Chapter IV: Part 4

A little later Harp joined Brick at the saloon, where they stayed until about nine o’clock.

“Want to set in on the game, Brick?” asked Grant.

Brick yawned and shook his head.

“No-o-o, not tonight, Bill. I’m goin’ to fold up a little of the sleep stuff.”

“Same here,” grinned Grant. “I’m gettin’ old, I guess. Just a few more hands and I’ll be ridin’ toward the blanket.”

Brick got up and started for the door, with Harp behind him. They went to the office, drew the curtains, lighted the lamp and sat down.

“What’s the idea?” queried Harp.

Brick did not reply, so Harp did not repeat the question. For probably fifteen minutes they sat there before Brick blew out the light. Then they went to the rear of the place, crawled out through a window, closing it carefully behind them, and went out to their horses.

They led the horses quite a distance from the stable before mounting, and then Brick led the way straight back toward the Big Elk grades. There was no moon to light their journey, but Brick set the pace at a steady gallop until they reached the upgrade of Big Elk cañon. Harp asked no questions. He knew that Brick would explain things to him when he got good and ready, and not before.

They turned off the grade at the little trail and wormed their way up through the brush to the top of the divide. There the rising moon silvered the timbered hills and lighted their path, making it much easier for Brick to lead the way to where he and Harp had been when the warning shot had been fired.

Here they stopped and rested the horses. There was a dull glow, as from a fire, at Mostano’s place, but it was impossible for them to tell whether it was within the house or outside. Then they saw someone go from the house to the fire, carrying a lighted lantern.

“We’ll take a li’l trip over and look at ’em,” decided Brick. “But we’ve got to be danged careful, Harp.”

They rode down the hill, circled the ranch, and came in on the opposite side from the fire. At a tumble-down corral they left their horses and went on afoot. There was no light in the house, so they sneaked up to the side and circled toward the rear.

At the corner they were able to get a look at the fire, which seemed to be burning inside the corral. There was an odor of burning hair, mixed with wood-smoke, and Brick chuckled to himself, as he instructed Harp:

“They’re butcherin’ inside the corral and burnin’ the hides. We’ve got ’em dead, Harp; but look out. Keep down low.”

Brick led the way toward the corral, both of them almost crawling the last fifty feet. They gained the side of the corral unseen, and it was then that Brick realized that he had miscalculated on the gate. It would be suicide to try to climb the fence, and possibly disastrous to try to arrest them from that distance. And it would be almost impossible to go as far as the gate without being detected.

The fire was burning briskly, but the green hides were cutting off the blaze to such an extent that it was impossible for them to see how many men were there and just what they were doing. The lighted lantern was sitting on the ground, but it did little to light up the scene.

“Got to take a chance on ’em, Harp,” breathed Brick. “If they look this way they’ll see us. C’mon.”

Slowly, cautiously, they raised up, gun in hand, and started to climb the fence. Someone picked up the lantern swung it around and the yellow light picked them up instantly.

Came a quick word of warning, a guttural grunt, and the lantern was dashed out. Then a tongue of yellow light flashed at them, and Brick felt the bullet brush his cheek. He and Harp were only half-way up the side of the fence, and in a bad position to shoot.

Brick climbed swiftly to the top, while Harp dropped to the ground and raced for the gate. Two more shots licked out into the night toward Brick, who was shooting at the flashes, while Harp was pounding along, trying to block the one exit.

He gained the gate, shooting swiftly at a shadowy figure, when he felt a thudding blow against his shoulder and the gun fell from his fingers. Someone darted past him and faded into the night. Brick came running across the corral, calling to Harp, who was leaning against the fence, searching dizzily for the thing that was searing his shoulder.

Brick almost ran into him.

“Where’d they go, Harp?” he panted.

“I dunno,” muttered Harp. “Come and help me, will yuh, Brick? I’ve got hit with somethin’.”

“You got hit, Harp? For —— sake! Wait a minute.”

Brick lighted a match and held it between them. Then he whistled softly.

“Hang onto yourself, Harp,” he cautioned. “They knifed yuh. Grit yore teeth, cowboy.”

They both grunted softly and Brick laughed shortly.

“There she is, Harp. I don’t think it was deep enough to be dangerous. Does it hurt much?”

“Not so much now.” Harp’s voice sounded weary. “The ——ed thing kinda paralyzed my whole arm. It feels a lot better, but it’s soakin’ me a-plenty. Didja get any of ’em, Brick?”

“No, I don’t think so. How many did you see, Harp?”

“Just one—the one that threw the knife at me. I think it was the squaw. Now what do we do?”

“Go back and have your arm fixed up. Aw, ——, this was a fizzle. We don’t know any more than we did before, except that we’re dead sure that Mostano’s outfit are the meat-thieves.”

Brick went over to the smoldering fire and kicked the green hides aside. The flames flared up, and as Brick leaned over to search for brands on the hides, a bullet splatted into the fire and threw sparks up into the air.

Brick swore at himself for being such a fool, and ran back to Harp, dragging the hides with him.

“We better be high-tailin’ it out of here,” panted Brick. “Can yuh run all right, cowboy?”

“I never got hit in the leg,” retorted Harp. “—— this moonlight! C’mon!”

They ducked low and started back toward the house, running as fast as possible. A rifle bullet screamed past them and hit the old ranch-house a resounding _thwack_. Brick had glimpsed the flash of the rifle and knew that the shooter was off to their right; so he ducked to the left and led the way around the other side of the ranch-house, where he halted their headlong flight.

They were in the heavy shadow now. Brick stepped back to the corner and peered in the direction where he had seen the flash, but the light was not good enough to distinguish objects clearly. The fire in the corral was blazing merrily, painting the old pole corral with red high-lights.

“We’ve got to bust out across that open space to the horses,” declared Brick. “Mebbe we better separate quite a ways apart, ’cause one man is a hard target in this light.”

They went to the other corner of the house and looked in the direction of the horses. Brick grasped Harp by the arm and pointed toward the bluff trail, where two shadowy objects were plainly visible in the moonlight, going away.

“Our broncs!” snorted Harp. “By ——, they’ve set us on foot, Brick!”

“It sure has all the earmarks of such a deed,” agreed Brick sadly. “Our rifles are on them saddles, too; and we’ll have one sweet waltz home, cowboy. How’s the arm?”

“Feels kinda numb, but I think it has quit bleedin’. I don’t care a dang how sore it gets, but I can’t afford to lose a lot of blood. What’s the next thing to do, I wonder?”

“Walk home, I reckon.”

“Yeah—and get plugged when we start.”

“Looks that-a-way,” reflected Brick, squinting out into the hazy distance. “We bit off more than we could chaw, cowboy. If we’d had any sense we’d ’a’ cached them broncs.”

“Hind-sight ain’t noways valuable,” sighed Harp, and a moment later a bullet showered splinters off the side of the house.

They dropped flat on the ground and swore foolishly.

“Somebody is prospectin’,” opined Harp. “A foot lower and they’d ’a’ made a strike. Mebbe yuh like this, Brick, but old man Harris’ offspring desires a change of climate. Right above me is a window-sill, Brick; and from my point of view, I’d rather be inside that house.”

“Might be a happy idea,” admitted Brick. “Get up and see if the window is locked.”

“Thank yuh very kindly—but that ain’t my suggestion, Brick.”

Brick slid to a crouching position, straightened up close to the wall and examined the window. It slid up silently.

“C’mon,” whispered Brick.

Swiftly they slid in through the window and the cheap calico curtain dropped behind them, leaving them in total darkness.

* * * * *

Silent Slade lowered his head and looked at himself in the back-bar mirror. He tilted his hat down over his eyes, lifted his head as he sang—

“When I’m dead don’t bury me a-ta-a-a-a-all,
Pickle m’ bones in alcoho-o-o-ol.
Put a bottle of boo-o-o-oze at m’ head and feet
And then I kno-o-ow I’ll surely kee-e-ep.”

He turned and looked at Sam Leach, who was leaning on the bar, looking solemnly at a glass of liquor. The poker game had just broken up, leaving Silent Slade winner. And Silent was just intoxicated enough to crow over his poker-playing ability.

“Aw, you were just kinda lucky,” observed Leach.

“Tha’sso?” Silent laughed. “Lucky, eh? Any time you whippoorwills from Silverton mingle cards with a Marlinite—look out. They tell me that yo’re backin’ Hank Stagg for sheriff.”

“Well, what if I am?”

“Are yuh tryin’ to be funny—or don’tcha know any better?”

“What’s the matter with Hank Stagg?”

“What?” Silent stared at Leach in amazement. “My ——, yuh don’t expect me to stand here and tell yuh everythin’ that’s the matter with him, do yuh? I’m limited to just so many words, and they ain’t enough to tell yuh more than half what’s wrong with Hank Stagg.”

“Let’s all be good friends, eh?” suggested the bartender, lifting a bottle to the top of the bar. “Election ain’t nothin’ between friends.”

Silent squinted gravely at the bartender.

“Li’l dove of peace, this ain’t between friends.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to quarrel with you, Slade,” said Leach. “Yo’ve got your own opinions on the matter.”

“You ain’t goin’ to quarrel with me?” Silent seemed sad over the information. “You ain’t? Well, I won’t quarrel with the bartender; so I guess I’ll go home. My ——, I’m sorry yuh won’t quarrel with me, Leach. I’m feelin’ quarrelsome, I am.”

Silent adjusted his hat to his satisfaction and walked out of the door, heading straight for the hitch-rack. It was almost midnight, and Marlin City was truly a deserted village. At the hitch-rack Silent stopped and studied the situation. His horse was not there.

Just to be doubly sure he put his hand on the rail of the rack and walked all the way around it.

“If there was a horse there I’d encounter same,” he said aloud. “The question is this: Where’s my horse?”

As far as he could see there was not a horse at any of the hitch-racks. He deliberated deeply. It might be that someone had put the horse in the livery-stable, he thought. Perhaps Brick and Harp had done this as a joke.

He wended his way to the stable and woke up the stableman, who swore witheringly at Silent for dumping him off his cot.

“You want your horse? ——, you ain’t got no horse here!”

“Ain’t I?” Silent seemed surprized. “Well, now, that’s funny.”

The stableman turned up the light of his lantern and spat thoughtfully.

“You never brought your horse here, Silent.”

“Nope. But she ought to be here, Jimmy.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Silent spread his big hands, “she ain’t at the rack where I left her, that’s why.”

“Oh, for gosh sake, can yuh beat that?” Jimmy Meeker’s voice was squeaky with disgust. “Go on home, Silent.”

“Hu-huh,” Silent had a new idea now. “Say, Jimmy, didja see anythin’ of Ike Welden this evenin’?”

“He left here about nine o’clock, I think.”

“It’s a —— good thing he did, too,” growled Silent. “I’ll betcha he turned my bronc loose. That ornery little pup! When I catch him he’ll wish——”

“Go and catch him,” advised Jimmy sleepily. “Either do that or hire a hall. Good-night.”

Silent turned on his heel and went outside. He did not want to go to the hotel and he couldn’t walk to the Nine-Bar-Nine. There was only one thing for him to do—wake up Brick and occupy one of their cots for the night. A cold wind was blowing and Silent shivered. He knew that Brick and Harp would swear at him for waking them up, but he did not care.

He crossed the street and went up to the door, where he knocked several times. There was no response. Silent deliberated. They were probably sleeping in the rear half of the office, with the door shut in between.

He walked through the narrow alley between the sheriff’s office and the old feedstore and went up to the back door. There was someone going away from the rear of the office, going past the little stable, and Silent wondered who this might be.

It looked suspicious to Silent, who started after this mysteriously-acting person, but turned and came back to the door. He felt that there was no use in chasing around in the dark after someone.

“Anyway, I dunno who he is,” said Silent to himself. “Mebbe it’s all right. Hey, Brick!”

He hammered on the back door until the lock threatened to rattle loose, but no one answered him. He grasped the knob and gave it a twist, finding the door locked.

“That’s funny,” he mused, and as he started to turn away from the door, the world seemed to come to an abrupt end.

Came a deafening crash, a glaring flash of light. Silent was dimly conscious of these things, and felt that he was being hurled away by a great force. Then he seemed to hear men shouting and the world was lighted with the glow of a fire.

He managed to get to his feet and take stock of himself. His body felt numb, but his mind was clearing swiftly now. Just beyond him the flames were eating swiftly into the flimsy old frame buildings, while men and women darted in and out of the glow, fighting it with buckets of water and axes. There were more people arriving at each moment, until every man, woman and child in Marlin City fought to save the town.

Silent went slowly to them. He was unable to walk fast, but he knew that none of his bones had been broken in the explosion. Swiftly the flames were eating toward Wesson’s store, and a gang of men began removing the stock.

“Watch the other side of the street, boys!” yelled Cale Wesson. “The —— himself couldn’t stop it from takin’ this side.”

Silent took hold of Cale Wesson’s arm and pointed to the spot where the sheriff’s office had been.

“Where’s Brick and Harp?” he croaked. “Did they get out?”

Wesson stared at him.

“Were they in the office? My ——, look at your face, Silent! What happened to you?”

“Where are they?” insisted Silent.

“By gosh, I’m ’fraid for scare,” said Le Blanc, the blacksmith. “De sheriff h’office she’s gone for good. Don’ somebody know w’ere Breek and Harp be?”

“They went to bed about nine o’clock,” volunteered the bartender. “I know that much. But what in —— happened, Wesson? Was it some dynamite exploded?”

“It hit me,” said Silent. “I was tryin’ to wake Brick up at the back door.”

“If they were in the office, they’re done for,” declared Cale Wesson. “That was a heap of ruins when I got here, and I was one of the first.”

Mrs. Wesson and Miss Miller, their dresses scorched, faces red from the heat, heard Cale Wesson’s opinion.

“Do you mean to say that Brick and Harp were in their office?” demanded Mrs. Wesson shakily.

“They went to bed at nine o’clock,” declared the bartender.

“My ——!” gasped Mrs. Wesson. “I can’t believe it. What was it, Cale? What started it?”

“I dunno.” Cale was glumly watching the flames eat through the buildings toward his store. “I’ve got to save what I can, Ma. You keep out of it, can’tcha?”

Cale hurried away toward the store, while Silent, Mrs. Wesson and Miss Miller went as near as possible to the blazing heap that had been the sheriff’s office and stood together, watching it.

The bucket-brigade had shifted their operations to putting out any small blaze that might occur on the opposite side of the street, as they knew that their puny efforts would avail nothing against that blaze, which sent fire-streamers far up into the sky, showering blazing cinders in the wind.

“Can it be possible that they were in there?” asked Miss Miller wearily, pointing at the flames.

“Somebody dynamited the office,” declared Silent.

His mind was functioning perfectly again, and he remembered the man he had seen leaving the rear of the office.

“Do you think it was done on purpose?” queried Mrs. Wesson.

“Yes’m, I sure do. Brick and Harp never kept any dynamite in the office.”

“But why would any one do a thing like that?” asked Miss Miller. “Surely no one would do it.”

“Wouldn’t they?” Silent laughed hoarsely and began feeling of his face. “By grab, I come danged near bein’ included.”

His face was badly skinned. In fact, one eyebrow was almost obliterated, his nose flattened, lips swollen.

“I reckon the door patted me in the face and I slept fifteen minutes,” he said, trying to grin. “I’m full of splinters, that’s a cinch.”

“Well, who would do it?” demanded Mrs. Wesson hotly.

“If I knowed, I’d sure tan his hide and make me a new _latigo_. Somebody stole my horse, too. I tell yuh this country is gettin’ ornery, Mrs. Wesson. What this country needs is a good old wholesale killin’. And—” Silent pointed toward the flames—“if old Brick ain’t in there, I’ve got a danged good hunch that there will be.”

“Oh, do you think there is a chance that they were not in that office?” asked Miss Miller anxiously, hopefully.

“I couldn’t wake ’em up,” explained Silent. “I hammered on the front door and then the back door hammered on me.”

“The store is on fire, Ma,” said Cale Wesson, joining them. “There goes everythin’ we own—almost.”

“Well, we ain’t in it, Cale. There’s always somethin’ to be thankful for.”

“Yeah, I reckon so, Ma. Don’t get too close, folks. There a drum of kerosene in there and a lot of ca’tridges. The kerosene will go straight up, I s’pose; but nobody knows which way all them shells are pointin’.”

“I hope they’re pointin’ toward the jigger that set off that dynamite,” said Cale after a moment’s pause.

“I don’t,” grunted Silent. “I want that pleasure m’self.”

* * * * *

For several minutes Brick and Harp remained motionless. The house was as silent as the tomb. Then Brick scratched a match, shielding it with his hands, as he reflected the light around.

To the right of them was the rear door, while directly across the room was another window. Brick went to the door and locked it securely, crossed and looked at the window, finding it nailed down.

Another match lighted them into the living-room, where they locked the front door and took stock of their surroundings. There was a candle in the neck of a bottle on the table, which Brick lighted. The front and side windows were nailed down and heavily curtained.

“How’s the shoulder?” asked Brick.

Harp flexed his arm carefully and grimaced a little.

“It ain’t goin’ to stop me,” he declared. “But it sure had me guessin’. My shirt’s all blood, but the cut is sealed shut.”

The Mostano family kept house in one room only. There was a rusty cook-stove, on which was a greasy looking stew-kettle and a battered frying-pan. A home-made table fitted into one corner, on which was piled the rest of their utensils. In the other corner was a built-in bunk, with a collection of tumbled blankets.

The floor was filthy and the air was filled with odors of long-departed food. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling in profusion.

“Ugh!” grunted Harp disgustedly. “What a place to live!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” grinned Brick. “And what a place to die.”

Harp laughed and laid his six-shooter across his knees, as he tried to roll a cigaret.

“Let me do that,” said Brick. “Yore hand ain’t workin’ so good.”

He reached for the tobacco and papers and had just started to roll the cigaret, when a peculiar noise sent both of them onto the floor, clutching their guns. Swiftly their eyes searched everywhere and came back to each other’s faces.

“What the —— was that?” whispered Harp.

Brick shook his head. Then it came again—

“Yea-a-a-a.”

Brick squinted at the bunk. There was a curious expression in his eyes, as he turned and looked at Harp. Then he got to his feet and strode across the room to the bunk.

“C’mere,” he whispered to Harp, who went over to him.

Brick threw back the blanket, disclosing a little copper-colored baby about a year old, possibly less. The little one was looking up at them with its round, black eyes. Then it grinned widely and kicked both feet up against the blanket.

The two men looked at each other and laughed foolishly.

“Little son-of-a-gun,” whispered Brick. “Ain’t he a dinger?”

“Why not ‘she’?” grinned Harp.

“Mebbe,” Brick grinned down at the baby. “I dunno much about ’em, but I’d say that this one is kinda cute. Look at the son-of-a-gun kick.”

Harp looked around quickly and went back to the door, where he listened closely.

“We don’t want to forget where we are, Brick. I’m thinkin’ that the Mostano family will be kinda curious to know how that kid is gettin’ along.”

“I know danged well I would if it was mine,” grinned Brick. “Anyway, it kinda stops ’em from promiscuous shootin’ around here; so we’ll set tight and wait for mornin’.”

“Tha’sall right,” said Harp thoughtfully, “but what are they so anxious to kill us off for? I should think they’d be danged willin’ to let us get out of here.”

“Does look curious,” admitted Brick. “Mebbe they think that they can kill us off and do as they please the rest of their lives. A breed is a queer character, Harp. He prob’ly figures that I’m the law; and when I’m wiped out—blooey goes the law.”

They sat down against the wall, where they could watch both doors, and enjoyed a smoke. The baby began to cry fitfully.

“Betcha it’s hungry,” declared Harp. “They allus weep that-a-way when they’re needin’ food.”

“A sweet chance it’s got of gettin’ a feed tonight.”

But the baby did not appreciate that fact, and raised its voice in lamentations. Brick grew nervous over the prolonged wailing.

“How long does it take a kid to starve to death, Harp?”

“I dunno. Prob’ly a couple of hours, at least. That little jigger won’t never live to starve to death, Brick.”

“Why not?”

“Why, he’ll bust his windpipe squallin’ that-a-way. Didja ever hear such wheezy yelps? Mebbe it’s got the croup.”

“It has sure got somethin,” declared Brick. “They ought to call that kid A. S. Mostano.”

“Why the A. S., Brick?”

“Almighty Squawk. Whoo-ee, listen to him yowl!”

The baby was giving a good imitation of a discordant accordion now; every breath a yelp. Brick got to his feet and started toward the bunk, intending to do everything within his power to soothe the child, but stopped midway of the room.

Someone was knocking gently on the front door. Brick and Harp exchanged glances of wonderment. Brick stepped over beside the door and said—

“Who’s there?”

“I mus’ have baby, please.” It was Mrs. Mostano’s voice.

Brick turned his head and grinned at Harp.

“You want the baby, eh?” questioned Brick. “Who’s with yuh?”

“Nobody with me. I want baby.”

“Uh-huh!”

Brick motioned Harp to come over beside him and they backed close to the wall.

“If she ain’t alone, smoke —— out of ’em, Harp,” whispered Brick.

“I wouldn’t let her in,” declared Harp. “To —— with the whole gang, Brick.”

“I’d rather be shot than to listen to that yowlin’ all night. Get set, cowboy.”

Brick reached over and lifted the bar off the slots, letting the door swing open. For a moment there was silence, then the half-breed woman poked her head inside. Her eyes bored into Brick’s face, but his grin reassured her and she stepped inside.

“Put that bar across the door,” ordered Brick.

She turned and barred the door. The two men relaxed and watched her hurry across to the bunk, where she picked up the crying baby.

“Goin’ to take him with yuh?” queried Brick.

The woman shook her head, as she wrapped the baby in a piece of bright-colored blanket. Brick grinned and stepped back to the connecting door. For some reason he was suspicious of this woman. Still he could not see where she could do them any harm.

She was crooning an Indian song to the youngster, as she bundled him up well and placed him on the bunk. Harp was still standing near the front door, listening intently for any noise outside.

The Indian woman flung another blanket across half of the child. Then she took hold of the bunk with both hands, drew it away from the wall and swung it completely around. Brick squinted at her and wondered why she should change the position of the bunk.

Then he knew. In the half-light from the candle he saw the floor lift up where the bunk had been. In a flash he realized that the bunk had stood over a trap-door and that the woman had used the baby as an excuse to uncover that entrance.

Harp had seen it, too. He darted toward Brick, shouting a warning. But Brick had already swung up his gun and fired one shot at the black mass under the trap-door.

“The back door!” snapped Brick, as Harp darted past him.

Then he swung his gun around and his next shot smashed into the bottle under the guttering candle and the room went dark.

Brick whirled and ran to Harp, who had managed to claw the bar away from the door, and without a thought of what might be waiting outside for them, they darted out into the night.

But no one tried to block them now, as they pounded heavily away from the house, circling toward the bluff trail. After about two hundred yards at top speed, Brick stopped and looked back. Not a light was showing in the old ranch-house. They listened, but there was not a sound.

“By ——, that ’breed female came darned near to bein’ the death of us,” panted Harp. “Didja see anybody, Brick?”

“No. I shot once at the trap-door and once at the candle, but I didn’t see nobody. Pretty foxy, eh? Their foolish move was in openin’ that trap so soon. If they’d ’a’ waited a little while, we’d ’a’ been easy pickin’, I reckon.”

“By golly, there was more than one person in that deal, Brick.”

“Oh, yeah. Well——” Brick drew a deep breath and hitched up his belt. “I reckon we’ve got to walk to Marlin City, cowboy.”

It was at least fifteen miles; and fifteen miles is a long ways, walking on high-heeled boots.

“Let’s go over to the Red Hill mine and borrow a couple of broncs from Barney Devine,” suggested Harp.

“That’s a pious idea,” agreed Brick. “And if he ain’t got no rollin’ stock, we’ll stay all night and ride in on the stage tomorrow. It’s sure a nice thing for the sheriff to let somebody steal his horses. But,” he added optimistically, “I reckon I’m about the only one in Sun Dog that could have his horses stolen without yellin’ to high Heaven for a new sheriff.”

“I’m kinda in favor of a new one m’self,” grunted Harp. “And I hope to gosh he ain’t so friendly to me that I can’t refuse to be his deputy.”

* * * * *

Marlin City was a sorry-looking place in the gray dawn. One whole side of the main street was a smoldering mass of ruins, while the buildings on the opposite side were badly scorched and warped from the extreme heat. The street was like an ash-heap, and strewn with everything that was possible to salvage from the doomed buildings.

Silent Slade, his face covered with strips of plaster, poked moodily among the blackened ruins of the sheriff’s office, hoping against hope that he would not find anything resembling a human remain. A number of men wandered about the street, talking about the fire, and Slade noticed that some of them were from Silverton.

Ike Welden sat on the sidewalk in front of the Dollar Down, and Silent scowled at him. He blamed Ike for the loss of his horse and wondered how he could prove it sufficiently to take Ike and tie him into a bow-knot. A rider was coming up the street, and Silent recognized him as Meecham, the cashier of the Silverton bank. He dismounted and looked at the results of the fire.

“Pretty bad blaze,” he said to Silent.

“Yeah, pretty bad,” admitted Silent.

“How did it start?”

“With a —— of a crash.”

Meecham looked curiously at him, but Silent did not feel in any mood to talk about it.

“Did you hear how Mr. Caswell is this morning?”

Silent shook his head. He was not interested in Soapy. Meecham glanced up the street, where Leach, Bill Grant and Slim Hunter were coming toward them. There was a bullet-hole in the cantle of Meecham’s saddle, which was plainly visible, and Silent wondered how it came there.

The three men spoke to Meecham and from them he gathered the information that Soapy was conscious again and stood a good chance of complete recovery. Then Meecham mounted and rode up the street toward the doctor’s home.

“Find anythin’, Silent?” queried Grant.

“Not a thing, Bill. They wasn’t in that fire, that’s a cinch. That fire wasn’t hot enough to——”

Silent paused to stare at two saddled horses, which were straggling into view, coming toward the ruins of Brick’s old stable.

“By ——, there’s their horses!” exploded Silent.

He ran across the smoldering mass and managed to catch Brick’s sorrel. The other men joined him, and Slim Hunter captured Harp’s roan filly.

Neither horse had been injured in any way, and the reins had been tied to the saddlehorns. From under the right-hand fender of each saddle extended a gun-scabbard, and in each one was a rifle—fully loaded.

Silent scratched his head wonderingly.

“By grab, there’s dirty work here!” he declared. “These horses were turned loose. Both of them broncs are rein-broke, and they never wandered away, y’betcha.”

Leach laughed scornfully and shook his head.

“Does it sound funny to you?” growled Silent.

“For the sheriff to lose his horse—yes.”

“Yeah?”

Silent squared around and studied Leach, who drew slightly away from the menace of the big man’s expression.

“Somebody stole my horse last night,” said Silent, after a moment. “Now yuh might try laughin’ at that information, Leach.”

“But you are not the sheriff, Slade.”

“No, but I’m jist such a ——ed good friend of his that it’s all in the fambly. I hope yuh laugh, you darned pole-cat.”

Leach drew back and his face went dark with anger, but Grant stepped between them.

“There’s enough trouble around here without you two takin’ shots at each other,” he said quickly. “Forget it, both of yuh.”

“I’m gettin’ tired of it,” declared Leach. “I can’t talk to the sheriff, deputy nor anybody connected with the ——ed office without gettin’ insulted.”

“Nobody asked yuh to talk to ’em,” retorted Silent hotly. “They’ll get along without yuh.”

“Well, there’s one satisfaction,” said Leach. “We’ll soon be rid of the present incumbents.”

“What’s incumbents?” queried Silent.

Leach growled something about ignorant people and walked across the street toward the saloon. Silent watched him moodily before turning to Grant and Slim Hunter.

“When did Ike Welden come back to Marlin City?”

“He rode up with me,” said Slim. “We just got here a while ago. I found him in the Short Horn saloon, half-drunk, and talkin’ about the big fire in Marlin City. They could see it from there. I told him I was comin’ up here to see what it was all about; so he came along.”

“They could see it from Silverton, couldn’t they?” asked Silent.

“Yeah, you bet they could,” replied Slim.

“How come yuh didn’t get here sooner?”

Slim grinned widely and dug his toe into the ashes.

“I was out settin’ up with m’ best girl, and I never knowed there was a fire until I came into town.”

Bill Grant laughed and looked toward the street. A rider was coming toward them and they all recognized him as Brick Davidson. He was riding a mule bareback. Silent whooped like an Indian and fairly dragged Brick off the long-eared beast, while the others crowded around and shot questions at him so fast that he could answer none of them.

“For gosh sake hold on!” he begged. “Yeah, Harp’s all right. He stopped at the doctor’s place to get his arm dressed. He got stuck with a knife. Now, what in —— happened to Marlin City?”

And between the three of them they managed to give Brick a fairly good idea of what had taken place the night before—or rather, that morning. Brick said nothing during the telling.

“And I’ve been huntin’ for yore danged carcasses ever since,” declared Silent.

“Uh-huh!” Brick squinted at the ruins and back at their two horses. “When did our broncs show up?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” replied Grant.

Brick looked over his sorrel carefully, and then removed his rifle from the scabbard. It was loaded, and with a cartridge in the chamber. He grinned at the three men, cocked the gun, pointed it at the sky and pulled the trigger.

Only the dull click of the hammer came to their ears. Brick shoved the gun back into the scabbard and went over to the mule.

“I’ve got to put this animile in the stable,” he told them. “He ain’t much of a vehicle, but he was all I could get.”

He started away with the animal and Silent turned triumphantly to Grant and Hunter.

“Somethin’ is due to drop pretty danged hard, gents. He knowed them guns had been monkeyed with, didn’t he? Grins all over his face, too. Don’t want to talk, does he? That’s Brick Davidson. He’s got somethin’ on his mind, I tell yuh.”

“I hope so,” sighed Grant.

“I’ve got to see Harp,” declared Silent. “Stuck with a knife, eh? By golly, they sure do use every old kind of a weapon. Next thing we know somebody will get bit.”

Silent strode away, shaking his head, while Grant and Hunter crossed the street to the saloon.

“Do yuh think Brick has got any ideas?” queried Slim.

“I’ll betcha,” nodded Grant. “And what’s more, I’m glad that I can stand investigation.”

“Holy cats, me, too!” snorted Slim.

Brick turned the mule over to Jimmy Meeker and went back up the street, where he spent a little time looking at what was left of that side of the street. Miss Miller came down the street, but did not see Brick until face to face with him. She was carrying some school-books. He tipped his hat and grinned, and only real quickness on his part saved her books from falling into the ashes.

She was staring at him, as he handed the books to her, and she caught his hand.

“Mr. Davidson,” she faltered, “you—you are all right?”

“Uh-huh. Sure I’m all right. What’s the matter?”

She had turned and was staring at the tangle of burnt buildings.

“Nun—nothing. I—you see, we thought that you——”

“Yuh mean that folks thought we was in that fire, ma’am?”

“Yes. You see, we thought—somebody said——”

“That we went to bed at nine o’clock?”

“Yes.”

Brick grinned widely and shook his head.

“Harp’s at the doctor’s office,” he volunteered.

Miss Miller turned and glanced quickly in that direction.

“At the doctor’s office? Why—what is the matter?”

“Somebody stuck a knife in his arm last night.”

“A knife? Is he——”

She paused anxiously.

“Nope. It wasn’t much of a cut, ma’am. He’ll be all right. Harp is so darned tough and ornery that cold steel won’t never hurt him. I’ll betcha they’ll have to grind a new point on that knife.”

Brick grinned, lifted his hat and walked on, watching her from the corner of his eye. She seemed undecided what to do, but finally went on toward the other end of town where the little schoolhouse was located. Brick laughed to himself and shook his head.

“That’s what’s the matter, eh?” he chuckled. “School-teacher worryin’ about a skinny puncher. Huh! I won’t dare to tell Harp, that’s a cinch. Plumb ruin him for my use. By golly, I never do understand women. Still, she may like jew’s-harp music so much that she’s willin’ to overlook anythin’ else.”

Bill Grant crossed from the saloon and joined Brick.

“What do yuh make of it?” queried Grant. “Do yuh think that somebody tried to kill you and Harp last night?”

Brick grinned, but without mirth.

“Looks that-a-way, Bill. We were supposed to be in bed, yuh know.”

“Sure.”

“But we wasn’t, Bill. Me and Harp busted into some meat stealin’ last night and we danged near got our needin’s. They sure did outsmart us in great shape. Even stole our horses and we had to borrow a couple of mules from the Red Hill mine. Harp got a knife in his shoulder—and we don’t know a —— of a lot more than we did before.”

“Who were the thieves, Brick?”

“I can’t swear to anybody. That’s the worst of workin’ in the dark.”

* * * * *

Harp and Silent were coming from the doctor’s office, leading the mule that Harp had ridden in from the mine. Aside from being slightly pale Harp showed no ill-effects from his knife wound. He nodded to Grant and looked over the ruins. Silent had told him all about the explosion and fire; so he had no questions to ask.

“Must ’a’ been warm around here,” was his only comment.

“It sure was,” agreed Bill Grant. “My neck is still hot, and it was mostly all over when I got here. I’ll buy a drink.”

As they started toward the saloon, Silent stepped in beside Brick and whispered—

“There’s a saddle at the hitch-rack with a bullet-hole in the cantle.”

“Who owns it?” asked Brick.

“Meecham, the Silverton bank cashier, rode in on it a while ago.”

“Sure it’s a bullet-hole, Silent?”

“Y’betcha.”

Brick squinted thoughtfully, as they lined up at the bar. Meecham was sitting at a card-table, reading a paper, paying no attention to any one. Leach and Cale Wesson were standing near the front of the room, talking about the fire, and, near the rear, Ike Welden and Slim Hunter were playing a listless game of pool.

The bartender greeted Brick effusively and insisted that the drinks were “on the house.”

“I was afraid yuh died in that fire, Brick. By golly, I’m sure glad to see yuh. And old Harp, too.”

Brick grinned and looked over at Meecham.

“Have a little drink, Meecham?” he asked.

Meecham looked up at Brick and shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Brick pleasantly. “I just thought yuh might be one of the sufferers.”

Meecham stared at him closely.

“What do you mean, Davidson?” he asked.

“Oh, I just didn’t know but what somebody had tried to kill you off, too. There’s a bullet-hole in the cantle of yore saddle, yuh know.”

“A bullet-hole?”

Meecham’s tone had been rather loud and attracted the attention of every one. Leach came back toward the bar, and the two cowpunchers stopped their pool playing to listen.

“In yore saddle,” nodded Brick. “Of course, it ain’t likely that you was in the saddle at the time, Meecham.”

“Well, I—you see that horse and saddle belongs to the livery-stable. I merely rented it.”

“What about the bullet-hole?” asked Leach.

“I don’t know anything about it,” declared Meecham. “It must have been there when I got it.”

“They’d know at the stable,” opined Silent.

“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Brick, “McKeever would know.”

“Let’s take a squint at that saddle,” suggested Grant. “It might not be a bullet-hole.”

“Well, what if it was!” snorted Ike Welden. “My ——, yo’re makin’ a lot of fuss about a bullet-hole in a saddle. You act like it had hit all of yuh.”

Silent turned and looked at Ike.

“Welden, yo’re breedin’ a lot of misery for yourself,” he declared. “I dumped yuh into the street once, yuh remember. Last night somebody swiped my bronc—and I better not find out that it was you.”

“You tryin’ to make out that I stole yore bronc, Slade?”

“If I thought yuh did I’d fill yuh so ——ed full of holes that they’d have to use ce-ment instead of embalmin’-fluid, if they wanted yuh to keep.”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” Ike sneered openly, but was careful to keep his hands above waist-level. He was the equal of any man on the draw, but he was afraid of this big man—afraid that he might not be able to stop him.

“Don’t argue with that worm,” said Harp impatiently. “He ain’t goin’ to take any chances. Now, if it was dark and he had a tree or a rock in front of him—aw, c’mon, Silent.”

They went out through the doorway, leaving Ike to swear and buy himself a drink. At the hitch-rack they examined the saddle. There was no doubt of it being a bullet-hole. The saddle was a cheap affair, and the bullet had smashed through the cantle, but was lodged between the wood and the leather covering of the back.

With a slash of his knife Brick cut through the leather and salvaged the bullet, which was so badly battered that it was impossible, except by weight, to tell what caliber it had been.

“Well,” said Grant dryly, “there ain’t much question about it bein’ a bullet-hole.”

“Yeah, it is a bullet-hole,” admitted Leach, although he did not seem greatly concerned over it.

“Well, I don’t know anything about it.” Meecham was inclined to be a trifle peevish over it. “I hired this horse and saddle to ride up here and see how Mr. Caswell was getting along, and if they gave me a saddle with a bullet-hole in it——”

“Well, that’s all right,” grinned Brick. “Nobody’s blamin’ you for it, Meecham.”

Brick turned and went back toward the saloon, as though dismissing the subject. Meecham talked with Leach and Grant for a few minutes before mounting his horse and going back toward Silverton.

Harp got their two horses and took them to the livery-stable. In a few minutes he came back, carrying the two rifles, and found Brick talking with Cale Wesson.

“You fellers come down to my house,” suggested Cale. “We’ve got plenty of room. You ain’t got no office, jail nor stable, Brick; so yuh might as well hive up at my place until yuh get somethin’ built.”

“By golly, that would be fine,” agreed Harp joyfully.

Brick and Cale exchanged amused glances and Cale drawled slowly:

“I’d rather have the music inside my house at a reasonable hour than to have it outside at four o’clock in the mornin’. Ma kinda likes music, too. Of course, Miss Miller won’t mind. Anyway, she’s too danged much of a lady to say what she thinks.”

“All right, Cale,” grinned Brick. “It would be mighty nice if yuh could take care of us for a few days.”

“Sure would,” nodded Harp, and without further argument he headed for the Wesson home, carrying the two useless rifles.

Leach, Slim Hunter and Ike Welden went to the hitch-rack, mounted their horses, and rode out of town toward Silverton. They nodded to Cale and Brick as they rode past. Santel came in from the other end of town and left his horse at the hitch-rack. He had not been there during the fire, and now he came over and considered the wreckage.

His examination was very brief and he came past Brick and Cale, on his way to the Dollar Down. He nodded curtly and Brick felt instinctively that Santel had been drinking. His eyes were bloodshot and he walked rather too deliberately, as though trying to show that he was perfectly sober. He met Bill Grant in the doorway, and, after a moment of conversation, they both went into the saloon.

“I couldn’t like that Santel,” observed Wesson. “I ain’t got a darned thing against him, yuh understand, but there’s somethin’ so dog-goned cold-blooded about him that it kinda gits me.”

“He’s salty,” grinned Brick. “He’s also drunk right now, Cale. Let’s go down and help Harp arrange them two rifles. That’s all we’ve got left to move.”

“Yo’re lucky. I lost danged near everythin’ I owned. But Ma says we’re kinda lucky, and I s’pose that’s a good way to look at things. We’ll go down and see if she’s got anythin’ to cook for a meal.”

Mrs. Wesson gave Brick and Harp an upstairs room, where they decided to grab a few hours’ sleep. Both of them were weary, and the peacefulness of the Wesson home sent them quickly into dreamland.

Mrs. Wesson woke them up at supper-time and they came down to the outdoor wash-bench to clean up a little.

“Bill Grant has been over twice to see yuh,” stated Mrs. Wesson.

“Tha’sso?” Brick lifted his wet face from the basin and blinked the soap out of his eyes. “What’d Bill want?”

“He didn’t say. I asked him if it was important, but he never said whether it was or not. Said he’d come again.”

They were just sitting down at the table, when Bill Grant knocked on the door and informed Mrs. Wesson that he wanted to see Brick. He wouldn’t come in; so Brick went out to him.

“I don’t like to take yuh away from a meal, Brick; but I’ve got somethin’ yuh ought to know. Santel’s drunk. He got me in a corner this afternoon and talked for an hour. He’s been detectin’ to beat ——, so he says. And here’s his solution of the thing:

“You and Silent Slade and Harp Harris must be the three men who done the dirty work; _sabe_? Yo’re the medium-sized one, Silent is the big one, and Harp is the tall, skinny one. Now, what do yuh think of that, Brick?”

Brick squinted hard over the information and Grant watched him closely. Then Brick’s face broke into a grin, as he looked up.

“Well, Bill, I’m s’prized that Santel ever found out that much. It sure does look like us three jiggers have been featherin’ our nests, don’t it?”

“Aw, ——, I didn’t believe him, Brick.”

“Thank yuh, Bill. Where is Santel now?”

“He’s gone to Silverton. I reckon he’s through around here. He told me that he was, anyway.”

“Yeah, I reckon he is,” Brick grew serious.

“He said he was goin’ to put his case up to Leach and Hendricks and let them do what they dang pleased about it.”

“That’s real thoughtful of him, I’m sure. Bill, I’m glad yuh told me this, and I thank yuh kindly.”

“Yo’re welcome, Brick. But dang it all, I wish you could put the deadwood on the guilty parties. I’m for yuh.”

“Well,” Brick grinned widely, “mebbe I will, as soon as I get time. I’ve been so dog-gone busy lately. Say, didja see Silent around the Dollar Down when yuh left?”

“He’s playin’ single-handed black-jack with Le Blanc.”

“Fine. Tell him to come down here right away, will yuh, Bill?”

“Sure.”

Grant turned and walked back toward the street, while Brick went back to his supper.

Miss Miller smiled at Brick as he sat down beside Harp.

“I have been trying to get Mr. Harris to tell me how he came to get that wound in his shoulder,” said Miss Miller, “but he refuses to tell me.”

Harp squinted at Brick, who grinned covertly and shook his head.

“I don’t blame him for not talkin’ about it,” declared Brick. “Mebbe next time he’ll look out for knife-throwin’ women.”

“Knife-throwing women?”

Miss Miller glanced sharply at Harp, whose ears immediately assumed a scarlet tint.

“Half-breed,” nodded Brick. “Married woman, too. Her husband was shootin’ mad, too.”

Harp shoved back his chair and got to his feet.

“That’s all a danged lie!” he wailed. “I—I——”

“I can’t understand this risin’ generation,” interrupted Mrs. Wesson seriously. “They do the darndest things. Why, when I was young, if a man monkeyed around a married woman——”

Harp whirled around, picked up his hat and stamped out of the house, while Brick put his head on his arms and cried tears. Mrs. Wesson hammered Cale on the back until the poor man slid sideways out of his chair; but Miss Miller failed to see the humor of the situation.

“It’s a —— shame,” declared Cale. “Don’tcha believe a danged thing that either of these critters try to make yuh believe, Miss Miller. That’s their idea of fun.”

“O-o-o-oh, that was good!” wailed Mrs. Wesson. “The look on his face! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Brick, he’ll hate us both for life.”

“I fail to see anything funny about it,” stated Miss Miller. “Why accuse a man of something that isn’t true, Mr. Davidson?”

“It was true,” choked Brick. “But not the way it sounded. He did get knifed by a woman. Anyway, I think it was a woman. And her husband was shootin’ mad, too. Me and Harp caught ’em stealing cattle—butcherin’ at night and burnin’ the hides.”

Brick wiped away his tears and was about to tell them what had happened the night before, when Silent knocked loudly at the front door.

“What happened to little Harp Harris?” he asked. “I met him up the street and asked him what you wanted. He said he didn’t care a —— what you wanted, but he knew what you was goin’ to get.”

“He’s got indigestion,” said Mrs. Wesson. “He told me the other day that he had it real bad. You know that upsets a man somethin’ awful. I’d sure hate to marry a man that has indigestion. I sure know what it’s like, ’cause Cale has touches of it.”

“I never had anythin’ like that in my life!” snorted Cale.

“I’ll betcha yuh got it right now,” grinned Brick. “Anybody that would speak to Ma Wesson that-a-way has got stummick trouble.”

Cale picked up his hat and started for the door.

“All right, all right! I s’pose I’ve got to stand for it. If I’d ’a’ had any sense I’d never invited the sheriff’s office to settle down in my house. Between Ma and Brick, I’ll prob’ly have to pitch a tent, if I want to have any peace.”

“Didja want me, Brick?” queried Silent, “or is that part of the joke?”

Brick laughed and shook his head.

“I was just wonderin’ if you’d like to ride to Silverton with me this evenin’.”

Silent squinted closely at Brick’s face. Their eyes met for a moment and a grin spread Silent’s lips. He knew that Brick was not riding to Silverton just for the ride.

“Yeah, I’d like to go along,” said Silent indifferently. “I’m ready any time you are. Is Harp goin’ along?”

“No, I don’t think so. He better take care of that shoulder for a day or two.” Brick turned to Miss Miller. “Are you goin’ to the dance tomorrow night with Harp, Miss Miller?”

“Not that I know of,” she replied.

“I must remind Harp of that,” said Brick seriously. “He told me to be sure and remind him to ask yuh—but it slipped my mind completely.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Miss Miller’s brows lifted slightly and she glanced at Mrs. Wesson, who was still chuckling.

“And if I forget it, Ma will remind him of it when he comes back.”

Brick picked up his hat and walked out behind Silent, while Ma Wesson wiped away her tears and patted Miss Miller on the arm.

“Don’t mind him, dearie,” she choked. “Brick don’t lie, but he sure does twist the truth around until it won’t neither lay down nor stand up. Harp would do the same to Brick, if he had the chance. They’re both salt of the earth.”

“And you—” began Miss Miller accusingly.

“Oh, me!” Ma Wesson laughed heartily. “I’ll back either of ’em, ’cause I love ’em both. Don’t mind me. If Harp don’t ask yuh to go with him, I’ll have Cale take both of us. By golly, I’d like to tromp around over a dance floor ag’in myself.”