Chapter III: Part 3

“I had a little saved up. I told Mary I had sold my cattle. We moved away from there. I was a gambler, Davidson, and my money did not last. I had to get a job, and of all the jobs on earth for me to take--I went to drivin’ the stage between Sweetgrass and the Ophir mines.

“Davidson, I was happy. I had a little home, the sweetest wife on earth, and little Jean. The past kinda faded out, and it seemed like I had always been straight. There was a reward of five thousand dollars for the leader of the Sandy Creek gang.

“I heard a feller say once that there’s only the thickness of a cigaret paper between heaven and hell. He was right. I walked out of heaven one day when I met ‘Black’ Ames and Pete Rawls, members of the old gang.

“They laughed at me when I told ’em I was livin’ straight. Rawls said they were going to get their share of the gold from the Ophir mines and were willin’ to split it three ways with me.

“I refused to listen to them. They laughed and went away.

“Two days later they came to me again. I refused to help them. They laughed at me. Wasn’t there a fat reward for the leader of the old gang? Wouldn’t folks like to know who was driving the Ophir stage?

“Then Ames sprung his hole-card by telling me that my wife would be glad to find me out.

“Davidson, I should have killed them both right there. It would have caused trouble, but would have been better. That night I heard two men, standing in the dark, talking. One of them was Ames, and he was saying:

“‘That’s the idea. We’ll put a note in his pocket to show who he is. Did yuh ever see his wife?’

“The other one said--

“‘You’re danged right I have, and I’m thinkin’ I’ll see a lot more of her pretty soon.’

“I knew they were talking about me. After they were gone I had figured out what they meant. They were going to kill me at the hold-up. Somebody was going to find my body with the note on it and claim the reward. Somebody else was going to try to get my wife, Davidson.

“I think that Rawls and Ames were the ones who pulled off the dirty deals that were credited to the Sandy Creek gang. It was impossible to prove it at the time. They demanded that I tip ’em off to the next big shipment of gold.

“I didn’t know what to do, Davidson. I finally decided to lie about a shipment and fight it out with them at the hold-up. I thought there might be a third man in the deal, on account of the conversation I had overheard, but I took a chance. I knew they were going to try and kill me, but they didn’t know that I knew this, which made it safer for me.

“I expected to have three men hold me up, but there were five of ’em. Ames and Rawls were not masked, but the other three were. They did not look for trouble from me, but when my hands came up I gave Ames and Rawls each a dozen buckshot from my shotgun. They never moved. They were going to double-cross me, but I beat ’em to it. Then a bullet struck me in the head, and when I fell I must ’a’ kicked loose the brake and the team ran away.

“When I woke up I was in a saloon at Sweetgrass and the doctor was sewing up the gash in my head. A man had come to the door of the saloon and yelled that the stage had been smashed up and the driver killed. Then he rode away. They had brought me to town. It was dark. I went home. Yes, it was only a scalp wound, but I was bruised up pretty bad.

“I found the note in my pocket--the note that would tell folks who I had been. I destroyed it and went in the house. No one had told Mary, but she was worried because I was so late. I was tryin’ to explain that I was all right, when the door opened and a masked man came in. Mary and I stood there together and looked at him. He said:

“‘We thought you was dead, Martin, but it don’t matter. You double-crossed us today and you’re goin’ to pay.’

“All this time he’s got a gun pointed at us. He whistled, and two more men came in.

“‘What do you want?’ asked Mary, and the first man laughed.

“‘You,’ he said. ‘Pretty women are too scarce to waste on a dog like you’ve got.’

“I did not have a gun--nothing but my bare hands, but I sprang for him. I felt his bullet burn my cheek, and then there came a scream.”

Martin’s face was agonized and his hands clutched at the table-cover. Then he looked up at Brick, and his face was bloodless.

“Yes, that bullet killed her, Davidson--the bullet that was meant for me. Another shot at me as I caught my foot in the rug and fell. I guess they thought I was done for, so they left. The shots were heard and people came.

“Little Jean had come out from her bed and saw it all. I guess that saved me, because folks thought I had done it. I think I went crazy then.

“I got a gun and went hunting for the man who shot my wife. I think I just wanted to kill somebody. I had lost all that made life worth while, and I wanted to find something or somebody that would fight me.

“I knew that Ames and Rawls were dead, and I had no idea of who these three men could be. I didn’t know but what it was my neighbor--anybody. I don’t know how I expected to find ’em, but I went into the main street, looking.

“A horse had fallen in the street and hurt the rider. I met the sheriff, who was taking the injured man away. The sheriff looked like he had been fighting.

“I went to the saloon, where men shrank away from me. I don’t blame them. I--I wanted to kill somebody.

“A man was telling about the horse falling. He said that there were two men. They raced into the street and one of the horses fell. I asked him who they were. He did not know.

“Then I knew it was one of the men who killed my wife. I told them. We went to the jail and took him out. I wanted them to let me have him, but they wanted to hang him. I think I tied the knot. For some reason or other I lit a match and looked at him.

“It was the wrong man. This man was over six feet tall and had no marks of injury. I think he was half-drunk. We left him and went back, but our man was gone. We found the sheriff at his shack, but he knew nothing.

“Since then we’ve kinda moved around, Jean and I. Something seems to tell me that some day I’ll find that man. Something will tell me who he is when we meet.”

Martin finished his tale and put his arms around Jean.

“What was the sheriff’s name, Martin?”

“Zell Mohr. He always was sorry for me, and tried to make me give up the idea of hunting for that man. I reckon he felt sorry for Jean, ’cause I kinda was unsatisfied in any one place, and when he got this old ranch he wrote me to come out here.”

Brick stared at the floor. If Zell Mohr had been the sheriff, why hadn’t Silent recognized him?

“Does Zell Mohr look the same as he did then?”

“Well, mebbe a little older, but----”

“He doesn’t wear a beard any more, daddy,” said Jean.

“That’s right, girl. He did used to wear whiskers.”

Brick rolled a cigaret slowly, and then looked up with a smile.

“Martin, did yuh ever see a hound catch a coyote?”

Martin frowned over the seemingly irrelevant question.

“Why, I--uh--yes, I have.”

“Could three greyhounds catch a coyote and not get cut up a bit?”

Martin smiled and shook his head.

“No, I don’t reckon they could, but they might.”

“Could three greyhounds catch four coyotes on the same day and not show a mark?”

“No!”

Martin’s reply was very decisive.

“The coyote would cut some of them, that’s a cinch.”

“What have hounds and coyotes to do with it?” asked Jean.

“I dunno,” admitted Brick; “but somethin’, I think. Did yuh ever know a crippled feller by the name of Limpy Squires?”

Martin stared at Brick.

“Limpy Squires? Where is he?”

“He’s dead. He was drivin’ the stage that got held up, and later on he starts out with a ridin’-horse and pack-animal, and somebody plugged him in the back.”

Martin stared down at the floor and his lips twitched.

“The fellers that robbed that stage likely killed him,” said Brick.

Martin looked up.

“Limpy Squires was my best friend, Davidson, but I did not know he was in this country. He was one of the old gang, and got his limp when he stepped between me and a bullet from one of our own gang. He had to quit the gang on account of that injury. But why did anybody kill him?”

“Mebbe,” suggested Brick, “mebbe somebody was afraid you two might meet.”

Martin leaned closer to Brick and his voice was tense.

“Do you think that some of the gang--somebody wanted to get me? Did they plant that note--and they killed Limpy?”

“Looks kinda like it,” nodded Brick; and then he told Martin of what happened at the hold-up, the finding of the note, and of the baffling footprints.

“What I want to know is this; where did that woman go? She didn’t jist evaporate.”

Martin shook his head and glanced at the connecting door between the living-room and the empty room where the prisoners had been placed.

“Can they hear, do yuh think?” asked Brick.

Jean walked across the room and opened the door. She glanced inside and turned quickly.

“They’re gone!” she exclaimed.

Brick sprang across to the door and looked inside. On the floor were Three Star’s hat and several pieces of cut rope.

“Kinda complicates things, pardner,” observed Brick soberly. “Wonder how much they heard?”

“Too much, if anything,” replied Martin. “What will we do now?”

“Meet ’em half-way,” grinned Brick, going to the door.

At the corner was Bunty’s horse and buggy, and coming around that was another horse and buggy. On the seat was a tall, raw-boned woman, handling the lines like a veteran. She jumped out and tied her horse and came toward the door.

“Howdy, Mrs. Wesson,” greeted Brick.

“Well, well, if it ain’t ol’ man Davidson’s prodigal son!”

Mrs. Wesson threw back her head and laughed.

“Well, Brickie, ain’t yuh goin’ to introduce me? Where’s your manners?”

Brick managed to introduce her to Jean and Martin. Mrs. Wesson beamed upon Jean and patted her shoulder.

“Honey, I jist found out that there was a girl at the old Weepin’ Tree. Cale Wesson has knowed it several days, but he ain’t never told me. I gave him ---- for it, too, and you know what he said? He said I’d talk the limb off a yucca-tree, and he was sparin’ yuh. Ha, ha, ha! I told him I had the closest tongue in the world, and he said, ‘Yes--closes’ to words.’

“Ain’t men the dangdest things? Look at Brick Davidson, will yuh? Wild-ridin’, good-for-nothin’ cowpuncher, but some day some girl will up and marry him. Fact. Oh, I’ve seen girls make some awful mistakes.

“Brick’s handsome--I’ll say that much for him; but, honey, them handsome men don’t always provide hot cakes for your breakfast. But Brick won’t cuss a woman. I hate a man who cusses at women. I’m goin’ to bend a gun over Bunty Blair’s head some of these bright afternoons, y’betcha.

“Met him and Three Star Hennessey about half-way between here and town. Walkin’. Fact. I stops and says--

“‘If you’re just exercisin’ I’ll give yuh a lift up the road a piece and let yuh get a fresh start.’

“Know what Bunty said? He told me to go somewhere. I told him that the chairs was all reserved for sheriffs, and I’ll be danged if I’d stand up. Ha, ha, ha! Three Star ain’t so bad, but he’s in bad company. Talkin’ about standin’ up reminds me of---- Honey, let’s go in out of the sun.”

Jean led Mrs. Wesson inside, where she immediately began another discourse, breaking off to eulogize Jean’s taste in room decoration.

“Get your bronc,” said Brick. “Let her entertain Jean. I think that me and you have got a job ahead of us.”

Martin nodded and listened to Mrs. Wesson talking.

“She’s the goods, Davidson. Rough as a file, but I’ll bet she’s got a solid-gold heart. Put overalls and boots on her and she’d look just like a man.”

Brick looked at Martin and then stared at his horse. He visualized Mrs. Wesson in male garb, and a smile crossed his face. He started to put his foot in the stirrup, but stopped. Then he turned to Martin, who was putting a saddle on a tall star-faced bay.

“Say, pardner, that woman didn’t neither fly nor evaporate.”

Martin turned.

“Where did she go, Davidson?”

“Walked away with the men.”

“I thought yuh said she never left the rock.”

“I was loco.”

“How did she leave?”

Brick swung into his saddle and adjusted himself before replying--

“Walked away on her two feet.”

Martin tied off his cinch and swung into his saddle.

“Reckon we ought to take the sheriff’s rig back to town with us?”

Brick shook his head, and they circled the ranch-house, headed for Marlin City.

* * * * *

It was a long, hot walk for Bunty and Three Star. Bunty had managed to work one hand loose and secure his knife, and the rest had been easy.

They would have had to pass the open door of the living-room to reach their rig, and if they circled the house to reach the other side they might be seen or heard. Three Star advised extreme caution, and Bunty was willing to accept the advice.

Bunty was sore, but Three Star was indifferent. Bunty swore he was going to get a posse and go right back. Three Star wished him the best of luck, and his well wishes nettled Bunty.

“Quittin’, are yuh?” snarled Bunty.

“Not quittin’--quit,” corrected Three Star.

“You ain’t got no guts,” declared Bunty. “Let ’em treat yuh thataway and then quit.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ ’em,” said Three Star, “and yuh can take it from me, they ain’t going to get another chance. Next time they’ll likely take your little knife and make yuh swaller it. As far as Brick Davidson is concerned--I pass.”

The spectacle of the sheriff and deputy walking into town excited amusement and interest. Several cowboys were in front of the Dollar Down, and they lost no time in making an audible demonstration.

Sitting in front of Wesson’s store were Silent and Harp, the latter dealing out mournful music, while Silent sang softly and very much off the key.

“Looky!” grunted Harp, pointing up the street. “Bunty and Three Star hammerin’ their own hocks.”

“Whatcha know?” wondered Silent.

“Mebbe they know where Brick is--the danged red-headed son of a gun.”

Bunty and Three Star went straight for the saloon. Silent and Harp went across the street, arriving there just in time to hear Bunty say--

“How many of you fellers want to get in on a reward?”

Cowboys as a rule are skeptical of such an invitation.

Zell Mohr came out of the saloon and walked up to the crowd. Bunty glanced around expectantly, but none of the cowboys seemed to consider his invitation.

“I reckon I’ve got to deputize some of yuh,” stated Bunty.

“Did yuh lose your horse and buggy?” asked Silent.

“How much reward for gettin’ it back?” asked Bill See, a Triangle Dot puncher.

Bunty glared at Silent, but did not speak.

“What’s the trouble, Bunty?” asked Mohr.

King Cleeve, attracted by the crowd outside, had left his game and come out. Bunty saw Cleeve and turned to him.

“I’ve found the road-agents,” stated Bunty. “Discovered ’em with the masks in their possession.”

“Discovered is right,” grinned Three Star. “Bunty talked so much that they had to muzzle him.”

Three Star laughed and looked at Zell Mohr.

“Friends of yours, Mohr. At least, they spoke about you.”

“Who yuh talkin’ about?” growled Mohr.

“Brick Davidson and that Martin person,” replied Bunty. “Them two and the woman are the ones what robbed the stage.”

Silent elbowed his way to Bunty’s side.

“Don’t let your cinch slip too much, Bunty.”

Bunty looked around at the circle of faces, but there was only curiosity.

“I’ve got a dead immortal cinch on them,” stated Bunty. “They got the drop on me and Three Star, but we got away. Now I want help to go and get ’em.”

“Me and Harp will help yuh,” said Silent.

Topaz Tyler added his gaudy presence to the assemblage, stepping easily that he might not soil his polished boots.

“Take Topaz,” grinned Silent. “He’ll dazzle ’em and then yuh can hit ’em from behind.”

Bunty glared at Silent.

“Kinda lookin’ for trouble, ain’t yuh, Slade?”

“Well,” grinned Silent, “I ain’t packin’ no extra spokes for fear I might get a wheel smashed.”

Bunty whirled as the crowd laughed, and went straight for his office. The sheriff of Sun-Dog was disgusted and tired. Three Star started to follow him, but stopped.

“Forgot I resigned.”

Three Star removed the badge of office from the lapel of his vest and sent it spinning across the street.

King Cleeve watched Three Star shed his authority, and as the crowd drifted back into the saloon he stepped in close to Three Star and said--

“What happened out there?”

“Just what I expected,” said Three Star. “Brick Davidson made a pair of monkeys out of me and Bunty. They tied us up, but Bunty got his knife and cut us loose.”

“What did they talk about?”

“I dunno--much.”

Three Star shook his head seriously.

“I didn’t _sabe_ much they said, but I’m bettin’ that between them two--Brick and Martin--there’s goin’ to be ---- turned loose in somebody’s wickiup.”

“Threats?”

“Nawsir. I heard yours and Mohr’s name mentioned.”

Three Star started to go inside, but Cleeve took hold of his sleeve.

“I’ll make it worth your while to remember what they said.”

Three Star scratched his chin and then shook his head.

“Nope. I’m all through buttin’ into Brick Davidson’s business; and besides I’m gettin’ so I like the ---- fool.”

Mohr was standing beside the door, and he gave Three Star a searching glance as he passed. Cleeve went slowly in behind Three Star, and he and Mohr exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke. Mohr started as if to go to the hitch-rack, but changed his mind and went inside the saloon.

Bunty Blair was mad at the world in general and Brick Davidson and Scott Martin in particular. Here was a chance for him to land two men, whom he believed guilty of robbery, and to satisfy his revengeful nature at the same time.

Bunty was merely incapable as a peace officer. Bunty knew this--knew it too well for his own conscience. He knew that Brick Davidson thought him a joke, and it cut deep into Bunty’s tender feelings. Perhaps other men thought the same as Brick, but they concealed their feelings.

Bunty slapped his hat on the table. He lifted it up and slapped it down again. At least neither the table nor the hat would fight back, and Bunty needed a safety-valve.

He glowered down at the hat as if it were an inanimate mass of battered felt, and then walked over to the door. To go after Brick and Martin single-handed was suicide; to ignore their actions meant ridicule from the whole county.

Bunty glanced up the street, and his body stiffened. Coming into the upper end of town was Brick Davidson on his hammer-headed gray, and beside him was Scott Martin, on a tall bay.

Bunty gasped. Of all the unadulterated nerve! Coming right into Marlin City! Suddenly Bunty laughed aloud; but his laugh contained little mirth. Brick and Martin must have thought that he and Three Star were still safely roped in that room.

Bunty watched them ride up to the hitch-rack, and then he sat down in a chair to think. His first thought was a glad one--glad that he was not in the saloon.

* * * * *

Brick and Scott Martin had ridden the whole distance from the ranch-house in silence. Martin did not know what Brick was going to do in Marlin City, and Brick did not enlighten him.

Martin studied Brick’s set features and wondered what was to come next.

“Ridin’ into a noose?” he mused to himself. “If the officers reached town and told their story, why hasn’t a posse been organized? What has this red-headed spit-fire in his mind?”

But the red-head was silent until Marlin City was before them, and then he said:

“Pardner, there’s goin’ to be trouble, I reckon; but you let me start it, will yuh? Mebbe yuh won’t _sabe_ my talk, but don’t let that worry yuh none. I’m goin’ to force a showdown, and some folks are goin’ to have some bad cards.”

Martin nodded. He was pinning his faith to Brick Davidson.

They entered the saloon and walked up to the bar. Topaz Tyler was standing at the bar, talking with another man. King Cleeve, in shirt sleeves and eye-shade, was sitting in a lookout chair at the stud game, facing the bar. Beside him sat Zell Mohr, hat pulled low over his eyes, a substantial pile of blue chips in front of him.

Over at the roulette layout a half-drunken cowboy was trying to shake the attentions of a dance-hall girl long enough to see if his number won, while a couple of other cowboys urged the girl to get a rope and hogtie the spendthrift.

The room hummed with voices, the rattle of chips, the clink of glassware, and above it all sounded the tin-panny rattle of a piano.

Brick and Scott Martin stopped mid-way of the bar and turned facing the center of the room. Their entrance had attracted no attention, and for a space of twenty seconds nobody noticed them.

Suddenly Zell Mohr glanced from under the low-pulled brim of his hat, straight at the two men. Mohr’s eyes were shaded so it was impossible to see any change of expression, but his lips never moved.

“First king bets,” intoned the dealer; but Zell Mohr made no move to bet.

“Passin’, Zell?” asked one of the players; but still Mohr made no move to play.

King Cleeve looked down at Mohr, and then glanced over at the bar. Brick Davidson was looking straight at him. King Cleeve blinked perceptibly.

The dealer sensed the tension of Mohr and Cleeve, and looked over at the bar. For perhaps ten seconds there was no change in the hum and rattle of the room, and then the noise died down--down--down, like the slowing of a big piece of machinery.

The bulk of the noise stopped; but here and there an extra word, the rattle of a dropped poker-chip, the last few notes from the piano, as if played with nervous fingers.

Then silence.

Topaz Tyler had half-lifted a glass of liquor to his lips, but his eyes shifted suddenly and the glass slipped from his fingers, rolled in a noisy circle on the bar and then fell to the floor.

Every eye in the place focused on Brick and Scott Martin.

Brick’s eyes shifted to Topaz, who was half-turned away from the bar, and his voice was mildly humorous.

“Losin’ your grip already, Topaz?”

Topaz did not reply. His hand started toward his face as if to wipe his lips, but halted short of his chin. He stopped in the attitude of either deep thought or total abstraction.

Brick’s eyes flashed back to King Cleeve, but the humor had all gone from his eyes. Brick was deadly cool. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but his elbows were half-bent, and his feet were planted far apart as if to withstand a shock.

The bartender pussyfooted the length of the bar, getting out of line with Brick and the crowd. Brick’s eyes flashed sidewise, and then a grin overspread his face. He appreciated the bartender’s views on the matter.

The half-drunken cowboy started to say something, but another cowboy jerked his sleeve and clapped a hand over the inebriated one’s mouth. Brick’s eyes flashed from face to face, and then he looked directly at Zell Mohr, while his hand brushed easily back and forth past the butt of his holstered gun.

“What kind of a rifle do you use, Mohr?”

Mohr stared at Brick for a moment.

“I shoot a .45-90, it’s any of your business, Davidson.”

“Did yuh run out of shells the day of the hold-up?”

Mohr continued to gaze at Brick. Then he looked up at King Cleeve as if seeking an answer to a foolish question. Then he shook his head slowly.

“Then why did yuh use a .45-70 ca’tridge when yuh shot at Silent Slade, down there at the wrecked stage?”

Mohr leaned forward; a natural enough movement, but it gave him a chance to move his hands.

“Keep your elbows on the table!” snapped Brick.

Silent and Harp moved slowly away from the crowd, and were now standing nearer the door. Brick’s eyes flashed toward them and then back at Mohr. Topaz Tyler still stood in the same position, but now his eyes were upon Cleeve and Mohr as if waiting their next move. Scott Martin was standing half-facing Topaz, wondering what was to come next.

“Yuh might answer my last question,” said Brick easily.

“Who in ---- do you think you are--the judge?” growled Mohr.

“Mebbe.”

Brick leaned forward and snapped his next words:

“I ain’t no lawyer, Zell Mohr, but I’m goin’ to pass on your case right here and now! Set still!”

Brick’s eyes shifted to Cleeve’s set features, and then seemed to consider his next question.

“Cleeve, you’re a man of intelligence, ain’t yuh? No, yuh don’t need to answer that. You and Zell Mohr was huntin’ coyotes on the day the stage was robbed, wasn’t yuh?”

Cleeve nodded and started to speak, but Brick continued:

“Zell Mohr’s three greyhounds caught four coyotes for yuh that day. After the hounds caught them coyotes yuh had to shoot the coyotes, didn’t yuh?”

Cleeve nodded.

“Yuh shot them coyotes with a .45-90, didn’t yuh? Uh-huh. After them nice slick greyhounds caught the coyotes--you shot ’em.”

“What are you--” began Cleeve; but Brick continued--

“As I said before, you’re a man of intelligence, Cleeve; so I don’t see why in ---- yuh wanted to lie about them coyotes.”

Cleeve leaned forward, and his long, tapering fingers seemed to clutch at the knees of his trousers.

Mohr leaned back and shifted his feet.

“Set still!” snapped Brick. “You ain’t started to get tired yet.”

“What’s all this coyote talk about?” snarled Cleeve. “Nobody lied. The hounds caught the coyotes----”

“Yeah?”

Brick’s tone was very sarcastic.

“Yuh say they did? Well, now, I’m wonderin’, Cleeve. Them hounds were as fresh as the mornin’ dew, and not one of ’em had a single scratch. Did yuh pull the coyotes’ teeth before yuh sent the dogs after ’em?”

“What are you drivin’ at?” asked Mohr.

“Drivin’ at the fact that them coyotes was never caught by hounds.”

“Suppose you want us to prove it to you,” sneered Cleeve, relaxing and trying to force a smile.

Brick smiled back at him, but only with his lips. The crowd shifted uneasily. Topaz Tyler glanced at Brick and then back at Mohr and Cleeve.

“Cleeve,” observed Brick, “yuh might like to know that I was cold sober to begin with on the day that you and Topaz Tyler got me drunk and stole that note out of my pocket. You thought I had the note you planted at the robbery, and I wanted to be sure that you wanted it bad enough to steal.”

King Cleeve’s eyes flashed to Topaz and then back at Brick. Scott Martin seemed to slide one foot forward as if getting set for a quick move.

“I don’t know what you mean,” breathed Cleeve.

“It’s all rot!” snarled Mohr; but his face was green.

“Y’betcha it’s rot!” exploded Brick. “As rotten a thing as I ever heard. Set still, Mohr!”

Silent and Harp had slowly moved closer. Three Star was standing at the edge of the crowd, but nearer the door, resting both hands on the back of an empty chair.

“I’m goin’ back quite a ways,” began Brick as if telling a matter-of-fact story--“back to the time when Zell Mohr was a sheriff in Idaho. Remember it, don’t yuh, Mohr? You ought to.

“Durin’ that time an ex-outlaw was drivin’ a stage. He had reformed and was goin’ straight. Two of his old pals got in with three other men, and they framed this stage-driver. The scheme was to force him to tell them when a big shipment of gold was to be made. This was all they asked of him; but he overheard their plan to kill him. One of these polecats wanted this stage-driver’s wife.

“The stage-driver didn’t know there was more than these two men goin’ to hold him up, y’understand. He was livin’ straight, and he wanted to keep on livin’ straight, but they wouldn’t let him. He told ’em of a shipment comin’ through--a shipment that existed only in his own mind. They held him up. He was lookin’ for ’em, and he killed the two men who framed him. Remember it, Mohr?”

Mohr’s lips did not move. Cleeve’s hands had moved off his knees and were slightly twitching back along his thighs.

“Hands nervous, Cleeve?” asked Brick. “Have a little patience. These other three men shot this stage-driver and thought he was dead. There was no gold on the stage. But the driver wasn’t dead, Mohr. Some folks went out and got him. He was hurt kinda bad, but managed to get home to his wife and little girl.

“These three men went to his house at night to take this man’s wife, and they found him there--the man they thought they had killed. They told him they were going to take his wife, Mohr. Yes, they were goin’ to take her, but he put up a fight. He didn’t have no gun. One of ’em shot at him, and the bullet killed the woman.”

Brick stopped talking. Scott Martin was leaning forward, his eyes searching the faces before him, while his powerful hands opened and shut as if hungering for something to crush. Cleeve’s face had gone a shade paler, and his head seemed to droop lower between his hunched shoulders.

“I’m goin’ to tell more,” said Brick softly. “They shot at the stage-driver again and thought they had killed him, but were mistaken again.

“Then they pulled out--fast; that is, two of ’em did. A horse fell with one of ’em--fell in the street.

“Remember that, Mohr? You was the sheriff at that time. Do yuh remember takin’ this man whose horse fell and puttin’ him in jail? He was hurt, but you didn’t take him to a doctor. No; you was afraid a doctor might ask questions, or somebody might.”

Mohr licked his lips.

“I--I don’t see----”

“Remember havin’ a fight with a big, tall cowboy that day, Mohr? He licked yuh, but yuh got help and put him in jail. You only had one cell in that jail, and yuh had to put this injured man in with the big feller. You thought that the big feller was too drunk to pay any attention, didn’t yuh?

“Remember the mob that went down there to lynch this feller whose horse fell with him? They knew he was one of the men who killed the woman. They got the wrong man, but they found it out before they lynched him, and when they came back the--murderer--was--gone. He never was tried, because you went there after the mob left--and--took--him--away.”

* * * * *

The crowd had hung upon every word, and now all eyes were turned toward Zell Mohr to see how he was going to take Brick’s accusation. They knew that Zell Mohr was a gun-fighter.

Mohr licked his lips and tried to smile at Scott Martin. Then he looked at Brick.

“Why--uh--you’re wrong, Davidson. Martin knows--why, I--I’ve been his friend----”

Mohr’s voice was pitched very low, and men leaned forward to hear his words.

“I--I felt sorry for him.”

“Did yuh?” grated Brick. “Yuh did--felt sorry for him, like a buzzard feels sorry for a sick calf.”

“What does all this talk mean?” asked Topaz Tyler slowly.

Brick’s eyes shifted, and Topaz glanced down at his feet, seemingly sorry that he spoke. Brick glanced down at Topaz’ feet.

“Yuh got small feet, Topaz,” he observed, keeping his eyes on Mohr and Cleeve but watching Topaz out of the corner of one eye. “Small feet and small hands. A skirt and a veil is about all yuh need to make you a perfect lady.”

Topaz lifted his head and looked directly at Cleeve; but Cleeve seemed to evade his eyes.

“Speakin’ of shoes,” said Brick, “you changed yours in a bad place, Topaz. Why didn’t yuh keep on them high-heels until yuh got out of the sand?”

Topaz seemed to stiffen at the question.

“That cut yuh got on your forearm when the stage was upset never did heal good; did it, Topaz?”

Like a flash Topaz lifted his arm and glanced down at it.

Brick’s sudden question had taken Topaz off his guard, and he had trapped himself. Topaz realized it, and his eyes shifted like the eyes of a trapped animal, but he was afraid of the consequences of any sudden break.

Brick smiled and began:

“Cleeve, you and Mohr and Tyler waited a long time to get even with Scott Martin for that day he busted up your party and didn’t have that big shipment of gold. You framed that note to implicate Scott Martin, Jack Oliver and Martin’s daughter. Yes, yuh did.”

“Now, looky here,” growled Cleeve, sliding off his chair, “you’ve accused----”

“Stand still!” snapped Brick. “Hands where they are, Cleeve! I’ll tell yuh when to move. The prosecution ain’t through yet. You three framed that robbery with Limpy Squires, and yuh killed him for double-crossin’ yuh. You wanted to kill him just like yuh wanted to kill Scott Martin that time. I’m bettin’ that Limpy knew you was the ones what pulled off that Idaho job, and he was Scott Martin’s friend, and when yuh opened that treasure-box----”

Brick stopped. Not a man moved. It might have been a painting or a group of lay figures for all the movement. Every man in the room was tensed--nerves taut as fiddle-strings; waiting for the inevitable crash.

Then Silent Slade’s voice snapped like a whip--

“King Cleeve was the man they wanted to lynch!”

King Cleeve threw himself sidewise, clawing at his gun; but he never reached it. Scott Martin had sprung--sprung like a panther, clear of the floor, circling King Cleeve with those long, muscular arms, and they crashed out of sight behind the roulette outfit.

The crowd broke for the front and rear door--anywhere to get out of line. Mohr’s gun came out like a flash; but Brick’s gun spouted lead before Mohr’s gun left its holster, and Mohr fell sidewise out of his chair, shot through the shoulder.

As Brick whirled around, the powder from Topaz Tyler’s gun burned his cheek, but the bullet went into the bar-mirror. Silent and Harp fired at the same time that Brick did, and Topaz Tyler spun on his heel and went down.

From the doorway came the _whang_ of a shot, and Brick felt the sharp sting of a bullet as it burned across his shoulder. Brick whirled to meet this new menace just in time to see Three Star Hennessey hurl a heavy chair through the doorway, crashing it into Bunty Blair’s head and shoulders.

Bunty went backward off the sidewalk, and Three Star, following the thrown chair, landed all in a heap on the stunned sheriff. Zell Mohr, recovering from the shock of Brick’s bullet, managed to get his pistol into his left hand.

_Bang!_

From under the card-table came the report of a pistol, and the bullet passed through the high crown of Brick’s hat, lifting it off his head. Harp Harris sprang across the room, jumped high and came down upon the card-table, crashing it down upon Zell Mohr, pinning him to the floor.

Brick glanced out of the door, where Three Star was shaking Bunty back to life and talking fast. Three Star was telling Bunty in a few words what a foolish sheriff he was.

Out from the tangle of broken furniture came Scott Martin. His gun still hung in its holster. He looked very tired as he passed his hand wearily across his forehead and looked at Brick.

An outflung hand and a protruding foot were all that showed from the wreckage, but the incoming crowd did not seem to think it worth while to inquire about King Cleeve.

Scott Martin held out his hand to Brick and their hands met.

“Thank yuh, Davidson,” said Martin softly. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

“You’re plumb welcome,” smiled Brick. “Had quite a party while it lasted; didn’t we?”

The crowd stood around Brick and Martin, but no one seemed to have anything to say. Silent and Harp lifted the table off Zell Mohr. The former Idaho sheriff would need considerable patching up before he could face a judge and jury, but he was still able to curse.

Then came Bunty Blair, elbowing his way through the crowd. The chair had spoiled his physical beauty, but reverses seemed to have brought out a latent quality heretofore unknown to Marlin City.

He reached down and snapped a pair of handcuffs on Zell Mohr. He glanced in the direction of King Cleeve and then over at Topaz Tyler. His head turned and he looked at Brick.

“Davidson,” he said, “I begs your pardon. I--I almost made a big mistake.”

Bunty held out his hand.

“I’m asking yuh to shake hands with me, Davidson; but I won’t blame yuh if yuh don’t.”

Brick grasped his hand.

“I--I need a good deputy,” said Bunty. “If I could get a good one I--I’d resign and let him have my job.”

Brick grinned, but shook his head.

“I ain’t worth a ---- as a sheriff,” said Bunty bitterly.

* * * * *

Brick put his hand on Bunty’s shoulder and looked at Bunty’s face. Brick swallowed hard. He had antagonized Bunty--detested him--and now he had suddenly discovered that Bunty was rather human after all.

“Think it over, will yuh, Brick?” begged Bunty.

“I know where I throwed my star,” said Three Star. “I can get it--easy.”

Brick slapped Bunty on the back and walked out of the saloon, with Scott Martin beside him and Silent and Harp trailing. They walked to the hitch-rack.

“Jean will be anxious to know,” said Martin. “Mebbe she’d like to have you----”

Brick smiled and shook his head.

“No, pardner; I reckon it’s your place to tell her about it.”

“Well--” Scott Martin turned to his horse and then looked at Brick--“you’re comin’ out soon, ain’t yuh?”

“Uh-huh.”

Brick felt tenderly of his sore shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m comin’ out--soon, but you better tell her all about it. You know it as well as I do, pardner. You tell her all there is to tell and get it over with, ’cause--”

Brick stepped in close and lowered his voice--“’cause when I come out there I’m goin’ to talk about somethin’ besides fightin’.”

Martin vaulted to his saddle and rode away with a smile on his face. The three cowboys mounted their horses and rode the other way toward the Nine Bar Nine.

“He ain’t,” stated Silent to no one in particular, “he ain’t goin’ to talk about fightin’ nor nothin’.”

“He don’t know for sure,” said Harp, “’cause he ain’t never been married nor nothin’.”

Brick grinned back at them.

“Yeah, he kinda made a clean-up,” said Silent; “but he sure did overlook one big thing, Harp. He landed the road-agents, but he never got that box of gold back.”

“There wasn’t any money stolen,” said Brick.

“There wasn’t any---- Aw-w-w, whatcha talkin’ about?”

Harp spurred in close to Brick.

“Brickie, did you get hit hard enough to make yuh talk thataway?”

“I think that Limpy knew they was framin’ Scott Martin,” said Brick. “I ain’t sure of this, but I’m danged sure that they had the goods on Limpy and threatened to expose him as a member of that old Sandy Creek gang if he didn’t tip ’em off to a big shipment of gold from the Whippoorwill mine.

“Topaz Tyler watched things from the mine end. Limpy was afraid to jump out of the country, or was hard-boiled enough to take a chance. He double-crossed ’em, and when they finds it out they killed him when he was leavin’ the country.

“When Scott Martin told me his story it looked so much like this same layout that I figured thisaway; Cleeve was the man Martin wanted to lynch. Mohr was the sheriff that saved him. It was a cinch that they worked together.

“That note implicated a woman. If Bunty had found that note it would ’a’ been hard to save Scott Martin and Jean. I sure needed a woman.

“Them tracks in the sand bothered me a lot. Scott Martin remarks that Mrs. Wesson only needs overalls and boots to look like a man, and right there it strikes me that Topaz Tyler is my woman. He sets on that rock and changes back to his own boots; that’s why them female tracks never left the rock.

“Them greyhounds not bein’ scratched after catchin’ four coyotes showed that all was not right. Mohr had a 45-90 Winchester, if yuh remember. That bullet which barely missed Silent was fired from a 45-70 shell, which was a good alibi for that 45-90 rifle, but the shell was swollen at the butt, which showed it wasn’t chambered right in the rifle, and the firin’-pin hit the primer too high.”

Silent and Harp grinned at Brick’s snappy explanation.

“I had ’em cinched,” smiled Brick. “They didn’t have a single chance in the world except to shoot themselves clear.”

“But what about that box of gold?” asked Silent.

“Full of bars of lead. Nothin’ but ordinary lead, Silent.”

“Well, for gosh sake!” grunted Silent. “Whatcha know about that? Lead bars!”

“Two L’s,” said Harp musingly. “Two things that has caused a lot of joy and a lot of trouble in this old West. One L started it and another L finished it.”

“Lead?” asked Silent.

“Uh-huh,” nodded Harp. “Lead and love.”

“Some combination.”

Silent grinned and slapped Brick on the shoulder.

“I’ll back Brick in either one. The old boy sure does _sabe_ things; don’t he, Harp?”

Brick smiled straight ahead; smiled at a day’s work well done; while from behind them came the thrumming of a jew’s-harp; a jew’s-harp doing its little best to play a wedding march as the three broncos shuffled across the hills and the setting sun cast long shadows across the Sun-Dog trails.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the July 3, 1921 issue of Adventure magazine. This story is believed to be in the public domain in the United States. Please note that copyright status may differ in other countries.]