Chapter VI: Part 6

The saloon was in an uproar. The crash of the two shots had stopped all activities and to add to the climax Fat Garnette was staggering in, his face covered with blood and dirt. Down the middle of the room he staggered, looking for Hashknife to tell him that McLeod had had a concealed gun with which he had struck Fat over the head before he had escaped. But Hashknife was not paying any attention to the sheriff. He was still at that back door which was wide open.

Suddenly the door of Hayward’s office swung open and Mike Dalhart, the cowboy who had gone to Arizona, stepped out.

Dalhart was hunched forward, his hat pulled low over his eyes, a six-shooter in each hand. A trapped wolf would have been a nursing lamb beside Dalhart. The sheriff saw him and stopped short. The gun in Dalhart’s right hand jerked to his hip, covering the sheriff.

“Over here, Bitter River!”

Hashknife’s voice snapped like a whip and Dalhart whirled, both guns spouting flame, shooting too swiftly for deadly accuracy.

Hashknife’s gun thundered in response and as Sleepy’s gun spat flame from about the center of the room Dalhart jerked sideways, dropped the gun from his right hand, went back on his heels and fell against the door of the office, sliding to the floor in a heap.

Hashknife ran to him quickly and flung the office door open. Hayward was lying on the office floor, flat on his back with one arm flung across his face. Hashknife stepped back into the saloon as the crowd, panicky from the killing, surged forward, choking in the powder fumes.

Fat Garnette came forward, his face white where it wasn’t red from gore, and stopped near Hashknife, trying to ask questions with his hands.

Dalhart wasn’t dead. He tried to lift his head from the floor and cursed bitterly at Hashknife.

“Who shot Hayward?” asked Hashknife.

“Bullet through the window,” said Dalhart chokingly.

“McLeod got away,” said Fat hoarsely.

“He’s out behind here,” said Hashknife. “He shot at me and his bullet went through the window. I guess he killed Hayward. Some of yuh prop Dalhart up and give him a drink.”

Some one got a bottle at the bar, another man went after the doctor, while the rest stood dumbly in their tracks, shocked, staring with amazement at Hashknife, who was the coolest man in the place.

Dalhart managed to take a big drink of liquor but he knew as well as they that his minutes were numbered.

“Yore pardner’s out at the Box 88, ain’t he?” asked Hashknife.

“So it was you, eh?” whispered Dalhart. “We wasn’t sure. Yes, he’s out there with a broken leg. Damn him! If it hadn’t been for him--I came to get a doctor and to settle up with Hayward. I was goin’ to get out.”

“You killed McFee a year ago, Dalhart. It was you who killed O’Neil and it was you who shot Joe LeClere. I can understand why yuh killed McFee. He recognized yuh as Bitter River Belton. Yuh killed O’Neil because yuh found out he was a cattle detective, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out why yuh tried to kill Joe LeClere.”

“That fooled yuh, eh?” whispered Dalhart weakly. “I’m glad somethin’ fooled yuh. I think Joe knew I killed O’Neil and I was afraid he might tell at his trial. Hayward didn’t think so because he had the deadwood on Joe. It was Hayward who found out who O’Neil was. He furnished O’Neil a gun to kill Joe with that night, but Joe didn’t go home.

“That McFee job was funny.” Dalhart was getting so weak that they gave him another pull at the bottle.

“Joe almost had snakes. He started to town with McFee but he was so loco he went back. Me and Hayward made Joe believe he killed McFee and the damn fool still thinks so. That’s what Hayward had on Joe. He forced Joe to steal cattle from his father for Hayward.”

“Made him change the IS to a Box 88, eh?” asked Hashknife.

Dalhart nodded and closed his eyes.

“Yeah. And we done the same thing. We threw ’em into a box cañon off Dog Soldier and grazed ’em back there until the brands had healed. When we knocked old Frenchy off Hayward wanted us to make a big clean-up and we just got started when you showed up.”

“You stole a pair of white horses from the AH and painted black spots on ’em.”

Dalhart grinned and started to say something as the doctor came bustling in. He knelt at Dalhart’s side--Dalhart was still smiling. The examination was brief.

“I don’t see how he lived ten seconds,” said the doctor--and passed on in to look at Hayward.

McLeod was still alive. Some of the men carried him in. He cursed everybody and refused to commit himself in any way, even after he was told that Dalhart had confessed.

* * * * *

Soapy and Weary had deserted their post of duty and were outside the saloon with Yvonne when Hashknife and Sleepy came out. They had only heard snatches of information and they almost assaulted Hashknife.

“Joe is clear,” Hashknife told them. “There ain’t a thing they can hold him for. But I’ve got to have somethin’ else cleared up and Joe can do it. C’mon!”

“You say Joe is clear?” asked Yvonne, almost afraid that she had not heard correctly. “He isn’t guilty?”

“Not of murder. Oh, it’s all right, Yvonne! Don’t cry. For gosh sake, won’t somebody take that riot-gun away from Soapy and let him take care of Yvonne?”

They walked down to the doctor’s office and went in with Soapy and Yvonne far in the rear. Joe was half out of bed, trying to put on some clothes, but found himself too weak.

The man who had come for the doctor had blurted out some information that was of vital importance to Joe LeClere.

Hashknife lifted him back into the bed and Joe stared at them with frightened eyes.

“Lay down and listen to me,” said Hashknife. “To begin with, you didn’t kill Charley McFee.”

Joe opened his eyes wide and his mouth sagged for a moment. He tried to speak but merely swallowed and looked up at Hashknife.

“Dalhart killed him,” said Hashknife. “He confessed. And he killed O’Neil too. Didja know that, Joe?”

“I--I thought he did. But--but Hayward said he’d have me hung for murder if I told. It was Dalhart who tried to kill me.”

“We know that, Joe. He admitted that part of it. He said that they had the deadwood on you and Hayward made you steal cows from yore father. Is that the truth, Joe?”

Joe’s eyes shifted from face to face. Yvonne was leaning close to him and he looked square at her as he said:

“You think I’m a rustler, but I’m not. Hell, how I hated Hayward! But he could have had me hung. They thought I was stealin’ Dad’s cows but I wasn’t. I’d corral a lot of Box 88’s and rebrand ’em. Run the hot iron over the original brand and not do it too well and then turn the animals over to whoever was in charge of the work at the mines. They also kept the rebrands back on Dog Soldier. I swear to God that I never stole a cow from Dad.”

Tears were running down Yvonne’s cheeks as she turned to Hashknife. Joe was crying too, but most of his tears were from weakness and reaction.

“Oh, he isn’t guilty of anything!” she choked. “Don’t you see he is cleared of everything, Hashknife?”

“Yea-a-ah, I see he is,” said Hashknife seriously. “But if the chance ever comes, after he gets well, I’ll kick him a couple of times for my own satisfaction.”

“Why--what for?” asked Weary.

“For givin’ me the toughest problem I ever worked on. I’ve been here all this time tryin’ to figure out just what he was goin’ to do with them Box 88 cows we found him with that mornin’. There wasn’t a darn brand in this state he could make out of that Box 88--and I never once thought he might be double-crossin’ a thief.”

“If you wa-want to do the kickin’ right now I’ll let yuh,” said Joe seriously. “The rest of you folks get out because I’ve only got on one of Doc’s nightgowns.”

“And I’ve lost my good job,” sighed Soapy.

“You ain’t even started on yore _good_ job,” said Hashknife. “Yvonne, go in and tell yore dad that the kid is all right. Yore dad knows all about them cows that Joe was goin’ to brand, but he don’t know why.”

“And you did it,” said Yvonne. She took hold of Hashknife’s sleeve and looked at him. “You did all of this just for us.”

And then she kissed him square--on the mouth--ducked aside and ran to her father’s room. Hashknife looked foolishly around and headed for the door.

“I could do the same thing to yuh,” said Soapy.

But Hashknife didn’t accept. He walked out followed by Sleepy and Weary, who was still walking around in a daze.

* * * * *

They went to the sheriff’s office where they found Fat and several other men. McLeod was not dangerously hurt. They had him on a cot in one of the cells while some more of the men were getting a rig at the livery-stable to go out to the Box 88 after Asher, who was out there waiting with Cornes for the doctor to come.

Fat had washed the blood off his face and head but he was far from presentable yet. McLeod had struck him over the head with a six-shooter, knocked him down but not quite out.

“I don’t understand it all yet,” complained Fat. “How didja figure all this out, Hashknife? I don’t get head nor tail out of it. You called him Bitter River, didn’t yuh? Wasn’t that the name in that telegram from Piney River?”

“That was the shadow I shot at,” smiled Hashknife. “McFee used to be a deputy sheriff down there. He was here two days and was murdered. The only time I ever met McFee he was chasin’ a man by that name--Bitter River Belton. I took a chance and the description fit Dalhart, except for the moles which I didn’t see. That established a killer for McFee.

“I knew that O’Neil was a detective. Rustlers will kill a detective, yuh know. LeClere was losin’ cattle, so I had to find out who was stealin’ ’em. Yuh can change an IS to a Box 88 by usin’ the I for part of the Box and makin’ the S into an eight and addin’ another eight. They both brand on the right shoulder. It took me a long time because I was workin’ on the wrong angle. I thought Joe LeClere was a crook and a cow-thief. Hayward said that Dalhart and Asher had pulled out for Arizona but I didn’t believe it. Then I heard about Hayward havin’ some claims on Dog Soldier and it struck me that Dog Soldier was the answer, but me and Sleepy never quite got there.

“We saw two men on pinto horses and later on we ran into ’em in a big pot-hole in the hills, where we spent the day swappin’ lead. Sleepy killed one of the pintoes and I got one rustler in the leg. But they got away from us just at dusk on one horse, and then we found that the dead pinto was an AH with the black spots painted on.

“I knew that one of the men was hurt, so I figured he would need a doctor. The rest of it was luck, I suppose. Soapy brought me word that McLeod asked the doctor to go to the Box 88 to see a sick man. McLeod tipped Hayward off that some one was in his private office, so I had Fat arrest McLeod while I handled the rest.”

“I’d say yuh shore handled it,” said Fat. “You’ve got plenty reward comin’ to yuh, Hashknife--but you earned it. Seven thousand is a nice stake.”

“I get two thousand of it--that’s all! Have yuh got a telegraph blank around here, Fat?”

“Sure. Top drawer of that desk.”

As Hashknife wrote the telegram, Ace Hart of the AH ranch came in. He had heard the story at the Silver Streak.

“I want to meet Hartley,” he said. “By grab, I want to meet the man who smoked up Chongo town! Never heard anythin’ like it. Where is he?”

Fat introduced them and they shook hands solemnly.

“Soapy and Cling talked a lot about yuh, Hartley.”

“Nice pair of boys,” said Hashknife.

“Nice, hell! Wilder ’n hawks!”

“Soapy told me you’ve got a place on Opal Creek.”

“He did, eh? Told me about it too. Damn fool! Had an idea I’d give it to him. Talked about startin’ a herd. Ain’t got a damn cent!”

“If he had about a thousand dollars would yuh feel like lettin’ him and his wife have the place?”

“Thousand--him and _his_ wife? What-cha talkin’ about?”

“Would yuh, Hart?”

The old man cuffed his hat over on the side of his head and squinted at Hashknife.

“If he had a thousand and a wife--yeah.”

“Make out a deed tomorrow and I’ll speak to the preacher.”

“I don’t understand yuh, Hartley.”

“Are you still shootin’ at shadows?” asked Fat.

“Not if the county will pay that reward and if Yvonne LeClere will stick to her word.”

“Well, the county will pay it tomorrow, Hashknife. I can’t speak for the Association, but they’ll pay, I’m sure.”

“I’m sorry I can’t collect that end of it, Fat.”

He handed Fat the telegram, which was directed to the Secretary of the Cattlemen’s Association and read:

CLOSED CASE TONIGHT COMPLETE CONFESSION MURDER OF MCFEE
AND SHIELDS BY BITTER RIVER BELTON ALIAS MIKE DALHART
A KILLER FROM PINEY RIVER STOP ACCEPT OUR RESIGNATIONS
AS THIS JOB KEEPS US TOO LONG ON ONE SIDE OF THE HILL

H. HARTLEY

Fat read the telegram through carefully and then looked quizzically at Hashknife.

“Cattle detectives, eh?”

“Were,” corrected Hashknife while Sleepy grinned widely.

“So that’s why yuh can’t collect the five thousand. Say! You ain’t goin’ to pull out of here, are yuh? This Silver River country needs yuh, Hartley--it sure does.”

“Not now, Fat. Yo’re all set for a peaceful existence. Read the last line of that telegram again.”

“This job keeps us too long on one side of the hill! I thought that was code, Hartley.”

“Our code, Fat.”

“Uh-huh. Well, yuh won’t leave before tomorrow, will yuh?”

“Can’t. Got to collect money, get a deed from Hart and talk to a preacher. By the way, if yuh see Soapy Weed tell him he’ll find us at the restaurant eatin’ our first meal of the day. So-long Fat.”

* * * * *

Weary found Soapy and Yvonne at the front gate of the doctor’s place and he said to Soapy:

“I dunno what it’s all about, Soapy, but Hashknife Hartley asked Ace Hart to let yuh have that place on Opal Creek and Ace said yuh could if yuh had a thousand dollars to buy stock with--and a wife. Hashknife said he’d furnish the money and the preacher. Him and Sleepy are at the Chink restaurant right now eatin’ a meal.”

Weary turned on his heel and headed back for the main street while Soapy and Yvonne stood there in the moonlight staring at each other.

“The place on Opal Creek and a thousand dollars,” muttered Soapy foolishly. “Hart said I could have it if I had--Yvonne, don’t you see what it means? Yore father will get well and Joe is cleared of everythin’. Hart gives me the place--Oh, don’tcha see what it means? Yvonne, all I’ve got to do now is to furnish the wife?”

Yvonne reached out and touched Soapy on the sleeve, and they both looked up at the full moon, high up over the Chongo Creek hills.

“There’s a road to the moon tonight, Soapy,” she said softly.

“That’s right, honey! It’ll take us all our life but we’ll travel her--if yuh want to go with me.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the moon,” she replied.

Somewhere a cowboy was singing:

Love me love a lit-tul longer,
Till my wings get a lit-tul stronger.

But they didn’t hear him--and they were _not_ looking at the moon.

The End

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Transcriber’s Note

This story appeared in the January, 1928 issue of McClure’s 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.