Mavericks
“Buck Haskell brought Dad a note,” she whispered, “and I’ve got the
note!”
“How did you get it?”
“The right hand pocket of Dad’s coat hadn’t any bottom. He burned it out
with some matches. I was to mend it today, but I forgot. He put the note
in that pocket and it fell out. Do you want to read it?”
“Have you read it, Mary?”
“Not yet.”
“Uh-huh. I think you ought to. And if you want to tell me what’s in it,
why, all right.”
Mary frowned over the note for a moment, then laughed with relief as she
handed it to Hashknife.
“I guess it isn’t so bad,” she said. Hashknife read it.
Steve:
Noon had me arrested and jailed. You come down here and prove
you sold me a hundred head of stock and that I had a right to
vent brand them.
—S. McGOWAN
Hashknife laughed, but there was no humor in his gray eyes as he handed
the note back to Mary. He knew, or was fairly positive, that Steve had
not sold any cattle to Scotty McGowan lately. But Mary accepted the
explanation.
Pink came out to them, and their chance to talk about Bill McGill was
lost because Mary did not want to tell Pink that Bill was back.
Hashknife and Sleepy saddled their horses, while Thursday and Sid
complained bitterly over their discharge.
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” declared Thursday. “If things don’t
change pretty danged soon, I’m goin’ to quit my job. I’ll betcha that
Diamond R outfit are stealin’ us blind. Whatcha s’pose Haskell wanted
Steve for? I don’t _sabe_ Steve no more. Used to be a fighter, but his
guts has all turned to fiddle strings. You boys ain’t leavin’ the
country, are you?”
“Not for a day or two,” said Hashknife. “We’ll come back and tell you
goodby.”
“That’s fine.”
* * * * *
They rode up to the house and shook hands with Mary and Pink. Hashknife
promised Mary that they would come out again before leaving the Valley.
“I’ll see you in town,” said Pink as they rode away.
On the way to town Hashknife told Sleepy about being bushwhacked, and
the perhaps fatal results to the broken nosed cowboy from High Grade.
“They both laid for me, and the skinny one slammed a .30-30 into his
pardner. I shore heard it hit—and if that guy ain’t dead, he’s as tough
as he looks. Them two jiggers came over here to put me out of the game
’cause they know I fooled ’em at Cinnabar. But I’ll bet you ten to one
that the skinny one won’t be in Willow Wells when we get there. If he
is, I’ll shore bend him all out of shape.”
They stabled their horses and went over to the sheriff’s office, which
was empty, and sat down to enjoy a smoke. It was possibly thirty minutes
later when the sheriff came in. He sat down at his desk, leaned back
against the wall and looked at the two cowboys.
“Well,” he said disgustedly, “what’s new this time?”
“I dunno,” grinned Hashknife. “What’s on your mind, Dud?”
“You heard about Jack Erb stoppin’ a bullet, didn’t you?”
Hashknife nodded and blew smoke rings at the ceiling.
“And then Ed Lane and Caliente Smith dragged Scotty McGowan in here and
charged him with misbrandin’ HN cows. I made ’em get a warrant, and then
I put Scotty in jail. Scotty sends a note to Steve Pelliser, and Steve
comes down here to swear that Scotty bought a hundred head of SP cattle
and had a right to vent the brand. Ed and Caliente can’t prove that it
was a HN instead of a SP, so the judge squirshed the warrant and turned
Scotty loose.”
“Was Scotty mad?” asked Hashknife, trying to poke a finger through one
of his smoke rings.
“Mad? I’ll tell you he was mad. So was Ed and Caliente.”
“How’s Jack Erb?”
“One chance in a thousand, the doctor says.”
“And where’s Ed Reese?”
“I think he pulled his freight.”
“I knew he would. Come over to the stable and look at my horse.”
They went over, and Hashknife showed Evans the crease on the neck of the
animal. And when they went back to the office the tall cowboy told Evans
what had happened to Jack Erb and why Ed Reese left Willow Wells.
“Well, the dirty murderers!” blurted the sheriff. “Why pick on you?”
Hashknife explained about the cattle at Cinnabar, but did not mention
Bill McGill. The sheriff thought it over for awhile.
“But Steve says he sold the Diamond R a hundred head. If that’s true,
they were merely movin’ ’em out of the country.”
“Shore. And them two crooked jaspers shot at me because they had a right
to receive them honestly owned cows, eh? Think again, Evans. I heard one
man say he’d be scared to ever come back here again.”
“But you don’t think Steve Pelliser would lie about sellin’ them cows.”
Hashknife dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it out with his
heel.
“I’m not claimin’ that anybody is a liar,” he said slowly. “If Steve is
willin’ to swear he sold ’em, that’s his business.”
“We’ll have to take his word for it, Hartley.”
“Shore. Dud, I’d like to send a telegram to Newton in the mornin’ and
sign your name to it. The stage driver can send it from Newton for me.”
“I dunno about signin’ my name. Write it out and let me see it.”
Hashknife took a blank sheet of paper and wrote a telegram to the warden
of the penitentiary.
SEEKING INFORMATION ON MAN NAMED NEILAN NOLAN NELSON OR NEAL
WHO WAS CONVICTED OF ROBBERY AT SANTA DOLORES TWENTY YEARS
AGO HAVE YOU ANY RECORD
The sheriff studied the telegram for awhile.
“What’s the idea?”
“A lot depends on the answer, Dud. Will you sign it?”
“I guess so. Who was this man, anyway?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
“Gimme that pencil. That’s shore goin’ back a long ways. Are you sure he
was sent to the penitentiary?”
“Haven’t any idea, and I can’t find out. If he was, they’d know it.”
“Will you tell me what the thing is all about when you get your answer?”
“Yeah, if it’s worth tellin’.”
“Good enough. I’ll ship this out on the mornin’ stage. Steve tells me he
fired you boys today, but he didn’t say what for.”
Hashknife laughed softly.
“We ate too much, I reckon.”
“That’s as good a reason as any other. Well, I think I’ll go down and
see how Erb is gettin’ along. I should have throwed Ed Reese in jail
when I had a chance, the danged murderer.”
After Ed Reese delivered the wounded Erb to the doctor at Willow Wells,
he headed straight for the Diamond R. Reese was frightened. He had
fallen down on the job.
Scotty was not at the ranch for the simple reason that about that time
he was being held in Willow Wells, while Buck Haskell carried the note
to Steve Pelliser. Sam Hall, Barney East and Nick Lee were there, and
Scarface Smith rode in shortly after Reese arrived.
“Yeah, I raised hell,” said Reese disgustedly. “Me and Jack laid for
that long legged Hartley—him in one place and me in another so one of us
would shore get a crack at him. I reckon my first bullet creased his
bronc, and Jack, like a crazy fool, thought I’d dropped my man and went
in to see. From where I am I can’t see what happened, but I reckon the
tall feller foxed Jack. Anyway they came up together, and I shot too
low.”
“Didja kill Jack?” asked Sam.
“Well, he got a .30-30 through his body, and if that ain’t enough to
kill a man he’s shore tough. I packed him to town, swore we’d been
bushwhacked and then headed for here.”
“Did they believe you, Ed?”
“Damned if I know. But I know I’m headin’ out of here as fast as a bronc
can carry me. That lanky gent is plumb bad luck, and the sooner I get
rid of him the better I’ll be satisfied.”
“Where are you goin’?” asked Smith curiously.
“I’m headin’ for Cinnabar.”
“Hell, they ain’t got nothin’ on you,” said Hall. “Hartley didn’t see
you, did he?”
“Mebbe not.”
“Wait here until Scotty gets back. It’s a cinch that Hartley won’t come
out here. At least, he better not.”
“I think I’ll go to town and see what I can hear,” said East. “Want to
ride in, Smith?”
“Yeah, I’ll go with you, Barney.”
* * * * *
It was dark when they reached town, and they found Scotty in the War
Paint with Buck Haskell. Both men were half drunk, and Scotty was in a
bragging mood. It was not often that Scotty got drunk—drunk enough to be
mean—but he was in that condition now. He told Smith and East of his
arrest, punctuating his remarks with hot oaths against the HN outfit.
Then he invited every one in the place to drink with him.
They were drinking when Hashknife and Sleepy came in with the sheriff.
Scotty wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and considered the
three men belligerently, but they paid no attention to him.
“Hello, you weepin’ willers,” he grunted. “I’m runnin’ this place
tonight, and don’t-cha forget it.”
“Cool off, Scotty,” advised the sheriff.
“Who’ll cool me off if I don’t, Evans?”
The sheriff shrugged his shoulders and followed Hashknife and Sleepy
back to the pool table, where Sleepy began racking up the balls for a
game. Scotty felt hurt at being ignored. He tilted his hat over one eye
and came back to the table. Hashknife was chalking his cue, watching
Scotty from the corner of his eye.
Scotty halted almost against the table, a sneering grin on his face.
Suddenly he reached out, snatched up a ball with his right hand and drew
back as if to crash it down among the other balls. But at the same
moment Hashknife’s cue, rapier-like, flicked over Scotty’s left
shoulder, the point catching under his right elbow, and the ball shot
straight into the air. Hashknife, with a savage wrench, whirled Scotty
around and dropped him flat on his back, his right shoulder almost
dislocated.
The crash stunned Scotty for several moments, before he got to his feet,
his face twisted with pain.
“Any time you want to get in a game of this kind, get yourself a cue,”
said Hashknife coldly.
The rest of the Diamond R men made no move to assist Scotty; they looked
on soberly while their boss rubbed his shoulder. Once Scotty’s right
hand moved back toward his gun, but the pain in his arm was too much for
his nerve.
Sleepy picked up the ball and proceeded to rack the lot again, while
Scotty moved away to the end of the bar.
“I’ve seen a lot of things,” said East slowly, “but I never seen
anythin’ like that before. Jist poled him right off his feet.”
“Shut up!” snarled Scotty. “This ain’t finished; not by a damn’ sight!”
Hashknife laid down his cue and walked over to Scotty, who looked at him
rather anxiously.
“Shoulder hurt you?” asked Hashknife.
“What’s that to you?”
“Just want to know. I’ve never killed a cripple yet, and I don’t want to
start on you. You ain’t drunk now. The liquor has all run out of you; so
I wouldn’t be throwin’ lead through a drunken man. Now, you’re either
able to finish your war talk, or go back home and wait until you are.”
“You can’t run me out.” Scotty shoved out his jaw angrily. “You damn’
imitation of a cow detective!”
Hashknife laughed shortly.
“I wondered what you thought of me. So it was you who hired Ed Reese and
Jack Erb to bushwhack me, eh?”
Scotty’s face went black.
“That’s a lie!”
“It’s the truth, but I can’t prove it.”
“You bet you can’t. And I’ll make you swaller them words.”
“Go ahead.”
“Boys, that’s enough,” said the sheriff. “Let’s drop it. You’re both hot
under the collar. Scotty, you better go home.”
“You can’t run me out of town, Evans.”
“All right. You get your bronc and pull out right now, or I’ll stick you
in jail over night for disturbin’ the peace.”
Scotty sneered at Evans. No one had ever been jailed in that town for
disturbing the peace.
“I’m not foolin’,” warned Evans. “Take your choice.”
“All right, I’ll go home. But you ain’t heard the last of this—neither
of you. C’mon, boys.”
They filed out of the place and a few moments later the men in the War