Chapter VI: Part 6

“Does he know you’ve got this hondo?”

“Nope, I sneaked it off the floor.”

Tex lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes wearily.

“And I’ve got no lie to tell about that,” he said. “I don’t know who nor what you are, Hartley, but you’ve sure been a friend to me. That evidence would hang me.”

“I suppose it would. Did you lose the rope?”

“I don’t know. Never missed it if I did.”

“Any of your boys carry a marked hondo?”

“I don’t think so. Do you know any, Frank?”

Judd shook his head quickly.

“I guess not, Tex.”

Hashknife put the hondo on the mantel.

“I’m goin’ to Garnet,” he told them. “Take good care of Sleepy, will you? He means more to me than anythin’ on earth. I don’t like to run away, when he’s bogged down thataway, but he knows me and he’ll understand why I went.”

And without another word he went out to his horse and mounted in the dark.

“We better get you into a bed, Tex,” suggested the doctor. “You probably don’t realize that you are badly hurt.”

“Yeah, I realize it, Doc,” said Tex, “but I’m all right, except that I don’t know what it is all about. Who shot Stevens and me, I wonder? What was it all about, anyway?”

“I wish I knew,” said Judd. “Andy is asleep in the bunkhouse, and Tommy and Kit are in Pineville. I ran out of the bunkhouse, when the shootin’ started, but I couldn’t see anybody. Who would want to shoot ’em, Tex?”

“Search me. I think the sheriff was mad enough to shoot somebody, but he’s no bushwhacker. Who are these two men, I wonder? Nobody seems to know much about ’em.”

“They seem all right,” said Marion softly.

“They _are_ all right,” declared Tex. “They’ve proved it to me. How badly is Stevens hurt, Doc?”

“Bad enough to lay him up for awhile.”

The doctor went back to where Sleepy was lying. Little Jimmy had decided to sleep through it all, and the doctor was satisfied with his condition.

* * * * *

It was nearly midnight when Hashknife reached Garnet. He tied his horse at a hitchrack near the Overland Saloon, the big gambling house of the town, and went in. The place was fairly well filled and a number of games were running full blast.

Hashknife went along to the bar, where he stopped and looked over the room, which was hazy with tobacco smoke. He wanted to find Luke Jones, and he expected to find the hardboiled old TD cook where the drinks came fast.

The room buzzed with conversation, the click of chips, the droning voices of the dealers, while glasses clicked at the bar and spurs rasped along the metal bar rail.

No one paid any attention to the tall cowboy who leaned against the bar, smoking a cigaret. At the rear of the room were a number of tables, where drinks were served. The three piece orchestra struck up a dance, and several of the chap-clad gentry tramped around the small dance space with the girls, having a boisterous time.

Suddenly a girl screamed, and her scream was punctuated by the thudding jar of a revolver shot. The room was in an uproar in a moment. The girls scattered like a bevy of frightened quail. Hashknife shoved his way through the crowd and found himself against a table which had been upset by someone who stood not upon their manner of going.

A man was lying flat on his back on the floor and, against the wall, standing alone, gun in hand, was Cleve Tolman, owner of the TD outfit. Some men were moving in closer to him and he eyed them with evident hostility.

“Keep away from me,” warned Tolman. “I shot in self defense, that’s all.”

“That’s right,” said a cowboy, who had evidently seen the shooting. “The other feller went for his gun.”

“Thank you,” said Tolman coldly.

He looked around and saw Hashknife, looking at him across the table.

“Somebody ought to get a doctor for him,” he said, and several men left the saloon.

Tolman slowly replaced the gun in his holster.

Hashknife stepped in close and looked at the man on the floor. It was old Luke Jones, ex-cook of the TD. Another man knelt down and lifted the old man’s head and shoulders. But old Luke wasn’t dead. He groaned a couple of times and opened his eyes. It seemed as if he had some difficulty in realizing what had happened.

“Been drinkin’ quite a lot,” said one of the men.

Luke looked at him, but shifted his eyes to Hashknife.

“Where’s Tolman?” he asked hoarsely. “Didn’t I git him?”

“I guess you didn’t,” said Hashknife. “Never mind. Just take it easy, old-timer; the doctor will get here in a few minutes.”

“Aw, to hell with the doctor! I’ve got mine, I guess. So he beat me to it, eh? First time that’s ever happened, too. He wouldn’t pay me to keep my mouth shut, Tolman wouldn’t. All I wanted was a thousand dollars. That ain’t much.” He blinked around at the faces and added, “To keep yore mouth shut.”

“Shut about what?” asked Hashknife softly.

“About Buck Dennig. I told him to give me the money or I’ll talk. He called me a dirty black somethin’, and I went for my gun. Where is he, the dirty sidewinder? Buck was my friend. I knowed more about Buck than anybody. Buck’s got relatives. He’s got a mother and a sister. Tolman didn’t know it until tonight. He called me a dirty liar, and then killed me to keep me from tellin’ it.”

“You ain’t dead yet,” said one of the men.

“No, but I’m close to it. And this here Western country loses a good man when I cash in. Where’s that doctor? Where’s Tolman?”

“Who killed Buck Dennig?” asked Hashknife.

“I dunno. Think I’d let him live, if I knowed. You’re Hartley, ain’t you? I ’member you. Are you a damned detective?”

“Do I look like one?” smiled Hashknife.

“Why don’tcha go and arrest Tex Blanco if you are?”

“Did Tex Blanco kill him, Luke?”

“I dunno. Gimme a drink, can’tcha? How bad does a man have to be hurt before he gets a drink. Where’s that doctor? I’m bleedin’ to death, I tell you.”

“Listen to me, Luke,” said Hashknife seriously. “What do you know about the killin’ of Buck Dennig? What do you know about that ten thousand they stole from him?”

Luke blinked painfully.

“I think Tolman knew,” he said hoarsely. “They quarreled the mornin’ Buck drawed that money. I heard some of it. Tolman gambled for big money. Buck tried to stop him. I didn’t hear it all, but I know Tolman said, ‘We split here, Buck. I’ll buy or sell. Ten thousand down and the rest on time.’ That’s what I heard that mornin’. Tolman knows, damn his dirty hide!”

The doctor came elbowing his way through the crowd, and Hashknife got to his feet. That end of the room was packed solid with interested humanity, but Tolman had vanished. Hashknife did not wait to hear the doctor’s verdict, but went back to his horse.

He was no nearer a solution than he was before. But he knew now that Cleve Tolman and Buck Dennig had quarreled, and that Tolman knew Buck was to draw that money. Evidently Buck had decided to buy out Tolman’s interest in the TD, and had drawn the money to make the initial payment.

And it was also evident that old Luke Jones had tried to blackmail Tolman out of a thousand dollars, knowing that his evidence might convict Tolman. As far as the shooting was concerned, Tolman would have little trouble in proving self defense, but he might have trouble in explaining away what old Luke had told about him.

But there were other things that Hashknife had discovered, little things which no one else had considered. He rode back to the B Arrow and found only Mrs. Blanco and the doctor awake. The doctor assured Hashknife that all the patients were doing as well as might be expected; so Hashknife rode on to Pineville, knowing that all the beds were filled at the ranch.

There was a light in the sheriff’s office. Hashknife tied his horse and knocked on the door. The sheriff, half dressed, came to the door and glared icily at Hashknife.

“F’r God’s sake, what are you doin’ around here?” he demanded. “I hoped you wouldn’t never come back.”

“I saw a light,” grinned Hashknife. “The rest of Pineville is fast asleep. You’re up late, ain’t you?”

“Aw, hell! C’mon in. I think I’d like to talk with you.”

* * * * *

Hashknife followed him in and the sheriff shut the door. Oscar, the deputy, was stretched out on a cot, snoring. The sheriff sat down at his desk and motioned Hashknife to a chair near him.

“Set down,” he growled. “I swore to myself that I’d curry you with a six-gun if you ever came in here again.”

“Oh, you never want to feel thataway about anybody, Sheriff.”

“You made me so damn mad. What are you tryin’ to do, anyway? Goin’ down to the B Arrow and—”

“Keepin’ you from gettin’ Oscar’s gun?”

“The big jughead!”

“How does it come you’re up so late—or early?”

“You don’t know, eh? Well, I’ll tell you why. Fifteen minutes ago Cleve Tolman left here. He was here for half an hour, and he told me about havin’ to shoot Luke Jones.”

“Yeah?” Hashknife smiled. “Tell you why he shot him?”

“Old Luke had been drinkin’; kinda got loco and opined to kill Cleve, didn’t he?”

“Did Tolman tell you I was there, Sheriff?”

“He said you was. You didn’t see the shootin’, didja?”

“Nope. Oh, I reckon he shot in self defense.”

“He said he did. Hartley—” the sheriff stretched wearily—“who shot your pardner at the B Arrow?”

“Who knows?”

“Was it Tex Blanco?”

“I never thought of that.”

“Did you shoot Tex Blanco?”

“I hope not.”

“Mm-m-m-m. Was Luke Jones dead when you left Garnet?”

“Nope. I don’t know how badly he was hurt.”

“Why did you go from the B Arrow to Garnet?”

“Exercisin’ my bronc.”

“Oh, I see. I suppose you were just exercisin’ your bronc, when you went out to the B Arrow.”

“No, I went out there to keep you from makin’ a fool of yourself.”

“To keep me? You’re crazy. Hartley, sometimes I like you. Yes, sir, I think you’re fine, when you mind your own business; but right here and now I want to tell you to keep your long nose out of my business. I can run my office.”

“Then you don’t need any help a-tall?”

“You’re damn right, I don’t!”

“You can catch’m all by yourself, eh?”

“All the catchin’ I need, yes.”

“You ought to run Scotland Yard.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, a little corral they’ve got in London.”

“I dunno anythin’ about that, but I do _sabe_ my own job.”

“You must be a great help to the county.”

The sheriff glowered at his sock-clad feet and wiggled the big toe of his left foot, which protruded through a hole in the wool.

“I reckon I can get along without your help,” he said wearily.

“That’s fine. Did Tolman tell you why he had to shoot Luke Jones?”

“He said Luke was loco and imagined things. Wanted Cleve to pay him a thousand dollars or he’d tell somethin’. Cleve said he didn’t know what it was he was goin’ to tell.”

“Tolman didn’t wait to see if Luke died.”

“That don’t mean anythin’. He shot in self defense.”

“I suppose you’d like it fine if I’d go away and let you sleep, wouldn’t you, Sheriff?”

“I sure would.”

The sheriff didn’t tell him goodby, but he did slam the door rather hard, after Hashknife was outside. Hashknife laughed to himself and went to the hotel.

* * * * *

Doctor Brent did not leave the B Arrow until morning. All of his patients were doing well, due to the fact that he had been on the spot to handle their wounds at once. Sleepy was in worse shape than Tex, but told the doctor that if he saw Hashknife he should tell him that everything was fine.

The doctor met Hashknife in front of the hotel and delivered the message. By this time nearly every one in Pineville knew of the shooting at the B Arrow, and many had heard of the shooting of Luke Jones at Garnet.

Hashknife was passing the post office, when Henry Goff, the postmaster, accosted him from the doorway.

“I’ve got a letter for you, Hartley,” he said. “Sent to you in care of the sheriff, but he don’t call for his mail until after the stage gets in this afternoon, and I thought it might be important.”

Hashknife thanked him and went in to get the letter. It was in a plain envelope, slightly soiled, and the penciled line inside read:

We got one of you and you’re next.

—THE BUNCH.

Hashknife compared it with the other letter he had from The Bunch, and it did not require a practised eye to see that the messages had not been written by the same person. In fact they were not alike in any detail. Hashknife smiled to himself and went down to the sheriff’s office, where he found Oscar Johnson.

“Pat’s gone out to the B Arrow,” he told Hashknife. “The things that happened out there last night has got him kinda pawin’ his head. He knowed you wasn’t out there, so he went out. Said he might git at the bottom of things if you wasn’t around to horn in and spoil the deal. My stars, but he was mad about that six-shooter deal!”

Hashknife showed Oscar the warning.

“By golly, they mean business, don’t they?” exclaimed Oscar. “So it was The Bunch who shot Stevens and Tex. That lets Tex out, unless Tex—”

“Unless Tex what?”

“Well,” said Oscar slowly, “Tex was out there and got mixed up in the shootin’.”

“Did he do any shootin’?”

“I’ll be darned if I know. He had my gun, you know, and I forgot to take it away from him when he came back in.”

“So there’s no way of connectin’ Tex with the shootin’.”

“Not a bit,” wailed Oscar. “There’s a lot of things happenin’ around here, and always there ain’t no clue. Somethin’ wipes out the evidence. Me and Pat are jist about disgusted.”

“Were you awake when Cleve Tolman came here last night—or rather this mornin’?”

“Shore, partly. He shot Luke Jones in Garnet.”

“I know all about that part of it. I was there.”

“Oh, yeah, I think Pat mentioned it. He wondered what you was doin’ there. Tolman said that old Luke was loco from too much drink. Demanded a thousand dollars from Tolman and started to draw a gun on Tolman, when Tolman wouldn’t give him the money. Old Luke has been makin’ his own liquor at the TD, and that kinda stuff will make you crazy.”

Hashknife did not tell Oscar what Luke Jones had said. He knew that the story would circulate fast enough, anyway. It was nearly noon when the sheriff came back from the B Arrow, and he was not in a pleasant frame of mind. Hashknife came down to his office and inquired about the sick and injured at the ranch.

“I didn’t see ’em,” growled the sheriff. “Old lady Blanco wouldn’t let me in the house. Said the doctor gave her orders to not let anybody in to see ’em. But I saw Miss Evans and I shore told her about that gun. She sent one of the punchers to Mrs. Cooper, with a note, askin’ her why she told me what she did. And now, by God, I’ve got to apologize to Mrs. Cooper.”

“She didn’t confess, eh?”

“Hell, no! I lied to get a confession.”

“Lyin’ seems to be a popular pastime around here.”

“Oh, go to hell!”

Hashknife laughed softly.

“Pat Lynch, who do you think killed Buck Dennig?”

“I dunno. My Lord, if I knowed—”

“Who robbed that stage?”

“Tex Blanco.”

“Who killed Shearer and robbed the bank?”

“I dunno.”

“The only thing you’re sure of is that Tex Blanco robbed the stage, eh?”

“That’s all.”

“All right. Just for the sake of an argument, how often is money carried on that stage?”

The sheriff looked sharply at Hashknife.

“Not very often, I’d say.”

“Would Tex know enough about it to pick the right day?”

“Not unless he was told.”

“Who could tell him—Windy March?”

“By God, I’ll bet he could.”

“If the money was sent to Windy, he might.”

“What are you drivin’ at? Are you protectin’ Tex Blanco? And what’s all this talk about? What’s all this to you? It seems to me that you’re takin’ a lot of interest in all this stuff. Tex lost his gun after he held up that stage, and them women found it. If it hadn’t been for Oscar, the Swede jughead, we’d have Tex in jail. And if it hadn’t been for you, we’d have had him, anyway. I could jail you for what you done.”

“Yeah? And I could have made Stormy River County laugh you out of the state of Wyoming. Anyway—” seriously—“you always want to look before you leap, Sheriff. Look at this.”

He let the sheriff read his latest warning.

“Tex never posted that,” declared Hashknife. “He hasn’t written a line since Sleepy got shot, and he couldn’t have known that The Bunch was goin’ to get one of us.”

“You ought to be a detective, Hartley. Still, you wouldn’t be much use, because you’re always goin’ around provin’ that everybody is innocent. Heffner’s yellin’ his head off for a chance to convict somebody. The county commissioners are ridin’ him, and he’s ridin’ me. I’m ready to quit.”

“You hadn’t ought to do that, Sheriff. There’s worse sheriffs than you are.”

“Where?” asked Lynch bluntly.

“Well, I just can’t answer you off-hand.”

“That’s supposed to be funny, ain’t it?”

“It’s all in your point of view, Sheriff.”

When the stage arrived that afternoon, Windy March brought the information that Luke Jones wasn’t dead and wasn’t liable to die until his appointed time.

“Danged old wood-rat wasn’t hurt much,” laughed Windy. “Swore he was dyin’, they tell me. Had a pint of whisky in the inside pocket of his coat, and the bullet smashed it all to hell, cracked one of Luke’s ribs and tunneled under the skin plumb around to his back.

“The doctor dug the bullet out, tied a few yards of bandage around Luke and let him go. Luke was plenty sick, but he went back to the Overland Saloon and celebrated his resurrection by gettin’ as drunk as a boiled owl. I seen him this mornin’, settin’ on the sidewalk, runnin’ a rag through his six-gun and singin’ to himself.”

As Windy was telling them about Luke Jones, Bud Hough drove through town in a buckboard, accompanied by a short, heavy set man, dressed in black. Bud waved at the men around the stage, but the other man merely nodded.

“I wondered what Bud was doin’ in Garnet,” said Windy. “Must have been there to git that feller. I seen him git off the train.”

“Prob’ly somebody visitin’ Tolman,” said Oscar.

* * * * *

Hashknife rode out to the B Arrow that afternoon and found Sleepy getting along fine. Tex was around the house, bandaged, and wearing his left arm in a sling. Little Jimmy’s fever had been broken, and their greatest concern was to keep him quiet.

Sleepy didn’t remember getting hit. He had heard one shot fired and remembered reaching for his gun. The rest of it was a complete blank. He was anxious to know what Hashknife had accomplished, but Hashknife was unable to tell him anything, except about the gun fight between Tolman and Luke Jones.

Hashknife did not tell him about the last warning, because it would only serve to worry Sleepy. He met Marion on the front porch, as he was leaving, and she told him that Mrs. Cooper had denied telling the sheriff about finding that gun.

“The sheriff told me,” laughed Hashknife. “It was one way of gettin’ you to confess, you see. It’s been done many times. What are you goin’ to do about provin’ that Buck Dennig was your brother?”

“I don’t know. But that can wait. I asked the doctor to not mention it to any one, and I wish you would do the same.”

“Shore, it’s all right with me.”

Marion stood with her hands on the rail, staring off across the hills.

“Just to think that Blaine came away out here, hiding from the world, and made a success. And that fate sent me out here, too—but too late to find him. Do you believe in fate, Mr. Hartley?”

“Yes’m.”

“Did fate send you here to help us—me, I mean?”

“You might say she did, Miss Evans—fate and necessity.”

“Necessity?”

“We needed the money, I reckon.”

“But why would anybody wish to kill you and Mr. Stevens?”

“Well,” smiled Hashknife, “I reckon they believe in fate, too; and they’re afraid the cards might fall wrong, with us in the game.”

“Do you believe Tex Blanco robbed that stage?”

“Do you, Miss Evans?”

“I did.”

“So did I.”

“The sheriff believes he did, Mr. Hartley. Oh, I suppose many other folks believe he did; and how in the world can he ever prove his innocence?”

“They can’t prove his guilt, Miss Evans.”

“Would you want to go through life that way?”

“It is kinda tough. I can see his point of view. No jury on earth would believe his story of what happened to him the night before the robbery. I believe him, even if it does sound fishy. I shore hope that some day—Miss Evans, you kinda like Tex Blanco, don’tcha?”

Marion turned away and walked to the end of the porch.

“Aw, shucks!” grunted Hashknife. “I wasn’t tryin’ to act smart and pry into your affairs. I’m no blind man. And love ain’t nothin’ to make fun about. Don’t get sore about it and put ground glass in Sleepy’s mush.”

Marion was laughing, and Hashknife crossed the porch to her.

“You ain’t sore at me? Gee, that’s great. Are you goin’ to marry Tex Blanco?”

Marion shook her head slowly.

“Gee, that’s great!”

Marion turned quickly and she was not laughing now.

“What is great about it?”

“To think that a pretty girl really has sense. I shore was scared you was goin’ to marry him.”

“What is that to you?” she asked, her eyes snapping.

“Nothin’ to me, of course, except that I don’t like to see a pretty girl throw herself away on a man with a reputation like he’s got. Tex is virtually an outlaw. He’s just out of jail, because they can’t put the deadwood on him. They all know he’s guilty, but they can’t prove it. You couldn’t marry a man like him, Miss Evans. You’d ruin your life. When they told me you was liable to marry him, I didn’t believe it. I got one look at you and I said you had too many brains for a thing like that. I’m glad I’m right. It ain’t often I’m mistaken in human nature.”

“Thank you,” she said icily, turning to the door. “I’m inclined to agree with the sheriff, when he says that you have a nasty habit of meddling in affairs which do not belong to you.”

She closed the door behind her, leaving Hashknife alone on the porch. He leaned against a porch post, a twinkle in his gray eyes, the corner of his wide mouth twisting to a grin. He went slowly down to the ground and walked around to his horse.

Tex came striding out through the kitchen and halted Hashknife. It was not difficult for Hashknife to see that Tex was mad. He came up to Hashknife, who was standing beside his gray horse.

“What did you say to Miss Evans, Hartley?” he demanded.

“Why, I dunno,” he answered innocently. “What did she say?”

“She didn’t say anythin’, but I know you did, because she was cryin’. Lemme tell you somethin’, Hartley; you—”

“You didn’t ask her if she was mad, didja?”

“She was cryin’, I tell you.”

“Sometimes folks cry when they’re glad, Blanco.”

Tex glanced back toward the house.

“Glad?” He turned and looked at Hashknife. “What has she got to be glad over?”

“I dunno, I’m sure. You might ask her?”

“Yeah, I might.”

“Does your shoulder hurt, Blanco?”

“Not very much. I can stand the pain all right. You didn’t hurt her feelin’s, did you?”

“I tried to be easy. Blanco, did you ask her to marry you?”

“I did not,” firmly.

“Why don’tcha?”

“I’m no fool, Hartley. How could a man in my position ask a girl to marry him? She’d be a fool to marry me.”

“That’s what I told her—and she got mad at me.”

“You—uh—” Tex opened and shut his mouth several times, while Hashknife swung easily to his saddle.

“You’d be a fool to ask her, and she’d be a fool to accept,” said Hashknife, gathering up his reins, “but go ahead. If men and women didn’t marry because they knew they were fools, we’d run out of population in a little while.”

“Well,” said Tex slowly, “you—I don’t _sabe_ you. This is none of your business.”

“I know it; but if I minded my own business, you’d have a lot of misery ahead of you.”

Hashknife reined his horse around and galloped down through the big gate, leaving Tex to wonder what he meant. He watched Hashknife ride away and wandered around to the front porch, where he found Marion alone. She was seated in an old rocker, a magazine in her lap.

He sat down on the top step of the porch.

“Has Mr. Hartley gone?” asked Marion.

“Yeah, he’s gone,” said Tex. “What did he say that made you cry, Marion?”

She did not answer him and he finally turned to look at her.

“He said you’d be a fool to marry me, didn’t he, Marion?”

Marion looked down at the magazine.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“He told me he did,” said Tex.

“He told you? What did you say, Tex?”

“I agreed with him.”

“Oh.”

“What else could I do, Marion?”

“I—I didn’t know that the question had ever come up,” she said slowly. “It made me mad to have someone suggest that I would be a fool to do something I had never really considered doing.”

“That’s what made me mad, too,” said Tex. “I—I knew you would never be able to marry me. Gosh, I’m no fool. Mebby I was a fool awhile ago; but I didn’t stop to think. I wish Hartley would stay away and mind his own business.”

“I do, too, Tex.”

“Well, if you say so, I’ll see that he does.”

“I suppose he’ll have to come out here to see his partner.”

“We’ll have him moved to town.”

“The doctor says he must stay here until that heals.”

Tex hammered his heel savagely against the step.

“Well, there’s nothin’ to be done. Anyway, we can keep away from him while he’s here.”

“Certainly. Still, that is poor thanks for what he did, Tex. If it hadn’t been for him, you would be in jail now.”

“That’s true,” said Tex grudgingly. “Why did he do it, Marion?”

Marion shook her head.

“I asked Sleepy, and he said it was because Hashknife couldn’t help doing things like that. He says that Hashknife never did any one a wrong in his life. I don’t know what Sleepy’s idea of right and wrong amounts to, of course. I reminded him that Hashknife lied to Hootie Cooper about knowing Hootie’s brother, and he said, ‘Miss Evans, you can find lies in the Bible, if you look close enough; and Hashknife’s lie didn’t hurt anybody!’”

“No, I don’t reckon it did, Marion. Well, here comes the doctor. He’s shore a faithful person.”

* * * * *

The next two days were uneventful. Hashknife made daily trips to the B Arrow, but he did not travel the road. The doctor said that Sleepy would be able to ride in about another week. Tex’s wound was healing nicely, and Jimmy Hastings was out of danger. Hashknife had a long talk with John Rice, the banker, regarding Buck Dennig. The bank had opened its doors again, but Rice told Hashknife that Tolman had resigned as a director.

Old Luke Jones came back to Pineville, still half drunk and more grouchy than ever. He refused to talk with Hashknife about the things he had blurted out in Garnet, when he thought he was bleeding to death. A few stitches in his side gave him a great deal of pain, but outside of that he was as good as new.

Hashknife had not seen Tolman since the shooting at Garnet, but the rest of the outfit had been to town. He had talked with Shorty Gallup about Buck Dennig, and had mentioned the things old Luke had spoken about.

“Old Luke better look out for Tolman,” said Shorty.

“He talked as though Tolman knew somethin’ about the killin’ of Dennig,” said Hashknife.

“I dunno,” said Shorty vaguely. “I think he’s crazy, about Buck havin’ any relatives. Still, you never can tell. Luke and Buck were good friends, and Buck might have told him more than he told us.”

“What’s your honest opinion of who killed Dennig?”

“I wouldn’t even make a guess.”

“It must have been somebody that knew Buck had that ten thousand dollars, don’t you think?”

“Mebby. Buck always carried quite a roll. Somebody might have killed him for what he carried, picked up that big roll and didn’t wait to grab that hundred and sixty he had in another pocket.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Probably the same gang robbed the stage.”

“Looks thataway. What a cinch they had. That sheriff and deputy couldn’t foller a load of hay in the snow. What we need is a good detective.”

“Had one, didn’t they?”

“I reckon so. Didn’t last long. Any detective is a fool to come in openly on a case like this, don’tcha know it?”

“I suppose you’re right, Gallup. What do you think about Tex Blanco?”

“Oh, Tex is all right, I reckon. Anyway, he’s slick; I’ll say that much for him.”

“Slick?”

“Shore. They can’t pin anythin’ on him, can they? I’ll say they can’t. How’s your pardner gettin’ along?”

“Be out in a week.”

“Got any idea who shot him?”

“Yeah,” said Hashknife seriously.

Shorty eyed him closely.

“Do you mean that, Hartley?”

“I think I know.”

“That sounds interestin’. Why don’tcha do somethin’?”

“Can’t do a thing until I’m sure.”

“Why did they shoot him?”

Hashknife laughed softly.

“They thought poor old Sleepy was a detective. He don’t know yet why they shot him, and I don’t want to tell him, ’cause he might pull out some of his stitches laughin’.”

“Oh,” said Shorty dryly, “that’s why they shot him, eh?”

“Sure. We’ve been warned to get out of the country.”

“You did? Well, I’ll be darned. That detective was warned, too, wasn’t he? Can you imagine that. They think you’re workin’ for the cattle association, eh?”

“They didn’t say who we was workin’ for. I dunno where they got the idea, I’m sure.”

“Well, ain’t you scared to stay around here, Hartley?”

“I’m still here, ain’t I? Sure I’m scared. When men shoot at you in the dark, it pays to be scared.”

“You’re danged right. Well, I’ve got to be headin’ for the ranch. See you later, Hartley.”

“So long, Gallup.”

The following morning Hashknife went to the B Arrow with the doctor, feeling sure that no one would molest them together. Sleepy wanted to get out of bed, but the doctor warned him against it.

After the doctor had gone back to town, Tex asked Hashknife if he would stay at the ranch for awhile. Marion wanted to go to town, it seemed, and Tex also wanted to go. But Tex was unable to handle the team with one hand; so Frank Judd was elected to drive. Tex didn’t want to leave his mother alone with the two patients; so Hashknife agreed to stay.

It was about an hour later, while Hashknife was enjoying a siesta on the front porch, that Bud Hough and Dobe Severn, from the TD outfit, came past, heading toward Garnet. Hashknife waved at them and they drew up at the gate, while he walked down to them.

He noticed that both men had war bags fastened to their saddles, and this meant that they were traveling away.

“Pullin’ out?” he asked.

“Goin’ down to the XOX outfit, south of Wallgate,” said Bud. “Change of pasture makes fat calves, you know. Same man owns both ranches.”

“You mean the same man owns the XOX and the TD?”

“Shore. Name’s Billings, Ed Billings.”

“I thought Tolman owned the TD.”

“Sellin’ out today.”

“Is that so?” Hashknife was thinking swiftly. “Today, eh? Kinda quick sale, ain’t it?”

“Billings has been out there with us for two or three days. They been dickerin’ for a week or so. Heffner, the lawyer, is handlin’ the deal.”

“Is he goin’ to keep the rest of the crew?”

“I think all but Shorty and Sturgis. They might stay, but Matt said they might go with Tolman. Well, we’ll drift on. If you want a job, you better strike Billings right away.”

Hashknife hurried back to the house and met Mrs. Blanco at the steps.

“I’ve got to go,” he told her, and ran for his horse.

In town old Luke Jones, like a sore-headed bear, was looking for trouble. Everybody ignored him, because he was dangerous, and being ignored was something old Luke hated.

“You better cool off,” advised the sheriff. “Somebody is liable to bust your earthly envelope, if you don’t look out, Jones. You ain’t sober enough to make a fight.”

“Zasso?” Old Luke shoved out his lean jaw at Pat Lynch.

“Show me somebody that wants to choose me, Pat. I’m here to be selected by anybody on earth—pre—pref-er-bly Cleve Tolman. He’s my meat, the dirty sidewinder.”

“Aw, go sleep it off,” advised the sheriff, and walked away.

He had tried to start an argument with Bud Hough and Dobe Severn, but they had ridden along, ignoring him. Shorty, Matt and Alex dodged him for half an hour, with Alex arguing all the time with Shorty, to keep him from going back and accepting Luke’s challenge.

Fortunately Luke did not see Tolman and Billings arrive and go to the court house. Heffner was busy with a civil case, and they were obliged to wait until he finished; so they waited in his office.

* * * * *

Tex, Marion and Judd arrived, tied their horses in front of Hootie Cooper’s store and went in to see him. Mrs. Cooper was there, and she chuckled with glee over Marion.

“The school teacher was a frost,” Mrs. Cooper declared. “He whipped both of the Beebee kids the second day, and sent Ella Hall home with a note, askin’ her folks to teach her to not carry tales. Oh, he’s still there, ’cause they’ve got to have a teacher, but old Sam and Beebee asked me how soon you was comin’ back.”

Marion laughed, but shook her head.

“I don’t think I could take the school again, Ma Cooper.”

Mrs. Cooper looked sidewise at Tex and nodded sagely.

“You’ve had an awful time out there, ain’t you, Marion?”

“But I’ve enjoyed it.”

“You would. Oh, don’t hop me. I don’t blame you. I shore was surprised at your note about that gun. Pat Lynch shore lied, didn’t he. And he’s dodged me ever since. But he told Hootie what happened. You ought to love Hashknife Hartley, even if he is a liar. C’mon over to the house and let’s talk.”

“All right, Ma.”

Marion walked over to Tex and told him she was going home with Mrs. Cooper for a few minutes.

“That’s fine,” he told her. “Don’t hurry.”

They had just opened the door, when Hashknife’s tall gray fairly spiked his tail against the sidewalk, throwing gravel all over them. He was off the horse and up to them before they recovered from their surprise.

“C’mon with me, Miss Evans!” he panted. “Don’t ask questions, ’cause we might be too late.”

Tex and Frank Judd ran out of the store, wondering what it was all about, and they saw Hashknife hurrying down the sidewalk, holding Marion by the elbow.

“What’s the idea?” asked Tex.

“That’s what I want to know,” said Mrs. Cooper. “That tall cowboy is shore sudden. They’re goin’ into the court house.”

“Well, I’m goin’ to find out,” growled Tex, and hurried down the street with Judd.

Hashknife did not bother to tell Marion what it was all about, as he rushed her up the one flight of stairs and down the hall to Heffner’s office. He opened the door and shoved her in ahead of him.

Tolman and Billings were seated at a table, while Heffner was standing up, enumerating something from a legal paper. All three men turned quickly at the interruption.

“I am engaged just at present,” said Heffner quickly. “If you will wait a few minutes, I will be at your service.”

“I reckon this is the right time,” said Hashknife.

He was out of breath and snapped his words sharply.

Tolman started to his feet, a scowl on his face, as Hashknife came closer to the table.

“Ain’t been no deed signed yet, has there?” asked Hashknife.

“Why—_not yet_?” faltered Heffner. “I don’t see—”

“Then there won’t be none signed, folks. I understand that Mr. Tolman is sellin’ the TD, all of the TD, and it just happens that this lady is Miss Marion Evans, sister to Blaine Evans, deceased, who was known to you as Buck Dennig.”

For a moment there was silence, as all three men stared at Marion. Then Tolman laughed shortly.

“What kind of a holdup game is this?” he asked harshly.

“Not any holdup, Tolman. Miss Evans can prove it. You’ve no right to sell all the ranch. In fact, I don’t reckon you’ve got any right to sell any of it, until an accountin’s been made.”

“Why, that claim is ridiculous.”

“Ask Luke Jones, Tolman.”

“That damn’ drunken old liar!”

“You shot him, you know.”

“I shot him because he tried to shoot me.”

“Why did he want to shoot you, Tolman?”

“He’s crazy.”

“That’s a weak answer. Anyway, there won’t be no sale—not now, Heffner.”

“I guess not,” replied the attorney. “If you had been ten minutes later, it would have required a lot of legal red tape to settle the matter.”

Tolman jerked his hat down over his eyes and walked from the room.

Tex and Judd had stopped just outside the doorway, listening to what was being said, but Tolman did not look at them as he went past.

“I’m sorry about this,” said Billings. “Of course, you understand I knew nothing about it.”

“You couldn’t know, Mr. Billings,” agreed Heffner warmly.

“I suppose it saves me a lot of time and money, as long as it had to happen. Miss Evans—” he held out his hand to Marion—“if you ever want to sell your half of the TD, just write me in care of the XOX ranch, at Wallgate.”

“Thank you,” said Marion weakly. “I—I don’t know what it is all about yet myself.”

Hashknife grinned at her.

“Go ahead and bawl me out for not mindin’ my own business.”

“But how did you know?” asked Tex. “How on earth did you know this sale was being made here?”

“Couple little birds rode past and told me, Tex. You can talk it over with Mr. Heffner, or—” Hashknife pointed toward the open door—“down the hall a couple doors is where they issue marriage licenses.”

He laughed and walked from the room.

* * * * *

Tolman had halted at the sidewalk, seething with anger. He knew Marion was Buck’s sister, knew it before anybody else did. But he took a chance on disposing of the TD, hoping to get away before anybody discovered the fact, if they ever did. He blamed old Luke Jones, although he wondered how old Luke found out who Marion was. Tolman knew that Marion and Buck looked alike. He had seen that the first time he met her, and wondered why others didn’t see it, too.

Tolman didn’t want to make an accounting of what he had done with Buck’s share of the ranch, and he stood there on the edge of the sidewalk, trying to figure out his next move.

Suddenly old Luke Jones lurched out of the Stormy River Saloon and started across the street. Tolman forgot his troubles, when he saw his old ex-cook. He stepped into the street and started toward old Luke, who stopped short.

“Go back to your hole, you dirty old badger!” rasped Tolman.

Old Luke laughed. Hashknife stepped out to the sidewalk and saw them walking toward each other. Old Luke had both hands in the pockets of his frayed coat, and he did not take them out. He was not wearing a holstered gun. Hashknife stepped out of line with them. Someone was running up the sidewalk, and Hashknife turned to see the sheriff.

“Stop it, Tolman!” he yelled.

But Tolman didn’t stop. They were not over ten feet apart when Tolman jerked out his gun, and at the same instant the side of Luke’s coat seemed to erupt a cloud of smoke.

Tolman jerked sidewise, half turned, tried to recover his balance, but couldn’t do it. He staggered back on his heels and went sprawling in the street, still clutching his big Colt gun.

“Oh, hell!” panted the sheriff. “Got him cold.”

Old Luke pounded the fire out of his coat, as he looked at Tolman, flat on his back in the street. Men were running from every direction. Shorty Gallup was the first to reach old Luke. He flung both arms around him.

“Somebody git a rope!” yelled Shorty. “Git a rope!”

“No you don’t!” snorted the sheriff.

“I saw it myself. I don’t like old Luke no better than you do, but give the devil his dues. Luke shot in self defense.”

“Lemme alone!” growled Luke. “Git your paws off me, Gallup, or I’ll pistol whip you.”

Hashknife looked back toward the entrance to the court house. Tex and Judd were coming across the street, while Marion had joined Mrs. Cooper and several people in front of the store.

The sheriff and Hashknife made a quick examination of Tolman. It did not require a lengthy examination. The sheriff got to his feet and looked at old Luke.

“You made a complete job of it, Luke,” he said coldly.

“He had it comin’, Pat!” Old Luke looked around at the crowd that had gathered in the street. “I’ll bet you ten dollars that Cleve Tolman killed Buck Dennig. Anybody want to take that bet?”

“If I take your bet, can you prove it?” asked Hashknife.

Luke shut one eye and looked at Hashknife.

“I can come nearer provin’ that Tolman killed him than anybody else that Tex Blanco killed him.”

The eyes of the crowd shifted to Tex. Oscar had joined the crowd and was standing beside the sheriff. Old Luke laughed gratingly and began talking again. Hashknife whispered softly to the sheriff:

“Back my play, Pat. It’ll come quick now. Tell Oscar.”

The sheriff drew a quick breath, shot a quick glance at Hashknife, but spoke softly to Oscar, who looked at him blankly.

“I tell you, I’ll bet ten dollars,” reiterated Luke.

“Somebody bet him,” laughed Hashknife and stepped over beside Shorty Gallup. “You bet him, Shorty.”

“Why should I bet him?” growled Shorty.

“Mebby your pardner, Sturgis, will take the bet?”

Sturgis shot a quick glance at Hashknife.

“I ain’t got no money to bet,” growled Matt Sturgis.

“What didja do with all you got?” asked Hashknife, and his voice fairly snapped.

“Damn you, what do you mean?” Sturgis whirled, facing Hashknife. “What’s all this about? What money?”

Sturgis swung his hand over the butt of his gun, eyes snapping.

Hashknife was covered by the body of Shorty Gallup, so he had little fear of Matt’s gun. Shorty did not seem able to move. Hashknife glanced at the sheriff, who had his gun in his hand, a queer expression in his face, as he tried to puzzle things out.

“Shorty,” said Hashknife, “which one of you two are goin’ to confess first?”

That sentence was like an electric shock to Shorty. He ducked sidewise, jerking at his gun, but it was not there, because Hashknife had deftly plucked it out with his left hand, just before Shorty ducked.

Matt Sturgis did not shoot, did not even draw a gun. He started to back away, thinking to escape, but the sheriff and deputy had him covered. He backed about six steps, before he threw up both hands in token of surrender.

“I quit,” he choked. “My God! I’ll talk,” he blubbered, as the sheriff stepped over and took his gun.

“Talk, you dirty quitter!” rasped Shorty.

He had both hands above his shoulders and was looking at the muzzle of Hashknife’s gun.

“Go ahead and talk yourself into a rope.”

“You two killed Buck Dennig, robbed the stage and killed Guy Shearer,” said Hashknife.

“Shorty killed Buck,” declared Matt.

He was almost crying.

“Gimme a gun,” begged Shorty. “Lemme kill him, won’t you? I swear to give it back as soon as I kill him. He’s yaller as mustard.”

“Sturgis, stop blubberin’!” ordered Hashknife. “Shearer forged that ten thousand dollar check, didn’t he?”

“Uh-huh. Buck and Tolman quarreled and Shorty heard ’em. We framed with Shearer for a three way split, and he forged Buck’s signature. Shorty killed Buck, and we hid the money.”

“Yes, and you killed Shearer!” roared Shorty.

Sturgis was on the verge of collapse.

“Better lock ’em up, Sheriff,” said Hashknife. “They’ve told enough.”

Both men went willingly, and some of the crowd carried Tolman’s body into the saloon. Heffner had reached there in time to hear part of the confession. Tex seemed dazed, unable to comprehend what it was all about. Hashknife slapped him on the shoulder, and Tex jerked out of his trance.

“That clears you, Tex,” he said softly. “If I was you I’d go across the street and talk to a certain lady. She might want to know about it, don’tcha think?”

Tex blinked at Hashknife, turned and walked slowly toward the crowd on the opposite sidewalk, where Judd was telling them what it was all about.

Hashknife and Heffner walked into the saloon, where most of the crowd were gathered and, in a few moments, the sheriff came in. McLean was the only one left of the TD outfit, and he looked frightened to death. He came straight to Hashknife.

“I—I didn’t have anythin’ to do with it, Hartley,” he said.

“I had you on my list for awhile,” grinned Hashknife.

“My God, I’m glad you marked me off.”

Hashknife laughed.

“It was lucky for me that Shorty and Sturgis caved in. I wasn’t sure of Sturgis, but I had a big hunch, because they were together a lot, and Sturgis was related to Shearer. I knew Shearer was in on it, as soon as I studied that check. The signature was clever, but he didn’t follow it out in writing all the check.

“The warnin’ they sent to Sears, the detective, was written by Shearer. He also wrote the first one to me and my pardner. But the last one I got was written by someone else, because Shearer was dead. I think they were goin’ to rob the bank vault, with the help of Shearer, and intended merely ropin’ him up to make it look good, but they got greedy and killed him, for fear he’d talk, or to make their shares bigger.

“They stole a rope from the B Arrow, cut the hondo off and left it on the floor to convict Tex Blanco. But the key that unlocked the inside door of that vault was on Shearer’s key ring in Shearer’s pocket, and the door had been locked after the money was taken. If they had forced him to unlock that door, they’d never have bothered to lock the inside door again, and put the key in Shearer’s pocket.

“Shearer told ’em about the money comin’ on the stage. I ain’t sure just what their idea was, but I figure they went to the B Arrow to pick up somethin’ to incriminate Tex Blanco, and got a chance that night to knock out Tex and kidnap him. Anyway, they left his gun at the scene of the holdup, and Miss Evans and Mrs. Cooper found it.”

“That’s shore the truth,” agreed the sheriff warmly. “Oscar dumped Miss Evans’ trunk in the river and, when he tried to dry out the things, he found the gun. Like a darn jughead, he traded handles, and killed the evidence.”

The crowd laughed.

“And Tex knew that no jury would believe his story, so he never told it,” said Hashknife. “I talked with Shorty yesterday, and he told me what he thought about the killin’ of Buck Dennig. He said that somebody must have killed Buck for what little money he had, but found the big roll and overlooked the rest of it. Shorty and Matt tried hard to kill me and my pardner, and they almost got my pardner. I reckon that’s all the story, unless Shorty and Matt know more than I do.”

“I’ll be jiggered!” snorted the sheriff. “And I thought you was just a nosey puncher, who wasn’t able to mind your own business.”

“What is your business, Hartley?” asked Heffner.

“Me?” Hashknife laughed softly. “I’m the detective you sent for to the cattle association.”

“You are? But Sears said—”

“Sears is a clerk. He had his orders to run at the first sign of trouble—and he did. I’ll bet he’s scared yet.”

“And that’s why you lied about where you come from!” exclaimed McLean.

“Yeah, and you come near gettin’ me killed off by makin’ me out a liar,” laughed Hashknife. “You folks wasn’t near as wise as Shorty was. But you didn’t have a guilty conscience.”

* * * * *

Hashknife left the saloon and went back to his horse. Marion, Tex, Mrs. Cooper, Hootie and Judd were there, waiting for him. They had managed to understand what it was all about. He looked at them and his face wrinkled to a grin.

“Well, it was a nice afternoon, wasn’t it?” he queried.

Mrs. Cooper came up to him, her fat face grinning with delight, and held out her hand to him.

“I want to be the first to shake hands with you,” she said. “The rest of them just stand around and say, ‘My God!’ Tex Blanco has said it a dozen times already, and Hootie ain’t far behind him. Marion ain’t said much, but I’ll bet she’s thought a lot. Didja ever realize that she owns the TD outfit right now? Tolman ain’t got a livin’ relative.”

Hashknife looked at Marion. Her face was white, and she was clinging to Tex’s good arm, as if afraid he might get away from her.

Slowly Hashknife untied his horse and climbed into the saddle.

“It’s funny what changes you can bring into the lives of folks, when you don’t mind your own business,” he said slowly. “Sometimes I’m glad I’m nosey thataway. Well, I’ve got to get back and help Ma Blanco take care of the sick folks. Gotta get my pardner back on his feet, you see. There ain’t nobody’s business around here that looks worth my time mindin’ it now. I’ll see you later, folks.”

He started to ride away, but stopped and called to Frank Judd. They talked for a moment, and then Hashknife rode on down the street.

Judd came back, a half smile on his lips. They were watching Hashknife going down the street, sitting very straight in his saddle.

Tex sighed deeply.

“Well, he must think I’m a fool. Honest to gosh, I couldn’t talk to him. I wonder if he realizes what this means to me? Why, I’ve got the weight of the world off my neck.”

“Cleared with one swipe,” said Hootie. “The long legged son of a gun! I don’t give a damn if he never was in Mizpah, Arizona, or never heard of my brother. Whooee-e-e! Well, Ma—” he turned to Mrs. Cooper—“I reckon I better turn merchant again.”

Old man Beebee was hurrying up the street and caught sight of the group near the store. He came over to them, chewing violently.

“I jist heard about it!” he panted. “Missed it, of course. Always miss the fun of anythin’, ’cause I had to wash the danged dishes. Oh, hello, Miss Evans. Sa-a-ay! I reckon you can have that school any time you want it. Ma and Mrs. Hall have hauled in their horns, and the menfolks are runnin’ things again.”

“She’s all through teachin’ school,” said Tex.

“Oh! Well, I don’t blame her. Awful job. Sorry.”

He turned and headed for the Stormy River Saloon.

Tex turned to Marion.