Mavericks
After some consideration, Hashknife selected three, while Sleepy
wondered if his tall partner had suddenly gone crazy. While the seller
put ropes on them, Hashknife borrowed the money from Bill and paid for
them.
Hashknife made note of the different brands and asked the man to give
them a bill of sale.
“I don’t usually do that,” he growled. “You don’t need any.”
“I do,” said Hashknife. “It’s one of my peculiarities.”
The man finally gave it to him, rather than to lose the sale, and stood
around while they saddled the animals. Hashknife had him tell Bill just
how to strike that road to Willow Valley, and they rode away from
Cinnabar. Sleepy was all primed to tell Hashknife what a dumb fool he
was even to think of paying such a price, but Hashknife stopped him.
When they were out of sight of the hotel, Hashknife drew up.
“Here’s what you do, Bill,” he explained. “Hit that road, go a mile or
so, pull off the road and tie your horse. All you’ve got to do is wait
for us there.”
“Are you going with me?”
“I dunno yet. But we’ll see you later. It may be after dark.”
“Sure,” agreed Bill. “Gee, that will be great. Goodby.”
They watched Bill disappear in the direction of the old road and then
made themselves comfortable in a little swale off the road.
“That kid is either awful game or awful foolish to let you owe him all
that money,” declared Sleepy, as they stretched out.
“That kid is all right, and he won’t lose nothin’, Sleepy. We’re here
for the day. Didja bring your deck of cards? Good! A day of rest won’t
hurt either of us.”
CHAPTER VII — BILL FOLLOWS HIS NOSE
It was after dark when Hashknife and Sleepy rode back to Cinnabar. They
dismounted near the stable, from which their horses had been taken, and
found the door locked. Hashknife secured a length of two-by-four and
pried loose the staple, letting the door swing open. Cautiously they
scratched matches and looked around. Ghost was in the first stall, and
in the two rear stalls were Sleepy’s and Bill’s animals, contentedly
chewing hay.
They led them outside and tied them to an old fence, with the horses
they had ridden.
“Now for the dirty work,” laughed Hashknife, as they headed back for the
street. “I reckon I’ve read the signs pretty plain, this far.”
“You shore have,” chuckled Sleepy.
The proprietor of the hotel was sitting on a bench in front of the
building, smoking a pipe, when Hashknife and Sleepy found him. He got
one look at their faces in the light from his window, and started to his
feet.
“Go ahead!” said Hashknife softly. “We’ll talk to you in the house.”
The man went in. He was a poor actor, showing his indignation before any
one had accused him of doing wrong. There was a big six-shooter on a
little shelf behind the desk, but he was unarmed. Sleepy immediately
appropriated the gun, much to the man’s chagrin.
“You owe us four hundred and fifty dollars,” said Hashknife calmly.
“You—I owe you? What for?”
“We brought your horses back. Didn’t like ’em.”
“Oh! You didn’t like ’em, eh? Well, mebbe I’ve got three better—”
“Out in your stable, eh? Oh, yeah, we know all about it. Give me that
money right now, or we’re all fixed to treat you like we usually treat
horsethieves. I knew you had ’em. Happens to be your business, eh? Steal
a guest’s horse and sell him another for ten times what it’s worth.
Well, you’re all through. You’ve given me a bill of sale for three
stolen horses—enough to send you up for a lot of years. Give me that
money, you danged crook!”
The man groaned but produced the money, and Hashknife counted it
carefully before pocketing it.
“As I said before,” continued Hashknife, “you’re all through. We’ll be
seein’ the sheriff in a short time and give him this bill of sale, along
with a story about this last deal. If he don’t run you out or in, we’ll
be along in a week or so and do the job up right. As long as we don’t
know the morals of this town, you better go and see us pull out.”
The man realized that he was getting off cheaply, so made no objections.
Hashknife replaced the staple in the door and they locked the proprietor
in his own stable before they rode away to join Bill.
“I’ve never seen such a damn’ country,” declared Sleepy. “Have you got
to sleep with your horse to keep him?”
“Looks thataway. I’ve heard of this game bein’ played, but this is the
first time I ever had it played on me. You see, the man wasn’t concerned
enough about our loss, and was too anxious to sell us horses. When he
asked such a price, I could _sabe_ his game. He didn’t seem to have
anybody workin’ for him, so I figured he was holdin’ them broncs out in
the brush, and wouldn’t bring ’em in before dark.”
“You shore can figure,” said Sleepy. “I was blamin’ that jigger from
High Grade.”
“Nope. If it had been him, the hotel man would have been surprised. We
better hightail out of here and pick up Bill. He’s probably scared to
death by this time, all alone out there in the dark.”
“Are we goin’ over to Willow Wells, Hashknife?”
“Well, why not? We’ve got to see this kid safe, ain’t we? He’s the first
person that ever let me walk away with his money, and I’m kinda strong
for him. We don’t think he knows much and he probably thinks we’re about
the most ignorant people he ever met. Let’s stop and take the ropes off
them valuable horses.”
“He’ll probably pick ’em up again.”
“That jigger,” said Hashknife, “is goin’ away from here. He may rent out
his horse stealin’ concession on a royalty basis, but I’ll betcha ten to
one that he won’t be here longer than it takes to pack up and get out.”
“What’ll we do in Willow Valley?”
“I dunno, pardner. Let’s wait and see what Willow Valley does to us.”
They released the extra horses at the point where they struck the old
road to Willow Valley, and from there they kept a sharp outlook for Bill
McGill. They did not expect him to go more than a mile or so along the
old road, which was little more than a pair of ancient ruts.
But after a couple of miles, during which time they made enough noise to
attract Bill’s attention, in case he was along that part of the road,
they began to wonder what had become of him.
Hashknife dismounted and examined the road by the light of a match.
There was one set of horse tracks heading east along the road.
“He passed here,” Hashknife decided as they rode on. “Probably ain’t got
no idea of distance, or wanted to get plumb away from Cinnabar before he
tied up.”
They rode along steadily for another hour, stopping at times to look at
the tracks.
“That,” said Hashknife, “has got me fightin’ my hat. What’s the idea of
that kid runnin’ away from us?”
“Search me,” said Sleepy. “His horse was the only one over that road,
back where we started, and the tracks are still goin’ ahead. Do you
reckon he kinda got buck fever and was scared to stop? Or mebbe when it
got a little dark he was afraid we might have been doublecrossin’ him
and wasn’t goin’ to meet him? You never can tell what a feller like him
is goin’ to think next.”
“Yeah, that’s true. I suppose the only thing to do is to foller him. If
it wasn’t that I had his money, we’d go on back and let him sail his own
ship; but I don’t want his money.”
Hashknife examined the tracks again.
“Travelin’ slow,” he said. “We might catch up with him, if he didn’t
start until dark; but we don’t know when he started. Well, it don’t
matter; we’ll find him tomorrow.”
“He deserves a poke in the nose,” said Sleepy. “If he’d kept out of this
country we’d be on our way north.”
“Yeah, that’s true; but what’s the difference? What’s a few days, more
or less? And we’ve never seen Willow Valley.”
* * * * *
Uncle Hoddy stood at the bar in the War Paint and tried to get a good
view of himself in the back bar mirror. But the image was just a trifle
blurred, except when he closed one eye. Uncle Hoddy was drunk, but he
could not even admit it to himself. He looked curiously at Hank Blue and
Jerry Dole, two of the SP cowboys, who had helped put him in this
condition.
Uncle Hoddy was drunk, which in itself was a disgraceful condition; but
the worst of the matter was that Aunt Ida was down at the church, where
several of the women were conferring on the business of the Ladies’ Aid
Society, of which Aunt Ida was an active member.
And Uncle Hoddy might expect her at any time. He had not imbibed such an
awful lot, but he remembered that he had forgotten to eat at noon. His
empty stomach had given the liquor a good chance to get in its evil
work.
“You look,” said Hank thickly, “as though you had sheen a ghos’.”
“I have. Wha’s in that liquor, anyway?”
“Nothin’. You’re drunk, Hoddy.”
“Lizzen,” Hoddy said owlishly. “Hank, ’ll you do me fav’r? Look across
street at my buckboard. ’F my wife’s in it, I’m shunk like the
_Mer’mac_.”
“She ain’t there,” declared Hank, who was a little better off than
Hoddy, although Hank and Jerry had been drinking long before Hoddy had
arrived.
“Good. You’re a nice feller, Hank. What’ll you have?”
“I’m almos’ to capacity. You see, me and Jerry came to town to git some
flour. T’day is the day One Hop cooks bread, and he was shy on flour.
Tha’s why me and Jerry’s ridin’ a buckboard.”
“Was that t’day?” asked Jerry.
“This mornin’.”
“My, my, my! Hank, we better go home. I’m broke, anyway.”
“Well, let’s have one more,” suggested Hank. “Uncle Hoddy buys the las’
one and then we go home—all of us.”
They drank to each other. Uncle Hoddy blinked foolishly, wiped the back
of his right hand across his lips, while he clung to the bar with his
other. Hank took another look through the window.
“She’s there,” he announced.
“Eh?” Uncle Hoddy stared at him.
“Aunt Ida’s in your buckboard, Hoddy.”
“My Gawd! And me in thish position. Well—” he tried to shrug his thin
shoulders and almost fell down—“I’m jis’ right to abshorb a lecture on
my failin’ morals. It’ll hit me and bounce right off. Is she lookin’
thish way?”
“She wasn’t when I looked.”
“Good! Gen’lemen, I am shorry I have but one life to give— Well, tha’s
all right. I’ll shay good af’ernoon to you all.”
Uncle Hoddy adjusted the tie he did not have on and went out to the
street, where he got his bearings all lined up, then proceeded to miss
the buckboard by twenty feet. Aunt Ida did not see him until he passed
the rig, and then her backbone stiffened visibly. Hoddy managed to stop
at the edge of the wooden sidewalk, where he grinned foolishly at her;
foolishly and fearfully. For more years than she would ever admit, she
had preached temperance to him to no avail. Two more of her sisters of
the Aid were coming out of the store, and the disgrace was almost too
much.
She sprang down, untied the team quickly, got back into the buckboard
and drove toward home alone; while Uncle Hoddy, shocked beyond words,
stood there and watched her drive away. It was the first time she had
ever done such a thing. He sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and held
his head in his hands.
Hank and Jerry had watched the drama from the safe confines of the War
Paint, but now they came over to offer their sympathy.
“I’m shorry, but I’m glad,” said Uncle Hoddy. “Shorry she left me on
foot, but glad she didn’t preach. I suppose I’ve got that part comin’.”
“She don’t ’preciate you,” said Jerry, who was a bit wobbly.
“Never did. That is, she never did ’preciate my thirst. I guess the res’
of me is all right.”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” suggested Hank. “She’ll be comin’ back
after you, Hoddy. You re’lize that, don’tcha? Well, you won’t be here.”
“Where’ll I be?”
“Out to the SP ranch. Ride out with me and Jerry and the flour.”
“Tha’s good idea. By grab, I’ll learn her to leave me. C’mon.”