Mavericks
“Two shots fired, and Caliente shot both of ’em. All this fuss about
nothin’. Piute, you better take Caliente home.”
“That danged murderer? Me take him home? Misser Evans, you git funnier
every day. You lemme have him and I’ll lynch him.”
“Caliente must have shot himself,” said the bartender.
“Sure,” chuckled Piute. “He’s jist that handy with gun.”
Hashknife shook his head doubtingly.
“There’s no powder burn on him.”
“Well, I heard glass smashin’,” declared the bartender. “He must have
busted somebody’s window.”
“Mus’ been awf’l big winder,” said Piute sleepily, stretching out in a
chair. “Mus’ have been for him to hit it.”
Piute Jones’ head slumped forward, and his snores blended with those of
Caliente.
Hashknife and the sheriff crossed the street, lighted matches and
examined the bank windows. One of Caliente’s bullets had hit a big
window, almost dead center, knocking out about three square inches of
glass and sending cracks radiating in every direction...
“That’ll cost Caliente plenty money,” said the sheriff. “Danged old
fool.”
“Well, if the excitement is all over, I think I’ll get me a bed,”
laughed Hashknife.
He walked up to the hotel, changed his mind and went back to the ranch.
He wanted to see how Bill McGill was getting along.
CHAPTER XII — PINK MAKES A DISCOVERY
It was shortly after daylight the next morning at the SP ranch. The sun
was still below the horizon, but the eastern sky was bathed in a warm
glow. Smoke was drifting lazily from the kitchen stove pipe, as One Hop
prepared breakfast. Perhaps One Hop was cooking a little earlier than
usual, as it would be an hour before the breakfast call would come
clanging from his gong, a segment of an old circular saw suspended on a
wire.
Hashknife was awake. He got softly out of his bunk, looked at his watch
and quietly dressed, without waking any of the others. He wanted a
chance to talk with Bill McGill before the rest of the crew were around.
Mary was in the kitchen, watching One Hop boil eggs and make toast.
The old Chinese, in the secret, grinned at her as he prepared a meal for
the man in the dugout. Mary was just a little impatient—afraid someone
might see her going to the hiding place.
“Clowboy not wake yet,” One Hop assured her. “Steve sleep plenty ha’d.
You no be flaid. I make plenty fo’ all day. Eight eggs plenty, eh?”
“Plenty.” Mary smiled.
She took the food, wrapped it in a towel and tucked it under her arm.
Praying that no one would see her, she started for the stable. If she
reached there safely, the rest would be simple, because the remainder of
her way would be out of line with any window in either the ranch-house
or bunkhouse.
She stepped around the corner of the stable—and ran face to face with
Pink Lowry. It was such a shock that she almost dropped her bundle. In
fact, she did loosen it to such an extent that an egg rolled out and
fell to the ground. Pink glanced at the egg, which did not break,
stooped to pick it up and found it quite warm.
Neither of them had spoken. But Hashknife had seen Pink just a few
moments before Mary reached the corner and had rushed out to try to save
the day. He saw Pink pick up the egg. His laugh broke the spell and they
turned.
“I didn’t mean for you to bring my breakfast out to me, Mary,” he said.
“I just meant that I didn’t want to wake anybody up in the house. But
it’s all right—and thanks.”
He took the bundle from Mary, and the eggs began to fall—one, two,
three, four, five—
“Here’s your other one,” said Pink foolishly, as Hashknife began picking
them up.
Mary leaned against the stable, breathing hard, her eyes on Pink,
wondering if he believed that all those eggs were for Hashknife’s
breakfast. Hashknife had all of them that had dropped in his two hands,
when the other two fell out of the bundle.
“Jist like a magician I seen once,” said Pink seriously. “Mebbe if you
unroll that towel a pigeon will fly out.”
“Yeah,” grunted Hashknife, retrieving the other eggs.
“You shore have an appetite,” said Pink.
“Pretty good, Pink. How comes you out here so early?”
“Oh!” grunted Pink. “I plumb forgot what I came for. Somebody robbed the
bank last night and Evans sent me out—”
“The bank in Willow Wells?”
“Yeah. Mrs. Davis was huntin’ for her husband, ’cause he didn’t come
home. He didn’t seem to be in the bank, and every other place was
closed. It was about three o’clock this mornin’ when she woke us up; she
was kinda scared. She said he went to the bank last night to fix up some
papers—”
“Where and how didja find him?”
“Evans kicked out the rest of that busted winder and we found Davis
under a counter, all tied up and gagged. The safe was open and all the
money gone. Davis couldn’t talk for quite awhile, on account of that gag
crampin’ his jaws. He only seen one man, who met him on the street, made
him open the bank and open the safe. Davis says he heard two shots when
the man went out the front door, and Evans says that’s when Caliente—”
“So that was it, eh? Never mind the breakfast, Mary. Wait’ll I get my
horse and I’ll be with you, Pink.”
Hashknife went into the stable, leaving Pink and Mary together.
“I certainly was surprised to see you,” she said, laughing nervously.
“I guess you was. The tall feller thinks kinda fast, don’t he?”
“Thinks fast? Why, what makes you think he does?”
“That bunch of grub.”
“Oh, you mean his breakfast?”
“I’d like to see him eat it all.”
“Oh, he really does have a good appetite.”
“Eight hard boiled eggs! Mary, were you takin’ food to—Bill McGill?”
Mary’s face paled a little, and Pink knew he was right. He took a deep
breath, walked almost to the stable door, then came back.
“It’s all right,” he said softly. “What I don’t _know_ won’t hurt me,
Mary.”
She blinked quickly and looked away.
“That’s nice of you, Pink.”
“It doesn’t matter, you know. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“I won’t forget it.”
Hashknife was leading his saddled gray from the stable, and Pink walked
to the far side of the building, where he had left his horse. Hashknife
grinned at Mary, but received no answering smile.
“He knows!” she whispered. “He guessed it, Hashknife.”
Hashknife’s jaw set tightly for a moment and his eyes narrowed.
“But he says he won’t tell,” she whispered.
“Good. Get the grub to him as quick as you can.”
Pink rode up to them and Hashknife mounted. Pink did not look at Mary as
they rode away, but Hashknife turned and waved at her.
“She’s wavin’ at us,” said Hashknife.
“She ain’t wavin’ at me,” replied Pink doggedly.
“Any special kind of a wave you’d recognize with the back of your head?”
“Oh, go to hell!”
Hashknife chuckled, reached across and slapped Pink on the shoulder. But
the deputy was in a black mood; he jerked away angrily.
“Aw, cheer up.” Hashknife grinned. “A man must eat.”
“Yea-a-ah!” Pink turned and scowled at Hashknife. “You—you or somebody
else around this ranch popped me over the head and brought that damn’
fool tenderfoot out here, eh? That’s fine! And I’m sucker enough to tell
her that I’d keep my mouth shut.”
“Do you think a lot of her, Pink?”
“Aw, what’s the use talkin’ about it? I know when I’m sunk.”
“If I told you that Bill McGill don’t mean anythin’ to her?”
“Go ahead and lie about it. I told her I’d keep my mouth shut, and I’ll
do it. That lets me out. Let’s drop the matter.”
“Oh, all right.”
* * * * *
They found the sheriff at the bank with Davis, whose lips were still
sore from the rough gag. It was still too early for the town to have
learned the news.
“How much did he get?” asked Hashknife.
“Approximately twelve thousand dollars.”
“Pretty good haul, eh? What did he look like?”
“Medium height, masked, and talked hoarsely, as if suffering from a bad
cold. I had left the bank and was starting home when this man met me. He
shoved a gun in my face. He merely said, ‘Davis, walk back ahead of me
and open the bank. If you make a crooked move I’ll kill you.’
“What could I do? There was nobody on the street, but I could hear
voices over at the War Paint. We went back and I unlocked the door. He
made me stand near the entrance, while he tied my hands behind my back
with a long rope. Then he closed the door, which locks with a spring,
and made me go ahead of him to the safe. Then he tied my feet and made
me lie down. He had not spoken since he met me, except to warn me.
“He asked me for the combination of the safe. I refused to give it to
him and he said, ‘Oh, all right. I’ve got a few sticks of dynamite all
set to touch off, and if you don’t give me that combination, I’ll blow
you and this damn’ bank out through the window.’
“He showed me the dynamite, but I couldn’t be sure, because it was too
dark in the bank. He was busy at something for a few moments and I asked
him what he was doing. He replied that he was fixing the dynamite.
“Well, I gave him the combination, and he worked it by the light of
matches, after he had gagged me and tied me up tightly. He rolled me
under the counter before he opened the safe, and I didn’t see him again.
But I heard him leave the safe and stand at the front door.
“That was when a great commotion started out there. I heard the door
slam shut, just after the first shot was fired, and then I heard the
window break. I thought someone had discovered him, but when no one came
here, I didn’t know what to think.”
“There was two sticks of dynamite on the floor,” said the sheriff.
“I guess he meant business,” sighed Davis.
“Men who bust banks usually do,” remarked Hashknife as he looked around
the floor.
“I’ve looked everythin’ over carefully,” said Evans. “All I found was
the two sticks of dynamite.”
Hashknife looked them over. They were of the usual percentage of
nitroglycerin used in mining.
“Said he’d blow the bank out through the window, eh?” Hashknife smiled.
“Had a sense of humor, evidently. Where’d he get the gag?”
“It was an old dust cloth,” said Davis, working his jaws painfully. “And
it wasn’t very clean.”
They left Davis alone in the bank and went down to the office.
“I thought you might have an idea,” said the sheriff. “That’s why I sent
Pink out for you right away. It was the bank robber who shot old
Caliente. Prob’ly thought they were after him.”
“That’s the answer. Did Caliente and Piute go home last night?”
“I don’t think so. Their horses were still at the rack this mornin’, and
I put ’em in the stable. Them two old badgers prob’ly went to the hotel
after we left.”
As far as Hashknife could see there was nothing to be done. The man had
left no clue.
“There’s a lot of blind cañons around here,” said Hashknife.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you run up against blank walls all the time. Two men dead and a
bank robbed, and I’ll defy you to pick up a trail on any of ’em.”
“Jim McGowan was killed in self-defense.”
“That’s what they say.”
“Don’t you believe it, Hartley? You don’t think Pink shot him outright,
do you?”
“McGowan’s gun had an empty shell, didn’t it?”
“Shore did.”
“Uh-huh. Well, somebody’s twelve thousand to the good this mornin’. Will
that cripple the bank?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so; but it’ll shore make a dent. That’s a lot of
money. Didja know there’s a thousand dollars reward for Bill McGill?”
“I heard there was.”
“Some folks seem to think that the SP outfit know where he is.”
Hashknife smiled slowly.
“I dunno, Evans; I never asked the outfit.”
“A thousand dollars is a nice piece of money.”
“Shore. And Bill McGill’s a nice boy—wherever he is.”
The sheriff shrugged his shoulders. He could not understand Hashknife.
Steve had told Evans that Hashknife was working on the case, but Evans