Mavericks
across the old road to Cinnabar?”
“I can swear to the vented brands, that’s all. The old road is cut up by
tracks, all headin’ west.”
“Have you told any one else about this?”
“Not a soul.”
“Don’t. I’ll handle it in my own way. Better come up and eat breakfast.”
* * * * *
Sleepy was curious to know what had happened to Hashknife, and after
breakfast the tall puncher told him all about it.
“You tell Mary that Bill is in the dug-out again,” said Hashknife. “I’m
afraid to because I’ve got a hunch that Steve suspects it. He’s watchin’
me pretty close.”
“But what about them stolen cows? Don’t we salivate the Diamond R?”
Hashknife told him what Steve had ordered.
“Well, I’ll keep it under my hat, of course,” agreed Sleepy. “But jist
the same, I don’t _sabe_ the deal, especially that them Diamond R cow
thieves know you were at Cinnabar. They’ll try to get you, pardner.”
“Yeah, that’s a bad feature. Still, there’s nothin’ to be done. We don’t
know whether them were SP cows or HN cows. They both brand on the left
shoulder, you know.”
“Don’tcha think Hoddy Noon ought to know about it?”
“Let Steve tell him.”
“Oh, all right. I’m sick of this stuff, anyway.”
“I’m gettin’ kinda sick myself, Sleepy.”
For the next couple of days Hashknife waited to see what Steve was going
to do, and as far as he was able to determine, Pelliser did nothing.
Steve had not been to town, nor had he sent any word to Hoddy Noon about
the vented cattle. Hashknife was disgusted over the affair. He broke his
word with Steve and went out to the HN ranch, where he told Uncle Hoddy
the whole story.
“And Steve won’t do anythin’?” queried Hoddy indignantly. “That’s a fine
way to do. By golly, I’ll do somethin’. I’ll keep cases on that Diamond
R outfit and if I find an animal with a vented left shoulder brand, I’ll
shore inoculate some of them jaspers against dyin’ of old age.”
“I broke my word with Steve to let you know, Noon.”
“That ain’t breakin’ no word, Hartley. What’s wrong with Steve? Don’t
never come over here any more, nor nothin’. I meet him in town, and he
ain’t like he used to be. He ain’t drinkin’, is he? No? Mebbe he ain’t
drinkin’ enough. Well, I won’t tell him what you said, but I’m much
obliged.”
Hashknife felt that he had done his duty, and he did not think Hoddy
would tell Steve; but he did not consider the fact that Hoddy might get
drunk—which Hoddy did. He came to town that afternoon with Caliente and
Piute. They rode in from the range, so that Aunt Ida would not suspect
them of being in town, and inside of an hour they were as drunk as the
proverbial boiled owls.
Hashknife was with Pink at the office and did not even know they were in
town until Dud Evans wandered in and said that Hoddy and Steve were
having a great argument over something.
“Uncle Hoddy’s shore drunk and vociferous,” laughed Evans.
Hashknife had a feeling that all was not well, and a little later he met
Steve in front of a general merchandise store. Steve was angry and he
showed it in every line of his face.
“You’re fired,” he told Hashknife coldly. “Get your stuff and your
pardner off the ranch. Here’s what I owe the both of you. You went out
and told Hoddy Noon, didn’t you? That’s fine. You promised to keep your
mouth shut, which you didn’t. And I want you to understand that I know
all about that Bill McGill deal. You kept him hidden in a dugout on my
place. If the truth were known, you took that sorrel horse, sneaked Bill
out of the country and then came back. Now, I’m all through with you.”
“It’s a wonder to me that you didn’t turn detective.” Hashknife grinned.
“You shore figure things out. But gettin’ fired is all right. I don’t
want to work for a man who don’t care who steals his cows.”
“That part of it is _my_ business, Hartley.”
“Well, every man to his own trade.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean just what I said. Any man who will let another man steal from
him and not make any effort to stop it, is as bad as the thief. And when
you keep the information from Noon, who might own part of those
misbranded steers, you shore _are_ as bad as the thief! Think that over,
Pelliser!”
Hashknife turned on his heel and went across the street to the hitch-rack,
where he mounted his horse and started back to the ranch. He was a
little over a mile from town, riding loosely in his saddle, thinking
deeply, when a sudden shock seemed to strike his tall gray horse. The
animal went down in a jerking heap, while from somewhere came the
rattling echo of a rifle shot.
Hashknife barely escaped being pinned by the falling horse, which was
only down for a moment. It struggled back to its feet and Hashknife saw
the red mark on its neck where the bullet had creased just above the
neck bone. Hashknife was a little dazed by the fall, lying on his side,
gun in hand. Someone was coming through the brush. Hashknife tried to
swing the gun around, but his arm seemed paralyzed. He had struck his
elbow in the fall, and his whole arm seemed asleep. Quickly he rolled
over on his face, both hands beneath his chest.
He heard footsteps in the dusty road; then he was gripped roughly as his
would-be assassins tried to turn him over. Hashknife came to life
suddenly.
He grasped the man’s feet in both hands and fairly yanked him off the
ground. It was done so quickly that the gunman did not have a chance to
save himself. In a flurry of dust both men were on their feet, locked
together. Hashknife towered above his antagonist as they grappled for
holds. Things were happening in split seconds of time.
Suddenly the man went limp in Hashknife’s arms, and another shot echoed
through the hills. Hashknife dropped to his knees and eased his attacker
to the ground. They were well below the tops of the brush. Hashknife
picked up his gun, took one look at the man’s face and darted into the
cover.
It was Jack Erb, the broken nosed cowboy from High Grade and Cinnabar.
Hashknife worked his way farther into the brush, waiting for Erb’s
companion to appear. Hashknife grinned grimly to himself, realizing that
Erb had been hit by a bullet intended for himself.
“Find the man who thinks he’s a crack shot,” said Hashknife to himself,
“and that will prob’ly be this feller’s pardner.”
Hashknife spent a long time trying to get a line on the shooter, but
could not locate him. He found Ghost down in a brushy swale, got on him
and headed for the ranch, taking a long detour. The gray horse was not
seriously injured. The bullet had seared across his neck, shocking him
badly for a few moments, but drawing little blood.
“That jigger shoots low,” observed Hashknife. “Shot low on me when I was
on the horse, and shot low when me and Broken Nose was wrestlin’. He
better get his sights raised.”
CHAPTER XVII — HASHKNIFE AND SCOTTY CLASH
Pink Lowry had heard about Hashknife’s bringing back the stolen horse,
and Pink was afraid Bill McGill had returned; so he elected to ride out
to the ranch with Steve and find out what was what.
And it was they who found Ed Reese, with the two horses, trying to load
Jack Erb on one of them. Erb was not dead, but he was so near it that Ed
thought he had passed out. Reese was a good liar, and convincing.
“Me and Jack jist come over from Cinnabar,” he said, whining a little.
“We just hit the road out there a little ways, when _ker-blooie!_
Somebody shot Jack off his horse. I ducked in the brush and waited a
long time for the dirty bush-whacker to show up, but he didn’t come. I
knowed Jack needed a doctor, so I started to town.”
Steve and Pink examined Jack, who was unconscious. He had been hit in
the right shoulder and the bullet had broken him up quite a bit.
“Looks like he’s been hit by a .30-30,” said Steve.
“Sounded like one,” admitted Ed. “Poor Jack, he never done nothin’ to
anybody, either.”
“Take that out and bury it,” said Pink. “He’s as crooked as a snake in a
cactus patch, and you know it, Reese.”
“Aw, he’s all right, Lowry. Give a dog a bad name, you know.”
“He earned his. But that don’t matter—he needs a doctor. Can you take
him in alone?”
“If you’ll help me tie him on. It ain’t far.”
“Better go to town and get a buggy,” said Steve.
“Takes too long. Jist help me lace him on and I’ll take him in.”
They helped him pack the wounded man, and Reese was profuse in his
thanks. But as soon as they left him, he grew bitter in his remarks to
his unconscious partner.
“You ain’t only crooked, but you’re a danged fool, Ed. Runnin’ in
thataway! Why didn’t you stay back? Didn’t you see the horse fall? And
why didn’t you shoot him again? I’m disgusted with you. He knows who you
are, and he’ll be on my trail. I’ll turn you over to a doctor and then
I’ll fade out. If you die, it’ll be a mystery who bushwhacked you—and if
you live, that crane legged jasper will prob’ly shoot your topknot off
for tryin’ to bush him. It don’t take no fortune teller to guess that
you’ve got misery ahead of you!”
Sleepy was not at the ranch, but Hashknife told Mary about being fired,
and he told her the reason. She admitted that her father knew about Bill
McGill.
“I’m frightened to death that he’ll investigate the dugout,” she said.
“I don’t know of any other place to hide him.”
Hashknife smiled at her.
“Mary, he won’t look there. He’d never suspect that we’d be fools enough
to bring him back and hide him there. He’s sure I took Bill and that
horse in order to get Bill out of the country.”
“Didn’t you?”
“I did not, Mary—and Bill don’t know who did. Somebody hit him over the
head and took him away.”
“I’ll bet that was the cry we heard. Oh, I must remind Pink of that. We
were on the porch that night, and it startled both of us.”
“I was in Santa Dolores that night, and can prove it,” said Hashknife.
“What will you do now?”
“I don’t know. As soon as Sleepy comes in, we’ll get out together. I’m
sorry it broke the way it did, but I felt duty bound to tell Noon.”
“I’m glad you did, and I’m going to tell Dad.”
“I wouldn’t. No use stirrin’ things up.”
“But what in the world will I do with Bill McGill?”
Hashknife grinned softly.
“I reckon we’ve got a white elephant on our hands, lady. I’ll have to do
a little thinkin’.”
Hashknife was down at the stable when Steve and Pink rode in. Steve
stabled his horse, while Pink told Hashknife about meeting Reese and his
wounded partner.
“Oh, them two punchers from over Cinnabar way. Well, well! Bushwhacked,
you say?”
“That’s what Reese says. No warnin’ at all.”
They talked about it for several minutes before Steve came out. His
expression was rather serious as he said to Hashknife—
“What happened to your gray horse, Hartley?”
“Happened? Nothin’ that I know of, Steve.”
“He’s been creased with a bullet, it seems.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. I reckon he rolled over a snag or somethin’.”
“Probably,” Steve said dryly, and Pink followed him to the house.
It was suppertime when Sleepy came back to the ranch. He was glad he had
been fired and he told Steve so.
“Stay until after supper,” begged Mary. “I want a chance to talk with
you about Bill McGill.”
They agreed, and while they were eating supper Buck Haskell, of the
Diamond R, rode in and asked to see Steve Pelliser. Hashknife would have
given a lot to hear what passed between them, because Steve went
straight to the stable, saddled his horse and rode away toward town with
Haskell without finishing his supper.
None of the boys at the supper table said anything about it, but they
thought deeply. Mary came out to the table and sat down with them, but
did not eat.
She was worried about her father, and after supper she called Hashknife
out to the front porch.