out. Clayton adjusted his necktie and started to walk away from the bar.

“Better stay where yuh are, Clayton,” advised Hashknife. “You ain’t goin’ no place, yuh know.”

“What do you mean?” Clayton turned and stared at Hashknife, as though wondering what had been meant by that remark. But he stepped back against the bar.

“I was just thinkin’ about somethin’ that might interest yuh,” smiled Hashknife. “It happened over two years ago.”

“Two years ago?” questioned Clayton. “What do you know about anything that happened here two years ago, Hartley?”

Hashknife laughed and shifted his feet.

“Some folks might call it fortune tellin’, Clayton. Didn’t you know that I could see into the past?”

“What kind of bunk is he talkin’ anyway?” asked Sam Bass.

“Do yuh want me to demonstrate what I mean?” asked Hashknife.

“Hop to it,” laughed Forty Dollar. “We’ll all listen.”

“All right. Now I’m goin’ into a trance. Watch me closely.”

The games had all ceased and every one was interested. Hashknife’s expression did not change, except that he looked more serious. Then he began:

“I can see two men ridin’ through the hills. Down in a swale a man is squattin’ beside a little fire. He has two cows hog-tied near him. There’s a runnin’-iron and an old fry-pan on the fire. He takes the hot fry-pan and vents the brands on the right shoulders of the animals. He comes back to the fire, takes the runnin’-iron and draws a brand on each animal, just above where he has vented the original brands.

“Then I see the two men again. They see this man at the fire and he sees them. He jumps up, runs to his horse and mounts. He has lost his hat, but don’t stop to get it. The men circle the hill, tryin’ to head him off.

“These two men chase him through the hills, but he is too smart for them. The two men get separated. One of them circles back to the fire, while the other keeps on after the rustler. The one that circled back, dismounts at the fire. He looks at the animals, and then he looks all around. The fire is almost out.

“He puts the pan and iron into the fire again and puts on more fuel. Then he finds the rustler’s hat. I can tell by his face that he knows who owns that hat. I can’t see what he did with the hat, but it disappears from the picture.

“When the pan is hot again he vents the brand that the rustler put on. It is a big vent now, almost coverin’ the shoulder of both cows. Then he takes the runnin’-iron and draws a brand on each cow’s right hip. Now I can see him scatter the fire, look all around, and begin to look the cows all over again.

“Then I see the other man ride back there, and they are both talking. Now they ride away. I think they are talkin’ about leavin’ the cows there for evidence.”

Hashknife shook his head quickly and grinned.

“How do yuh all like that picture?”

* * * * *

Sticky and Hank Bell had got to their feet, staring at Hashknife, wondering what he meant, where he had secured this information. Clayton’s mouth was half-open and he was breathing like a man suffering from a bad cold.

“What does he mean?” whispered Allenby. “I was one of those men--the one who kept on after the----”

“What kind of foolishness is this?” demanded Clayton. “I was the other man, and there wasn’t anything like----”

Hank Bell was coming forward, staring at Clayton, who drew away from him.

“Hold everythin’, Hank,” advised Hashknife. “I’d advise everybody to hold quiet. This is ----”

Lem Elder came in through the open doorway and was half-way to the bar before he realized that the room was as quiet as a grave. He stopped suddenly, looking quickly around. His lips were twisted into a snarl and the skin seemed drawn tightly across his cheeks.

He looked at Hashknife, who was grinning at him, and his right hand opened and closed spasmodically.

“And that wasn’t all of the picture,” said Hashknife slowly. “I might ask Lem Elder to stand perfectly still. Yuh see it was like this. Allenby wanted to hire a detective. Clayton knew this; so he talked Allenby into lettin’ him get one.

“Clayton wrote a letter to a feller by the name of Seeley. Seeley didn’t last long. That was a mistake, I reckon. He wasn’t supposed to be shot, but the party who shot him thought it was the right thing to do. I’ve got the letter that Clayton wrote to Seeley.”

“What has that letter got to do with it?” asked Clayton. “I don’t care who reads that letter.”

“You should ’a’ asked Seeley to destroy it,” replied Hashknife. “That letter plumb ruined things for you, Clayton.”

“Ruined things?” Clayton’s voice was hoarse. He was afraid, but was trying to bluff. “Where--how did it ruin things?”

“Some folks don’t read between the lines, Clayton--I did.”

“Between the lines?” Clayton’s voice faltered.

“Yeah. Bud Bell went to the penitentiary, as innocent as I was of that charge. You knew it, Clayton. You was the man who came back to that fire and put on the HB brand. You knew who the rustler was. It gave you a hold over him and it put you in a position to steal Allenby’s cattle.

“With the help of these men you stole, shipped and sold all those Half-Circle Cross cows. The men who held up that train stole those two HB horses to make their getaway on, because the horses were so marked that there could be no mistake.

“You shared in that holdup. I don’t know why Elkins, the stage driver, was killed, but he probably tried for his gun when June Allenby accidentally rode in on the holdup. I forgot to ask her about it.”

“Ask her about it?” parroted Allenby wonderingly.

“She’s over at the hotel by this time,” said Hashknife. “I found her at----”

“Look out!” snapped Lem Elder. “By ----, they’re both over there, Sam! We’re stuck!”

It took Lem Elder’s statement to electrify Clayton and the 27A outfit. Clayton threw himself away from the bar, drawing a gun from a shoulder holster, while Sam Bass, Pinon Meade and Lem Elder shifted separately, each one streaking for his gun.

But they were caught between two fires. At the door was Hank Bell and Sticky Clay, blocking their exit in that direction, while Hashknife and Sleepy prevented them from going out the rear.

Clayton was dead on his feet before his gun was out of the holster. From beside the roulette layout, Sleepy was shooting slow and carefully, while Hashknife flung himself against the end of the bar and shifted his gun from man to man, as he emptied it.

Sam Bass went down, and across him fell Lem Elder, flinging his arms wide and knocking Pinon Meade back against the bar, where he sagged for a moment before going down in a crumpled heap.

The room was filled with powder smoke until faces and forms were mere indistinct things. The crowd had had no chance for a getaway, but now they vaulted the bodies and ran outside, while those from the other saloons and business places met them with a volley of questions.

Sticky Clay had been hit twice, but not badly enough to make him want a doctor. Hashknife’s right cheek was bleeding from a splinter which had been thrown from the bar, but Sleepy had escaped without a scratch.

The crowd, realizing that the fight was over, came crowding back in, questioning, coughing, wondering what it was all about. Swan River and Forty Dollar did not stampede with the crowd, and it was Swan River who first examined the four victims. Sam Bass was the only one alive, still conscious, but fading fast.

“Shut up!” roared Swan River. “Sam’s tryin’ to whisper and I can’t hear him.”

Sam Bass was making a valiant effort to say something, but the words were slow in coming. The crowd grew silent, as Sam’s tongue began to function.

“Money--all--in--valises,” he whispered. “Goin’--away--tonight. Sorry--” He swallowed thickly. “Sorry--shot--Elkins. He--went--for--gun. Pinon killed Seeley. I--guess--that’s--all.”

“I guess that’s enough,” said Swan River slowly, as he got to his feet and turned to Hashknife. “I take off my hat to you, Hartley. I dunno how in ---- you figured all this out, but you did.”

“It wasn’t so hard,” said Hashknife wearily, looking at the empty gun in his hand. “That letter was the key to it all.”

He drew out the letter and spread it on the bar.

“Skip the first line and read every other one,” he said.

Swan River leaned closer and 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.

“And that’s what Clayton meant for Seeley to read, eh?” asked Forty Dollar.

Hashknife nodded. “Yeah, it seems that it was, Forty. If yuh notice, he had all the lines pretty even, and left plenty of room at the margins. I kinda wondered about it all bein’ so kinda regular; so I got to skippin’ around for the answer. I’ve heard of things like this bein’ done before.

“I got to findin’ out a few things about Bud Bell’s case, and I heard about the rustler ventin’ the whole shoulder of them two cows. That wasn’t accordin’ to Hoyle, and there must ’a’ been a reason. The 27A Outfit brand on the right shoulder.

“There was the rustler without a hat, if yuh remember. If Clayton found that hat belonged to some one he wanted to protect or put the deadwood on to, what could be easier. But he first had to blot out that other brand on the shoulder and put one on the hip. The HB brands on the hip, and the HB was already in bad with the Half-Circle Cross. Does it look easier now?”

“----, it sounds good,” agreed Swan River, scratching his head. “But that was kinda flimsy evidence.”

“Worse evidence than that sent Bud Bell to prison. Somebody stole three hundred head of stock out of a loadin’ pen the night we came to Moolock. The stock cars came too late to load the night before; so they had to leave the cattle in the pens. Sam Bass got them cars, didn’t he? I started guessin’ from there.

“They wasn’t makin’ money enough off Allenby’s stock; so they started holdin’ up trains and stages. They had to steal June Allenby to save themselves. Down in the east of that road I found a red bead. It was just a ordinary bead--like them that ornament the pockets on Sam Bass’s vest. It wasn’t much, but it pointed the way.

“Me and Sleepy found June in the cellar at the 27A ranch tonight. Bud Bell went lookin’ for her and got knocked on the head.

“They put him into the cellar with her, and nailed the door tight. I killed their cook. He knew that his cake was all dough; so he went for his gun. He had eighteen hundred dollars in his valise. I reckon that about closes the chapter.”

“June is across the street?” asked Allenby. He had been in sort of a trance.

“Yeah, she’s over there,” said Sleepy. “They didn’t hurt her.”

Allenby whirled and ran out. Bud came in. He was dirty and bloody, but he knew that now he could look every man in the face. His convict brand had been wiped away.

“They told me about it, Hartley,” he said, as he looked at the four men on the floor. “I dunno how it was all done, but I’m glad. I’m not much on thankin’ anybody.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Bud, ’cause yore welcome.”

The doctor arrived on the scene and Hashknife walked outside with Sleepy and Forty Dollar.

* * * * *

Over at the hotel, June Allenby was holding an impromptu reception, assisted by her father. As soon as Allenby saw Hashknife he left the crowd and came straight to him.

“Hartley, I haven’t even thanked you yet. I have had so many shocks lately that I’m not responsible for what I am doing. June has told me something of how you found her. My ----, man, you don’t know what you have done for me. I’ve got my girl back, and Harry is going to live. I tell you, I could shout for joy.”

“Go ahead,” Hashknife smiled wearily.

June was coming to them, holding out her hand to Hashknife.

“I can thank you now,” she said simply.

“Yo’re welcome, Miss Allenby.” He smiled at her and turned to her father, “If you want to thank me real hard, Allenby, go over and make yore peace with Hank Bell. You’ve done him an awful wrong-- and this is the time to right it.”

“Yes, I’ll do that,” said Allenby slowly. “I owe him a lot of apologies, Hartley. Perhaps I should apologize to the whole world. Before I go, I would like to ask you a question. Who was the man who was branding the cattle--the man whose crime was placed on Bud Bell?”

Hashknife squinted painfully for a moment. It seemed that he was trying to remember. He looked at June, who was staring at him, her eyes pleading.

“That man,” he hesitated. “That man was Pinon Meade, I reckon.”

“I see,” Allenby nodded quickly. “I’m going over to ask Bud Bell and his father to forgive me, and then I’m going to write you each a check.”

Allenby fairly ran across toward the Elk saloon and June came to Hashknife, placing a hand on his arm.

“Mr. Hartley,” she said softly, “I want to thank you for that. I guess you know why I couldn’t answer your question out at the 27A ranch-house. Sam Bass told me the whole thing. Blood is thicker than justice, at a time like this. Perhaps I was thinking more of mother than of dad.”

“Mebbe I was too,” said Hashknife, smiling at her. “I reckon it will be all right from now on, ma’am. I was sure scared of how it might end; but it’s all right now.”

“Yes, it’s all right now, thanks to you--you lovable liar.”

Hashknife laughed softly and turned as Bud Bell came running from the saloon. He grasped Hashknife by the arm, as he said--

“Hartley, they’re havin’ a drink together--her dad and mine! And her dad told me to come over and take care of her, while they talked about the future. Can yuh beat that?”

“No, yuh can’t,” Hashknife agreed warmly. “I’m sure glad, folks. And you take care of her, Bud. She’s a game little girl, and by golly, she’s worth takin’ care of. C’mon, Sleepy.”

They turned away and walked over to the hitch-rack. It was about the only place where they would be safe from questioning tongues, and neither of them had smoked a cigaret since Hashknife had discovered the nails in the trap door at the 27A.

Neither of them spoke until their cigarets were nearly gone. The crowd at the Elk were helping to clean up the place. Frosty and Joe were on the sidewalk in front of the saloon, trying to get some one to explain what it was all about. Outside of Hashknife and Sleepy, they were the only people in Moolock who were not excited; they had slept through it all.

“Lovable liar,” said Sleepy seriously, “it comes to me that there must ’a’ been sort of an agreement between Sam Bass and Harry Allenby before Harry tried to misbrand them two cows.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” said Hashknife softly. “Allenby stinginess drove the kid to steal. Clayton saved him from the pen. Clayton could use the kid to put him in with the 27A, and together they robbed Allenby blind.

“But it seems like they kinda fell out all around. Clayton hired Seeley, without tellin’ Sam Bass and Harry. Seeley was the victim of a mistake. Probably Harry told Bass that Seeley was a detective, not knowin’ that Clayton had hired him. Mebbe Clayton and Seeley had somethin’ framed up for themselves. Clayton had trouble with ’em, probably over June’s part of the deal, and one of ’em tried to kill Clayton.

“I reckon that Harry was dangerous to their game. He drank and talked too much. Very likely he knew where June was, and threatened to talk if they didn’t let her loose. That was why they tried to kill him. It kinda looks like they all knew that this three-handed game was a losin’ proposition.

“When I heard that Sam Bass was sellin’ out to Frosty Welcome tonight, I knew that my cards were all aces. It was just another case of too many cooks, Sleepy. The 27A outfit had it all fixed to skip out of the country tonight. I reckon they were all goin’ to pull out on that midnight train. I had to guess at quite a lot of things, but I had enough straight dope to tie up the weak spots.”

Hashknife threw away his cigaret and leaned against the hitch-rack.

“Sleepy, do yuh know the only way to be half-way successful as a crook?”

“Yeah,” nodded Sleepy. “I know two ways.”

“No, yuh don’t, cowboy; there’s only one way.”

“There’s two, Hashknife. One way is to play a lone hand.”

“All right,” agreed Hashknife. “What’s the other one?”

“To kill you when you first show up in the country.”

Hashknife laughed softly and began rolling another cigaret.

“That’s appreciation, pardner. I think more of that than I do of Allenby’s check. It ain’t my policy to shift guilt onto a dead man; but I reckon it won’t hurt Pinon Meade’s soul to have an extra cattle rustlin’ charge on the books against him. It won’t hurt him, but it will save a lot of heart-aches down here; so I’ll let ’em chalk one more lie against my record. June knows the truth, and mebbe that’ll keep Harry goin’ straight. It kinda levels things out for Hank and Bud; so I reckon we come out just about even.”

They left the hitch-rack, going back toward the store, and ran into Swan River Smith.

“Been lookin’ all over for yuh,” he said. “Allenby wants yuh. Him and Hank Bell had six drinks apiece and Allenby is goin’ to buy out the HB outfit, make Bud foreman and--here’s a couple of checks to give yuh--and yore goin’ to be best man at a weddin’, and ---- only knows what they ain’t figured out.

“Them two jiggers shore do work fast. You’d think they was long separated brothers; honest, yuh would. Somebody told Harry how it all came out, and he wants yuh to come down right away, and--say, you fellers can have Moolock, if yuh want it.”

Hashknife took the checks and handed one to Sleepy.

“We’ll be over there as soon as we put up our horses, Swan River.”

“Well, all right. Make it as soon as yuh can.”

Hashknife and Sleepy hurried to the rack, mounted their horses, and Hashknife led the way out of town, heading south, passing the livery-stable.

“Where are we goin’ to put up our horses?” asked Sleepy.

“Probably in the next town we come to,” grinned Hashknife. “Best man at a weddin’, eh? Not me, cowboy. I’m huntin’ for a place where I can settle down in peace. Moolock don’t need us at a weddin’.”

And so they faded out of the Moolock country, heading into unknown ranges, leaving behind them a lot of grateful people, who waited for them in vain.

They had brought happiness to those who deserved it, and to one, who, in the eyes of society, possibly did not deserve it. But the eyes of society were of little consequence to Hashknife and Sleepy--the Lovable Liar and his innocent-eyed partner. The checks were for twenty-five hundred dollars each. All of which, as Hashknife remarked, proved that Allenby did not get financially overjoyed.

“Thasall right,” stated Sleepy, as they drifted along under the stars. “We’re lucky to get anything, Hashknife.”

“How’s that, Sleepy?”

“He offered the money for a conviction.”

Which he did not get, and which also proves that Allenby was just a little excited. He might have made it a point to argue over.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January 20, 1925 issue of Adventure magazine.]