Part 4

Most of the buildings were of the false-fronted variety, but here and there a two-story frame building lifted its top a trifle above the ordinary. It seemed that the business district was composed mostly of saloons.

Out in front of one, which bore the title of Rest Ye All, a fat cowboy was doing his little best to brace up the front of the place, while he sang mournfully:

“I don’ wanna play in yore yard, I don’ like you any mo-o-o-o-ore. You’ll be sor-r-ree when you see me-e-e-e Slidin’ dow-w-wn our cel-lur-r doo-o-o-or. You can’t hol-ler dow-w-wn our rain bar’l, You can’t climb our apple tree-e-e-e; You can’t play in ow-w-wer yar-r-r-rd, ’Cause you won’t be good to me-e-e-e-e.”

Hashknife and Sleepy waited until he had finished and was still panting from clinging quaveringly to the personal pronoun at the end of the chorus.

“You’ve got a good voice, pardner,” said Hashknife.

“Y’betcha,” agreed the cowpuncher heartily. “Yuh like to hear me sing?”

“Nope. You’ve got a good voice--but not for singin’. Do yuh think this saloon would fall down, if yuh moved away?”

The cowpuncher grunted, shoved himself away from the wall and grasped a porch-post firmly with both arms.

“Now whatcha goin’ to do?” asked Sleepy.

“Sing. I’m sad, don’tcha know it? My ---- but I’m sad. And when I’m sad--I seeng, thasall.”

“Oh, yo’re a seenger, are yuh?” laughed Hashknife. “Well, hop to it, brother. Far be it from us to curtail yore sadness.”

“That’s real kind of yuh, I’m sure.”

The cowboy almost fell off the sidewalk in trying to bow his appreciation, but Sleepy steadied him and helped him get a fresh grip on the post.

Hashknife and Sleepy passed on into the saloon, while the puncher lifted his voice in a wailing sort of a dirge, which bore a certain resemblance to “When You and I Were Young, Maggie.”

The Rest Ye All was rather a pretentious place inside. A long, mahogany bar extended down the left side, backed by an ornate but damaged mirror. The walls were decorated with oil paintings of considerable merit, mounted in gaudy frames. Even the lamps were decorative.

The barroom proper was about thirty feet long by twenty feet wide, with an archway at the rear, which led to the gambling parlor. As Hashknife and Sleepy stopped at the bar they caught a glimpse of several gaudily dressed women in the rear room, and to their ears came the rattle of poker-chips, the whir of a roulette-wheel, the soft voice of a dealer at a stud table.

The pink-faced bartender, with a diamond horseshoe in his shirt front, lifted his eyebrows in interrogation. Hashknife and Sleepy made known their wants and drank silently.

“Yuh got quite a place here, pardner,” observed Hashknife.

“Yeap.” The bartender carefully polished the bar and replaced the bottle.

“Swellest place this side of New York.”

“Coverin’ a lot of territory, ain’t yuh?” asked Sleepy.

“I’ve never been to New York,” grinned the bartender.

“You spent much time between here and there?” queried Hashknife.

“Nope. I’ve been as far East as Cheyenne.”

“Thasso? You must like to travel.”

At this time the fat cowboy came inside and weaved up to the bar, where he goggled at Hashknife.

“I’m Sody Slavin,” he announced, and added, “And I’m sad within me. They took m’ friend Bud Daley t’ prison, don’tcha know it? And all he done was t’ kill a cashier and steal twenty thousand dollars. This here country is gettin’ too antisheptic for me, by gosh.”

Hashknife squinted at Sleepy, who was making faces at himself in the back bar mirror. Came the sound of excited voices outside, and the sheriff came in, followed by several men. Sody squinted at the sheriff and reached for him with both hands.

“Whazzamatter?” blurted Sody. “Where’s Bud?”

“Aw, go to ----!” snorted the sheriff, shoving Sody aside, and heading for the back room.

Hashknife and Sleepy followed them into the gambling-room. Cleve Lavelle was just coming in from the rear, and the sheriff went straight to him with the news, blurting it loud enough for every one to hear.

Those at the games quit playing and crowded around, while the sheriff told them what had taken place. But he only told of the cutting loose of the express car and the loss of his prisoner.

“They robbed the passengers, too, didn’t they?” asked Hashknife.

The crowd turned their attention to Hashknife. Breed squinted at him and shook his head.

“No. That brakeman got so excited that he thought everybody was robbed. None of the passengers were molested, except me.”

“How much did they git?” queried a cowboy.

“Not much,” said the sheriff. “They dynamited the express safe, but didn’t get much. The messenger said that it was empty.”

“And Bud Daley got away from yuh, eh?” chuckled another.

“Oh, hurray! Hurray!” whooped Sody, who had followed them in. “Hurray f’r ol’ Bud.”

Sody’s enthusiasm drew a laugh from the crowd and lessened any sympathy that might have gone to the sheriff.

“It seems to me that there ought to be more action and less talk,” observed Hashknife. “A train robbery and an escaped murderer ought to make a sheriff do somethin’ besides talk himself tired.”

Dug Breed squinted at Hashknife and Sleepy closely.

“Takin’ quite a lot of interest in this ain’t yuh?” asked Breed sarcastically.

“Well,” Hashknife grinned softly, “I’m a citizen, and I kinda like t’ feel that I’m protected by the law.”

“You ain’t,” declared Sody seriously. “P’tect yourself, stranger. The law means right, but she’s plumb flat-footed around here.”

Breed grunted angrily and looked around, as though wondering just what reply to make. Hashknife grinned at Sody, who nodded owlishly and essayed a few jig-steps.

“Who are these two men, Dug?” asked Lavelle.

“---- if I know!” snapped Breed. “They were on the train.”

“We’re just a couple of helpless mortals,” said Hashknife slowly. “We’re lookin’ for a peaceful place, thasall. We finds that we ain’t safe on a train; so we unloads here. Ain’t no objection to it, is there?”

“Not that I know of,” said Lavelle.

“Well, that’s nice of yuh, I’m sure,” said Hashknife. “We both thank yuh. My pardner is kinda timid; so I does the talkin’.”

“Myah!” snorted Breed angrily, and turned his back on Hashknife.

“Goin’ to git up a posse, Dug?” asked a cowboy.

“Y’betcha.” Breed turned and walked swiftly back toward the barroom.

“Let’s go and find a hotel, Sleepy,” said Hashknife.

“Hotel, ----!” snorted Sody. “Git yore broncs and come out to the ranch with me.”

“We ain’t got no broncs, Sody,” grinned Hashknife.

“Ain’tcha?” Sody took this under advisement. “I’ll git yuh some.”

“Not tonight,” said Hashknife. “We’ll hit the hay in a hotel tonight.”

“All right,” grudgingly. “I’ll see yuh ’morrow. Yo’re the kinda folks I like, and you’ll like ol’ Jim Miller’s outfit. He’s got the JM outfit; _sabe_?”

They talked outside and Sody pointed out the hotel down the street.

“Who’s the feller that the sheriff talked to back there in the saloon?” asked Sleepy.

“Tha’s Cleve Lavelle.”

“Outside of his name, what is he?”

“Mos’ly everythin’,” said Sody. “Owns everythin’, almost. Owns the 76A ranch, too.”

“Was Bud Daley a friend of yours?” asked Hashknife.

“Yo’re ---- right. Bud’s a dinger. And he’s loose, ain’t he? Tha’s fine, y’betcha. Good ol’ Bud. I don’t like Dug Breed. He’s the sheriff. I’m jist as pop’lar with him as a set of delirium tremens.”

“And they put the deadwood on Bud, did they?”

“Oh, pos’tively. Twelve good men and true said he was guilty. Uncle Jimmy Miller and Cleve Lavelle hired the bes’ lawyers yuh ever seen, but they cinched him. Bud wouldn’t talk. My ----, I can’t con-shee-ve of anybody not talkin’, in a case like that. I’d talk so much and so fast that the judge would never have a chance to pronounsh shentence. That’s me--a man of many words.”

“The sheriff was takin’ him to the pen, wasn’t he?”

“Exactly. Oh, indeed he was, yessir. Bud was shentenced yesterday. They gave him twenty years.”

“Who do yuh reckon took him away from the sheriff?” asked Hashknife.

“Who? I dunno. I’ve got to do a lot of thinkin’ before I can shay pos’tively. I’ll buy a drink.”

“Not tonight,” laughed Hashknife. “Do yuh think they’ll catch Bud Daley?”

“I refuse to state.” Sody grew very wise and serious. “If Bud don’t want to be caught, tha’s another matter en-tirely. Bud’s forked, don’tcha know it? He’ll fight. Yessir, I kinda look for gore to be spilled before they git ol’ Bud agin’.”

They shook hands with Sody and went on toward the hotel.

“What do yuh think of it, Hashknife?” queried Sleepy.

“Looks like Bud Daley had growed horns and a tail, Sleepy. But yuh never can tell. We’ll sleep over it.”

“We ought to have stayed on that train,” said Sleepy. “The first thing we know we’ll be sharpenin’ our horns agin’--and this don’t look like a one-man proposition.”

* * * * *

There was little excitement in Modoc the next morning. The sheriff and his posse, which consisted of Charley Morse, the deputy sheriff, “Monte” Sells, foreman of the 76A ranch, Frank Asher, of the same outfit, and Steve Harris, of the 4X, had not come back to town.

Hashknife and Sleepy ate breakfast late and ran into Sody Slavin at the post office. Uncle Jimmy had come in with him, and Sody lost no time in introducing Hashknife and Sleepy to him.

“Sody tells me that you was on the train last night when it was held up,” said Uncle Jimmy.

“Yeah, we were there,” grinned Hashknife. “Yuh see, we were on our way here to make Bud Daley a little visit. We came in by stage through the Brant River country to Dixon; and found ourselves so close to Modoc that we figured it would be kinda handy to drop off and see Bud.”

“Thasso? You knowed Bud before, eh?”

“Sure. We used to work with him. Tell us somethin’ about the trial, will yuh?”

Uncle Jimmy related everything, according to the evidence, while the four of them sat on the edge of the board sidewalk and dug their heels into the dirt.

“There wasn’t a lot of evidence ag’in him,” explained Uncle Jimmy. “That rosette off his chaps looked bad to the jury. Bud wouldn’t tell where he was that night, and everybody knowed that Bud needed money. He jist sat there and let ’em convict him, without even arguin’ about it.

“Me and Cleve Lavelle hired lawyers for him, but they didn’t help Bud much, ’cause Bud wouldn’t talk. He jist didn’t seem to give a ---- what they done to him. Old Jordan has been doin’ his dangdest to find out what Bud done with that money, but Bud won’t never tell.

“If he lives to serve that twenty years, he’ll have twenty thousand dollars. Mebbe he looks at it thataway, I dunno. Didja ever know his wife, Hartley?”

“Yeah. Knowed her before she married Bud. This must ’a’ been danged tough for her.”

Uncle Jimmy nodded sadly.

“----, yes. May is salt of the earth.”

“They can’t take the ranch away from her, can they?” asked Hashknife.

“I dunno. Anyway, it ain’t worth enough to battle about.”

“Bud wasn’t a success as a cattleman, eh?”

“He was doin’ all right until somebody stole all his cows.”

Hashknife’s eyes opened a trifle wider and he looked sidewise at the old cattleman.

“Stole all his cows?”

“That’s what Bud says. He had a nice herd started. Bought out the old Triangle outfit, about three miles west of here, and had it registered as the Triangle D. Bud had a little money, but not enough; so he borrows five thousand from Lavelle, who owns the Rest Ye All over across the street.

“Bud always was a gambler; so he takes that borrowed money and tackles the roulette. He sure was right that day, and he annexes ten thousand from Lavelle. That gives him fifteen thousand, and he soaks it all into cows.”

“Was Lavelle sore?” asked Hashknife.

“No. Lavelle is a gambler. Bud should ’a’ paid back that money right then, but he didn’t. The round-up was about three weeks ago, and there ain’t a Triangle D animal in the Modoc range.

“I don’t sabe it no more than anybody else does. A lot of ’em think that Bud picked ’em up quietly and shoved the herd through the Crooked Cañon country and over to Black Wells.”

“To keep from payin’ Lavelle that five thousand, eh?” queried Hashknife.

“Seems to be the idea,” nodded Uncle Jimmy. “He even went and tried to borrow ten thousand more from Lavelle, but didn’t git it.”

Hashknife laughed softly and shook his head.

“Our friend Bud has become a salty sort of a gent, it seems.”

“Could he drive his cows out of the country and not have it known?” asked Sleepy.

“Could be done,” said Sody. “Bud’s place is kinda away by itself, and right on the old trail to Black Wells. He could ’a’ worked easy-like, bunched ’em in the hills back of his place and hammered ’em out at night, and it wouldn’t take more than a few hours to put ’em well into the Crooked Cañon country.”

“But,” demurred Hashknife, “if he sold ’em in Black Wells, it ought to be easy to find it out.”

Uncle Jimmy spat viciously and shook his head.

“The only thing yuh ever find out in Black Wells is that it’s a ---- good place to keep yore mouth shut.”

“It’s a good place to dispose of stock,” grinned Sody. “They don’t even look at brands.”

“Lavelle and Bud were good friends?”

“Well,” grinned Uncle Jimmy, “he loaned Bud five thousand dollars, and then he paid half of his lawyer bill. I reckon that’s friendship, ain’t it?”

“Kinda has the ear-marks,” smiled Hashknife. “Who do yuh reckon held up the train and turned Bud loose?”

“More friendship,” laughed Sody. “Ol’ Bud was pop’lar.”

“Bud didn’t trail with train-robbers, did he?” asked Hashknife.

Uncle Jimmy squinted closely at Hashknife and placed a horny hand on Hashknife’s knee.

“You ain’t pious, are yuh, Hartley?” he asked slowly.

Hashknife laughed and shook his head.

“Then don’t build yuh any glass houses and start throwin’ rocks. Friendship is friendship, accordin’ to my way of lookin’ at it, Hartley. I’ve heard that there was a ---- of a lot of bad folks in the Modoc country--but there ain’t none of us that say a prayer before we go to bed, ’cause we ain’t afraid of anybody shootin’ us in our sleep.”

“I beg yore pardon, Jim Miller,” said Hashknife softly. “I reckon I understand how it is.”

“Thasall right,” nodded Uncle Jimmy. “You know how we stand now.”

“I’d like to see Mrs. Daley,” said Hashknife. “Yuh see, we came here to see Bud, and we’d like to do what we can for his wife.”

“Mebbe we can get horses at the livery stable,” suggested Sleepy.

“Yuh can, but yuh won’t need to,” grinned Sody. “I dragged in a couple of extra broncs with me this mornin’, and they’re over at the hitch-rack, waitin’ for yuh.”

“You fellers kinda hypnotized Sody, didn’t yuh?” laughed Uncle Jimmy. “He wouldn’t do that much for me. I remember----”

“No, yuh don’t,” interrupted Sody. “I’ve done a lot for you.”

Uncle Jimmy got to his feet and brushed off his knees.

“There ain’t no use arguin’ with yuh, Sody,” he declared. “You ain’t noways changeable. I never did see anybody as set in their ways as you are. I sure made a awful mistake when I made you foreman of the JM outfit--I should ’a’ given it to yuh.”

“It ain’t too late,” grinned Sody. “But if yuh do I’ll fire yuh right off the reel. I’d want capable men on my ranch.”

They went over to the hitch-rack and untied the horses. Sody had brought a couple of hammer-headed, evil-eyed animals for Hashknife and Sleepy; but he was not trying to play any tricks on them.

“They’ll likely buck a little,” he told them. “Mebbe they’ll buck more than a little, but I didn’t want to insult yuh by bringin’ a couple of rockin’-chairs for yuh.”

“If we git ditched, it’ll be all yore fault,” laughed Hashknife as he swung aboard.

Neither animal made any effort to buck, and Sody nodded wisely.

“Yuh can’t fool a bronc,” he declared as they rode out of town. “Them animals knowed right away that it wasn’t no use tryin’ to shuck you two fellers; so they don’t waste their energy.”

“I reckon we’ll find Ma out at Bud’s place,” said Uncle Jimmy. “She didn’t say she was goin’ out there, but she will.”

“Y’betcha,” nodded Sody. “Where there’s sufferin’, you’ll find Ma Miller.”

* * * * *

It did not take them long to ride the three miles to the Triangle D ranch-house. A sorrel buggy team was tied to the fence near the house, and near the front porch was grouped a number of saddled horses.

“That’s Ma’s buggy team,” observed Sody, “and them broncs belong to the sheriff’s posse. I c’n tell Dug Breed’s black animal.”

They rode up and dismounted, just as Breed and his posse came out of the front door. Breed squinted hard at them, but did not say anything. Ma Miller, a tall, raw-boned woman, followed them out.

Her jaw was set at a belligerent angle, and it was plain to be seen that she was not at all in accord with the officers. She ignored Uncle Jimmy and the rest and centered her indignation upon Dug Breed and his men.

“Git off the ranch--the whole caboodle of yuh!” she ordered in a masculine voice. “Dug Breed, you ain’t got the feelin’s of a coyote. Trompin’ in like that! Didja expect to find Bud Daley here? You can’t keep a man when yuh do git one.

“Anyway, you’re a sweet-lookin’ gang to be enforcin’ the law. Yeah, I mean it, too. Monte Sells and Frank Asher! Steve Harris! Say, when did you snake-hunters git a license to hunt criminals? If we had a sheriff that’d uphold the law, you fellers would be huntin’ the high places yourself.”

They were riding away, making faces at each other, and Ma turned belligerently toward Uncle Jimmy and the others.

“You sure can tell ’em things, Ma,” laughed Sody. “Whooee! Meet Mister Hartley and Mister Stevens, Ma. Gents, this is Ma Miller. Most men has a better half, but Uncle Jimmy has a better seven-eighths.”

Ma grinned and shook hands with them.

“Ma, I’m sure glad to meet yuh,” laughed Hashknife. “Yo’re worth a lot to a man whose eyes hankers for the home folks.”

“That’s a reg’lar speech,” laughed Ma Miller. “Didja say yore name was Hartley?”

“Yes’m. Hashknife, to m’ friends.”

Mrs. Daley had come to the door and was staring at Hashknife. Her face was tear-streaked and her eyes shadowed with sorrow, but she held out both hands at the sight of Hashknife.

“I heard your name,” she said gladly. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Hashknife. And there is Sleepy Stevens!”

Hashknife took both of her hands, while Sleepy crowded in to shake hands with her.

“How in the world did you ever happen to come here?” she asked.

“We came here to visit yuh, Mrs. Daley.”

“When did you come?”

“We was on the train that Bud was on, and we seen him turned loose.”

Mrs. Daley looked away, her lips trembling.

“Then you know what has happened to us, Hashknife.”

“Y’betcha. We’ve heard a lot of the story.”

“Haven’t you heard all of it?”

Hashknife shook his head slowly.

“Nobody knows all of it, ma’am. Yuh see, the last chapter ain’t been written yet.”

“By gosh, there’s a lot of sense in that, too!” exclaimed Ma Miller. “May has been grievin’ her heart out; but she don’t know yet how it’s goin’ to turn out.”

May smiled wistfully and shook her head.

“I don’t see how things can be better for us, Ma.”

“Well, they ain’t got Bud in no danged prison,” reminded Sody. “He’s got a fightin’ chance.”

“Quit talkin’ about it,” grunted Uncle Jimmy.

“Anyway, I am awful glad to see you two boys,” smiled Mrs. Daley. “Bud speaks about you so often.”

She turned to Ma Miller and took her by the hand.

“Ma, you’ll like these two men. Bud swears by both of them. He says that Hashknife Hartley--no, I won’t repeat it--but it used to make me jealous. He used to wonder what old Hashknife and Sleepy are doing today, and wish that they would come along and advise him on certain things.”

“I told yuh they was reg’lar folks,” Sody grinned at Uncle Jimmy triumphantly. “By golly, I can pick ’em--drunk or sober.”

“Are you going to stay a while?” asked Mrs. Daley.

“Yuh never can tell about us,” smiled Hashknife. “We ain’t gentlemen of leisure, but it kinda seems that we don’t stay put in one place very long.”

“You don’t look like a pair of drifters,” observed Ma Miller.

“No, ma’am,” Hashknife shook his head. “We travel under our own power.”

“Bud used to say that they were the best cowpunchers in the world, but they never punch cows,” said Mrs. Daley. “He said they were always too busy to work.”

“What did he mean by that?” asked Sody.

Hashknife laughed and began rolling a cigaret.

“Yuh see, we’re kinda unlucky--me and Sleepy. Everywhere we go we find somebody in a jam. We jist can’t mind our own business--somehow. Personally, I’d like to settle down and grow old with the country; but Sleepy can’t git over his childish ways; so I reckon we’ll--keep movin’ along.”

“You won’t have much for yore old age, will yuh?” asked Uncle Jimmy.

“Yeah, we’ll have quite a lot,” smiled Hashknife. “It won’t be anythin’ that yuh can cash in at a bank. And when we die, we won’t leave nothin’ spendable. There ain’t nobody dependin’ on either one of us, except the other.”

“I think I know what you mean,” said Mrs. Daley softly. “Bud told me some of the things you have done.”

“Likely magnified ’em,” grunted Sleepy. “Bud always did have a big imagination. We’ve been lucky, thasall.”

“I hope it will never change,” said Ma Miller earnestly.

“It won’t, Ma--as long as we’re right,” said Hashknife. “Sometimes it’s hard to be right. Humanity is a queer thing. We might do wrong through friendship, through a wrong hunch, or believin’ a lie.”

“If yuh want jobs, I’ll give ’em to yuh,” stated Uncle Jimmy. “I ain’t got a danged thing for yuh to do, but that ain’t goin’ to interest nobody but me. Mebbe it’ll be worth it to have somebody for Sody to argue with. He’ll leave me alone. Harry McKee won’t argue with him, and Dinah Blewette stutters so bad that he ain’t got a chance in the world; so Sody makes me miserable. If there’s anythin’ on earth that I hate, it’s an argument.”

“Yeah, you do,” growled Sody. “You hate it like yuh hate fried chicken. When you won’t argue--you’re in danged bad shape.”

“Thasso!” Uncle Jimmy bristled belligerently. “Lemme tell yuh somethin’, you----”

“Jim Miller, don’t start it!” snapped Ma Miller. “My gosh, you two gallinippers make me tired. Your arguments never have no beginnin’ nor end. And anyway, this ain’t no time nor place for arguments.”

“He started it, Ma,” protested Uncle Jimmy. “He always starts ’em, if yuh notice. All I done was to offer these two men jobs.”

“They never asked yuh for a job, Jim.”

“Didn’t they? I s’pose I’ve got to be asked, have I? Say, who owns the JM ranch? Ain’t I got a right to offer a job without bein’ asked?”

“I’m the foreman,” reminded Sody.

“Are yuh?” Uncle Jimmy teetered on the balls of his feet and hooked his thumbs over his cartridge belt. “You are, are yuh? That makes you quite important, eh? Anybody’d think you was the Grand Exalted Ruler of the Universe, Sody. I made yuh foreman, didn’t I? Anybody’d think you was born thataway? You sure do wear yore honors lightly, fat feller. Well, go ahead and hire ’em, why don’tcha?”

Sody turned and looked seriously at Hashknife and Sleepy.

“Did you fellers want a job on the JM ranch?” he asked.

Hashknife and Sleepy both shook their heads. Ma Miller threw back her head and laughed, and even Mrs. Daley forgot her troubles long enough to join in the merriment.

“That was a lot of talk wasted,” said Ma Miller, wiping her eyes with her apron. “But that’s like Jim and Sody. I’ve been tryin’ to convince May that she ought to come over to the JM and stay with us a while. She can’t stay here alone.”

“By golly, she sure can have the JM, if she wants it,” said Uncle Jimmy. “That’s her home. You come and live with us, May. Ma needs somebody to argue with, don’tcha know it. Then she’d leave me alone. I sure don’t git much peace in this world--and yuh never can tell about the hereafter.”

Hashknife laughed and threw away his cigaret.