Part 10

* * * * *

Lavelle also knew that Mrs. Daley had been left at the JM ranch. It was the first time since Bud’s arrest that Lavelle had had a chance to see her alone, and he lost no time in taking advantage of it.

He was careful to study the ranch-house at a distance before riding in, as he wanted to be sure that no one else was there. He dismounted at the front porch and knocked loudly on the door, but there was no response. He tried the door and found it unlocked.

Cautiously he opened it. The living-room was empty. Some one was moving about behind the half-open door of an adjoining room. He listened closely, thinking that perhaps his knock had not been heard.

“Hello,” he said softly. “Anybody home?”

There was no reply, but the person in the next room continued to move about. Suddenly the door opened. Lavelle took a step backward, an unspoken exclamation on his lips.

Bud Daley was standing in the doorway, a half-dressed Bud Daley, whose face was flushed with fever, his eyes bloodshot. He blinked at Lavelle, but without a sign of recognition, muttering something unintelligible.

Some one was coming to the front of the house. Lavelle wanted to turn his head, but there was something that caused him to keep his eyes on Bud. Then Hashknife Hartley’s voice drawled--

“Mister Lavelle, meet Mister Daley.”

Lavelle turned his head and looked at Hashknife, who was leaning against the side of the doorway. Bud was paying no attention to either of them; he was too sick for that.

“I--I just came,” said Lavelle lamely.

“I know yuh did,” said Hashknife indifferently, and started to cross the room, when Mrs. Daley came in from the dining-room.

She was dressed for riding. At sight of them she stopped, with a quick intake of breath.

“It’s all right,” assured Hashknife softly. “There’s nothin’ to get scared about, May.”

“I--I was just going to town after the doctor,” she said wearily. “Bud’s fever got worse, and there wasn’t anybody here to help me.”

Hashknife crossed to Bud and took him by the arm. Bud half-smiled, as if he recognized Hashknife, but did not speak.

“You get back into bed, old-timer,” ordered Hashknife. “You’ve got to take it easy, don’tcha know it?”

Hashknife assisted him back to the bed, where Bud dropped wearily. Lavelle and May were left alone in the living-room, but neither of them spoke. Hashknife was back in a minute and went straight to Lavelle.

“You tryin’ to collect that three thousand reward, Lavelle?” he asked.

Lavelle flushed hotly and wished that this long-faced, keen-eyed cowpuncher was miles away. Lavelle had the feeling that Hashknife wanted to make him angry; and Lavelle was too clever a gambler to show his anger.

“The reward does not interest me,” he replied. “I just dropped in. But I had no idea that Bud was here.”

“You waited until yuh knew that nobody but Mrs. Daley was here, yuh know,” reminded Hashknife.

“All right,” laughed Lavelle easily. “You did, too.”

Hashknife’s face grew serious as he nodded slowly.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he said softly. “I knowed that she was alone--with Bud. Yuh see, I think a lot of these folks, Lavelle. Now, there ain’t nothin’ for you to do, except to tell the sheriff where Bud is--and collect the reward.”

“---- the reward!” snapped Lavelle. “I’m not looking for any reward.”

“No? Well, that’s funny,” Hashknife laughed shortly. “You let Breed use yore cowpunchers to try and catch Bud.”

“He swore them in, Hartley. I couldn’t stop him, could I?”

“We’ve got to get a doctor for Bud,” interrupted Mrs. Daley. “All this talk is a waste of time. You stay here and I’ll go.”

“And the sheriff will find it out,” declared Lavelle.

“Will he?” queried Hashknife. “Listen to me, Lavelle. You’ve got enough power to keep Breed from doin’ anythin’. Suppose you go after the doctor? He won’t tell. And if Breed finds it out, a word from you will stop him from makin’ any arrest.”

Lavelle nodded quickly and turned to the door. He was willing to get away. Hashknife followed him out on to the porch and watched him mount.

“Just to save arguments, you might not tell the doctor who the sick person is, Lavelle,” he said. “Tell him it’s mostly a fever.”

“All right,” grunted Lavelle.

“And the sheriff won’t come out here?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Lavelle.

“That won’t be quite enough,” said Hashknife meaningly.

Lavelle turned and rode swiftly away, while Hashknife went back into the house. Mrs. Daley was standing beside Bud’s bed, looking down at him, when Hashknife came back in. Bud was mumbling in his delirium a meaningless jumble of broken sentences.

“--price of two dresses,” he muttered. “--prettiest woman in this country.”

Hashknife glanced keenly at Mrs. Daley. Her lips were shut tightly, and her hands clenched.

“What’s he talkin’ about?” queried Hashknife.

“--throw away your youth?” queried Bud, “--retain your beauty? Two can’t live on cowpuncher’s--failure--throw away your life.”

Bud laughed bitterly in his delirium. “--silks and furs. Bud is man enough--loyalty and all that.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Daley turned away, with tears running down her cheeks. Now she knew that Bud had come home and overheard Lavelle and her talking that night. That was why he did not come home; why he did not care what they did to him at that trial. He was willing to go to prison. And this was why Bud would not speak to her.

She walked out into the living-room and sat down in a chair, while Hashknife followed her to the doorway. Bud had quit talking now. Mrs. Daley looked up at Hashknife and found him staring intently at her.

“Oh, he’s so sick.” Her voice sounded strained, unreal, and she knew that Hashknife did not believe that she was overcome on account of Bud’s condition.

“What did he mean?” asked Hashknife.

Mrs. Daley turned away, trying to ignore the question; but Hashknife was not to be denied. He came over and put his hand on her shoulder, shaking her a little.

“What did he mean?” he repeated. “Tell me, May.”

She looked up at him and tried to get to her feet, but he held her firmly.

“Why, he’s--he’s just delirious,” she faltered. “He doesn’t know what----”

“It’s back in his mind,” said Hashknife firmly. “He don’t realize what he’s sayin’, thasall.”

“Will Lavelle send the doctor out?” asked Mrs. Daley.

“That’s up to Lavelle, May. Now will yuh tell me what Bud means?”

“I--I don’t know, Hashknife.”

“You don’t need to lie to me, May.”

She looked up at him, her lips shut tightly; and she turned away from the determined expression in his eyes.

“And you know yuh lie, when yuh say yuh don’t know, May,” he said softly. “I’m yore friend--and I’m listenin’ real close.”

“You--you call me a liar?” she faltered. “And you say you are my friend?”

“I’ve had a lot of friends that lied, May. That’s one of the failin’s of the human race. There’ll always be liars. Now come clean with me. I want to help yuh, but I’ve got to have the truth.”

She got up from her chair and walked to the front doorway. He followed her and she went out on the porch, where she leaned against one of the porch-posts, staring off across the hills. Hashknife leaned easily against the side of the doorway and rolled a smoke. Back in the bedroom Bud muttered some broken sentences.

“Oh, I wish that doctor would hurry,” said May nervously.

“It’s quite a ways to town,” said Hashknife. “But that’s all right; Bud ain’t in dangerous shape. Are yuh ready to talk?”

“Talk?” She turned on him wearily. “Oh, why don’t you go away and let me alone? I have nothing to talk about.”

He stepped out and put a hand on each of her shoulders, forcing her to look into his face.

“May,” he asked softly, “are you in love with Lavelle?”

She shut her eyes quickly and shook her head violently.

“Is he in love with you?”

Quickly she turned away from him, but did not answer.

“All right, I reckon that’s it,” said Hashknife sadly. “I don’t blame him. Yo’re a lovable sort of a girl, May. I used to wonder how Bud Daley got yuh.” He laughed softly and rubbed his chin.

“Yo’re too good for Bud Daley.”

She turned quickly, angrily.

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

“He’s just a cowpuncher, May. You ought to have silks and furs and all that, don’tcha know it?”

Her tightly shut lips trembled and tears came to her eyes. He was goading her with Bud’s own words.

“Lavelle could give yuh all them things, May. He told yuh he could, didn’t he?”

“Oh, why do you ask me these things?” she cried. “What good can it do you?”

“And Bud heard yuh talkin’ with Lavelle, didn’t he? He heard Lavelle offer yuh all these things, May? When did he hear this?”

“What good--?” she began.

“Was it the night that the bank was robbed?”

She tried to turn away, but he caught her by the arm and their eyes met. She nodded quickly and looked away.

“Thank yuh, May,” he said softly. “Now, let’s talk about it.”

“Oh, I don’t want to talk about anything, Hashknife. Please don’t ask me to talk about it. I’ve had so much trouble----”

“Yo’re goin’ to talk to me,” laughed Hashknife, “or I’m goin’ to take you across my lap and spank yuh good; _sabe_?”

She turned angrily on him, but her sense of humor saved Hashknife. In spite of herself she was forced to laugh at his threat.

“Right down here on the steps,” grinned Hashknife. “We’ll set down and have a real good talk. I’m a danged good spanker, too.”

They sat down together. It seemed easier to talk now.

“Now,” said Hashknife, “I understand that Lavelle loves you, but you don’t love him. Makes it tough on Lavelle, but lucky for you. And the night of the bank robbery, Bud heard Lavelle makin’ love to you, eh?”

“I didn’t know it,” she confessed. “But those were some of the things that Lavelle said to me; so Bud must have overheard.”

“Prob’ly broke Bud all up. He had tried to borrow more money from Lavelle that day. Makes it look bad for Bud. He needed money to buy yuh the things that Lavelle promised yuh. It’s a good thing yuh didn’t have to testify at the trial, or they’d ’a’ hung him on that kind of testimony.

“Would you--say, May, this is gettin’ danged personal, and mebbe yuh won’t answer it, but I’m asking it just the same: If Bud had gone to the penitentiary, would you have married Lavelle?”

“I don’t love Lavelle,” she replied softly.

“He wanted to marry yuh, didn’t he?”

“Yes--for a long time.”

“Uh-huh. And if Bud was sent to the penitentiary, you could marry him, if yuh wanted to, May. There wasn’t nothin’ to stop yuh.”

“I realize that,” she said slowly. “Lavelle offered to take me away from here--away from Modoc. He said he would sell out and we could see the world. He came to me again, after Bud was convicted. But I told him that it was impossible. I was so sick over it all. He begged me to go away with him, but I refused. I told him that I was Bud’s wife as long as he lived--no matter what he had done.”

“That was square of yuh, May,” said Hashknife softly. “I’m kinda proud of yuh, don’tcha know it?”

“And you don’t blame me, Hashknife?” she asked eagerly.

“Not that I know of,” he smiled. “It wasn’t no fault of yours, if Lavelle loved yuh. You wouldn’t be hard to love. If I was ten years younger, I’d love yuh myself.”

She laughed softly and the color came back to her face.

“I didn’t know that age was a barrier to love,” she said.

“There’s different kinds of love, May. The kind you know is yore love for Bud. That’s the love of youth. If I was ten years younger--” Hashknife laughed and got to his feet. “Gettin’ kinda stiff in the knees.”

“You are not over forty, Hashknife.”

“Well?”

“Lavelle is almost forty.”

“And yo’re about twenty-two. Say, you ain’t tryin’ to make love to me, are yuh, May?”

“Certainly not!”

“Squirshed agin’,” said Hashknife dejectedly. “I never did have no luck. I got stuck on a waitress in Cheyenne once. She had the prettiest hair I ever seen. I reckon I got stuck on her hair. Well, one day she was waitin’ on my table and I asked her to go to a dance with me that night. I was sure goin’ to ask her to marry me that night.” Hashknife laughed softly and rubbed his chin.

“Well, she said she’d go with me. She was standin’ agin’ the wall, where the hooks are that yuh hang yore hats on, and when she turned to go back to the kitchen, her hair got caught on a hook--and stayed there.”

“Stayed there?” wondered May.

“Uh-uh.” Hashknife laughed heartily. “It was a wig. She was as bald as an aig. She beat it for the kitchen; so I got the wig and gave it to the cashier. That was my only experience as a hair-restorer.”

Mrs. Daley laughed heartily over Hashknife’s sorrows, and to take her mind off the long wait for the doctor, he told her some of the experiences that he and Sleepy had encountered; telling them in a whimsical way, taking no credit for himself.

It was an hour or so later that the doctor arrived. He asked no questions, but proceeded to administer to Bud, who had recovered to a certain extent. Uncle Jimmy and Ma Miller came home, excited over the presence of the doctor, until Hashknife explained how it had all happened.

“And what was Lavelle doin’ out here?” demanded Ma Miller.

“I reckon he just dropped in,” said Hashknife.

“Dropped, eh?” Ma was suspicious and did not conceal it.

“Ma, it’s none of yore business,” said Uncle Jimmy, glad of a chance to chide her. “He didn’t come out here to see you, ’cause he knowed you was in town.”

“Yeah, and he knew that May was here alone. I don’t like it.”

Ma bustled away into the kitchen, and Hashknife went back to his horse. Uncle Jimmy begged him to stay for supper, but Hashknife declined.

“Mebbe t’morrow night. I’ve got some folks that I want to see pretty soon.”

“Well, make it tomorrow night then,” said Uncle Jimmy regretfully. “Ma’ll probably raise ---- when she finds out that yo’re gone, but yo’re single and can do as yuh ---- please. Might do her good to find out that she can’t boss everybody.”

V.

Hashknife rode back toward town, deep in thought. He drew out the letter he had purloined from the 76A mail and looked it over again. It was directed to Cleve Lavelle and post-marked Black Wells. Inside was a single sheet of paper, on which was written in lead-pencil:

$75 dols. Plese remit.

It was unsigned. Hashknife grinned as he touched a lighted match to a corner of it and watched it burn to ashes. Then he rode on into Modoc and tied his horse to the Rest Ye All rack.

There were three horses at the rack, which looked as if they might have traveled a long ways. Hashknife noticed that two of them bore a Cross-Arrow, while the third was branded with three parallel bars on the left hip. He had seen these brands at Black Wells. It was evident that some of Black Wells had come to Modoc, and he wondered if it was any of the gang that were in the Welcome saloon when Sleepy had bombarded the place.

Modoc was a well-patronized town on Saturday. There were many men in the Rest Ye All, but Hashknife decided not to go in. There was no use of running into trouble; which would probably result if he ran into some folks he knew in Black Wells.

He crossed the street and ran into Breed, who seemed visibly worried. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the hitch-rack at the Rest Ye All.

“Jud Mahley and a couple of other hard roosters came over from Black Wells t’day, Hartley. They’re in the saloon, drinkin’ hard liquor and keepin’ an eye on the door. Sleepy and Sody are down at the Elite saloon, singin’ songs to a bartender, who don’t care for music.”

“Well, he ain’t hearin’ any,” laughed Hashknife.

Breed grinned shortly and squinted the length of the street.

“I know. But there’ll be ---- to pay, if them two meet Mahley and his two friends. I figure that they came here to get even for what happened to Mahley. He’s a dirty coyote, Hartley; and the two men with him ain’t no better. What had we better do?”

“Well,” said Hashknife slowly, “I reckon we better find a preacher and have him pray a few times for Mahley and his two gun-men. I dunno much about Sody Slavin, but I know that Sleepy is able to protect his own hide.”

“I wasn’t worryin’ about Sody,” grinned Breed. “He’s a big, fat son of a biscuit-shooter, but he’s a humdinger in a fight. You kinda figure in this, too, don’tcha?”

“Oh, that don’t matter. I’ll kinda keep out of sight, I s’pose.”

Breed laughed and hitched up his belt. He felt better about it now.

“You ain’t worryin’, are yuh?” asked Hashknife.

“No-o-o, I reckon it’ll be all right. Had supper yet?”

“Nor dinner,” grinned Hashknife. “Plumb forgot it. Let’s get Sody and Sleepy and all go to eat together. It’ll give us a good chance to keep ’em away from Juddie and his gang.”

“That’s the ticket.” Breed was enthusiastic, but became dubious.

“I seen ’em a while ago, and they wasn’t open to suggestions. Mebbe you can convince ’em, I dunno.”

They found the two cowpunchers in the Elite, leaning against the bar, while Sody was trying to tell Sleepy a story about Christopher Columbus. It dealt with Columbus’ feat of standing an egg on end. Sody had the egg. The bartender, a sleek, fat individual, with a scant growth of hair, well plastered down, was interested in the narrative, and none of them paid any attention to the coming of Hashknife and Breed.

“Well, how’d he do it?” asked Sleepy, owl-eyed. “Yuh can’t stand no aig on end, Sody. It ain’t built thataway, I tell yuh. Old Chris must ’a’ had a hen that laid a flat-ended aig.”

“Noshir,” Sody wagged his head wisely. “Here’s how he done it.”

Sody grasped the egg firmly in his ham-like hand, held it aloft in triumph.

“Wa’sh me closely,” he chuckled. “There’s no mushtash to desheeve the eye. Ol’ Chris jus’ took the aig--thusly, and----”

Thump! Sody brought his hand down hard enough to have broken a much tougher article than an egg, and the contents of the fruit of the hen-house squirted all over the interested bartender.

He backed against the back-bar, clawing the yolk out of his eyes, while Sody looked goggle-eyed at the crushed mass in his palm. Sleepy moved back, his nose twitching.

“Didja see her stand on end?” asked Sody foolishly.

“I didn’t see it,” said Sleepy. “But I betcha it could. My ----, that aig was old enough to whip the hen that laid it.”

“You’ve gotta lot of nerve,” wailed the bartender, brushing furiously at the bobby-goo on his white vest. “Next time yuh want to tell stories, keep away from here. My ----, that’s a strong egg!”

Sody reached across the bar and dragged the palm of his hand across the edge to dislodge the remnants of the egg, while with the other hand he held his nose.

“Well, ’f here ain’t m’ fambly!” exclaimed Sleepy, catching sight of Hashknife. “Yo’re late, cowboy. Sody jist showed us how to stand an aig on end. C’mon and have a drink.”

“You’ve had a plenty,” grinned Hashknife. “You and Sody are invited to eat supper with me and the sheriff.”

“We ain’t under arrest, are we?” queried Sody quickly.

“Not yet--but the evenin’ is still young. C’mon.”

“There’s somethin’ wrong,” declared Sleepy wisely. “They want to keep an eye on us, Sody. Whatcha s’pose it is?”

“I dunno, and I don’t care,” declared Sody. “I’m hongry--but not for aigs. Waugh! A voice from the tomb. C’mon, let’s go.”

They went up the street to a restaurant and ordered their meals. Sleepy was suspicious. He knew that there was a reason for bringing them up there, and in a few minutes Hashknife told them.

“Great lovely dove!” exploded Sody. “That lop-eared whangdoodle came back here? Mamma mine, what we’ll do to him will be a joy for the Cannibal Islands. Where are they, Hashknife?”

“Set still,” ordered Hashknife. “You two jiggers are goin’ to promise me that yuh won’t start no trouble. Until the proper time, Mahley and his gang are as safe as a church; _sabe_?”

“Oh, yeah!” snorted Sleepy indignantly.

“They came back here to get even with us--and we’ve got to take it, eh?”

“No, I don’t mean that, Sleepy; and you know I don’t. Keep away from Mahley and his men. You don’t need to butt into ’em, do yuh?”

“It would be a lot of fun,” muttered Sleepy. “I want to take a shot at that bat-eared pelican. He ain’t no good, dang his hide.”

“But yuh won’t take no shot at him, Sleepy,” said Hashknife. “I told yuh not to, and you mind me real fine.”

“All right,” Sleepy nodded violently and upset a glass of water with his elbow. “I’ll keep my paws off him for yore sake, but if you kill him without givin’ me and Sody a chance at him we’ll see that Sandy Claws don’t come to yore house next Christmas.”

They ate their supper and went back to the street. Hashknife noticed that the three Black Wells horses were missing from the hitch-rack, and sighed with relief. He felt sure that Sleepy and Sody would proceed to forget what they had promised--and prove a good alibi later on.

Sody seemed to have an idea that the Elite bartender might be getting lonesome; so he and Sleepy headed down there, while Breed and Hashknife sauntered down to Breed’s office and went inside.

* * * * *

It was growing dark and Breed lighted a lamp. They sat down and smoked for a while, discussing things in general. The talk drifted around to Bud Daley and his troubles.

“They convicted Bud on a silver rosette, didn’t they?” asked Hashknife.

“Yeah,” nodded Breed. “Didn’t yuh ever see it?”

He flung open a drawer of his desk beside Hashknife and took out the rosette, which had been thrown in on top of some papers. Hashknife examined it closely. It was a hand-made thing and very distinctively hammered and engraved.

“There was no argument about the ownership,” said Breed as Hashknife examined it under the light of the lamp.

He had one hand in his pocket, but now he withdrew the hand.

“Funny how a thing like that will convict a man,” he mused. “Bud made it with his own hands; hammered it out to suit himself, and the danged thing made an outlaw out of him. Well--” he turned and dropped the shining ornament back into the drawer and shoved it shut--“it’s the little things in life that do the damage.”

“It sure looks thataway,” nodded Breed. “But for some reason I ain’t worryin’ about catchin’ Bud. He’s worth three thousand to the man that finds him, and I kinda hope he won’t be found. Funny thing for a sheriff to say, ain’t it?”

Hashknife laughed softly.

“I’m glad yuh feel thataway, Breed. Mebbe you’ll be disappointed, but I don’t think so.”

“Anyway, I’m not huntin’ for him, Hartley. I probably won’t be the next sheriff of Modoc.”

“Keep yore shirt on,” grinned Hashknife. “Everybody in the county ain’t agin’ Bud Daley; and yuh might still get a vote or two.”

“All right, Medicine-Man,” laughed Breed. “We’ll wait and see what happens.”

They went over to the Rest Ye All and moved about the gambling-room. It was a big night and the games were well patronized. Lavelle was there watching the play. He glanced nervously at Hashknife and Breed, and Hashknife noticed a slight pallor about his face.

Lavelle was not a quiet dresser at any time, but tonight he sparkled with sartorial splendor. He nodded shortly, as Hashknife and Breed passed him, but Hashknife did not speak. Lavelle looked after the tall cowpuncher, a half-sneer on his lips. He noted the big, holstered six-shooter which seemed to cling tightly to Hashknife’s thigh, hanging at just the right angle for a quick draw.

He wondered where Sleepy and Sody were. They had been around earlier in the day. Not that he wanted to see them come in. They were too rough, too boisterous to suit Lavelle; but he rather wanted to know where they were and what they were doing.

Hashknife placed a few bets on the roulette and won the majority of them. But he did not care for roulette. It was all luck, when the wheel was honest. Hashknife preferred to match his brains with others at draw or stud poker. But both big games were filled.