Part 4

Cole looked curiously at him, but stepped over and dropped the gun into Hardy’s holster. Hardy’s hands were hanging loosely at his sides, and he was hunched forward staring at Leather, who had lifted his right hand waist-high above the butt of his holstered-gun.

“Hardy,” Leather’s voice was low pitched, “you’re a dirty coyote pup. You spoke out of turn just now, and I’m givin’ yuh a chance to see if you’ve got guts enough to reach for a gun. I’m waitin’.”

Hardy’s face looked pinched and white now, and he was breathing fast. His eyes flashed around, as though wanting some one to interfere. Then his eyes came back to Leather Kleig and his knees quivered.

Then his hand came slowly up to his mouth and the back of it trembled across his dry lips. He turned and went out of the door, striking his shoulder against the side, like a drunken man who is not sure of his step.

“He’s whipped,” stated King Cole hoarsely. “Didja ever see a man get scared thataway? My ----, it sure was worth seein’.”

“Yeah, he sure turned yaller,” agreed Battler, turning back to his chair. “I s’pose that busts up a perfectly good game.”

Murtch had nothing to say. Spade Hollister seemed to watch him closely, but Murtch did not look toward him. Battler cashed in the chips and invited every one to have a drink, but Murtch went out without accepting the invitation.

Spade Hollister came over to Leather and stood beside him at the bar.

“Kleig, I’m much obliged to you,” he said.

“Tha’sall right,” said Leather gruffly. “I wouldn’t ’a’ said a word, if you’d ’a’ stole that king.”

Spade looked curiously at him and back to the bartender, who was taking their order. Wheezer, Chet and Wooden-shoe were at the bar, chuckling among themselves over what had just happened.

They drank and moved away from the bar. Hollister looked at Leather, who started away from the bar. He half-smiled and stepped over beside him.

“Kleig, if I can ever help yuh in any way--just speak the word.”

Leather turned and looked keenly at him.

“Spade Hollister, I’d ’a’ done that for any man. I’m no angel, but I’d have to hate ---- out of a man to stand by and see him murdered. I s’pose you know what it was all about, don’tcha? Then yuh know who to look out for. If I need yuh--I’ll yelp.”

“And I’ll come,” nodded Spade as he turned and walked over to a roulette lay-out.

The other three cowboys edged up to Leather and they grouped together near the door.

“Cowboy, yuh sure work fast,” applauded Wheezer, slapping Leather on the shoulder. “And yuh sure put the fear of ---- into Clay Hardy.”

“Yeah, but look out for him,” cautioned Wooden-shoe. “He’s whipped, but he ain’t dead. That gambler sure owes you a lot. In another second he’d have been plugged.”

“And what for?” questioned Wheezer. “He’s a plumb stranger here, ain’t he? What’s Clay Hardy gunnin’ at a stranger for, I wonder?”

Leather shook his head and turned to King Cole, who came up to him. Cole grinned and slapped Leather on the shoulder.

“Kleig, I hear that you’ve got a female boss out at the NR. It can’t be done. If you fellers need a new job, come down to the KC horse outfit and go to work. It’s the same old forty-a-month and eats.”

Leather smiled and shook his head.

“Yuh heard Clay Hardy call me a horse-thief, didn’t yuh Cole?”

“Yeah, and yuh never denied it. Yuh never did steal many horses, did yuh?”

“Half a dozen, mebbe.”

“Pshaw, that don’t make yuh a horse-thief. Some folks draws the line too close.”

Cole laughed at his own wit and went to the door, where he turned.

“That offer holds good. Come any old time.”

“Thank yuh, Cole,” grinned Leather.

“Well, that’s a job, if we need it,” said Chet.

“If we need it,” nodded Leather.

The cowboys went back to the games, but Leather did not play. He took a seat against the wall, where he tilted back and appeared to be half-asleep. Once he counted his money carefully and stowed it away in the watch-pocket of his overalls.

There was no sign of Murtch nor Hardy. The afternoon wore away, and the oil chandeliers of the Shoshone were lighted. It was Saturday night and there was a heavy influx of cowboys.

The three-piece orchestra began screeching, and the dance-hall girls were out in force, mingling with the men. Wheezer, Chet and Wooden-shoe were firmly implanted in different games; so Leather crossed the street alone to a restaurant. The waiter was the same Chinese that Williams had brought to the ranch, and he grinned in a friendly manner at Leather.

“No _sabe_,” he told Leather seriously. “Catchum job quick, lose ’m allesame.”

“Yuh didn’t last long, that’s a fact, John.”

“No last. Man swear alletime. Velly mad, I t’ink. W’at you like eat, eh?”

“What did he say about us, John?”

“No talk ’bout you--talk ’bout God. Yo’ _sabe_?”

“Religious, eh?”

“’Ligious? Yo’ mean--same like wo’ship?”

“Yeah, like worship, John.”

The Chinaman grinned and shook his head.

“No like. Yo’ wan’ soup?”

Leather finished his meal and went outside. He was a trifle cautious, for fear that Clay Hardy might try to ambush him. He knew that Clay would welcome a chance to get even for what had happened in the Shoshone, but he was sure that Clay would never face him in the light.

He strolled up the street and was going past the Broken Butte hotel, but stopped and stared in the window. Then he whirled around and went quickly inside. Ma Coogan was sitting in one of the hotel chairs against the wall, her hands folded in her lap.

She looked up as he came in and a smile wreathed her wrinkled old face.

“Sure I’ve been wonderin’ if I’d see you,” she said.

“Well, what are you doin’ here, Ma?” he demanded.

“I was brought here by the lawyer. Ah! I think it’s no use, Leather. He came this afternoon and had a long talk with Miss Cleveland, and thin--” Ma Coogan stopped and shook her head sadly--“and thin they loaded my trunk in the back of the buggy and made me come along.”

“I see.” Leather’s face hardened and he squinted thoughtfully. “He waited until we were gone. Have you got a room here, Ma?”

She shook her head.

“Leather, I have no money. Ye well know that Nick Ralls only gave me a home and----”

Leather turned and strode over to the desk.

“Give this lady a room,” he demanded. “She’s got a trunk somewhere. Here--” He tossed a twenty dollar gold piece on the desk--“that’s enough for now. When that’s gone, I’ve got more.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll fix her up,” said the frowsy-looking clerk. “Dollar a day’s the best we’ve got.”

Leather went back to Ma and handed her another twenty.

“Yuh got to eat, Ma. This feller’ll fix yuh up for a room. Now don’tcha worry about anythin’.”

He patted her on the shoulder and escaped out of the door before she fully realized what he had done.

* * * * *

“Yo’re a ---- of a gunman, ain’tcha!” Murtch snorted angrily, but it had little effect on Clay Hardy, who sat hunched up in one of their office chairs, chewing tobacco violently. He only increased his mastications per minute.

Murtch jerked a chair into position and flopped down, facing Hardy.

“Everythin’ worked wrong,” complained Hardy nervously. “If that ---- Kleig hadn’t come in when he did and put the whole thing into a jam.”

“Yuh had an even break with him.”

“Yeah--with him.”

“Scared of him, eh?”

“I ain’t no crazy suicide, Murtch.”

“You was plumb scared to breathe, Clay.”

“Uh-huh. You’d ’a’ been the same. He’s got under yore hide, and yuh never call him for it, Murtch. How did I know that Kleig was goin’ to block me?”

“You was a fool to have that gun in your lap.”

“Yeah,” nodded Clay seriously, “I was a fool to have a gun a-tall. I ought to pack a doughnut.”

Murtch laughed hoarsely.

“Well, I reckon it kinda spoils our plans, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat. We’ve got the goods on that NR gang, if we want to use it.”

“Yo’re the boss, Murtch. All I ask is that yuh don’t get me into no mix-up with ’em. They don’t use no judgment. Law and order don’t mean nothin’ to that bunch, and a sheriff’s star looks like a bulls-eye to them.”

“I’d hate to hear what folks will say about you, after the way yuh acted in front of Kleig.”

“I’d a ---- sight rather be able to hear ’em say I backed down than to not hear ’em say I was crazy to try to beat Kleig on the draw.”

“Well, there might be somethin’ to that. Let’s go and see what Williams has got to say.”

They locked up the office and went up the street to Williams’ place. He had but lately arrived from the ranch and greeted them with a grin.

“I brought the old woman down with me,” he explained. “So that’s that much done. I’ll take the Chink out there again in the morning. What did you do on that other proposition?”

Briefly, but with sundry oaths, Murtch told of what had happened in the Shoshone. Hardy made no comments. Williams scowled deeply and tapped on the table-top with his finger-tips.

“What do yuh advise?” asked Murtch.

“Sitting tight. There has been too many mistakes. There will be a howl raised when they find that the old woman has been discharged. Miss Cleveland did not want to stay out there alone, but I assured her that everything would be all right.”

“Well, I hope yo’re right,” nodded Murtch getting to his feet. “If that bunch get drunk, yuh never can tell what they’ll do. They think a lot of the old woman.”

“Pshaw! What does a horse-thief care about an old woman? They’ve got enough to look after, if they keep themselves out of jail.”

“All right. We’ll figger things out in the mornin’. Come on, Clay.”

They went out and closed the door. Williams lighted a frayed cigar and opened his safe, which was set into the wall behind his desk. It was an old-fashioned safe, which opened with a key.

He took out a mass of papers and looked them over in the light of his lamp. For a long time he studied them and then replaced them in the safe, after which he pocketed the key.

As he turned down the lamp, preparatory to blowing it out, there came a knock on the door. He hesitated for a moment and seemed about to call out, but changed his mind and went to the door. He turned the knob and looked outside.

There was no one in sight. He leaned out and glanced down the street. Then something crashed down upon his head and he fell backward into the room.

* * * * *

It was about three o’clock in the morning when Wheezer, Chet and Wooden-shoe decided to go back to the ranch. None of them had seen Leather, and, as his horse was missing from the hitch-rack, they decided that he had preceded them to the NR.

The gods of the green cloth had not been good to the trio, and there was little merriment within them as they left Broken Butte.

“I’m as clean as the dew,” said Wheezer sadly. “I spent m’ substance in tryin’ t’ make two-pair beat three of a kind.”

“Yuh ought to play roulette,” observed Wooden-shoe. “Get yuh a little system, that’s all yuh need.”

“How much you got left?” demanded Chet.

“I still got my system left--and a four-bit piece.”

“I sure hope that Leather’s got some money left,” said Chet. “My pesos has all gone where the woodbine twineth and the pelican trilleth to its mate.”

They unsaddled their horses and went up to the bunk-house door. It was bright moonlight, almost as light as day, and their eyes beheld a great and varied assortment of things piled on the steps.

They looked the things over carefully and grunted their amazement.

“Looks like somebody done moved us out,” observed Wheezer. “What’s on the door?”

He climbed over the stuff and studied a square of white paper which was tacked on the door. He scratched a match and read the message aloud.

“Notice. Any one entering this building without my permission will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

Wheezer whistled softly and looked back at them.

“And she’s signed by Miss Jane Cleveland, owner of the NR ranch.”

“Door locked?” asked Chet.

“Locked ----! It’s nailed tight.”

“Well,” observed Wooden-shoe optimistically, “it’s a good thing that it ain’t Winter and zero weather.”

“That’s a ---- of a thing to be joyful about.”

Wheezer climbed back and sat down on a pile of blankets.

“I wonder where Leather is.”

“Prob’ly asleep in the barn,” said Chet. “That ---- lawyer sure foxed us, didn’t he? That whippoorwill ain’t workin’ for us, that’s a cinch, and I’m goin’ to curry him to the queen’s taste. Yessir, I’m goin’ to hit him so hard that he’ll have a permanent part in his hair.”

“I hope,” said Wooden-shoe, “he dies before his time comes.”

“Let’s go down to the barn and join Leather in the hay,” suggested Wheezer. “Mebbe there ain’t no notice on the hay-loft.”

They filed down to the big barn and crawled into the loft, which still contained a ton or so of hay, but Leather was not there.

“Prob’ly never left town,” said Wheezer as he burrowed into the hay. “Gosh dang it, we’ll wake up full of fox-tail, I betcha.”

He was facing the opening of the loft, a doorless opening, about six-feet square, which gave him a view of the ranch-house yard and the big gate. The moon was partly obscured for a few minutes, which made objects rather hazy, but he saw a horseman coming toward the gate, traveling slowly.

“Here comes Leather,” he stated. “Let him see the notice, et cettery, and then listen to him cuss.”

The others shifted their positions to watch him. He was almost under the arch of the gate, when a streak of orange-colored flame seemed to spurt up at him from a brush-tangle just beyond, and the thud of a revolver shot broke the stillness.

The boys in the loft were unable to see just what did happen, but the rider was shooting now. Another spurt of flame came from the tangle. Three times the rider’s gun spat fire, the reports mingling with those from the brush.

“My ----, what’s goin’ on?” gasped Wheezer, almost falling out of the loft opening.

“There he goes!” exclaimed Chet.

The rider had turned and was riding rapidly away, the sound of the galloping horse dying away in the distance.

They tumbled out of the loft and raced toward the gate, each man carrying a gun in his hand. Out through the gate they ran and stopped in the road.

“Over here!” panted Wheezer. “He was shootin’ from that bunch of--look out! There he is.”

A man was lying sprawled on his face in the tangle, and the moonlight glinted on his revolver, which was lying on the ground near him. They did not need to turn him over to see it was Clay Hardy.

“Whatcha know?” panted Chet. “The dirty bushwhacker!”

“Yeah, he shot first,” agreed Wheezer. “I seen him shoot first. Wonder if he’s dead.”

“Feel of his heart,” said Wooden-shoe. “If it ain’t beatin’, he’s dead.”

“It sure takes brains to know that!” grunted Chet.

Wheezer turned him over and felt of his heart. It was beating jerkily.

“He ain’t dead--yet. What’ll we do with him?”

“Take him to a doctor,” suggested Wooden-shoe.

“And go to the pen for shootin’ him?” queried Chet.

“He got cultivated on the head,” stated Wheezer. “A bullet sure danced a jig on his noodle, but I don’t reckon it went through. Was that Leather?”

“Looks like it might ’a’ been. Him and Hardy had a run-in, and I’ll betcha Hardy sneaked out here and laid for him. He never budged when we came through.”

Chet walked back down the road, where a number of cottonwoods made a black blotch against the sky. Just to the left of them grew a tangle of stunted willows.

“Here’s his horse!” called Chet, and went over into the willows after it.

They could see the outlines of the ranch-house, but the shooting had not caused any one to light a lamp nor come to investigate.

“I’ll betcha that Cleopatra’s scared stiff,” said Wheezer.

“Cleopatra ain’t got a ---- thing on me if she is,” declared Wooden-shoe. “I’m scared, too, y’betcha.”

Chet came back with the saddled horse and they boosted Clay Hardy aboard.

“We’ve got to have ropes to hold him on with,” said Chet, as they tried to balance the swaying figure. “We’ll take him over to the barn and rope him on good, and then we’ll saddle up and take him to town.”

* * * * *

It took Eph Williams a long time to wake up from the smash on his head. He had been hit a solid clip and things were rather hazy in his mind for some time. It cost him considerable pain to crawl over to his chair, where he sat and recuperated.

He was not in the best physical condition and he cursed himself weakly, while he wondered what had happened to him. A bump the size of an egg on his head attested to the fact that something had hit him--and hit him hard.

Gradually he recovered sufficiently to try to analyze what had really occurred. He knew now that some one had knocked him down. Who it was and why, he did not know. He examined the contents of his pockets, but everything was intact. The safe was locked, the papers on his desk all in place.

“Must have been a personal matter,” he observed thankfully, but was unable to blame any certain person. A lawyer of his type makes many enemies.

He secured some water and bathed his head carefully, after which he took a bottle of whisky from his desk and indulged freely. It was nearly daylight now. He looked at his watch, tried to put his hat on over the knob on his head, but decided it was too painful; so he went outside bare-headed, locked his office and went down to see Murtch.

Murtch was not ready to get out of bed, and he swore peevishly at Williams, who persisted on hammering on the front door of the office. Finally Murtch came and opened the door.

“Now, what in ---- do you want?”

“Somebody hit me on the head,” explained Williams.

“Yeah?” Murtch was very sarcastic.

“Prob’ly didn’t want to hurt yuh, so they hit yuh on the head.”

“Must have had a gun or something,” said Williams, feeling tenderly of his recently acquired swelling.

“What’s the joke?”

“No joke,” Williams shook his head. “I tell you, I got knocked down in the doorway of my own office. Look at my head.”

Murtch examined the swelling and his demeanor changed.

“Come on inside.”

Murtch lighted a lamp and drew on his pants and boots.

“Now, who hit yuh, Eph?”

“I don’t know. A while after you left I heard some one knock. I went to the door, stuck my head outside--and got hit. I tell you, it made me sick.”

“Huh!”

Murtch drew out his watch and glanced at it.

“You must ’a’ been knocked out quite a while.”

“Yes, I think so. I didn’t come down here right away, because I was too sick. I haven’t the slightest idea of why it was done. I was not robbed and there is nothing missing from my office.”

“That’s danged queer,” observed Murtch. “Yo’re sure they didn’t take anythin’?”

“Not a thing. Where is Clay Hardy?”

“I dunno. He got sore at me and went away. Mebbe I talked a little too tough to suit him.”

Williams rubbed his sore head and thought deeply.

“Those cowpunchers have likely gone back to the ranch,” he said thoughtfully, “and I’ve promised to bring that Chinaman out there this morning, but I don’t feel like it.”

“I’ll take him out,” offered Murtch.

“You will? Well--” thoughtfully--“perhaps that would be better. You see, I nailed up the bunk-house door, after I moved out all their things, and put a trespass notice on the door.”

“And yuh think it would be better, eh? No wonder yuh don’t want to go out there. Moved ’em out and nailed the door, eh?”

“Miss Cleveland suggested it.”

“The ---- she did! I thought you was supposed to be her adviser.”

Williams tried to grin, but it was a sorry effort. Murtch looked again at his watch.

“What time does that Chink restaurant open?”

Williams shook his head.

“What difference----”

“Lot of difference. If I can get that Chink now, I can get him out there on the job before they wake up.”

“We can find out. If they’re not up, we’ll wake ’em.”

Murtch put on his coat and they went to the restaurant. There was no sign of life, so they went to the rear, where the proprietor and his hired help slept in a sort of a shed-like annex.

Murtch hammered on the door and a sleepy-eyed Celestial shuffled into view. It was the proprietor of the restaurant, and to him Murtch explained what he wanted.

“Yo’ want same boy like yo’ take before?”

“Yeah, the same one. Catchum good job. Same ranch.”

The Chinaman turned and hurled a volley of words toward the rear of the shed. Began a conversation which lasted fully a minute. Then the proprietor shook his head.

“Boy say no.”

“Lemme see him,” said Murtch, and a moment later the Chinaman came to the door.

“Good job this time, John,” explained Murtch. “You go with me and take charge of the same ranch-house.”

“Same place we go before?”

“Yeah, same place, John.”

“No can do.”

“No can do! Whatcha talkin’ about? This good job?”

“No can do,” said the Chinaman stolidly, and went back to his bed.

The proprietor shut the door softly and barred it from within.

Murtch and Williams went back to the street.

“Whatcha goin’ to do?” queried Murtch. “There ain’t no other chinks and we can’t get a white cook. If you’d had any sense you’d ’a’ left the old woman there.”

“Things are in an awful tangle,” agreed Williams. “An awful tangle.”

“Now, that made a ---- of an impression on my mind,” said Murtch angrily. “You’ve balled up everything. I’ll go out and explain things to Miss Cleveland. She’s got such ---- good ideas, such as nailing up bunk-house doors and posting notices--mebbe she’ll see a way out of this.”

Murtch hurried after his horse and rode toward the NR ranch. It was daylight now, and Murtch hoped he would not meet any of the NR cowpunchers. Not that Murtch was afraid, but their rough humor was too pointed to suit him.

About two miles out of town he ran into them. There was no way to dodge them, so he drew up in the center of the road and tried to think of a reason for being there so early in the morning. He inwardly cursed Eph Williams for nailing that bunk-house door.

Then he saw that there was a fourth man, roped to his saddle and riding in an unusual position. They drew up near him, their faces very serious, and waited for him to speak. He knew at a glance who the fourth rider was and he frowned wonderingly.

“Somebody shot him,” offered Wheezer. “We found him and was takin’ him to the doctor.”

Murtch rode in closer to Hardy and tried to get a look at his face.

“He ain’t dead, is he?”

“Wasn’t when we started,” said Chet, “but he ain’t in the best of health right now.”

“No?” Murtch glanced around at them. “Where did yuh find him?”

He emphasized “find” very strongly.

“None of that!” snapped Wheezer quickly. “We didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. Hardy tried to bushwhack somebody and got leaded for his trouble.”

“Did, eh? Who was that somebody?”

“We dunno.”

“Dunno, eh? Where’s Kleig?”

“Dunno that either.”

“Thasso?”

“Why argue with the danged fool?” queried Wooden-shoe. “He’s got his mind fixed. Give him his second-hand deputy and let’s go back and finish our sleep.”

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Wheezer, handing the lead rope to Murtch. “He can take better care of Hardy than we can.”

“Wait a minute!” snapped Murtch. “You can’t pull nothing like that. You come back with me--all of yuh.”

“Yuh mean to arrest us?” asked Wheezer.

“That’s what I mean to do.”

“All right,” grinned Chet. “We’ll remember it.”

Murtch clamped his jaws and looked them over. Here were three men who had no respect for him nor the law. He knew it would be useless to insist on them going back to Broken Butte with him; not only useless, but dangerous as well. But he was willing to try and bluff them.

“Yuh know what it means to resist an officer?”

“Did somebody resist yuh, Murtch?” asked Wheezer.

Murtch studied them for a moment and tightened upon the lead rope.

“All right,” he said meaningly. “I asked yuh to come with me and yuh refused, remember. Next time I want yuh I’ll bring men enough to take yuh.”

“Kind of a mass meetin’, eh?” grinned Chet. “Mebbe we won’t stay for yore party, sheriff.”

“You’d be ---- wise not to!” snapped Murtch as he turned and rode away, leading Hardy’s horse.