Mavericks
“That feller was sure travelin’ light,” he told Pink, as they went to
bed that night. “The horse ain’t much, and the saddle ain’t worth more
than ten dollars. He had six dollars and thirty-five cents in his
pocket.”
“And the devil only knows what his face will look like when the swellin’
goes down,” said Pink. “That _hombre_ shore got dished plenty. When he
started to get down, his saddle slipped and threw him right under that
mean sorrel. I’ll betcha he seen so many stars that he won’t look at the
sky for the next year.”
“It’s shore tough luck for him. Say, I heard somebody say that Scotty
was goin’ to ship Jim’s body to Santa Dolores. Said his wife was buried
up there.”
Santa Dolores was about fifty miles northwest of Willow Wells.
“I reckon I ought to feel bad about it, but I can’t,” said Pink. “If Jim
was tryin’ to kill me, he got what was comin’ to him; and if he wasn’t,
why did he shoot toward me? I never killed a man before, and I ought to
feel kinda queer about it, but I can’t.”
“I never killed anybody,” said Dud, as he drew off his boots. “I hope I
never have to kill anybody. But if that clothes drummer ever shows up,
I’ll shore—”
“That wouldn’t be murder, even if you shot him in the back, Dud. That
would be a favor to the world. But I ask for the first chance at him.”
“If he ever comes back we’ll match for first shot. That’s the fair thing
to do.”
CHAPTER V — BILL MCGILL FINDS TWO FRIENDS
It was not a very big hay mow, and there was not much hay in it. The sun
beat down upon the old pine roof, and within the loft it must have been
well over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, with not a breath of air
stirring. Two men were in the stable below, and their voices were
plainly audible through the wide cracks of the loft.
Suddenly the hay was agitated, lifted up in one spot, fell away to
disclose the head and part of the shoulders of a man. Some of the hay
was still balanced on the top of his head, giving him a rakish
appearance.
His face was long and serious, with high cheekbones, generous nose and a
wide lipped mouth. His gray eyes, still filled with sleep, were mildly
curious as he listened to the voices below. Without turning his head, he
reached out a long arm, gently touched another hump of hay, and another
man sat up. This one was wide eyed in a moment. His face was broad, full
of grin wrinkles, the eyes so blue that they appeared black in that dim
light. He rubbed his nose violently to keep from sneezing, blinked
sleepily and looked inquiringly at the back of the other man.
Then he heard the voices down below.
“Oh, he’s a mamma’s child if you ever seen one, Lee. Talks like a damn’
dictionary.”
“Yeah?” The last voice was harsh. “Well, what’s the game?”
“Here’s the idea. Me and Ed runs into this jigger last night. Got off
the stage here by mistake, I reckon. Anyway, he wanted to buy a horse
and saddle. Me, I’ve got a bronc I want to git rid of, if the price is
right, _sabe_? It’s an extra I’m usin’. Well, I done sold him this bronc
and a saddle for a hundred and fifty dollars.
“Last night my reg’lar bronc got kicked and busted a front leg. I’m here
on foot, unless you help me out. This tenderfoot don’t _sabe_ nothin’.
Me and Ed will keep out of sight. When this pink faced kid starts to
take that horse and saddle from the stable here, you grab him. Tell him
you’re the sheriff, _sabe_? Tell him that this is a stolen horse. He’ll
scare awful easy. Give it to him plenty.
“If he wants to buy himself off, take the money. You know how to work
it, Lee. He’ll jump at a chance to git away clean, and he’ll grab the
next stage out of here, damn’ glad to make a getaway.”
The harsh voiced man laughed with evident amusement.
“Has this tender person got any more money?”
“Listen! He’s got a roll that would choke a horse. No lyin’, he has.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“Not a thing. It’s eight o’clock now, and he’ll be pullin’ out soon.
I’ll get Ed and we’ll hide out until you finish with him.”
“Suppose he don’t scare?”
“Aw, hell! Wait’ll you see him.”
“All right. Wait a minute. Where’d you and Ed git that bronc?”
“That’s our business. He’s over there in that last stall—that blue roan
with the AHK on his left shoulder. He belongs a long ways from here, so
you don’t need to worry.”
“Oh, all right. That’s a good lookin’ gray in there. Who owns him?”
“Belongs to a couple punchers that came here last night. They’re over in
the hotel. I dunno who they are. Well, I’ll get Ed and hide out.”
“Hop to it. But if that feller don’t loosen up, what do I get?”
“I’ll give you twenty-five of the money I got from him.”
“All right. I’ll go in the saloon and watch from there. You two keep out
of sight.”
Up in the hay mow the thin faced man turned his head slowly and looked
at his companion. A grin overspread both faces as they got up
cautiously. The thin faced one was well over six feet tall, slender,
with large, muscular hands. The other was several inches shorter,
powerfully built, broad of shoulder. They dug their hats out of the hay,
shook off the few straws that still clung to them and went cautiously
over to the square hole in the floor where the top of a ladder
projected.
Both men wore overalls tucked into the tops of their high heel boots,
faded shirts, nondescript vests, and both wore cartridge belts and
holstered guns, which they had evidently not removed before going to
sleep in the hay.
“Gits pretty hot around here,” observed the shorter one as they climbed
down the ladder.
“Yeah, it does; but we saved the price of a room. That’s worth some
discomfort.”
They walked the length of the stable, looking at the horses. The blue
roan in the last stall was a good looking animal, and it was a fairly
good saddle that hung on a peg behind the stall.
The tall one stepped in beside the lanky gray, which nuzzled at him
affectionately, and patted the animal. The other man stepped into the
adjoining stall and looked over the chunky, blaze-faced bay. Then they
went to the doorway of the stable.
Just ahead of them was the back door of the hotel, an old two-story
structure, warped, uninviting. A little way to the left was the back
door of the only saloon in the place. Several beer kegs were balanced
drunkenly one on top of another and a pile of broken bottles littered
the back yard.
Across the road from the front of the two buildings was a store and
postoffice combined. There were a few dwelling shacks scattered around,
but these three buildings constituted the business section of the
settlement of High Grade, a boom town twenty or more years ago, which
refused to die out entirely when the mines failed to materialize.
* * * * *
The two cowboys walked around on the right side of the hotel and sat
down in the shade. They were not visible from any part of the town. A
yellow dog of indeterminate breed came around the corner, looked them
over, decided that they were all right and curled up with them. They
were evidently on the restaurant side of the hotel, as there was a
strong odor of frying bacon and boiling coffee.
A door slammed shut and they heard the creak of boots on the old wooden
porch, as a man came around to their side from the front. Then they got
their first glimpse of the tenderfoot. He was tender; there was no
denying that fact. He wore a stiff brimmed sombrero, which did not fit
him well, white silk shirt, riding breeches and laced boots, which had
been highly polished. In one hand he carried a suitcase, bulging on both
sides. The two punchers looked at him, but he ignored them as he went
past. The yellow dog opened one eye, looked at the stranger, closed the
eye as if winking at the two cowboys and went back to sleep.
The man went around the corner, heading for the stable. They heard the
back door of the saloon slam shut, and the tall one grinned softly as he
got to his feet. They edged along the building and peered around the
corner. The tenderfoot had already entered the stable, but they arrived
in time to see a square-built cowboy, wearing wide chaps and a high
crown sombrero, just pass through the door.
“There goes the sheriff,” said the tall one. “C’mon.”
Swiftly they crossed the yard and stopped near the open door. They could
hear the two men talking, but their voices were not audible until they
came back closer to the door.
“But I tell you,” insisted the tenderfoot, “that I purchased this animal
in good faith, Sheriff.”
“That’s for a jury to decide, young feller. You know what they do to a
horsethief in this country, don’tcha?”
“Why, I—I—yes, I believe so.”
“Can you prove where you got this horse?”
“From two men.”
“Got a bill of sale?”
“No, I—I didn’t think—”
“That’s where you lose. This horse was stolen, and I’ve been trailin’
the thief for a week. I find you here, claimin’ ownership. There’s
nothin’ for me to do except to take you back with me. That there horse
was worth a lot of money. You’ll be lucky to git off with twenty years
in the pen.”
“But what can I do? My goodness, I—well, I didn’t know. Won’t you
believe me when I say I bought the horse from two men?”
“In my business, we never believe a horsethief.”
“Well, what can I do to make it all right? Honestly, I never stole this
horse, Sheriff. Why, I never stole anything in my life.”
“That’s for the judge and jury to decide. As I said before, this here
horse was a great fav’rite with the man who owned him. He told me the
other day he wouldn’t take less’n five hundred dollars for him.”
“Would he—listen, can’t we fix this up? I’d pay what the horse is worth
rather than to—”
“And let you go free, eh?”
“Why not? I’d pay for the horse.”
“Yea-a-ah, that _might_ be all right. Yeah, I might be able to fix it up
that-away, but I’ve been at quite an expense myself and—”
“Well, I haven’t much more money, but I’d—”
“It’s cost me at least fifty dollars to make this trip, young man.”
“Horse feed must be kinda high around here, ain’t it?”
The pseudo-sheriff jerked around quickly. The tenderfoot had his
billfold in his hand, staring at the two cowboys who had entered the
stable. The tall one leaned against the partition of a stall, his thumbs
hooked over his belt, a grin on his wide lips.
“What’s the idea?” queried the hard faced cowboy who had impersonated
the sheriff.
“Are you claimin’ that AHK roan back there?”
The man was stuck. He looked back toward the stall, trying to think what
to say, wondering how much they had heard.
“And jist what county are you sheriff of?” asked the tall man.
The tenderfoot looked blankly around. He started to put the billfold in
his pocket, but drew it out again.
“Might as well put up your money, pardner,” said the tall one.
“Just what is your business?” asked the cowboy harshly.
“Lookin’ for _lost_ horses,” said the tall one coldly. He shifted his
eyes to the tenderfoot. “This man said he was a sheriff, didn’t he? He
accused you of stealin’ that blue roan horse, didn’t he?”
“But I bought the horse.”
“Shore you did. Now, here’s what you do. Walk out of here real fast. Go
around the hotel, cross the street and set down in front of the
postoffice, look up and down the street—but stay there.”
“I—I don’t understand what you mean.”
“That don’t make any difference, sonny—do as you’re told.”
“Oh, all right.”
* * * * *
The tenderfoot walked out and hurried away. The tall man’s right hand
slipped from his belt, jerked up quickly, and the pseudo-sheriff was
looking down the muzzle of a big six-shooter. The shorter one stepped in
quickly and removed the man’s gun from its holster.
“What kind of a damn’ holdup is this?” he wailed, stepping back against
the end of the stall.