Chapter III: Part 3

Again they fired at a spot just below the haze of powder smoke on the hill, but without visible results.

“Aw-w-w, this ain’t no fun,” grumbled Silent. “Let’s spread out and sneak up on ’em. I want to notch m’ sights on one of them jaspers. Got any idea who it is, Brick?”

“I reckon it’s our friend Duggan doin’ most of the shootin’, assisted to the best of his ability by Klein. Let’s go and smoke ’em out.”

They sneaked out of the brush, crawling on hands and knees, and taking advantage of every bit of cover until they reached the road. A bullet slapped into the dust in front of Silent, filling his eyes with sand and his soul with bitterness.

“Gosh blasted chuckwallas!” he snorted, digging both fists into his eyes to wipe away the tears.

“Little sand won’t hurt yuh,” was all the comfort he got from Harp, who hugged a bush and grinned widely. A bullet cut through the top of the bush, and Harp rolled away to another and larger cover.

Brick’s rifle roared once. Silence for a count of ten, and then there began a popping like an automatic.

“By the horns on a toad, I got that hombre!” announced Brick as he slammed shells into the loading-gate of his rifle; “There they go!”

He fired three times more, but failed to score.

“Gone over the hill,” he yelled, “but they left one of ’em for a nest-egg. C’mon.”

Silent and Harp got to their feet and followed him cautiously up the hill. It was at least five hundred yards to where they found a roan horse lying on its side in a tangle of brush, and about fifty yards beyond that lay the body of a man. They turned him over, squatting low in the mesquite to guard against any long shots fired from the ridge.

Brick gave a whistle of astonishment as he looked at the face of the dead man.

“Ed Sawyer!” grunted Silent, “Whatcha know about that?”

Sawyer owned a small ranch between Silverton and Redrock, on Camp Creek, where he owned the Lazy S brand. He had minded his own business and was known as a silent man, even in a land where men do not usually talk to any great extent.

Brick studied him for a while and got to his feet.

“We’ll pack him down to the road, boys. We can rope him to my horse and I’ll double up with Harp.”

“Where does he come in on this deal?” asked Harp slowly. “Think there’s goin’ to be any trouble over snuffin’ him out?”

“He was in bad company,” replied Brick, “and I reckon he had it comin’ to him. You wanted action, cowboy; so don’t yelp at a puny little start like this. Silent, me and you will pack him down, while Harp watches the ridge real close-like. I sure hate to have lead whisperin’ around my back.”

It was a difficult task to carry the body down the hill. Mesquite and rocks and loose gravel made the footing uncertain, and there was the added danger of a shot from the top of the hill.

Brick and Silent grunted and slid with their burden, while Harp staggered sideways most of the time, slewing around over the brush and rocks and trying to keep his vision somewhere near a focus on the skyline of the ridge.

“Never mind ’em,” grunted Silent jerkily to Harp. “Nobody could ever hit us, unless they was sufferin’ from St. Vitus dance.”

Harp glanced at Silent and tripped over a boulder, which caused a wonderful flow of profanity toward the laboring Silent.

“Don’t talk to the guard,” grunted Brick, whose hat had jerked down over one eye, where it hung rakishly, causing him to keep his eyes on the sky in order not to lose the hat completely.

They reached their horses, tied the body on Brick’s horse and headed back for town, keeping off the main road for fear of another ambush.

The town of Silverton evinced great interest in their coming, especially when they found that Ed Sawyer was the victim.

Many questions were hurled at Brick, who shut his lips tight and refused to talk about it. There was no question but that it was a peculiar situation, viewing it from Silverton’s angle. Even in the West it is not a common practise for a sheriff to bring in a dead man and refuse to talk concerning his demise.

Silent and Harp followed Brick’s lead and kept mum. Doctor Bridger took charge of the body, after pronouncing Sawyer dead, which required little examination. Soapy Caswell rode in shortly after the disposal of the body. Nebraska Yocum came with him, and a little later Klein appeared, carrying his right arm in a sling.

Buck Pelham found Brick and his party in the restaurant, eating copious portions of ham and eggs.

“Set down and have a aig,” begged Silent, but Buck declined the invitation. Buck seemed to have something on his mind; something which he hated to mention; but he finally spoke—

“How come yuh to smoke up Sawyer?”

“Return of compliments,” smiled Brick.

“What for, Brick?”

“What for?” Brick halted a forkful of food just short of his mouth and stared at Buck.

“General principles, I reckon.”

“Kinda —— funny,” mused Buck. “Sawyer seemed like a decent sort of a hombre and never bothered nobody.”

“Prob’ly,” nodded Brick. “’F he had he likely wouldn’t ’a’ lasted as long as he did.”

Buck nervously shifted his feet.

“I ain’t talkin’ my own opinions, yuh understand; and I don’t want yuh to take this as comin’ from me; but I’m advisin’ yuh to tell folks why yuh killed Sawyer—if yuh killed him.”

Brick glanced sharply at Buck.

“You mean that Silverton is takin’ this thing to heart, Buck?”

“Kinda. They naturally wants to know.”

“Well,” grinned Brick, “I’ve got to find out first.”

At this moment Doctor Bridger and Felix Bray came into the restaurant and headed for Brick’s table. Both men seemed excited as they nodded to Buck. Bray spoke directly to Brick.

“There seems to be considerable—er—speculation as to why you—uh—” Bray seemed at a loss for further words.

“Try it again,” advised Silent.

“The reasons for the killing of Mr. Sawyer?” queried Brick.

Both men nodded. Brick pursed his lips, speculated for a moment and then got to his feet.

“I had one —— good reason for killin’ him. He shot and missed—I didn’t miss. Now, you —— old ladies can go home and gossip about it, and mebbe you’ll find out why he shot at me.”

“Now, now!” soothed Bridger. “That’s no way——”

“Well, what in —— are you goin’ to do about it?”

Brick’s mop of unruly hair fairly bristled, and the freckles on his face looked like silver flecks in the yellow light. Bridger and Bray turned away nervously and walked out of the door. Buck got slowly to his feet.

“Brick, you know I’m yore friend; and as a friend I’m askin’ yuh to come over to Otto’s place and tell ’em about it. There’s a lot of nasty talk which yuh can nip in the bud.”

“Tryin’ to scare me, Buck?”

“Gimme credit for havin’ a little sense.”

Buck went slowly out of the door, while Brick, Silent and Harp looked foolishly at each other. Silent grinned widely at the prospect of trouble. Harp absent-mindedly produced his jew’s-harp and twanged a few sonorous notes before realizing where he was. Brick was serious. Silverton wanted a reason for the fight with Sawyer; and Brick could give no plausible reason. Would Silverton believe that Sawyer would shoot at Brick just to be shooting? They would not. Brick had produced the effect; but the cause was unknown, except for a surmise, which no jury in the world would consider.

“That’s the —— of bein’ a sheriff,” complained Brick.

“Silverton ain’t never wormed itself into my heart,” said Silent, “and I ain’t goin’ into mournin’ for any of the population which garners a harp and feathery wings from hornin’ into our affairs.”

“When,” said Harp, peering at Brick hopefully, “when do we kill somebody?”

“This town is too danged full of question marks,” declared Brick. “We’re goin’ to the stable, fork our broncs and pull out for Marlin City—right now.”

“Aw-w-w!” wailed Silent. “Don’tcha feel good, Brickie? Walk out and leave a chance for a lot of fun?”

“We ain’t wishful to be rough,” sighed Harp. “We’re just a li’l social organization, tryin’ to get along with the rest of the doves.”

Brick shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the counter, where he paid for their meals. Harp and Silent went out behind him, walking with their hats in their hands, like men going to the funeral of a dear friend.

They passed a number of people on the street, but no one seemed to want to talk to them. Silverton seemed to be tuning up for its regular nightly amusements, and both Silent and Harp looked longingly at the lighted windows as they passed.

McKeever was grooming a horse by the light of a lantern as they came in. He looked at them solemnly, but said nothing, as they brought out their horses. Brick handed him the stable fee and McKeever thanked him almost in a whisper.

“Goin’ home,” stated Brick.

“Yeah?” queried McKeever.

Brick made no further explanation. They saddled their horses and Brick led them straight through town, heading for Marlin City. A number of men saw them ride out through the lighted street; but no one accosted them. A mile out of town Brick drew rein and dismounted.

Behind them a clump of stunted cottonwoods silhouetted against the sky. The point of a butte, like the prow of a giant battle-ship, cut them off from the lights of Silverton. Brick squatted beside the road and began to roll a cigaret.

Silent’s saddle creaked as he got slowly off his horse, and a moment later Harp dismounted. They both humped down beside Brick.

“We’ll stay here until about midnight,” stated Brick.

“And then what do we aim to do?” asked Harp.

“I’m goin’ to start elimination proceedin’s,” declared Brick. “Silverton is goin’ to love me like a brother, or hate me like ——. M’ brain is tired from travelin’ tangled trails; so now I start usin’ m’ hands.”

* * * * *

Buzzard Bailey and Romeo Kendall slept in a small room off the stage stable. The stable door was not locked; neither was the door leading from the stable into the bunk-room. Buzzard Bailey awoke from sweet dreams to find the cold muzzle of a six-shooter against his neck.

The lamp was lit, and Buzzard noted that the six-gun was held in Brick Davidson’s right hand. He also noted that Romeo was looking goggle-eyed into the muzzle of Silent Slade’s gun, while Harp Harris adjusted the oil lamp.

“What’s the matter?” stammered Buzzard, as Harp picked up a coiled lariat rope and dropped it over Buzzard’s shoulders. Harp worked swiftly but thoroughly and in a few moments Buzzard Bailey was trussed so well that only his tongue could move freely. Another coil of rope assured complete inactivity from the gawping Romeo.

“What the —— do you think yore doin’?” growled Buzzard, trying to conceal his fears under a threatening exterior.

“I don’t trust you two hombres,” smiled Brick.

“I never done nothin’ to you,” whined Buzzard.

“You insulted my intelligence,” declared Brick. “Next time you testify to a murder—tell the truth.”

Buzzard stared at Brick. It put Buzzard in a bad position. He was forced to look straight at Brick and try to swallow his fears; whereas, if his hands had been loose, he might have covered a lot of it by rubbing his chin or scratching his head.

“What did I—I say?” he faltered.

“You had that murderer shootin’ from below the grade.”

“Well, what if I did? That wasn’t my fault.”

“Dale was on the seat with you?”

“He sure as —— was!” Buzzard was very positive. In fact he was almost belligerent in his declaration.

“Then,” drawled Brick, “why did the bullet range downward?”

Buzzard stared at Brick for a moment, shifted his eyes to Silent and Harp and then looked down at the floor. He wet his dry lips with a still more dry tongue, and in the silence the rasping was audible.

“You spoke yore little piece, Buzzard; and it’s goin’ to put a rope around your neck.”

“My ——!” gasped Romeo, his face a pale green in the light from the small lamp.

“Prayin’ or cussin’?” queried Silent dryly.

“I ain’t lied about nothin’,” wailed Romeo.

“Then yuh ain’t got no wail comin’,” smiled Brick; “but for fear yuh might—we’re goin’ to camp right with yuh.”

“Somebody is goin’ to pay for this!” growled Buzzard.

“I’m kinda figurin’ on taking up a collection,” admitted Brick.

The stage to Marlin City and the Whipoorwill mines was due to leave at seven o’clock in the morning. At six-fifty, Brick and Silent harnessed the four horses to the stage. Buzzard and Romeo, still trussed, were propped up on a seat inside the vehicle, while Silent and Harp sat opposite them. Brick mounted the driver’s seat, wearing Romeo’s flopping sombrero, and drove to the front of the stage-office.

Malvene came out of the office and up to the stage, before he recognized Brick, who was grinning at him.

“What’s the idea?” Malvene stared up at Brick.

“Thought I’d show yuh how to make this stage-line pay.” Brick pointed down at the body of the stage. “Look at the passengers I picked up.”

Malvene peered inside. Silent and Harp grinned at him; but Malvene only looked at the trussed prisoners, and up at Brick for an explanation.

“Malvene,” seriously, “I think these are the two men who have been robbin’ yore stages.”

Malvene smiled skeptically—

“What proof have you?”

“Not a danged bit,” admitted Brick sadly. “Mebbe that Romeo person is innocent; but I’ve kinda cinched some of the Dale killin’ onto Buzzard, and he’ll have to buck like —— to shake it off. Buzz will likely talk about it, when I gets him in jail.”

Malvene seemed undecided for a moment, and then:

“Well, it’s none of my business, but you can’t use my stage to haul prisoners in. There’s plenty of rigs you can get. I’ll take charge of the stage.”

“Thasall right,” admitted Brick. “If I pick up more passengers I’ll make these walk. I’m the best stage-driver yuh ever seen. So-long.”

Brick kicked off the brake and the restive team swung off up the street to the bank, where Brick stopped them. Felix Bray was evidently watching for the stage, and came out when it stopped. He was carrying a canvas-covered bundle, which he handed up to Brick before he recognized him.

“Want me to put this into the treasure-box?” asked Brick.

Bray stared at Brick foolishly.

“Howdy, Mister Bray,” said Silent sticking his head out of the window.

Bray stepped in closer and peered inside.

“Goin’ to make it plumb miserable for anybody what tries to steal this shipment,” grinned Brick. “Giddap, broncs.”

Brick realized that he had not signed for the money, and that the loss of it would brand him as a thief; but he only grinned and snapped the long whip over the lead team.

About a mile from town the road dipped into a dry-wash, which was a tangle of willows and rose bushes. He swung the team off the road, following the dry watercourse until he was able to conceal the stage from the road.

Silent and Harp asked no questions, but followed Brick’s order to unhitch the team, which they tied to the willows. Brick tested the bonds of his prisoners, rolled them each a cigaret, picked up the package of money and started toward Silverton, taking a short-cut across the hills.

Silent and Harp grumbled audibly, but followed cheerfully. They knew Brick was leading them back to town—and the town meant trouble. As they topped a high knoll they could see a string of horsemen stringing along the road toward Silverton. It was impossible to distinguish individual riders at that distance, but there was something significant in the fact that over a dozen horsemen were riding together at this time of the morning.

“Whatcha make of that, Brick?” asked Silent.

Brick rubbed his nose thoughtfully.

“I reckon it’s lucky that we didn’t go to Marlin last night, and also that we turned off at the dry-wash. Them jiggers are lookin’ for us.”

“For the demise of Sawyer?” Harp was indignant.

“Uh-huh. Bunch of want-to-knows.”

“More the merrier,” chuckled Silent. “I’ve got two guns and so has Brick. Five times six is how many? Thirty, ain’t it?”

“I don’t reckon there’ll be any fightin’,” replied Brick.

“I’m goin’ to batter —— out of you if there ain’t,” declared Silent. “You sure are liable to a trimmin’, cowboy.”

* * * * *

If Silverton was a sleepy village when the stage left, it had surely changed in less than an hour. At least twenty horses were tied to the hitch-rack, and an overflow crowd seemed to be trying to get into the stage-office.

Brick had led Silent and Harp in a roundabout way to get into town; for he was taking no chances in appearing boldly in the street. They came in on the west side of town, behind Otto’s place, without being seen by any one.

Brick stopped at the inside edge of the board sidewalk, between Otto’s place and the blacksmith shop. Silent and Harp crowded in behind him and watched the crowd up the street. Nebraska Yocum and Snookie Duggan rode in and joined the crowd.

“Ain’t even standin’ room in that place,” grunted Brick. “’Pears to me that it might be worth listenin’ to.”

“If yuh wants to use yore ears—I’ve got a idea,” grinned Silent. “I was up on that buildin’ last Fourth of July and sat on the edge of the front, when the rodeo was on. There’s a fence back there, which makes it a cinch to get on to the roof, and there’s a kind of a trap-door up there, which they keeps open to give ’em air.”

“Yo’re worth all the trouble I’ve had in raisin’ yuh,” grinned Brick. “C’m on.”

They circled the rear of Otto’s place and reached the high fence, which connected with the rear of Pelham and Malvene’s building. It was easy to climb to the roof, midway of which was a ventilating-trap, half raised. They tiptoed over to the trap and squatted on their heels. The conversation was plainly audible. Malvene was talking.

“Where do you suppose they turned off the road?”

“Is this a supposin’ meetin’?” boomed the voice of “Slim” Hunter, foreman of the Crescent outfit.

A jumble of voices took up the matter, but stopped as Malvene continued.

“It is a sure thing that they did not go to Marlin City last night.”

“That’s a —— wise remark.” Banty Harrison’s remark drew a laugh from the men who had tried to find Brick in Marlin City.

Felix Bray’s precise voice followed the laugh:

“They have sixteen thousand and eighty dollars in currency with them. I gave it to the driver before I recognized who he was.”

“Don’tcha worry about yo’re money, Mister,” drawled Jim Neeley, the blacksmith. “Brick Davidson may smoke yuh up with his six-gun; but he ain’t no danged thief.”

“The money is gone,” declared Bray. “The stage never went to Marlin City. You can not blame me——”

“If she turned off the road, we’ll find the tracks,” declared Slim. “That won’t be hard to do, if yo’re lookin’ for ’em.”

“Well, ——, that ain’t the first money to be stole around here.”

Brick recognized Soapy’s voice. Several men laughed.

“Let’s find that stage,” suggested Slim. “All this talk about stolen money, mavericked stages and killin’ folks without a reason ain’t gettin’ us no place. If we find Brick we’ll sure find out somethin’—if it ain’t more than findin’ out that we’ve been in a —— of a fight. Come on.”

There was a general exodus toward the door. Brick opened the trap and peered inside. He placed the package of money on the roof, swung down inside and dropped as light as a cat to the floor. Silent and Harp followed him.

Men were mounting at the hitch-rack. Malvene, Bray and Soapy were just outside the door, watching the men. Nebraska and Duggan were standing on the edge of the sidewalk, making no move to get their horses. Several of the men rode away from the front of the building. Soapy turned from Bray and Malvene and started up the street. Nebraska and Duggan, instead of going to their horses, turned and came back toward the door.

Brick and his men made no move. Suddenly the small door at the rear opened and Klein stepped inside. He shut the door softly and took several steps toward the men before he saw who they were. Then he froze in his tracks.

Klein had been a killer; but just now he realized that finis had been written at the bottom of his record. His right arm was helpless, and he knew he was not a left-handed pistol-shot. He slowly licked his lips as he stared at the three hard-faced men, who were making no move.

Klein’s eyes flashed to the window, and he grinned wolfishly as he saw Nebraska and Duggan coming toward the door. They stopped in the doorway and spoke to Malvene and Bray. Klein’s lips twitched and with a strangled cry of warning, he threw himself sideways, trying to fall behind Malvene’s desk, and clawing left-handed for his gun.

Harp’s wrist flipped swiftly and his big Colt thundered in the confines of the small room. Klein dropped out of sight behind the desk, leaving a pair of twitching legs in sight.

At Klein’s warning cry, Nebraska and Duggan drew their guns and whirled in the doorway. The crash of Harp’s shot was echoed by the splitting reports of four guns, as Nebraska and Duggan met the challenge of the law.

Such swift shooting is not usually deadly. A bullet tore into the wall two feet from Brick’s head, while another ripped through the side of Silent’s boot. Both Brick and Silent were shooting slower—shooting through a pall of powder smoke at indistinct figures, which staggered drunkenly back to the sidewalk, spouting smoke from their hips.

Suddenly one of the figures went down, sprawling under the smoke. The other turned and started away. Brick sprang through the doorway and almost fell to the sidewalk. His left leg was numb and his left arm seemed full of needles, but he laughed and fired his last shot at Duggan, who had reached his horse and whirled to shoot.

Duggan dropped his gun, grasped for the saddle; but his hand groped at empty air and he sprawled under the belly of his frightened horse, which tore away from the rack and galloped away.

A bullet whizzed past Brick’s head, and he turned to see Malvene shooting at him from the middle of the street. Brick shook his head to clear his vision and his groping hand came in contact with the butt of Romeo’s pistol, which he had shoved inside the waist-band of his overalls.

Brick steadied himself and sent two shots at Malvene, while from behind him came the combined reports of two more guns. Malvene seemed to fairly spin off his feet and go down.

Silent and Harp were standing in the doorway, looking at Malvene, as Brick turned. Silent was bleeding from a bullet furrow across his cheek, and Harp was exploring his right arm to find the reason for a blood-soaked sleeve.

Silent glanced up the street and pointed to Felix Bray, who was running toward the bank. It seemed ridiculous for the precise Felix Bray to be running.

“Does he think we’re goin’ to hurt him?” asked Harp.

Brick stepped into the street.

“C’mon, cowboys,” and he headed for the bank, with Harp and Silent following.

Brick was walking with difficulty, half-dragging his left leg. Men and women had come out from places of business, wondering, speculating over the pistol battle, and the reasons why these three, limping, bloody men were heading for the bank with guns in their hands. Duggan’s horse, with the saddle twisted under its belly, bucked across the street, almost into Brick.

They reached the door of the bank, and as Brick reached for the door-knob, there came the dull thump of a pistol-shot fired inside the bank. They stopped. No bullet came their way and no more shots were fired. Soapy Caswell came running across the street and up to them.

“My ——!” panted Soapy. “What’s it all mean? I seen Malvene get his, and then——”

Brick opened the door and they went inside. Just inside the railing, near his own desk, lay Felix Bray. Near his body lay a cheap pistol. Felix Bray had killed himself. Brick turned and staggered outside, where he sat down on the steps. He tried to think; but his brain was in a whirl. The three others came out to him.

“She was a humdinger,” breathed Silent. “My gosh, that sure was a regular party. Where did they hit you, Brick?”

“Leg and arm,” grunted Brick. “No bones; but a —— of a lot of meat.”

A crowd of people were drifting up to them, standing at a distance. Suddenly the street seemed filled with riders, riding beside the recovered stage. They drew up at the bank, and Brick got painfully to his feet. Romeo and Buzzard were still roped. Brick went to them and braced himself against the side of the stage, while he spoke directly to Buzzard.

“Malvene, Duggan, Nebraska, Klein and Felix Bray are dead. Now, I want you to tell me which one or which ones killed Grant Dale.”

Buzzard stared at Brick. It was unbelievable that all five of those men were dead; but the condition of Brick, Silent and Harp made the statement reasonable.

“Some of yuh killed him,” continued Brick. “He was knocked down and likely drowned in the horse-trough. He was shot after he was dead, wasn’t he Buzzard?”

Buzzard stared around at the crowd and his eyes came back to Brick. His face twisted with horror; but he knew he must tell.

“Klein killed him,” Buzzard’s voice was barely above a whisper. “That girl, Rosie—her and Dale was both detectives. She thought Felix Bray was square. He was givin’ her a bum steer. She told him who Dale was.

“Klein and Dale were sittin’ on that horse-trough that night and Klein hit him with a loaded quirt. Dale fell into the trough. I dunno whether he was drowned or not. Malvene and Klein got him into the stage barn and into the stage. Then they made me drive away with him, and I had to shoot him to make the play good. Sawyer was planted to show up and bring him back.”

Brick nodded.

“I thought so. There wasn’t no blood on Dale’s clothes and I never did find any around where he was killed. Findin’ his gun in the horse-trough and then findin’ that Klein wanted to find that gun so —— bad.”

“Who hit me that night in McGill’s place?” asked Silent.

“Sawyer,” said Romeo, seemingly anxious to get in on the confession. “They had to get that gun. Nebraska and Duggan was the ones what held me up. They had to do it to make the play right, if anybody comes along.”

“But where did Bray come in on it?” asked Soapy.

“Take me to the stage-office and I think I can show yuh.”

Willing hands helped him to a seat and the cavalcade moved down the street, where they placed Brick in a chair.

“Somebody get my package off the roof,” said Brick.

Slim Hunter picked up Banty Harrison and shoved him up through the trap-door, where Banty retrieved the money package. Brick handed it to Soapy who tore the canvas wrapper off the outside, disclosing a bunch of worthless paper.

“That’s what the Whipoorwill would ’a’ received,” smiled Brick. “Nebraska and Duggan was supposed to pull off a fake job with the stage this mornin’; but they likely seen you fellers and came in to see what was the matter.

“That counterfeit exchange was too slick; but I didn’t think it was Bray. I kinda had my eye on Nestor. He lied to me when he said that he didn’t know who owned the banks at Marlin City and Redrock.”

“He didn’t,” said Soapy. “Felix Bray and me was the only ones what did. I had him get ’em for me.”

“Yuh never can tell who is a liar or a thief,” stated Slim Hunter. “Yuh just can’t, thasall.”

“If yuh can’t,” drawled Soapy, “send for Brick.”

Just then Lafe Freeman elbowed his way inside.

“Danged if yuh didn’t do it!” he exploded, slapping Brick on the shoulder. “Heard there was a posse on yore trail and I hopped along as soon as possible to pick up their cripples.”

He looked at Silent and Harp and back at Brick:

“Yuh said you’d return ’em in good condition and I finds that these are shopworn. I owe yuh two thousand, dang yore hide!”

Brick grinned weakly and looked up at Silent—

“You go to Marlin City and take care of the jail, Silent.”

“My ——!” grunted Silent. “I’ll be a hermit yet.”

“Take Harp along for company and Buzzard and Romeo for the good of society.”

“Change hermit to lunatic,” grunted Silent. “C’mon, orkestry.”

Brick slumped in his chair and grinned as he fumbled for the makings of a cigaret. The tangled trails had been straightened out.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in Adventure Magazine, May 20, 1922. It is believed to be in the public domain in the United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.]