Mavericks
Hart’s death. So many things happening, you know.”
Hashknife nodded slowly, wondering if it was the bank robbery that
affected him. Mary said there was no one at the ranch except her father
and the Chinese cook; so Hashknife decided to have a talk with Bill
McGill. Mary said her father was asleep in the front room and she would
go back to talk with him in case he awakened.
Bill was overjoyed to see Hashknife and asked for the latest news. He
seemed amused over the fact that they were offering a reward for him. It
never seemed to strike Bill that he was in a dangerous position. The
bank robbery meant nothing to him. During their talk Bill showed
Hashknife the two letters he was carrying. These interested Hashknife,
and he studied over them quite awhile.
“If I could only find someone who remembers that Willow Valley Copper
Company,” said Bill. “But I don’t suppose there is any hope.”
“I reckon not. I’ve talked with old-timers. It wasn’t much of a company,
I guess. Anyway, twenty years is a long time.”
Hashknife was groping in the dark for something to work on. In all his
life he had never worked on a case that offered so little in the way of
leads.
“Mary told me how she nearly got caught this morning,” said Bill.
“She did get caught. Pink Lowry knows you’re here on this ranch.”
“Does he? Does Mary know this?”
“Shore.”
“Well,” Bill said wearily, “I suppose I’ll be back in jail again.”
“You stick right here, Bill. If Pink gives you away, he breaks his word
with Mary. And I don’t think he’d do that.”
“He likes Mary, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t reckon there’s any use denyin’ that.”
“I don’t blame him. I do too, Hashknife.”
“I don’t think anybody would blame either of you. See you later.”
Hashknife took care of his gray horse before going back to the house.
One Hop was sitting on the back porch, smoking a long pipe. He grinned,
and Hashknife sat down with him and rolled a cigarette.
“You been here a long time?” asked Hashknife.
“Yessa, long time. Long time ago I come Alizona. I be heah on SP fo’
seven-eight yea’ next July. I long time cook.”
“Go back to China some day, eh?”
“Get old man, mebbe I go. Alizona plitty good.”
They smoked quietly for several minutes. Inside the house they could
hear Mary and her father talking.
“You remember the night Jim McGowan got shot out there, One Hop?” asked
Hashknife.
“Yessa.” One Hop bobbed his head quickly.
“You were lookin’ down that way when the shots were fired?”
“Mm-m-m,” One Hop murmured thoughtfully. “I no see.”
“It was very dark, but you saw the flashes of the guns.”
“Mm-m-m. How you know? You not hea’.”
“I know a few things, One Hop. You saw three flashes.”
The old Chinese let the smoke drift from his wide nostrils in a thin
stream, his eyes half closed. Finally he shook his head.
“I hea’ two shot.”
“You saw three flashes.”
Slowly the Chinese knocked the ashes from his pipe and got to his feet.
“I bake bleed today,” he said. “Must go watch.”
He shuffled into the house. Hashknife smiled over his cigarette. It had
been pure guesswork on his part, but he was satisfied that he was right.
The Chinese had admitted nothing, denied nothing.
That night he and Sleepy talked over things, and Sleepy was inclined to
be a little disgusted over the tame ending of their _oreano_ affair.
“We turned that cow and calf loose,” he said. “Thursday wanted to vent
the Diamond R and run on the SP, but I said I wouldn’t have anythin’ to
do with it. If Steve Pelliser don’t want the calf, I’m danged sure I’m
not goin’ to force it on him.”
Hashknife smiled, but agreed with Sleepy.
“Sid and Thursday are both wonderin’ how it is that the boss will let
you spend your time off the job,” said Sleepy. “I told ’em you was
helpin’ the sheriff. That’s the only thing I could tell ’em.”
“It’s all right. But danged little help he’s gettin’ from me. Sleepy,
this is a tough layout. I’m beginnin’ to cuss Bill McGill for leadin’ us
into this place.”
“I wonder where poor old Bill is.”
“Poor Bill’s all right. He’s in that old dugout behind the stable,
livin’ on the fat of the land and hardboiled eggs.”
“Well, holy henhawks! How’d he get there?”
Hashknife explained all about it. Sleepy was greatly amused when he
heard how Mary had run into Pink with the armload of food.
“Pink’s no fool,” grinned Hashknife. “He knew. But he’s stuck on Mary
and promised not to tell. He figures that Bill has got the edge on him,
and it shore has taken all the sunshine out of Pink’s future. He almost
bit me this mornin’.”
“What do you think about that robbery?”
“I can’t even think, pardner. They’ve got me runnin’ around in
circles—like a pup tryin’ to lay down. They’re offerin’ a thousand
dollars for Bill, you know.”
“Yeah, I know—and lettin’ calf rustlers go free. Hell of a country.”
CHAPTER XIII — THE BRAND VENTERS
The following morning Steve and Hashknife rode to town, and Sid Brayton
went along in the buckboard to bring some needed groceries. Steve told
Sleepy and Thursday to ride to Spotted Horse Springs and see if the
water supply was in good shape. The spring needed digging out every
season, so they took a shovel and a pick along.
Mary asked to go along. She had not been riding for several weeks. The
boys saddled her sorrel, and the three of them rode away together. They
took a lunch along to eat at the springs, and Sleepy chuckled when he
saw the boiled eggs. Mary did not know that Hashknife had told him about
the other boiled eggs, and wondered why he was so amused.
It was about three miles to the springs, and the two boys spent an hour
getting the hole into good shape again. Sleepy went out into some weeds
to wipe his muddy boots, and got struck in the ankle by a sleepy-eyed
rattler, which failed to sound any warning. But the stout boot resisted
the fangs, and Sleepy kicked the reptile out on some open ground, where
he proceeded to kill it with a shovel.
“It’s shore funny it didn’t rattle,” said Thursday.
“Nothin’ funny about it,” drawled Sleepy. “I was standin’ on his alarm
clock.”
They wanted to skin it and present Mary with the trophy, but she did not
want it.
“They don’t always rattle,” said Sleepy. “They’re a lot like folks—shoot
first and buzz afterwards. Lucky thing I had on boots—I might have had a
sore ankle and the snake would probably have died.”
Mary did not seem as happy as usual, and Thursday asked her if she felt
well.
“Oh, I feel all right—I was thinking about Dad. He walked the floor most
of the night. I can’t imagine what’s the matter with him, unless it’s
the robbery of the bank and the murder of Mr. Hart. He didn’t eat any
supper or breakfast.”
“He’s all right—jist upset,” assured Thursday. “Mebbe that calf—”
“What calf?” asked Mary quickly.
“Oh, I was jist thinkin’ out loud. Queer what things will come into your
mind. Well, I reckon we might as well start back. Let’s go around and
take a look at that little waterhole at the old nester’s place. It don’t
run much water, but it helps a lot to clean it out once in awhile.”
They mounted their horses and rode eastward from the Spotted Horse
Spring. They were much higher than the ranch buildings of the SP, and
they could see, far down the hazy valley, yellow and blue hills. Wild
bees buzzed among the sage flowers, and humming birds, like streaks of
gold, darted from flower to flower.
One of them—gold, with a scarlet throat—investigated Mary at close
range, became suddenly frightened and buzzed past Sleepy’s ear like a
bullet. He ducked quickly and his hand snapped back to his holster.
“Danged things scare me,” he admitted, laughing.
“Beautiful things.” Mary smiled.
“If they ever hit you, you’ll think so.” Thursday grinned. “One hit me.
I was pickin’ some wild strawberries one day, kinda behind some bushes,
and I lifted up right in front of a hummin’ bird. _Zowie!_ He hit me
right between the eyes and I went flat. Woke up with both eyes swelled
shut.”
“Kill the bird?” asked Sleepy.
“I dunno. He wasn’t big enough to stumble over, and I couldn’t see.”
Thursday led the way across a mesa, and down through an old wash-out,
where a cloudburst of some remote age had torn a deep swale. They swung
back to the left along a narrow mesa and then went down the hill above
what was known as the old nester place. Breaking through a screen of
mesquite, they came out on an open slope, possibly a hundred and fifty
yards above the old pole corral.
“What the hell!” snapped Thursday, jerking back his horse.
There were cattle in the corral. A man was running along the fence,
crouched low. He picked up a rifle at the corner, turned and ran down
the other side of the fence.
One man was in the corral, scurrying back among the cattle. There came
the thud of a bullet and Mary’s horse went down in a heap, throwing her
down the slope on her hands and knees, while from down at the corral
came the rattling report of a rifle. Sleepy was down, running to Mary,
who was dazed. He picked her up in his arms and went stumbling after his
horse, which had gone back through the mesquite.
Another bullet screamed off the dirt near him, and some gravel hit him
in the ear. Thursday had spurred his horse around, buck-jumping the
animal toward the heavy cover, while more bullets crashed through the
mesquite. Sleepy reached the brush, staggered ahead a dozen feet and
dropped flat.
Mary was unhurt, except for a skinned knee, but she was frightened.
Thursday came running to them and dropped down on his hands and knees.
“Are you hurt, Mary?” he asked anxiously.
“Skinned one knee,” she replied, panting a little. “I’m all right.”
“Catch my horse,” said Sleepy. “We’ve got to duck out of here. We ain’t
got a chance against rifles, and they may try to head us off. Mary can
ride my bronc, and we’ll double up.”
“Is my horse dead?” asked Mary.
“Neck broke square off. Hurry up, Thursday.”
Sleepy’s horse only went a short way, and in a few minutes they were
mounted and riding toward the ranch at top speed. There was no chance
for conversation. Thursday took the shortest way back to the house, but
his horse was floundering badly from the double weight before they
arrived.
“Didja recognize any of ’em?” asked Sleepy, as they dismounted.
“Not one,” replied Thursday.
Mary said she had not, either. Her knee was stiff and she limped badly.
“Well, they think we did,” decided Sleepy. “Saddle another horse and get
us a couple of rifles.”
“The rifles are all in the house,” said Mary, and went with Sleepy to
get them.
Sleepy selected a pair of .30-30 Winchesters, and was outside with them
when Sid Brayton drove in with the buckboard and load of groceries.
* * * * *
Sleepy told him what had happened, and Sid unhitched quickly, calling to
One Hop to unload the buckboard. Sleepy
got another rifle and met them at the stable. It was not over ten
minutes from the time they arrived until the three men were riding away
from the ranch.
They swung out about a quarter of a mile apart, with Sleepy keeping to
the route they had followed back. They rode swiftly, keeping an eye on
the tops of the ridges. They saw no one. Sleepy came out on the open
ridge where Mary’s horse had been killed, but found the corral empty and
the branding fire extinguished.
He waited there until he saw Brayton riding in from the north side, and
went down to meet him. In a few minutes Thursday came riding in from the
south, carrying his rifle in the crook of his left arm. They dismounted
and looked around the burned-out fire. There were plenty of boot tracks
and cigarette butts. There was also an old can half full of axle grease.
Near the fire was an old log, on which several hot irons had been
tested.