Part 2

“Yeah, and we better kinda look a little out,” said Wooden-shoe. “She’d fire the whole bunch of us. There wasn’t no use lyin’ about Ma Coogan. Us liars can stick together, but Ma wouldn’t back us up.”

“She’s goin’ to be advised by Williams and helped by Murtch,” mused Leather aloud; “I dunno----”

He shook his head sadly and began manufacturing a cigaret.

“---- old Nick Ralls!” exploded Chet.

“He sure had a cause to keep away from his relation,” said Wheezer. “That woman ain’t got no heart, don’tcha know it?”

“Pretty ones hardly ever do have,” said Leather.

“You’ve knowed so many of them,” grinned Chet.

“I betcha she won’t eat at the table with us,” offered Wooden-shoe. “I betcha she makes Ma set a table in the front room for her.”

“I sure hope she does,” declared Chet. “If she don’t--we will. By golly, she’s pretty, though.”

“Yore rope’s draggin’,” cautioned Wheezer.

“Well, suppose it is, I didn’t say I was stuck on her, did I?”

“I suppose Wooden-shoe will be makin’ love to her pretty quick,” said Leather.

“No sir,” Wooden-shoe shook his head vehemently and his face flushed hotly. “I stole cows for a year for her, and that’s enough. She can’t expect too much.”

Ma Coogan’s hammering of the steel triangle, which hung at the kitchen-door, broke up the meeting, and the four cowboys trooped to the rear of the kitchen to wash up for supper.

There was no sign of the new owner, and Ma Coogan was strangely silent. Even the cowboys ate silently, which was unusual.

“My ----!” grunted Wheezer. “You’d think somebody done died around here.”

“Somethin’ has, I reckon,” whispered Chet seriously, and Ma Coogan shook her head warningly at him.

At the conclusion of the meal, which none of them enjoyed, Leather Kleig drew Ma Coogan out of the back door, while the others grouped close around them.

“Ma,” said Leather, “did you know that Nick Ralls told you that, if yuh stayed here ten years, he’d fix yuh up so yuh wouldn’t have to work no more?”

She squinted at Leather and around at the other cowboys wonderingly.

“You know he said that, don’tcha, Ma?” asked Chet.

“Well, bless my soul! Where did ye ever get that strange idea?”

“That’s what he told me.”

Leather Kleig was serious enough to have been telling the truth.

“Nick Ralls told ye that, Leather?”

“Honest Injun, Ma.”

“Well, I dunno--” Ma looked vacantly around. “That’s news, so it is. I’ve niver heard--sure, you’re jokin’, now.”

“Ma, look here.” Wheezer put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been here ten years, workin’ hard. Did yuh ever think what Nick Ralls’ death would mean to you? This here lady boss ain’t noways human. She’d fire her own father. If she lets yuh out--what’ll become of yuh, Ma?”

Ma Coogan gasped slightly and shook her head.

“Sure, I--I dunno, boys. Why, the old ranch has been a home and I niver thought of bein’ fired. I--I’d hate to leave--here. But,” she lifted her head and smiled around at them, “sure, there’s no use of borryin’ a lot of trouble. The things ye worry the most about never happen.”

“Jist the same it’s wise to have your gun loaded,” observed Wheezer. “We was jist wonderin’ if yuh knowed what Nick Ralls intended to give yuh. We supposed that you knowed all about it, ’cause he told us.”

Ma Coogan looked straight into Wheezer’s eyes, and he turned away under her steady gaze.

“Ye’r’ a lovable liar, Wheezer,” she said softly, “but ye can’t fool old Ma Coogan. Sure, it’s nice of ye all, but ye know well that Nick Ralls niver had any such foolish ideas.”

Wheezer shuffled his feet nervously and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Ma, we’re tryin’ to get a square-deal, thassall. If that fish-eyed lawyer asks yuh about it, would yuh mind just askin’ him if it ain’t in the will?”

“In the will?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to tell no lie, Ma. If he starts jawin’ around, which he will, just ask him that, will yuh?”

“Sure, I dunno what good it’ll do, but I’ll ask him.”

“Where’s the beautiful princess?” asked Wooden-shoe.

“Eatin’ in her own room. She’ll have her breakfast in bed, so she says--at tin o’clock. She asked me if you boys were fair samples of cowboys, and I told her that the NR niver hired samples.

“Thin,” Ma Coogan lowered her voice, “she asked me what a cattle-rustler was, and I told her it was a cowpuncher out of work. She said she’d have more respect, or there’d be four cattle-rustlers lookin’ for new positions. Sure, that’s what she said--‘positions’.”

Leather grinned and shook his head--

“She’s goin’ to be advised by the fish-eyed lawyer, Ma.”

“Thin, may God help the old ranch!” Ma exclaimed piously.

“It’ll sure need somethin’ from the outside,” said Wheezer sadly. “Don’t forget what you’ve got to say to him, Ma. It won’t be lyin’.”

Ma nodded and went back into the kitchen, while the four cowboys went back to the bunk-house.

“Suppose we can’t make that stick with the lawyer; what’ll we do?” asked Wooden-shoe.

“Do?” Leather Kleig flung one of his boots across the rough floor and wiggled his toes through a hole in his sock. “What’ll we do? By ----, we stole most of them NR cows for Nick Ralls, didn’t we? Then what in ---- is goin’ to stop us from stealin’ ’em from the NR?”

“Not me,” Wooden-shoe shook his head quickly. “I’m a re-formed cattle-rustler, by gosh! From now on, I don’t rob nothin’ but stages and banks.”

“You goin’ to Broken Butte tomorrow, Leather?” asked Wheezer.

“What for? We ain’t even got enough money to play a game of seven-up.”

“Mebbyso we will have. Clay Hardy offered me fifty for that glass-eyed sorrel a week ago, but I wanted a hundred. Mebbe he’ll be wantin’ sixty dollars worth tomorrow, and if he does--that’s fifteen apiece.”

“I sabe a roulette system,” declared Wooden-shoe. “It’s a cinch. All yuh do----”

“Make it twenty apiece for three of us,” interrupted Leather. “That’s a better system than Wooden-shoe’s.”

* * * * *

The town of Broken Butte was a county seat, but, outside of that fact it had little to boast about. Perhaps there were a few more false-fronted buildings than in the average Western cow-town; perhaps it was a little hotter in Summer and colder in Winter; but it was still a weather-beaten, hitch-rack decorated, dusty-streeted cow-town.

There was the usual array of restaurants, where the inner man might be well appeased for two-bits. The fact that there were two livery-stables rather lifted Broken Butte out of the mediocre class, but its chief claim to distinction was the Shoshone Saloon, where wine, women and song brought surcease from range-land sorrows, and kept the cowboys broke but contented.

“Battler” Morgan owned the Shoshone, a pugnacious jaw, one cauliflower ear and a memory of the days when men fought with bare knuckles. He could throw a bottle almost as straight as a cowboy could shoot a gun--but not quite.

He had found this out to his sorrow, when he essayed to bounce a bottle off the head of Wheezer Bell. Wheezer had incurred Battler’s displeasure by slamming a bullet into the bottle, in mid-air. The bottle was coming toward Wheezer, but the .45 bullet caused it to sort of evaporate, and the neck of the bottle boomeranged into Battler’s front teeth.

Wheezer admitted that he shot at the bottle, which the rest of the NR gang knew to be a mistake, but it established Wheezer as a bad man to monkey with. Battler bought some “store” teeth and quit throwing bottles at gunmen.

Eph Williams owned an office on the main street, and he was climbing into a top-buggy when the four cowboys rode in from the NR ranch. Williams sighed with relief as he drove out of town.

He had no wish to meet these four men. He knew, to his sorrow, that they did not respect him in the least, and he secretly wished that they might be hailed into court, charged with a serious offense.

For Eph Williams, in spite of the fact that he passed the collection plate at church, did not “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.” These four men laughed at him, and he did not like that. He had often wondered why Nick Ralls hired these four men. One day he had asked Nick Ralls regarding them, and Nick Ralls had told him that it was none of his adjectived business.

The four cowboys watched Eph Williams drive out of town, and Chet wailed over the fact that they would not be at the ranch to greet him.

“We’d take off his wheels and make him walk home.”

“Yeah, and have him advise Cleopatra to fire us,” said Wheezer. “You ain’t got a ---- bit of fi-ness.”

“That’s a nice word to call a friend,” said Chet accusingly. “You go and sell that wall-eyed cayuse to ‘Clay’ Hardy, professor.”

“Yeah, you do that,” agreed Leather. “But if yuh see that bat-headed Murtch, don’t antagonize him. He’s in cahoots with Williams.”

“Rope’s draggin’!” Wheezer whispered warningly.

Leather turned quickly and saw Murtch standing within five feet of him. He had come out of the Shoshone Saloon while they were talking. There was not the slightest doubt but what Murtch had heard what Leather Kleig had said, but his face told them nothing.

“All right, I’ll go and find Clay,” said Wheezer. Then to Murtch--

“Is Clay at the office?”

Clay Hardy was Murtch’s deputy; a vile-tempered, pasty-faced individual, who was reputed to be the best rifle-shot in the country, in spite of the fact that he was of the jerky, nervous type.

“I reckon he’s there,” replied Murtch softly, and walked past them, going across the street.

Wheezer led the sorrel down the street toward the sheriff’s office, while the other three cowboys went into the Shoshone, to wait for Wheezer to bring them funds enough for a little riotous living.

There was little warmth in Battler Morgan’s reception, but he did invite them to have a drink.

“What’sa matter with it?” asked Chet wonderingly.

“With what?” asked Battler.

“Yore liquor,” explained Chet. “You givin’ it away, kinda makes me wonder. How’s tricks, Battler?”

“All right,” growled Battler. He was not very quick witted. “Whatcha drinkin’?”

“I’ll smoke a see-gar,” stated Wooden-shoe. “Gift whisky hurts my stummick. Got any of them two-bit Flor de Loco Weeds? Yuh know what I mean--them dusty ones.”

“Never look a gift see-gar in the dust,” advised Leather, leaning across the bar and studying the labels on some dusty-looking case-goods.

“Well, name your drinks,” said Battler impatiently.

“W-h-i-t-e S-e-a-l,” spelled Leather. “What’s that--sody-water, Battler?”

“Champagne,” gruffly.

“I’ll take a chance on her,” nodded Leather.

“Yuh will? At ten dollars per bottle?”

“Well, ain’t we yore friends?” asked Chet. “Ten per bottle ain’t nothin’ between friends, ’specially when we’ve got a lady boss. Didja hear about it, Battler?”

Battler nodded.

“Murtch was tellin’ me. What you jaspers goin’ to do for a job?”

“Work for the NR,” replied Leather dryly, motioning for the bartender to open a bottle of champagne.

“Want me to open a bottle, Battler?”

The bartender wanted official sanction.

“No!” snapped Battler. “I ain’t wastin’ champagne on cowpunchers. Whisky’s good enough.”

“Not for me, it ain’t,” declared Leather, turning his back on the bar. “Battler won’t treat us right, ’cause he thinks we ain’t got nothin’ to spend in his danged place.”

“You fellers ain’t had no pay-day.”

Battler was so old in the liquor business that he did not mind admitting a lack of enthusiasm in treating men who were broke.

“Did yuh ever know us to have a pay-day?” asked Chet.

Battler thought it over and shook his head.

“No, I don’t think I have. You fellers has spent money, but I never heard yuh mention pay-day.”

“You remember that, will yuh?” asked Leather, but before Battler could ask a reason for remembering such a trifling thing, Wheezer came bustling in, kicking his spurred heels on the floor.

“Hookum cow!” he chortled, executing a very poor jig-step. “Nailed Clay for seventy dollars.”

He pulled the money out of his chaps pocket and piled it on the bar.

“Are you a sport?” queried Leather.

“Dang right!” exploded Wheezer. “Gimme action.”

Leather poked a ten-dollar gold piece out of the pile and shoved it across the bar.

“Give me that bottle of champagne.”

The bartender handed it across to him, while Wheezer leaned in close and peered at the dusty, long-necked bottle.

“Whazzat?” he asked curiously.

“This?” Leather patted the bottle. “This is the drink of kings, Wheezer.”

He took out his knife and inserted the blade under the wired top.

Wheezer glanced at the cash register and blinked at Leather.

“Ten dollars for a little bottle? My ----, what’s in it?”

_Pwhop!_

The cork hit Wheezer in the mouth, and most of the champagne struck him in the chest. Leather tried to hold his hand over the neck of the bottle, with the result that a stream of the liquor shot square into Wooden-shoe’s face. A shift of the hand shot the stream up into Leather’s face and he dropped the bottle on the floor.

Wheezer wiped his sleeve across his face and looked down at the bottle. He scooped up the rest of the money and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Yo’re all through playin’ king with my money,” he announced.

“You don’t open champagne like that,” explained the bartender chokingly. “You put a towel over----”

“Aw-w-w, ----!” snapped Leather. “I’ve opened lots of it.”

“Yeah, there was quite a lot in that bottle,” admitted Chet, feeling of his sticky shirt collar. “Kind of a magic bottle, ain’t they?”

“I’ll open a bottle,” announced Battler joyfully. “I’ll show yuh how it’s done.”

“After we’re gone, Battler--not now--” Wheezer was very emphatic--“I’ve swallowed a cork and I smell like I’d had a bath in hard cider. If yuh want to treat, I’ll take a see-gar.”

The other three nodded dismally and accepted an ancient cigar on the house, which they discarded after a puff or two in favor of a Durham cigaret. Wheezer relented and split his money among them, after which they wooed the goddess of chance in their own ways.

* * * * *

It was about three hours later that Eph Williams drove back to Broken Butte. It was only five miles to the NR ranch, which was far enough to give him a chance to cool his anger against the four cowboys.

He took his horse and buggy to the livery-stable and went back to his little office. Murtch had seen him, and wended his way to Williams’ office, where he found Williams in a vile mood. Murtch sat down and waited for Williams to cool down. These two understood each other very well.

“What’s the matter?” queried Murtch. “You act all het up, Eph.”

“Aw, ----!” exploded Eph, kicking a perfectly good law book off the corner of his desk, that he might have a resting-place for his feet.

“I just came in from the NR, and I find out that them four punchers are claiming that Ralls agreed to pay them once a year, and that the NR owes them four hundred and eighty dollars apiece.”

“That’s a ---- of a thing to claim!” exclaimed Murtch indignantly. “Why, they can’t----”

“That ain’t all, Murtch. Miss Cleveland told me that Nick Ralls had promised old lady Coogan that he was going to settle enough money on her, after she had been there ten years, to keep her the rest of her life. And she’s been there just ten years.”

“Of all the ---- fool things I ever heard!”

“Nick Ralls never kept any books. There ain’t a scratch of a pen to show how he run his ranch.”

“But they can’t git away with anythin’ like that,” protested Murtch. “There ain’t nobody runs a ranch that way, Eph.”

“Them four claim a total of nineteen hundred and twenty dollars,” said Eph thoughtfully. “That’s a ---- of a lot of money, Murtch.”

“Ain’t she goin’ to fire ’em, Eph?”

“I suppose.”

Eph got to his feet and walked over to the door. Wheezer and Chet were coming across the street and their legs seemed a trifle unsecure. Eph opened the door and scowled at them.

“H’lo,” greeted Wheezer owlishly. “We’re after some legal advice.”

“Legal advice, eh?”

Williams squinted at them closely, but, in spite of the fact that they had been drinking, they seemed deadly serious.

Murtch came to the door and looked at the cowboys, who grinned widely at him.

“H’lo, sheriff!”

Wheezer cuffed his hat on to one side of his head and grinned wickedly.

“Whazza matter? You in trouble, too?”

“Not that anybody knows about,” retorted Murtch.

“Oh--” Wheezer’s lips formed a perfect O and he nodded wisely. “Not that anybody knows about, eh? Well, I s’pose it ain’t right to expose yoreself, but me and Chet are open and above-board in everythin’, ain’t we, Chettie?”

“Oh, very much so,” nodded Chet. “We don’t have no mustache to deceive the eye.”

Murtch grunted angrily and hooked his thumb over his belt above his holster. But this action did not frighten the two cowboys.

“He’s half-way home after his gun,” observed Chet wisely.

“Just what did you want to know?” asked Williams.

He knew that this talk was only leading up to trouble, and he wanted to avoid it if possible.

“Li’l point of law,” explained Wheezer.

“Me ’n Chet has had a argument about lawyers, don’tcha see?”

“What was the argument?”

“Well--” Wheezer cuffed his hat sideways again and grew very solemn--“well, this was the argument: I said that lawyers was predatory animals, but Chet argues that there must be a open and a closed season on ’em. Me ’n Chet don’t want to break no game laws.”

Williams’s lips tightened and his face flushed. He was fighting mad, but his better judgment told him to move carefully. Murtch swore under his breath and looked away, but Williams said nothing, as he turned slowly and went back into the office.

“There ain’t no answer,” said Chet softly.

“Betcha he’s gone to look in a book. Lawyers always have to look into books, Chettie.”

“My advice to you fellers would be--” began Murtch angrily, but Wheezer interrupted with--

“Nobody asked you for advice, Murtch.”

“And nobody, if they’ve got any brains, ever will,” added Chet.

“Is that so? Lemme tell you fellers somethin’. Broken Butte is tired of you four jaspers from the NR, and if you want to get away with a whole hide, yuh better move fast.”

“My ----, you frighten me!” squeaked Wheezer. “My tonsils are weak and any sudden shock makes me choke all up.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” wailed Chet sadly. “Broken Butte is all through with us, Wheezer, don’tcha know it. Just like the song:

“Out in thish wide wor-r-rld alo-o-one, Nothin’ but sorrow I see-e-e-e; I’m-m-m nobody’s dar-r-rling, Nobody car-r-r-res for me-e-e-e.”

Chet’s unmusical voice clung lovingly to the last notes and his eyes closed with ecstasy. Murtch snorted his indignation and walked swiftly away toward his office, both hands clenched around his cartridge-belt, while Wheezer sat down on the wooden sidewalk and shook with unholy mirth.

“What’s so ---- funny about it?” demanded Chet. “That’s a sad song, ain’t it? Somebody has to tell yuh when to cry. My, my! Yo’re ignorant, cowboy.”

Leather came out of the Shoshone and crossed the street to them. He was perfectly sober and his thin lips were tightly drawn, as if suppressing a grin.

“I tapped the old roulette for a hundred and fifty,” he informed them. “And Wooden-shoe has corralled most of the chips in the stud-poker game. C’mon.”

“Where yuh goin’?” demanded Wheezer.

“Clerk and Recorder’s office. I’m goin’ to take a look at old Nick Ralls’ will.”

“Why spoil a perfec’ day? We jist insulted Williams and Murtch.”

“We hope we did,” amended Chet, “but I doubt it.”

“All right,” nodded Leather. “Go ahead and get us all fired.”

The clerk’s office was located at the north end of the town. Broken Butte had never been financially able to build a court house; so the county offices were badly scattered.

The clerk showed them the recorded will, and even volunteered to read it to them. It was short and to the point.

“Bein’ in good health and sound of mind, eh?” grinned Leather, as the clerk finished reading. “That danged old gopher never was sound of mind. Leaves all his earthly possessions to Miss Jane Cleveland, his niece, who is his only known living relative.”

“I understand that she has taken possession,” remarked the clerk.

“Yo’re danged right she has,” grinned Wheezer. “Man, she’s sure took right hold of the old ranch.”

They left the clerk’s office and started down the street. The stage was just driving up to the front of the general merchandise store, in which the post-office was located, and the three cowboys stopped to watch a newcomer disgorge himself from the interior of the dusty stage.

He was of medium height, slender of build and well dressed. His olive-tinted face was handsome, in spite of its lines of dissipation, and his tiny black mustache was waxed to needle-like points.

He dusted himself off with his hands, paid the driver his fare and watched him unpack two valises off the boot of the stage. He looked at the three cowboys and a flash of recognition crossed his face, but he turned back to the driver, picked up his valises and went down the side-walk toward the Broken Butte hotel.

“You know that dude _hombre_, Leather?” asked Wheezer.

“Yeah. That’s the crookedest gambler unhung. I dunno who he is now, but when I knew him in Sunset City he was called ‘Spade’ Hollister.”

“Here comes Wooden-shoe,” said Chet. “He’s grinnin’; so I betcha he made a cleanup, too.”

“Hundred and eighty dollars,” announced Wooden-shoe joyfully. “Such an easy game to beat.”

“Let’s go home,” suggested Leather. “This town ain’t noways friendly, and I’m kinda curious to know what the beautiful maiden has done to the NR since we left.”

“Go home--now!” Wooden-shoe was explosively surprized. “And me with a hundred and eighty?”

“Ain’t noways fair to the heathen,” admitted Chet.

“All right, I’m goin’,” announced Leather, starting toward the hitch-rack.

“I’ll trail yore bet, Leather.”

Wheezer turned and followed Leather, but Chet and Wooden-shoe laughed derisively at such a foolish move, and went back to the Shoshone Saloon. That hundred and eighty dollars was burning a hole in Wooden-shoe’s pocket, and the fact that Broken Butte was hostile to him made not the slightest difference.

Leather and Wheezer went back to the ranch. Miss Cleveland was sitting on the ranch-house porch, as they rode past, and motioned for them to stop. They dismounted and came up to her.

“Mr. Williams was here this morning, and I spoke to him in regards to your yearly salaries,” she stated evenly. “He said that your claims were absurd. I quite agree with him. We have decided to pay you each forty dollars and dispense with your services, beginning tomorrow.

“Mr. Williams will be here in the morning and pay you off, I believe. I also spoke to him regarding Mrs. Coogan, and her claims, and he said that such a thing would be impossible.”

“Yeah, I see,” nodded Leather absently. “Williams is takin’ quite a lot upon himself, ain’t he, ma’am?”

“He is handling the legal matter for me.”

“You known Eph Williams long, ma’am?”

She shook her head.

“You need somethin’ beside legal advice, ma’am,” said Wheezer solemnly. “That fish-eyed shyster’ll git yuh into trouble, if yuh don’t watch out.”

“I am perfectly able to attend to my own affairs.”

Miss Cleveland’s tone chilled Wheezer, but he grinned widely.

Leather dropped his reins and leaned against the railing of the porch.

“Ma’am, I’d like to talk to yuh a little,” he said. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ for me and the boys. We don’t like this ranch--much. Losin’ a job don’t mean nothin’ to us, but I’d like to say somethin’ for Ma Coogan.

“Ma’s old, ma’am. Must be past sixty. It ain’t noways easy for her to land another job, don’tcha see? She’s fine, Ma is. You won’t find nobody like her. She’s got to have a home. Old folks, like her, has got to have a home, don’tcha see, ma’am?”

Miss Cleveland studied Leather, as he talked, but he knew that she was not impressed with his argument.