The loot of the Lazy A
“All right, all right,” Pie Ide hitched up his belt. “I can see that you
Star X whip-poor-wills are pinin’ for battle. But we ain’t in the market
for no wars t’day. We got to remain safe and sane until our new she-boss
arrives. After she’s kinda inaugurated, we’re receptful to anythin’ you
hedge-hawgs nominate. We meets yuh any old place yuh ain’t afraid to go,
and we’ll let yuh choose yore weapons. Yo’re four to three, but after
the first two has been choosed, I whip the remainin’ two.”
“You kinda hates yourself, don’tcha?” asked Buck Wing.
“Yeah; but I’ve got enough to cover you four ant-eaters.”
“If you fellers has got any quantity of brawlin’ to do, I wish you’d go
some’ers else,” said the bartender mildly.
“Who’s brawlin’?” demanded Klondike. “This here is jist an argument
among men--so keep out of it.”
Both sides knew that there was no chance for peace. Omaha hitched up his
belt, spat dryly and said, “All right. You Star K’s don’t want no peace,
I can see that; so we’ll go away. That cowhide matter don’t mean nothin’
to any of us. All I can say is that if yuh ate all the beef that was
inside them hides yo’re shore plenty fat on good meat.”
Then the three Lazy A cowboys filed out through the front door and
headed down the street toward the Rawhide saloon, just well enough
organized to ignore the fact that Idaho Breen might meet them.
“All six of ’em went, eh?” Joe Chevrier looked owlishly toward the front
door.
“There was only three,” said Klondike.
“By gosh, dere was six went out!” exploded Joe. “I tell you w’at, I’m
sore. Caus’ now I c’n whip all six--me!”
“You couldn’t whip a canary,” declared Buck Wing. “Shut up.”
“But dey accuse,” wailed Joe.
“They ort to be teached a lesson,” observed Klondike.
“They will be,” nodded Buck. “I’ve got a scheme. That train gets in
after dark, and there won’t be nobody there to meet the girl, except
Idaho Breen. How’d it be--?” Buck scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“How’d it be to swipe that girl and take her out to the Star X?”
“I’ll buy a drink!” exploded Heinie.
“You’ve spoke yore piece.”
* * * * *
When Idaho Breen came to Oreana City he drove his team to the little
depot, where he left it to await the arrival of Mary Ault. He went to
the depot, where the agent divulged the information that the train
would be about three hours late.
“I got a telegram for Jud Ault,” he grinned. “Didn’t just know how to
deliver it--do you, Breen?”
“That’s funny, ain’t it?” laughed Idaho. “Mebbe I better take it along
with me; it might concern the business, yuh know.”
“Sure. Here she is. Lookin’ for somebody on the train?”
Idaho pocketed the telegram. “Yeah; the new owner of the Lazy A is due
in on this train.”
“That so? Oh, I did hear about Jud Ault making out a will.”
Idaho nodded and walked out to his team. He opened the telegram. It was
from the secretary of the Cattlemen’s Association, and read:
Sending you best titan for job will identify himself.
Al Traynor.
Idaho leaned against a buggy wheel and pondered over the telegram.
“Sendin’ you best man for job.” he muttered. “What job? A telegram to a
dead man! And Al Traynor is secretary of the Association. I wonder jist
what job they had in mind.”
He folded up the telegram and went back up the street. The sheriff was
sitting in front of the New York Store, whittling, his eyes scanning the
front of the Oreana saloon. Idaho spoke to him, and the sheriff moved
over to give him a seat.
“Yore gang and the Star X gang are over there in the Oreana,” offered
the sheriff, pointing with his pocket-knife. “They’ve been in there for
about fifteen minutes, and nobody ain’t been throwed out yet.”
Idaho scowled heavily. “All gettin’ drunk, eh?”
“All got drunk,” corrected the sheriff.
Just at that moment the three Lazy A boys filed out and headed for the
Rawhide. None of them were able to follow a chalk-line. They filed into
the Rawhide, and the sheriff breathed easier.
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” he said thankfully.
The sun had gone down, and it would soon be dark. They were lighting one
of the hanging lamps in the Oreana, when Joe Chevrier and Klondike Evans
came from the place. Both of them were unsteady on their feet. It seemed
that Klondike was trying to argue Joe out of doing a certain thing of
which Joe was bound and determined to do.
“My gosh, I’m insult!” roared the little cowpuncher angrily, as they
came across the street. “He tak’ it off, Klondike!”
“Thasall ri’.” mumbled Klondike. “You ain’t got no shense. I tell you
for-f’rgit it, da-aw-gone yuh. Whatsa use----?”
“Ho, ho!” Joe had seen Idaho and the sheriff. He braced his feet,
roaring out his war-whoop, “You sonn-of-a-gonn!”
Klondike made an ineffectual grab at Joe, who had dragged out his
six-shooter, staggering out of Klondike’s reach.
_Wham! Crash!_ His bullet smashed through the window just over Idaho’s
and the sheriff’s heads.
_Wham! Wham!_ Two more bullets practically ruined the rest of the
window, while Idaho and the sheriff, running like a team of heavy-bodied
fire-horses, headed for the sheriff’s office.
_Wham!_ Another bullet struck the side of the building, as they fell
through the doorway. Heinie Moriarity and Buck Wing staggered out of
the Oreana, while from the Rawhide, a short block down the street, and
almost opposite the sheriff’s office, came the boys from the Lazy A,
seeking to find what the shooting was about.
Wham! Joe’s fifth bullet struck the dirt just in front of Omaha Woods,
who almost fell over backward, when the spray of gravel blew up in his
face. And without any further argument, Pie Ide drew his six-shooter
and proceeded to take pot-shots at the Star X gang.
A bullet knocked Klondike’s sombrero off and when he stooped over to get
it, another hunk of lead threw gravel in his face: so he forgot the hat
and went galloping drunkenly toward the doorway of the Oreana, where he
caught his toe on the step and fell halfway through the doorway.
The shooting became general, except Joe Chevrier, who was the cause of
the whole thing, and who was trying to stuff more cartridges into his
six-shooter, but with little success. Buck Wing had run in close to
the side of the Oreana, while Heinie sat down in the street, shooting
across one bended knee.
_Bang!_ A note entirely different from that of the six-gun. Joe Chevrier
yelped like an injured pup and galloped toward the far corner of the
Oreana, grasping at the rear of himself. The enraged sheriff had poked a
ten-gauge shotgun through a pane in his office window, and had given the
Star X Frenchman something to think about besides loading his gun.
Heinie’s gun was empty; so he crawled on his hands and knees back to
the Oreana. The Lazy A outfit had tracked to the door of the Rawhide,
only to find it barred against them. The saloon-keeper was taking no
chances of them using his place as a fort.
“Is anybody hurt?” panted Pie Ide, as they leaned against the barred
door.
“I got my mustache full of gravel!” wailed Omaha. “And some of it hit my
sore nose.”
“Didja see what happened to the frog-eater?” chuckled Mex. “The sheriff
busted him with a load of duckshot.”
“I wonder what started it?” grinned Pie, as he reloaded his long
Colt .45. “Let’s go across the street and set on the sidewalk. Them
snakehunters are too drunk to hit a house, and it’ll soon be dark.”
“Yuh didn’t see us hittin’ anything didja?” inquired Omaha, pawing at
his mustache. “We’re a fine lot of shooters! We never hit anybody.”
“We fanned ’em out of the street, didn’t we?” fleered Mex. “Didja want
to kill ’em, Omaha?”
“Well, I didn’t want to kiss ’em. Let’s sneak around and get in the back
door of the sheriff’s office.”
“And git a hideful of duck-shot, eh?” Pie Ide shook his head so hard
that his hat fell off. “We’ve got all the war we can handle, without
foolin’ with the sheriff and Idaho Breen.”
The Star X boys were of the same opinion as three of them leaned against
the Oreana bar. Klondike was bitter. His fairly new Stetson had a jagged
hole in the crown.
“Well, what started it, anyway?” demanded Buck Wing.
“Joe Chevrier took a shot at Idaho Breen and the sheriff.”
“Danged fool! Did we kill any of the Lazy A?”
Nobody seemed to know. Joe came through the rear doorway, limping. He
had sobered considerably.
“By gar, I’m get stoong by fortee bee!” he exclaimed. “Behin’ me I’m
feel like de centipeed walk h’all over me.”
“Yuh got a load of duck-shot in yore back!” snorted Buck Wing
disgustedly. “It’s too damn’ bad he didn’t use a cannon. What made
yuh start shootin’ out here, you danged Canuck? Yuh shore put us in
bad.”
“Well,” Joe grimaced painfully, “I’m see dat Ida-hoo, and I’m so insult
about de raw-hide.”
“We might go down and apologize to the Lazy A boys,” suggested Heinie
Moriarity. “They’re prob’ly in the Rawhide.”
But that suggestion didn’t go well with Buck Wing. Except for the
bartender, they had the Oreana all to themselves. What few other
patrons had been in there had sneaked out the back door during the
shooting, and had given the main street a wide berth. The bartender,
while still sticking to the ship, did not feel any too secure.
“I don’t apologize to nobody,” declared Buck. “If Joe wants to apologize
to Idaho and the sheriff----”
“She don’t!” snorted Joe. “I’m ver’ sore jus’ now.”
“I’d suggest that we go home,” said Klondike, mourning over his
sombrero.
“And let the Lazy A think they run us out?”
“Let ’em think what they will. What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em.”
The Lazy A bunch, sitting like three buzzards on the sidewalk, saw the
Star X boys ride away from the Oreana hitchrack, and chuckled with glee.
It was too dark to see them get their horses at the rack. Idaho Breen
and the disgruntled sheriff also saw them ride away, and breathed a sigh
of relief.
“We whipped ’em!” declared Mex.
“We shore did, by golly!” chuckled Omaha. “Here comes Idaho and the
sheriff. I suppose they’re comin’ to congratulate us.”
But Idaho Breen was not in a congratulatory frame of mind.
“Why in hell didn’t you fellers stay at the ranch and behave
yourselves?” he demanded angrily. “Comin’ down here and startin’
trouble!”
“Who started any trouble?” grunted Pie Ide. “If we hadn’t been here to
turn the tide you and the sheriff would ’a’ had to pull another Alamo.
They’d shore made yuh hard to catch.”
“You fellers started it! Yuh mixed with that Star X outfit in the
Oreana, and made trouble.”
“Well, whatcha goin’ to do about it?” asked Omaha. “Is this a free
country, or are we workin’ for a Czar?” Idaho debated. Good cowhands
were not plentiful. He knew he was just on the verge of losing all
three of them.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose it’s all right. But I didn’t want you
boys drunk when Miss Ault comes. Dang it, that ain’t the right spirit,
boys. She prob’ly ain’t used to seein’ a lot of drunken punchers.”
“Who’s drunk?” demanded Omaha.
Idaho shook his head. “Mebbe I was mistaken. I--I was judgin’ from the
shootin’ that yuh wasn’t cold sober. Why, some of yore bullets hit the
sheriff’s office, and it ain’t noways in the line between where you was
and the middle of the street.”
“Oh, we didn’t want to kill ’em,” said Pie Ide. “All we wanted to do
was to scare ’em out of town; so they’d let you and the sheriff out
of the office.”
“My shotgun settled that,” said the sheriff, panting heavily. “I handed
Joe Chevrier an ounce and a quarter of number fives, and he’ll itch for
a long time.”
“There ain’t no fun left, anyway,” said Mex mournfully. “I’d jist as
soon go home.”
“Same here,” nodded Omaha. “We was jist killin’ time, anyway.”