Part 5
The three cowboys watched him for several minutes, but he did not look back. Then they whirled their horses and went back toward the ranch.
“We’ll pack what stuff we want and fade out,” said Chet. “There’s no use takin’ any chances. If he once gets us behind the bars--_adios_.”
“What about Leather?” asked Wheezer. “I ain’t goin’ to fog away without hearin’ from him. If he was the one that nailed Clay Hardy he’ll show up or send us word.”
“What do you think, Wooden-shoe?” asked Chet.
“I been wonderin’. Ain’t it kinda funny that the sheriff advised us to pull out of here? That ain’t accordin’ to my idea of what a sheriff ought to do. He can’t hold us for what happened to Clay Hardy.”
“If he does, he can,” observed Chet. “And if they ever put the deadwood on us for all this rustlin’--whooee! Nawsir, I can’t see myself waitin’ for him to come out with a posse. Williams knows that we loaded this range with cattle, and I don’t trust that jasper a-tall. Mebbe Leather had the right idea in tellin’ him--I dunno.”
* * * * *
They found Miss Cleveland on the porch of the ranch-house, and from her appearance, she had slept little. She was not the imperious lady of the day before, and seemed rather glad to see the three punchers.
“Howdy,” greeted Wheezer, as they dismounted. “Nice morning, ain’t it, ma’am.”
“Yes, it--it’s very nice. Did you just come from town?”
“Well, not quite from town, ma’am. Yuh see, a man got kinda shot up down there by the gate this mornin’, and we had to take him in.”
“A man got shot! Oh, I heard the shots! Who--how did it happen?”
“Some feller pulled the trigger,” explained Wheezer. “Jist like blooie, blooie, blooie! Three times.”
Wheezer held out his hand and went through the motions of pulling the trigger three times.
“But who was it?”
“Nobody you know, ma’am,” said Chet. “One feller laid for the other one. Didn’t amount to nothin’.”
“But I want to know who it was.”
“The one that got shot was Clay Hardy, the deputy sheriff.”
“Was--was he trying to make an arrest?”
“Prob’ly,” said Wheezer dryly. “I wouldn’t put anythin’ past that sheriff’s office.”
The girl looked inquiringly at them and adjusted her tumbled hair.
“Did you see Mr. Williams this morning?” she asked.
“Old fish-eye?” Chet shook his head. “We’re layin’ for him, and I’ll betcha he don’t show up. Wonder when Ma is goin’ to have breakfast ready.”
“Oh!” Miss Cleveland looked curiously at him and frowned slightly. “Didn’t you--er--Mrs. Coogan is not here. Mr. Williams took her to town last night.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Chet rubbed his chin and nodded slowly. Wheezer and Wooden-shoe squinted at each other and back at Miss Cleveland.
“Went to town, did she?” asked Wheezer. “That’s funny.”
“Mr. Williams took her,” repeated the girl. “He said he would bring me another cook early this morning.”
“Said he would,” parroted Wheezer. “Whatcha know?”
“Ma’am,” said Wooden-shoe, “I don’t reckon you _sabe_ about Ma Coogan. Mebbe folks has told yuh wrong.”
“You lemme do the talkin’,” Wheezer interposed impatiently. “You don’t want no Chinese cook. You----”
“Are you running this ranch?” asked Miss Cleveland, but her voice was a trifle weak, and she seemed to force herself to be stern.
Wheezer laughed softly and shook his head.
“No, ma’am, I ain’t. Yo’re the owner and boss, but we know this here ranch better than you or that fish-eyed lawyer does. We seen that notice on the bunk-house door and we seen all our stuff piled outside.
“Thassall right. We ain’t wailin’ about that part of it. Ma’s old, ma’am. This is her home. She’s been here a long time, don’tcha know it. Mebbe you had a mother, and if yuh did, and if she was old like Ma, and----”
Wheezer stopped and scratched his head. He had about run out of words. Miss Cleveland bit her lip. She seemed very thoughtful, and the boys waited for her to speak.
“And Ma didn’t have no money,” said Chet softly.
“I--I’m sorry,” said the girl. “I--oh, don’t talk to me! I had to stay alone in that house all night and I never slept at all, and ---- such a place!”
She whirled on her heel and fairly ran into the house, leaving the three cowpunchers gawping after her.
“She cusses jist like a human bein’,” said Chet wonderingly. “She said, ‘---- such a place!’ I betcha she’s mad at the old NR.”
They sat down on the steps and rolled smokes. There was no use in them staying at the ranch, and they knew of no place to go.
“We’re in a ---- of a fix,” declared Wheezer.
“Wooden-shoe can cook,” observed Chet. “If I could cook I’d go into the kitchen and cook.”
“I ain’t et nothin’ since yesterday noon,” complained Wheezer. “My insides are paralyzed from inaction.”
“I wonder if she’d let me cook?” questioned Wooden-shoe.
“You try it and see.” Miss Cleveland spoke from the doorway. “I had a can of corn for my dinner and I haven’t had anything since. I don’t know how to cook.”
“Lemme at that kitchen,” grinned Wooden-shoe. “I’m plum familiar with food. If the lawyer comes you tell him to tie his chink to the corral-fence, ’cause there’s a horse-thief in the kitchen.”
“Honest?” Miss Cleveland stared at him.
“Well, about as honest as a horse-thief ever gets,” grinned Wooden-shoe, and jingled his spurs into the kitchen.
* * * * *
Murtch lost no time in taking Clay Hardy to a doctor--old Doctor Chisholm, the only M. D. in Broken Butte. He was a tall, very severe old man, whose spectacles were forever threatening to slip off the end of his long nose.
He made a quick examination of Clay Hardy, who had never regained consciousness, and shook his head.
“Sher-r-riff, this is no job for a sur-r-r-geon. Ye are wantin’ the coroner.”
“Is he dead?” asked Murtch quickly.
“I ha’ never seen a deader one, sir.”
Murtch shook his head wearily.
“Well, you’re the coroner, Doc.”
“Aye. How did ye say he came by his wounds?”
“I didn’t say,” growled Murtch. “That ---- gang from the NR outfit turned him over to me awhile ago. They told a fool story about some one shootin’ Hardy at the ranch, but don’t know who done it.”
“Then the cir-r-rcumstances calls for an inquest?”
“I think he was murdered.”
“Ha’ ye any idea who would do it?”
“There’s one of the NR outfit missin.’ Name’s Kleig.”
“Weel--” the doctor adjusted his glasses and rubbed his nose thoughtfully--“weel, I suppose we may as well sit on the case in th’ mor-rnin.’ Ye will pr-r-roduce the necessary witnesses, sheriff?”
“I’ll come ---- near doin’ it,” growled Murtch, and went back to his horse.
He found Williams at his office, a bandage around his head and a frayed cigar clamped between his teeth. Murtch lost no time in telling Williams what had happened to Clay Hardy. For several moments Williams was incoherently explosive, but overcame his feelings enough to try and think calmly.
“What was that ---- fool doin’ out there, anyway?”
Murtch shook his head.
“How’d I know? I bawled him out for lettin’ Kleig run that sandy on him, and he got mad about it. Mebbe he tried to salivate Kleig, I dunno.”
“Went out after him, eh?”
Murtch nodded gloomily.
“Looks like it, Eph. Kleig is missing today--so the boys said, but I don’t believe ’em. I’m gittin’ cock-eyed over this thing, I tell yuh.”
“You’ll be lucky if you don’t get worse than that.”
“Thasso?” Murtch flared for a moment, but cooled off quickly. “Mebbe yo’re right, Eph. What in ---- is the best thing to do?”
“Well--” Williams rubbed his sore head and smiled sourly--“my advice would be to throw Spade Hollister into jail on a murder charge, raise that one thousand nine hundred and twenty dollars for those four NR thieves and tell ’em to get to ---- out of the Broken Butte country.”
“Yuh would, eh?”
“Well, then you suggest something, Murtch.”
“That ranch can’t stand payin’ that much money.”
“You might take a mortgage on the ranch.”
“Aw, ----! I wish somebody’d shot me before I ever heard of the NR. ---- old Ralls! ---- all his relations!”
“Go ahead and get it out of your system Murtch.”
“All right; ---- you along with the rest!”
Murtch got to his feet and stamped to the doorway. There was no doubt but what the sheriff of Broken Butte was both angry and disgusted. He leaned against the door-jamb and glared around.
Suddenly he leaned forward and looked intently toward the Broken Butte hotel. Then he turned and called to Williams--
“Come here!”
Williams joined him and together they watched Chet Wells help Ma Coogan into a buggy, behind which was tied Chet’s saddle-horse, and drive out of town toward the NR ranch.
“What does that mean?” grunted Williams.
Murtch shrugged his shoulders.
“I s’pose it means that you ain’t got a ---- of a lot to say about the NR ranch, Eph.”
Williams spat out his frayed cigar and looked gloomily after the departing buggy. Murtch squinted at Williams, as if enjoying the lawyer’s bitterness.
“Well, what’s the answer?” he asked.
“It won’t suit you, Murtch, but it’s the only solution that I can see. You are going to howl like a wolf, but it’s got to be done. Come back into the office.”
Murtch debated for a moment, after Williams had gone back to his desk, but followed him inside.
* * * * *
Miss Cleveland came out to the ranch-house doorway as Chet drove up to the porch with Ma Coogan. To the new owner of the NR it seemed as though fate was bound to keep Ma Coogan on that ranch. The old lady smiled up at her as Chet helped her out of the buggy.
“Sure, I’m glad and proud to be back,” said Ma happily, “and I’m pleased that ye sent for me, miss.”
“Oh--uh--yes,” faltered the girl, looking hard at Chet, who turned and glanced toward the bunk-house, as if looking for the moral support of the other boys.
Miss Cleveland had not sent for Ma Coogan. Wooden-shoe’s culinary efforts had not been appreciated.
“He means well,” explained Wheezer, “but the food ain’t noways sympathetic enough, ma’am.”
And then Chet Wells had an inspiration.
“Ma’am, do you want to hire a good cook?” he asked.
“It appears that such a person is desired,” she replied, and Chet had appointed himself to employ just such a person. Hence Ma Coogan’s return.
Wheezer and Wooden-shoe came out of the barn, got a glimpse of Ma Coogan on the porch and came up on the run. Chet had not explained who he was going to hire.
Ma Coogan shook hands with them and beamed widely.
“Sure, the old ranch needed me,” she laughed. “Chet tells me that Wooden-shoe set himself up as a cook.”
Wooden-shoe patted her on the back and grinned widely.
“I plumb ruined the food to git yuh back,” he explained. “I’m smart, I am.”
“But not as smart as Chet,” stated Wheezer, looking at Miss Cleveland.
Ma laughed and turned to the girl.
“God bless ye, miss. Ye dunno how much happiness it gives me to be back here. Sure, the world wasn’t much for the old lady away from here. Ye can’t understand. It’s just home to me--and the children--” She smiled affectionately at the cowboys. “Ye are children, so ye are. I had four fine little boys when I went away, and I’ve four little boys and a little girl when I came back.”
She threw one arm around Miss Cleveland and gave her a squeeze, before she went into the house. Wheezer lifted his shoulders in a sigh of relief. Miss Cleveland turned from watching Ma Coogan and looked straight into Wheezer’s solemn eyes.
“Yuh ain’t sorry she came back, are yuh, ma’am?” he asked softly.
“Sorry?” The girl stared at him unblinkingly for a moment and turned toward the door. “No, I’m not sorry--I--I think I’m glad.”
“Then there’s four glads around here,” said Chet slowly. “Ma’s a dinger, y’betcha.”
She went into the house and in a few minutes they heard her talking to Ma Coogan.
“Yuh got more brains than I gave yuh credit for, Chet,” said Wheezer. “I never figured yuh was thinkin’ about bringin’ Ma back here. What’ll Williams say?”
“He’s all through sayin’ things about Ma,” said Chet. “Me and that jasper is goin’ to lock horns, if he comes out here again. I seen him and Murtch in Williams’ office, and they was watchin’ us leave.”
“Didja hear anybody talkin’ about Clay Hardy?” asked Wooden-shoe.
“Nope. I wasn’t doin’ no talkin’. Broken Butte didn’t seem much stirred up about it.”
It was possibly an hour later that Murtch and Williams rode up to the NR on horseback. The three cowboys met them at the door of the ranch-house, but there was no welcome in their greetings.
Williams smiled in a sickly way as he said:
“Well, I see that you brought the old lady back here. Good idea. Was thinking about it myself.”
“With a reverse English,” nodded Wheezer seriously.
“Not at all.”
Williams smiled and shook his head, as he glanced around. Then--
“Where is Mr. Kleig?”
“My ----!” grunted Chet. “Mister Kleig!”
“We dunno where he is,” replied Wooden-shoe.
“I see,” nodded Williams meaningly. “Perhaps you might be able to find him later. At any rate--” He drew a bulky package from his pocket and opened it--“I have drawn one thousand nine hundred and twenty dollars against the NR estate to be paid to you four men for services rendered. I shall have to entrust you with four hundred and eighty of it for Mr. Kleig.”
Wheezer started to cuff his hat to one side of his head, but the blow sent the sombrero spinning off the porch. Wooden-shoe sagged at the waist and his hand went uncertainly to his mouth; while Chet merely kicked himself on the ankle with his spurred heel.
Murtch tried to smile, but it faded quickly.
“Your year’s salary,” said Murtch thickly, and then seemed to have difficulty clearing his throat.
“Yeah--year’s salary,” parroted Wheezer foolishly, as he watched Williams separate the four payments.
“I have talked it over with Miss Cleveland,” said Williams, handing them each the money and giving Leather’s share to Wheezer, “and we decided to meet your claims. Perhaps it is hardly legal, but, under the circumstances, and out of the goodness of her heart, she decided to do this.”
“All I can say is ‘hurrah for our side!’ ” grunted Wooden-shoe. “My gosh!”
He looked down at the money and his nose fairly quivered.
“Have you any plans?” asked Williams.
“Plans?” Chet looked up quickly. “My ----, yuh don’t need plans when you’ve got a year’s salary in yore hand.”
“I’ll take her as she comes,” declared Wheezer, trying to be serious.
“You will be leaving this range soon?” Williams’ tone was suggestive as well as interrogatory.
“Mebbe,” nodded Wheezer. “Yuh can’t sometimes always tell.”
“I had an idea that you’d leave as soon as you got that money.”
“Yeah?” Chet pocketed his money and grinned widely. “Cowboys, lemme at that old roulette. I’m goin’ hawg wild and bull strong.”
“I’ve got the good system,” offered Wooden-shoe. “All yuh got to do----”
Murtch snorted disgustedly, and Wooden-shoe stopped.
“What’s a matter with you?” he demanded. “Ain’t a feller got a right to have a system?”
“Didja find out who shot Hardy?” asked Wheezer, who wanted to promote peace.
“Naw!” snarled Murtch. “But I’m goin’ to, by ----! And when I do, he’ll hang!”
“I betcha,” nodded Wheezer. “You won’t even wait for judge nor jury, Murtch. Right now yo’re mad at something, ain’tcha? You’ve got a terrible disposition.”
Murtch snorted something unintelligible and stamped back to his horse, but Williams went into the house, where he engaged in conversation with Miss Cleveland. The three cowboys sat down on the steps and looked at each other queerly.
It was more money than they had ever had--all at one time. They were not entitled to it, that much was sure.
“I wonder if they’re goin’ to give Ma some money,” said Wheezer softly. “I betcha that girl has done felt sorry for what she done. I hate to take her money.”
“So do I,” nodded Chet. “Mebbe I’ll pay it back to her some day--mebbe.”
Williams came out and hesitated for a moment before he told them of the inquest.
“I suppose you boys will have to be there to tell what you know about it.”
“Yeah,” agreed Chet. “We’ll come early. Fact is, I reckon we’ll start pretty soon. Yuh goin’ to have Miss Cleveland? She heard the shots fired.”
Williams frowned slightly, but went back into the house for a few minutes. When he came out he told them that Miss Cleveland would attend the inquest.
“It will be a good chance for her to meet some of the Broken Butte folks,” he added, and went to his horse.
Murtch did not speak to him, and they rode silently away from the ranch.
* * * * *
Williams and Murtch had hardly reached Broken Butte before Wheezer, Chet and Wooden-shoe came in sight of town. Their future was a pink haze of riotous living and their horses’ legs were not swift enough. They pounded into town, barely took time to stable their horses and headed for the Shoshone.
They were questioned regarding the shooting of Clay Hardy, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have given them food for much conversation and argument, but with four hundred and eighty dollars apiece--they were tongue-tied.
Battler Morgan grinned widely and pointed at the ceiling, which meant that there was no limit. Murtch looked into the Shoshone, groaned bitterly, spat viciously and went away. Wheezer had put Leather’s money into his boot, rather than to entrust it to any one.
It was nearly daylight the next morning when Chet and Wooden-shoe bumped into each other at the doorway, as they were both going out.
“Whazza matter?” asked Chet owlishly. “Doorsh too li’l f’r you, par’ner?”
“Thaz’ ri’,” clucked Wooden-shoe, hanging to a porch-post, which seemed to sway him about. “Whazza m’r with you, eh? Shame y’shelf?”
“Broke,” dismally. “Money all gone and shomebody stole m’ rudder. Can’t steer m’shelf.”
“Ep’demic,” hiccoughed Wooden-shoe. “Ter’ble ep’demic. Awful losh of life. Blew m’ shubstanch in ri’tous livin’. Whazza use?”
“Poor li’l girl,” wailed Chet, suddenly becoming remorseful. “Lied her out of for’shun. Shame m’shelf, y’betcha. Poo-o-or li’l girl.”
“Thash ri’,” sobbed Wooden-shoe, getting into the spirit of the occasion. “Poo-o-o-or li’l girl. Oh, my gosh! Poo-o-o-or li’l thing!”
And together they sobbed tearfully, remorsefully, trying to pat each other on the back at a distance of eight feet apart.
The cool air revived them somewhat and after a time they quit crying and became dignified. There was a lighted lamp in Williams’ office. Chet’s eyes focused upon it.
“Wooden-shoe,” he said seriously, “our lawyer is indushtrious. Works night ’n day. Let’s go and shee him. What yuh shay? Mebbe we can think of shomethin’ he ain’t paid for, eh?”
“Sh-sure,” stuttered Wooden-shoe. “Never can tell. We’ve had a nice night f’r thish time of the year. You go ’head, Chet, ’cause you know the way acrosh better’n I do.”
They started out in single-file, but cross-currents interfered, and at times they were fifty feet apart.
They finally reached the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, but below Williams’ office.
“Mus’ ’a’ been cloud-bursht,” observed Wooden-shoe. “Never sheen the river so swift before. Mus’ ’a’ had to git off and swim, don’tcha know it. I’m all wet.”
“’S’nawful current right here,” admitted Chet thickly. “C’mon.”
They started up the street, bumping into the wooden sidewalk at intervals, but managed to reach the corner of Williams’ office.
Wooden-shoe began to laugh hoarsely.
“’S’all right, Chet. I thought I fell in river, but ’s only a bottle of hooch busted in m’ hip-pocket.”
Chet slid across the sidewalk and peered into the office window. Williams was there, sitting at his desk, and just in front of the desk stood a man, with his back toward the window. Wooden-shoe crawled over and peered into the window.
Williams was hunched back in his chair, saying nothing, but the other man was tensed forward, talking rapidly. As Chet’s eyes began to focus properly he saw Murtch leaning against the wall, partly in the shadow, and about six feet from the man who was talking.
The conversation was pitched too low for Chet or Wooden-shoe to hear what was being said, but they knew that it was a heated argument. Neither of the cowboys were eavesdroppers; so they crawled to the corner, dropped their feet over the edge of the high sidewalk and sat with their backs to the street.
“Whozat arguin’ in there?” asked Wooden-shoe.
“Tha’s Hollister, the crooked gambler.”
“Zasso? I wonder----”
Came the thud of a muffled shot, and the corner of the building, against which Chet was leaning his shoulder, jarred slightly. At the same instant the lamp went out.
Chet and Wooden-shoe promptly fell off the sidewalk and landed on their hands and knees.
“Sh-h-h!” cautioned Chet, as they turned around and poked their heads above the sidewalk. There was not a sound for a minute or so; and then a door closed softly. It sounded like it might be the rear door of Williams’ office.
Then the front door opened and Williams came out. He lighted a cigar, surveyed the street for a few moments and walked slowly away.
“Whatcha think?” queried Wooden-shoe, poking his head above the level of the sidewalk.
“Yes,” grunted Chet enigmatically. “Let’s go down to the livery-stable and find a soft place to sleep.”
“But what was the shootin’ about?” persisted Wooden-shoe. “There was a shot fired in there as sure as----”
“Tha’s none of my business--in my condition,” declared Chet. “C’mon and sleep it off.”
* * * * *
The inquest had been fairly well advertised by word of mouth, and quite a crowd gathered in Broken Butte. Clay Hardy was not popular. Had he been killed in an open fight, or if his slayer was known, there would have been little interest shown. But there was an element of mystery, which always appeals.
Williams had sent a man out to the NR ranch after Miss Cleveland, and he had brought Ma Coogan along. The inquest was to be held in Williams’ office, which was hardly large enough to accommodate a crowd.
Chairs had been brought from the Shoshone Saloon and placed in orderly rows. Doctor Chisholm, with the able assistance of “Judge” Myers, a justice of the peace, conducted the inquest.
Chet and Wooden-shoe slept late in the hay-loft of the livery-stable, and were hardly in physical shape to enjoy the proceedings. Wheezer had not slept, but his winnings amounted to seven hundred dollars and he was vocally jubilant.
The three of them managed to worm themselves to a point of vantage near the middle of the room, in spite of Murtch trying to keep them back. It was hot in that packed room, and the three cowboys wished that they were outside.
“Slim” Carey, proprietor of the stage-office, Gus Welch, a restaurant keeper, Buck Harmon, owner of the Box-H, “Peewee” Sorenson, blacksmith, Jud Reeves, owner of the livery-stable and King Cole, were chosen as a coroner’s jury.
Wheezer Bell was the first witness, and he perspired copiously over his explanation of what happened at the gateway of the NR ranch. Murtch asked him where Leather Kleig was at that time, but Wheezer did not know.
Murtch testified as to how he had taken possession of Clay Hardy’s body, and that the three cowboys had stated that Clay had tried to bushwhack some one.
“The bullet holes r-r-ranged downward,” stated Doctor Chisholm, indicating the angle with a poke of a forefinger. “He was shot fr-r-rom above.”
“Didn’t he have trouble with Kleig?” questioned Buck Harmon.
“Hol’ on!” snapped Chet. “If Leather had killed Hardy he wouldn’t ’a’ run away, y’betcha.”
“You’re not a witness, Wells,” advised Murtch.
“The ---- I’m not!”
“Order!” yelled the judge, hammering on the desk. “One more remark like that and out you go.”
“Gimme a chance and I’ll go before that,” retorted Chet. “This danged place would cook a ham.”
“He had trouble with Kleig,” said Murtch, ignoring Chet and speaking to Harmon. “Kleig shoved a gun in his ribs----”
“Sa-a-ay!” interrupted Wheezer. “Where’s the jasper that Clay was framin’ to shoot in that poker game?”
Murtch turned and spoke to the judge, who shook his head quickly. Murtch turned back, saying--