Loudon spent the following week in unobtrusive shadowing of Pete O'Leary. But not once did that young man leave the confines of Paradise Bend. The fellow spent all of his time loafing in the vicinity of the Burr house or playing poker at the Three Card. He may have known that he was being watched. For Loudon's methods were not those of a Pinkerton shadow.
When the time came for Loudon to depart, Mrs. Burr followed him out to the corral.
"Tom," said she, when his horse was saddled, "Tom, I like you an' Kate. I like yuh both an awful lot. I'd shore enjoy seein' yuh both happy. Forgive her, Tom, an' yuh will be happy. I'm an old woman, but I've seen a lot o' life, an' it's taught me that love is the biggest thing in the world. If yuh got it yuh don't need nothin' else. Don't throw it away. Don't. Now don't forget to remember me to that old reprobate, Scotty Mackenzie, an' tell him me an' Dorothy are comin' out to see him in a couple o' days."
The new Flying M cook, a citizen of the Bend, greeted Loudon with fervour.
"Thank Gawd yuh've come!" he exclaimed. "That there Scotty is shore the —— invalid I ever seen! Forty times a day reg'lar he r'ars an' sw'ars 'cause yuh ain't arrove yet, an' forty times a day he does likewise for fear yuh'll come before yore ankle's all right. Yo're the bright apple of his eye, Tom. How yuh done it, I don't see. I can't please his R'yal Highness in a million years."
"Oh, it's a cinch when yuh know how," grinned Loudon. "Where's the outfit?"
"Most of 'em are out with Telescope. Doubleday an' Swing Tunstall are drivin' a bunch o' hosses over to the north range. Mister Mackenzie is a-settin' up in the office doin' like I said."
Loudon went at once to the office. Scotty, propped in an armchair, evinced no sign of the restlessness mentioned by the cook. He shook hands calmly and smiled cheerfully.
"Glad to see yuh," he said. "Set down an' be happy. How's the peg? All right, huh? That's good. Me? Oh, I'm pullin' through like a greased fish. I'll be poppin' round jovial an' free in another week or so. About them rustlers, now. I think——"
"Say, Scotty," interrupted Loudon, eagerly, "I got a small jag o' news. I dunno what yore plans are, but I'll gamble what I got to say'll make a difference."
"Let her flicker."
For half an hour Loudon spoke rapidly. At the end of his recital the eyes of Scotty Mackenzie were cold and hard and very bright.
"What's yore plan?" he queried.
"Go to Farewell an' Marysville. What I find out in them two places will show me what to do next. I'm goin' to Farewell anyhow on my own hook."
"If I say no, would yuh quit me now?"
"I'd have to. I got business with a certain party in Farewell. After I'd finished up I'd come back o' course—if yuh still wanted me."
"Well, I don't say no. I think yuh've hit it. I knowed yuh was Opportunity with a big O when I hired yuh. Yuh've proved it. Fly at it, Tom, an' prove it some more. Get the evidence, an' I'll do the rest. We'll wipe out the 88 ranch, hide, hoof, an' taller. There ain't a ranch in Sunset County that won't help. We can count in the Cross-in-a-box, the Double Diamond A, an' the Hawgpen, in the Lazy River country, too. Oh, we'll fix 'em. How many o' the boys do yuh want? I don't begrudge 'em to yuh, but go as light as yuh can. I still got quite a few hosses left to wrangle."
"Gimme Telescope."
"Is he enough? I can spare another—two if I got to."
"Well, yuh see, I was countin' on borrowin' Johnny Ramsay from Jack Richie, an' there's Chuck Morgan o' the Bar S. I guess I can get him."
"Get him, an' I'll give him a job after it's all over. Wish I could get Johnny Ramsay, too, but he'd never quit Richie. Well, yuh shore done noble in findin' out that truck about Pete O'Leary."
"Yuh've got to thank Miss Saltoun for that. She done it all."
"Her! Old Salt's daughter! Say, I take it all back. She can come out here whenever she wants. I'll be proud to shake her hand, I will. Well, I did hope it'd be Dorothy, but now I suppose it's Miss Saltoun. Dunno's I blame yuh. Dunno's I blame yuh."
"As usual, yo're a-barkin' up the wrong stump. I'm gun-shy of all women, an' I don't want to talk about 'em."
"Oh, all right, all right," said Scotty, hastily. "How soon can yuh start?"
"Right now, soon's I get another hoss."
"Take Brown Jug. He'll tote yuh from hell to breakfast an' never feel it. Yuh'll find the outfit som'ers over north o' Miner Mountain, I guess. Tell Telescope I want him to go with yuh, an' the rest of 'em are to come home on the jump. Doubleday an' Swing have got their hands full twenty times over. First thing I know there won't be a cayuse left on the ranch."
Two days later Loudon and Laguerre rode into Rocket and spent the night at the hotel. The landlord, Dave Sinclair, had an interesting tale to tell.
"Yest'day," said Dave, "Lanky Bob finds Jim Hallaway's body in a gully near the Bend trail. Jim had been shot in the back, an' he'd been dead quite a while. Jim an' his brother Tom have a little ranch near the Twin Peaks, an' Tom hadn't missed him none 'cause Jim, when he left the ranch, expected to be gone a month.
"Come to find out, Jim had been ridin' a bald-face pinto. Accordin' to Tom's description that pinto was the livin' image of the one that friend o' Block's was ridin' the day they come into my place a-lookin' for information. The sheriff's got a warrant out for that Cutting gent."
"Hope he gets him," said Loudon; "but he won't. He's got too big a start. I'd shore admire to know what he done with my hoss."
"You hoss brak hees laig," stated Laguerre. "Sartain shore dat what happen."
"I guess yo're right," glumly agreed Loudon. "He wouldn't change Ranger for no bald-face pinto less'n the chestnut was out o' whack for keeps."
Loudon and Laguerre did not ride directly to Farewell. The three months Loudon had given Blakely would not be up for five days. The two men spent the intervening time in the country between the Farewell trail and the Dogsoldier River. Of their quarry they found no trace.
Not at all disheartened, however, they rode into Farewell on the morning of the day set for the meeting. As usual, Bill Lainey was dozing in front of his hotel. They put their horses in the corral, and awakened Lainey.
"Shake hands with Mr. Laguerre, Bill," said Loudon, "an' tell me what yuh know."
"Glad to know yuh, Mr. Laguerre," wheezed the fat man. "I only know one thing, Tom, an' that is, Farewell ain't no place for you. I've heard how there's a warrant out for yuh."
"Is Block in town?"
"Not just now. He rid out yest'day. But he may be back any time. The Sheriff o' Sunset's here. He's lookin' for Rufe Cutting. Seems Rufe's been jumpin' sideways up north—killed a feller or somethin'. The Sunset Sheriff allows Rufe drifted south in company with Block. Block, he says he never seen Cutting. Looked like a shootin' for a minute, but Block he passed it off, an' left town 'bout a hour later."
"Well, the Sheriff o' Sunset don't want me," observed Loudon, "an' he's a good fellah, anyway. Guess I'll stick here to-day. Maybe Block'll come back an' make it amusin'. See anythin' of our friend, Mr. Sam Blakely?"
"Sam don't never drift in no more," replied Lainey. "Ain't seen him since I dunno when. Some o' the boys do now an' then, but even they don't come like they useter. Why, last Monday, when Rudd an' Shorty Simms sifted in, was the first time in three weeks that any o' the 88 boys had been in town. Shorty said they was powerful busy at the ranch."
"That's good. It's probably the first time they ever was busy. See yuh later, Bill. S'long."
"So long."
"I'll bet they was busy them three weeks," said Loudon, as he and Laguerre walked away. "The evidence is beginnin' to show itself, ain't it?"
"You bet," assented Laguerre, his eyes shining.
Most of the citizens they met regarded Loudon with noncommittal eyes, but a few of the glances were frankly unfriendly. The two men entered the Happy Heart Saloon, there being sounds of revelry within.
On a table sat the Sheriff of Sunset County. He was heartily applauding the efforts of a perspiring gentleman who was dancing a jig. Loudon perceived that the sheriff, while not precisely drunk, was yet not sober. His gestures were free and his language freer.
There were at least a score of men in the saloon, and they were all Block's close friends. They muttered among themselves at Loudon's entrance. The story of Block's tarring and feathering had lost nothing in transmission.
Loudon and Laguerre made their way to the far end of the bar and ordered drinks. With the wall at their backs they were reasonably secure from treachery. The Sheriff of Sunset nodded to the two men from the Bend and continued to shout encouragement to the jigging citizen. Finally, the dancer succumbed to exhaustion. The sheriff slid from the table.
"Well, I got to be wrigglin' along," he said. "See yuh later."
"Not yet, Sheriff, not yet," protested a tall man with wolfish features. "Have another drink first. Just one. Step up, gents, step up. Name yore poison."
"No, not another one," said the sheriff, but his tone lacked conviction.
He had another, two in fact. Again he started for the door. But the wolf-faced man barred the way.
"Sheriff," he wheedled, "what yuh say to a little game? Just one little game. Only one. Yuh can't be in such a all-fired hurry yuh can't stop for just one."
"I got to get Rufe Cutting," said the sheriff. "I ain't got no time for poker."
"Now, looky here, Sheriff," coaxed the tempter, "yuh'll stand just as much show o' gettin' Rufe right here in Farewell as yuh will anywhere else. What's the use o' ridin' the range an' workin' yoreself to death, when yuh can stay here cool and comf'table?"
"Aw, shut up! I'm a-goin'."
"Well, o' course, if yo're broke——"
"I ain't broke. What do——"
"No offence, Sheriff. No harm meant. None whatever."
"I'll play yuh one game an' that's all. C'mon."
The sheriff played more than one game, for he won the first. He continued to win. He thought no more of Rufe Cutting. And he sat with his back toward the doorway. Which position is the most eminently unsafe of any that an officer of the law may assume. Once, during that time, Laguerre suggested to Loudon that they go elsewhere. But Loudon had whispered:
"Wait. There's somethin' crooked here."
So they waited, Loudon watching for he knew not what piece of evil, Laguerre mystified but thoroughly prepared for eventualities. It was noticeable that, excepting the card-players, the men in the room were afflicted with a strange restlessness. They moved aimlessly about; they hitched their chairs to new positions; they conversed by fits and starts; they threw frequent glances toward the doorway.
Suddenly it happened.
A squat-bodied man with bat ears appeared on the threshold. As at a signal, the three men playing with the sheriff flung themselves down on the floor. The hand of the squat-bodied man shot up and forward. A revolver cracked twice, and the Sheriff of Sunset County quietly crumpled across the card-table.
Through the swirling smoke of the discharge two red streaks flashed as the six-shooters of Loudon and Laguerre barked in unison. The squat-bodied man fell forward on his face.
Head and shoulders on the floor of the saloon, his legs on the sidewalk, he lay motionless. Side by side, the souls of the sheriff and his murderer sped homeward.
The habitués of the Happy Heart unhurriedly deserted their points of vantage against the wall, on the floor, or behind the bar, and gathered about the corpse of the squat-bodied man. They gazed upon the body for a brief space of time, then, one by one, they stepped carefully over it and departed.
"Gents," squeaked the perturbed bartender, "would yuh mind goin' out in the street? I—I'm goin' to close up."
"It's only the mornin'," said Loudon. "Why close up?"
"I'm sick. I got indigestion right bad," the bartender explained.
Indeed, the bartender looked quite ill. His complexion had turned a pasty yellow and his teeth were clicking together.
"Yuh look right bad," agreed Loudon. "But yo're mistaken about closin' up. Yo're a-goin' to keep open. Telescope, let's get the sheriff spread out right."
They pushed two tables together. Then they lifted the sheriff's body and laid it on the tables. They unbuckled the spurs, straightened the limbs, covered the still face with the neck handkerchief, and put the hat over the gaping wound in the chest where the bullets had come out. When they had done all that they could they needed a drink. The shivering bartender served them.
"For Gawd's sake, gents!" he pleaded. "Block'll be here in a minute! Go out in the street, won't yuh?"
"'Block'll be here,'" repeated Loudon. "How do yuh know he'll be here?"
The bartender began to stutter. His complexion became yellower. Loudon turned to Laguerre.
"Talks funny, don't he?" he observed. "Can't say nothin' but 'I.'"
Reaching across the bar, he seized the bartender by the shoulder.
"Say, fellah," he continued, "how do yuh know so much about Block?"
"I—I—I——" sputtered the bartender.
"I thought Block had left town. How do yuh know he's back?"
The bartender changed his tune.
"Ow! Ow!" he yelled. "Yo're hurtin' me! My shoulder! Ow!"
"I'll hurt yuh worse if yuh don't spit out what yuh know about Block an' his doin's."
"He—he—oh, I can't! I can't!" wailed the bartender.
"Block shore has you an' the rest o' these prairie-dogs buffaloed. I just guess yes. Well, yuh needn't tell me. I'm a pretty good guesser myself. Telescope, let's you'n me go call on Block."
"I am you," said Laguerre, and slid through a rear window. Loudon followed. They hastened along the rear of the line of houses and crouched beneath the windowsill of a small two-room shack at the end of the street. There were sounds of a hot discussion in progress in the front room.
"Guess he's home!" whispered Loudon. "Might as well go in."
Gently they opened the back door, and very quietly they tiptoed across the floor of the back room to a closed door.
"We've got to hurry," a voice was saying.
"Shore," said the voice of Sheriff Block. "You three cover 'em through the back window when me an' the rest come in the front door. Yuh know there won't be no fuss if yore fingers slip on the trigger. I'd rather bury a man any day than arrest him."
With a quick motion Loudon flung open the door.
"'Nds up!" cried he, sharply, covering the roomful.
Ten pairs of hands clawed upward. There were eleven men in the room. Every one of the lot, save the eleventh man, had the impression that the six-shooters of Loudon and Laguerre bore upon him personally.
The eleventh citizen, being nearest the door and possessing a gambler's spirit, attempted to reach the street. He reached it—on his face. For Loudon had driven an accurate bullet through the fleshy part of his thigh.
"The next fellah," harshly announced Loudon, "who makes any fool breaks will get it halfway beneath his mind an' his mouth. There's a party in the corner, him with the funny face—he ain't displayin' enough enthusiasm in reachin' for the ceilin'. If he don't elevate his flippers right smart an' sudden, he won't have no trouble at all in reachin' the stars."
The biceps of the gentleman of the face immediately cuddled his ears. The ten men were now painfully rigid. They said nothing. They did not even think to swear. They knew what they deserved and they dreaded their deserts.
"Telescope," observed Loudon, softly, "s'pose yuh go round an' unbuckle their belts. Better go through 'em, too. They might carry shoulder-holsters under their shirts. Take the hono'ble Mister Sheriff Block first. That's right. Now, Mister Sheriff, go an' stand in that corner, face to the side wall, an' keep a-lookin' right at the wall, too. I wouldn't turn my head none, neither. Yuh see, I don't guess there'd be no fuss made if my finger should slip on the trigger. It's a heap easier to bury a man than arrest him, ain't it?"
Loudon laughed without mirth. Block's nine friends, murder in their eyes, stared at Loudon. He stared back, his lips drawn to a white line.
"Yo're a healthy lot o' killers," commented he.
The last belt and six-shooter thudded on the floor just as Loudon perceived that the wounded citizen in the street was endeavouring to crawl away.
"Telescope," he said, "I guess now the party in the street would feel a heap easier in here with all his friends."
Telescope marched out into the street and removed the wounded man's gun. Then he seized him by the collar, dragged him into the shack, and dumped him in a corner. Meanwhile, Loudon had lined up the nine beltless citizens beside Block against the side wall. They stood, stomachs pressed against the planks, a prey to violent emotions.
"Yuh can rest yore hands against the wall," said Loudon, kindly, "an' that's just all yuh can do."
"Gimme a drink!" gasped the wounded man.
Telescope scooped up a dipperful from the bucket under the table. When the man had drunk, Telescope proceeded to cut away his trouser-leg and wash and expertly bandage the wound. His work of mercy finished, the efficient Telescope took post near the doorway where he could watch the street.
Loudon seated himself on the edge of the table and rolled a cigarette one-handed. A silence, marred only by the flurried breathing of the stuck-up gentlemen, fell upon the room.
"Block," said Loudon, suddenly, "where's Blakely?"
Block maintained his attitude of silent protest. Loudon gently repeated his question. Block made no reply.
Bang-g! Block convulsively shrank to one side. The line of citizens shook. Smoke curled lazily from the muzzle of Loudon's six-shooter.
"Block," observed Loudon, serenely, "get back in position. That's right. Next time, instead o' shadin' yore ear I'll graze it. Now where's Blakely?"
"I dunno," replied Block in a choked tone of voice.
"Well, maybe yuh don't, maybe yuh don't. Ain't he at the ranch no more?"
"I ain't been to no ranch."
"I didn't say yuh had, did I?" mildly reproved Loudon. "But now that yuh've brought it up, where did yuh pick up Shorty Simms?"
"What do yuh mean?"
"Oh, I'll explain to yuh. I always do that. Habit I got. Yuh see, Block, yest'day after you an' the Sheriff o' Sunset had a few words yuh left town. To-day in comes Shorty Simms an' kills the sheriff—shoots him in the back, which is natural for a killer like Shorty.
"Well, Block, between the time of yore ridin' away yest'day an' the murder o' the sheriff to-day a fellah on a hoss like yores would just about have time to ride to the 88 ranch an' back. O' course the fellah wouldn't have time for pickin' posies on the way, but he could make it by steady ridin'. Think hard now, Block, think hard. Ain't it just possible yuh rid over to the 88?"
"No, —— yuh, I didn't!"
"No? Well, now, ain't that curious? I shore thought yuh did. Telescope, I think I see a couple o' hosses in Block's corral. Would yuh mind ridin' herd on this bunch while I go out an' look at 'em?"
Loudon went out into the street. Far down the street a group of men had gathered. Otherwise the street was deserted. Even Bill Lainey had disappeared.
Loudon stopped and stared at the distant figures. They made no hostile motions, but appeared to hold converse with each other. One detached himself from the group and came toward Loudon. He saw that it was his friend, Mike Flynn, the one-legged proprietor of the Blue Pigeon Store. The red-headed Irishman, his mouth a-grin from ear to ear, halted in front of Loudon and stretched out his hamlike paw.
"H'are yuh, Tom, me lad," he said, giving Loudon's hand a terrific grip. "I'm glad to see yuh, an' that's the truth. Others are not so glad, I'm thinkin'." He peered through the doorway. "I thought so. 'T's all right, Tommy, me an' me friends is with yuh heart an' soul. Though Farewell don't look it they's a few solid min like meself in the place who are all for law an' order an' a peaceful life. But they ain't enough of us, djuh see, to get all we want to once.
"Still, we can do somethin', so, Tommy, me lad, go as far as yuh like with Block an' his constituents yuh got inside. Put 'em over the jumps. Me an' me frinds will see that they's no attimpts made at a riscue. We will that. Be aisy. If yuh have a chance come to the Blue Pigeon. Not a word. Not a word. I know yo're busy."
Mike Flynn returned whence he came. Loudon was considerably relieved by what the Irishman had said. For only ten of the men who had been in the Happy Heart were in Block's shack, and the absence of the others had given him much food for thought. He hastened to inspect the horses in the corral. Within three minutes he had resumed his seat on Block's table.
"'Course I ain't doubtin' yore word, Block," he observed, "but one o' them hosses is yore black, an' the other hoss is a gray pony branded 88 an' packin' a saddle with Shorty Simms's name stamped on the front o' the cantle. Both hosses look like they'd been rode fast an' far. Well, Shorty's dead, anyway. You yellow pup, yuh didn't have nerve enough to shoot it out with the sheriff yore own self! Yuh had to go get one o' Blakely's killers to do yore dirty work for yuh."
"Wat you say, Tom?" queried Laguerre. "Keel heem un tak hees hair, huh?"
"It'd shore improve him a lot. I got a plan, Telescope. Just wait a shake. Block, where's Rufe Cutting an' what happened to my hoss Ranger?"
"I dunno nothin' about Cutting," mumbled Block.
Instantly Loudon's six-shooter cracked. With a yelp of pain Block leaped a yard high and clapped a hand to his head.
"Up with them hands!" rapped out Loudon. "Up with 'em!"
Block, shaking like a cedar branch in a breeze, obeyed. From a ragged gash in the Darwinian tubercle of his right ear blood trickled down his neck.
"Block," said Loudon in his gentlest tone, "I wish yuh'd give me some information about Rufe. I'll ask yuh again, an' this time if yuh don't answer I'll ventilate yore left ear, an' I'll use one o' these guns on the floor here. Yuh got to make allowances for ragged work. I won't know the gun like I do my own, an' I may make more of a shot than I mean to. Yuh can't tell."
He drew a six-shooter from one of the dropped holsters, and cocked it.
"Where's Rufe Cutting an' my hoss Ranger?" continued Loudon.
"I dunno! I tell yuh I dunno!" squealed the desperate sheriff.
One of the two guns in Loudon's hands spoke twice. Block fell to his knees, his hands gripping his head.
"Get up!" shouted Loudon. "Get up! It's only yore ear again. I used my own gun after all!"
Then, both what he had undergone at the hands of Block and the loss of his pet suddenly overwhelming him, he leaped at the crouching sheriff and kicked him.
"You —— murderer!" he gritted through his teeth.
"Where's my hoss? Where is he? —— yore soul! What did Rufe do to him? Tell me, or by —— I'll beat yuh to death here an' now!"
And with his wire-bound Mexican quirt Loudon proceeded savagely to lash the sheriff. Loudon was a strong man. He struck with all his might. The double thongs bit through vest and flannel shirt and raised raw welts on the flesh.
The sheriff writhed around and flung himself blindly at his torturer. But Loudon kicked the sheriff in the chest and hurled him, a groaning heap, into his corner. Nor did he cease to thrash him with the quirt. Between blows he bawled demands for news of his horse. Loudon felt sure that Ranger was dead, but he wished to clinch the fact.
"He's gone! Oh, my Gawd! He's gone south!" screamed Block, unable to withhold utterance another second.
Loudon held the quirt poised over his shoulder.
"Yuh mean Rufe Cutting?" he inquired.
"Both of 'em! Rufe an' the hoss! They're both gone!"
"Yuh mean Rufe has took my hoss away?"
"Yes! Yes! Don't hit me with that again."
Loudon did not know whether to believe the sheriff. It was more than possible that Block was lying to escape further punishment. Loudon stared at him. He made an ugly picture lying there on the floor, his face a network of red welts. His shirt was dabbled and stained with the blood from his wounded ears.
"I was goin' to give yuh a chance," said Loudon, slowly. "I was aimin' to give yuh yore gun an' let yuh shoot it out with me. But I can't do that now. Yuh ain't in no shape for shootin'. It'd be like murder to down yuh, an' I ain't goin' to practise murder even on a dog like you. I'm kind o' sorry I feel that way about it. Yuh don't deserve to live a minute."
"You keel heem," put in Laguerre. "She try for keel you een de Ben'. Or I keel heem. I don' care. So she die, dat's enough."
"Can't be did, Telescope."
"I tell you, my frien', you let heem go, she mak plenty trouble."
"We've got to risk that. Yuh can't murder a man, Telescope. Yuh just can't."
Laguerre shrugged expressive shoulders and said no more. It was Loudon's business. He was boss of the round-up.
"Yuh see how it is, Block," observed Loudon. "I can't down yuh now, but next time we meet it's shoot on sight. Next time yuh see Blakely tell him I expected to meet him here in Farewell. I don't guess he'll come now. Still, on the off chance that he does, me an' my friend will stay till sunset. Telescope, I feel sort o' empty. Guess I'll go in the back room an' rustle some chuck."
While Loudon and Laguerre were eating, the sheriff fainted. The strain of standing upright combined with the rough handling he had received had proved too much for him. Laguerre threw the contents of the water bucket over the sheriff.
When the sheriff recovered consciousness Loudon gave the nine citizens permission to sit on the floor. And they sat down stiffly.
Slowly the long hours passed. Occasionally Loudon walked to the door and looked up and down the street. Apparently Farewell dozed.
But it was far from being asleep. Here and there, leaning against the house walls in attitudes of ease, were men. These men were posted in pairs, and Loudon saw Mike Flynn stumping from one couple to another. One pair was posted across the street from the sheriff's shack. The first time Loudon appeared in the doorway these two nodded, and one waved his arm in friendly fashion. There were only twelve in all of these sentinels, but their positions had been chosen with strategic wisdom. Any attempt at a rescue would be disastrous to the rescuers.
"Well," said Loudon when the sun was near its setting, "we might as well be movin', Telescope."
"Mabbeso our hosses been rustle'," suggested Laguerre.
"If they are we'll get 'em back. Our friends here'll fix that up O.K."
The friends glared sullenly. They wanted blood, and lots of it. They had been stuck up and reviled, two of them had been wounded, and their self-respect had been grievously shattered. Vengeance would be very sweet. They wished for it with all the power of very evil hearts.
Loudon gathered up all the cartridge-belts and six-shooters and strung them together. He slung the bundle over his shoulder and addressed his captives.
"You fellahs stand on yore feet. Yo're goin' down street with us. Telescope, I'll wait for 'em outside. Send 'em out, will yuh."
Loudon stepped into the street. One by one the men came out and were lined up two by two in the middle of the street.
The last man was the sheriff. He did not shamble, and he did not keep his eyes on the ground in the manner of a broken man. It was evident that the virtue which passed with him for courage had returned. Even as Captain Burr had remarked, Sheriff Block was not as other men. He was a snake. Nothing but the bullet that killed him could have any effect upon his reptilian nature. This Loudon realized to the full.
"I'm watchin' yuh, Block," he said. "My hand ain't none shaky yet, even if I have been holdin' a gun on yuh all day."
Block shot him a venomous side glance and then looked straight ahead.
"Git along, boys," ordered Loudon. "We'll be right behind yuh."
With Loudon and Laguerre marching on the right and left flank rear respectively the procession trailed down the street till it arrived opposite Bill Lainey's hotel. There, in obedience to Loudon's sharp command, it halted. While Laguerre guarded the prisoners Loudon went to the corral. He found Lainey sitting on a wagon-box beside the gate, a double-barrelled shotgun across his knees. Lainey was excessively wide awake.
"Did somebody come a-lookin' in at our hosses?" drawled Loudon.
"Somebody did," wheezed Lainey. "Somebody near had both of 'em out the gate, but I had this Greener handy, an he faded. By ——! I'd shore admire to see any tin-horn rustle hosses out o' my corral. They're fed an' watered, Tom, an' my wife's done——"
"Yes, Mr. Loudon," interrupted Mrs. Lainey, sticking her lean head out of the kitchen window. "I knowed yuh wouldn't have no time to eat, so I just rolled up some canned tomatters an' canned peaches an' some beans an' some bacon an' a little jerked beef in yore slickers. Ain't it hot? My land! I'm most roasted to death. How'd yuh like it up no'th?"
"Fine, Mis' Lainey, fine," replied Loudon. "I'm obliged to yuh, ma'am. I hope next time I'm in town I won't be so rushed an' I'll have time to stay awhile an' eat a reg'lar dinner. I tell yuh, ma'am, I ain't forgot yore cookin'."
"Aw, you go 'long!" Mrs. Lainey giggled with pleasure and withdrew her head.
"Bill," said Loudon, "yo're a jim-hickey, an' I won't forget it. Let's see—four feeds, two dinners. How much?"
"Nothin', Tom, nothin' a-tall. Not this trip. It's on the house. This is the first time I ever had a real chance to pay yuh back for what yuh done for my kid. Don't say nothin', now. Tom, I kind o' guess Farewell is due to roll over soon. Me an' Mike Flynn an' Piney Jackson, the blacksmith, an' a few o' the boys are gettin' a heap tired o' Block an' his little ways."
"I thought Piney was a friend o' Block's."
"He was, but Block ain't paid for his last eight shoein's, an' Piney can't collect, an' now he ain't got a bit o' use for the sheriff. Some day soon there's goin' to be a battle. Downin' the Sheriff o' Sunset just about put the hat on the climax. Folks'll take us for a gang o' murderers. Well, I'm ready. Got this Greener an' a buffler gun an' four hundred cartridges. Oh, I'm ready, you bet!"
Loudon, leading the two horses, rejoined his comrade. The animals were fractious, yet Loudon and Laguerre swung into their saddles without losing for an instant the magic of the drop.
"We got here without no trouble," Loudon observed in a loud tone. "We're goin' back the way we came. We'll hope that nobody turns loose any artillery from the sidewalk. If they do you fellahs won't live a minute."
No shots disturbed the almost pastoral peace of Farewell as prisoners and guards retraced their steps. Opposite the sheriff's shack the convoy began to lag.
"Keep a-goin'," admonished Loudon. "We don't like to part with yuh just yet."
The prisoners were driven to where a tall spruce grew beside the Paradise Bend trail, three miles from Farewell.
"Yuh can stop here," said Loudon. "We'll drop yore guns an' belts a couple o' miles farther on. We're goin' back to the Bend, an' we'll tell the boys what a rattlin' reception yuh give me an' my friend. If yuh see Sam Blakely, Block, don't forget to tell him I was a heap disappointed not to find him to-day. So long, sports, yo're the easiest bunch o' longhorns I ever seen."
Loudon laughed in the sheriff's blood-caked face, and set spurs to his horse.
"How far we go, huh?" queried Laguerre, when a fold in the ground concealed the tall spruce.
"About four mile. There's a draw runnin' southeast. We'll ride down that. We'd ought to be at the Cross-in-a-box round two o'clock. We could turn off right after we dump this assortment o' cannons. They won't follow us to see whether I told 'em the truth or not. They'll just keep right on believin' we're a-headin' for the Bend hot-foot."
"I guess dey weel. Say, my frien', why deed'n you geet dat warran' from de sher'f un mak heem eat eet? I would, me."
"I don't want to let on I know anythin' about the warrant. Block wants to spring it nice an' easy. All right—let him."
Between two and three in the morning they dismounted in front of the Cross-in-a-box ranch house. Loudon pushed open the front door and walked in. He closed the door and set his back against it.
"Hey, Jack!" he called. "Wake up!"
"Who's there?" came in the incisive voice of Richie, accompanied by a double click.
"It's me—Tom Loudon. I want to see yuh a minute."
"That's good hearin'. I'll be right out. Light the lamp, will yuh, Tom?"
Tousle-headed Jack Richie brisked into the dim circle of lamplight and gripped his friend's hand. He was unfeignedly glad to see Loudon.
"C'mon where it's light," invited Richie. "What yuh standin' by the door for? I'll turn the lamp up."
"No, yuh won't. Don't touch the lamp, Jack. There's plenty o' light for my business. I'm standin' here 'cause I don't want nobody to know I come here to-night—nobody but you an' Ramsay."
"I see," said Richie. "Want a hoss?"
"No, ours'll do. Yeah, I've got a friend with me. I can't bring him in. Got to be movin' right quick. I just stopped to know could I borrow Johnny Ramsay for a while. It's on account o' the 88 outfit."
"Yuh shore can. The 88, huh? Well, I wish yuh luck. When yuh need any more help, let me know."
"Thanks, Jack. I knowed I could count on yuh."
"I'll get Johnny right away."
"No, to-morrow 'll do. There's somethin' I want Johnny to do first. I'd like him to ride over to the Bar S an' tell Chuck Morgan that if he feels like makin' a change there's a job waitin' for him at the Flyin' M. I hate to take one of his men away from Old Salt, but it's root hog or die. I need another man, an' Chuck'll just fill the bill."
"Lemme fix it up. I can borrow Chuck for yuh. Old Salt'll listen to me. No, I won't have to tell him nothin' about yore business. Leave it to me."
"All right. That's better'n takin' Chuck away from him. Yuh needn't mention no name, but yuh can guarantee to Old Salt that Chuck's wages will be paid while he's off, o' course. Yuh can tell Chuck on the side that Scotty Mackenzie will do the payin'."
"Scotty, huh? I did hear how he lost a bunch o' hosses. How many—two hundred, wasn't it?"
"One hundred. But that's enough."
"Yuh don't suspect the 88, do yuh? Why, the Flyin' M is two hundred mile north."
"What's two hundred mile to the 88? An' didn't Scotty ride it just to find out whether I was straight or a murderer?"
"He shore did," laughed Richie. "Yuh couldn't blame the old jigger, though. That 88 brand on yore hoss was misleadin' some."
"That hoss o' mine's been stole. Yep, lifted right in the street in Paradise Bend. Rufe Cutting done it."
"I don't remember him. Is he anybody special besides a hoss thief?"
"Friend o' Blakely's. Block says Rufe's drifted south—him an' the hoss. But Block may be lyin'. Yuh can't tell."
"Did the sheriff give yuh that information free of charge?"
"Not so yuh could notice it. I got it out of him with a quirt, an' I had to drill both his ears, he was that stubborn."
"Drilled both his ears. Well! Well! Yuh'd ought to have killed him."
"I know it. He went an' got Shorty Simms to kill the Sheriff o' Sunset."
"What?"
"Shore. It was thisaway."
Loudon related the circumstances of the sheriff's murder.
"An'," he said in conclusion, "Sunset ain't a-goin' to take it kindly."
"Which I should say not! His friends'll paint for war, that's a cinch. This country's gettin' worse an' worse!"
"No, only the people are, an' maybe we can get some of 'em to change. But I been here too long already. We're ridin' to Marysville, Jack, an' we aim to stay there a couple o' days. Tell Johnny an' Chuck to meet us there, an' tell 'em not to bawl out my name when they see me. It'd be just like the two of 'em to yell her out so yuh could hear it over in the next county. An' I've got plenty of reasons for wishin' to be private."
"Don't worry none. They'll keep their mouths shut. I'll fix that up. I wish yuh luck, Tom. I shore hope yuh get the 88 an' get 'em good. I ain't lost no more cows lately, but I don't like 'em any better for that."
"I wish I could make Old Salt see the light," Loudon grumbled.
"I kind o' think he's comin' round. I seen him a week ago, an' he didn't talk real friendly 'bout the 88. But then, he might have had a bellyache at the time. Old Salt's kind o' odd. Yuh can't always tell what he's thinkin' inside."
Judge Allison, portly and forty, sat on the porch of the Sunrise Hotel in Marysville. The judicial hands were clasped over the judicial stomach, and the judicial mind was at peace with all mankind. However, a six-shooter in a shoulder-holster nudged the judicial ribs beneath each arm-pit. For mankind is peevish and prone to hold grudges, and in order to secure an uninterrupted term on the bench a judge must be prepared for eventualities.
Tied to the hitching-rail in front of the hotel was a good-looking sorrel horse. It bore the Barred Twin Diamond brand. Judge Allison had bought the horse that very morning. He had bought him from the keeper of the dance hall, Mr. William Archer, who, it seemed, had five others for sale.
Judge Allison was delighted with his bargain. He knew a horse when he saw one, and he felt that he had gotten the best of Archer in the deal. True, as Archer had said, the sorrel was a little footsore, but two or three weeks of light work would cure that.
"Yes," mused the Judge, "a good animal. Sixteen hands high if he's an inch, and I'll bet he can run rings round any cow-pony in the community. By Jove, here come two unusually fine animals!"
Which last remark was called forth by the approach of two big rangy horses, a bay and a gray. The riders, very dusty, both of them, were hard-looking characters. A week's growth of stubble does not add to the appearance of any one. They were tall, lean men, these two, and one of them was exceedingly swarthy.
They dismounted at the hitching-rail, tossed the reins over their horses' heads, and went into the bar. Both, as they passed, glanced casually at the Judge's sorrel.
"Flying Diamond A," said the judge to himself, eying the strangers' mounts. "I don't believe I ever heard of that outfit. It must be a southwestern ranch."
Judge Allison had never heard of his sorrel's brand, the Barred Twin Diamond, either. But then the Judge knew Mr. William Archer, or thought he did, and to question the authenticity of the brand had not entered his head.
The two tall, lean riders would have been greatly pleased had they known of the ease with which the Judge read the brands on their horses' hips. It was a tribute to their skill in hair-branding. Pocket-knives in their hands, they had spent hours in a broiling hot draw altering the Flying M to the Flying Diamond A.
On paper it is ridiculously simple. Merely prolong upward, till they meet, the outer arms of the Flying M, and there you have it, a perfectly good Flying Diamond A. But it is quite another story when one's paper is the hide of a nervous horse which frantically objects to having its hair pinched out.
The strangers happened to be sitting on the porch when the Judge rode homeward on his sore-footed purchase. They noted how tenderly the Barred Twin Diamond sorrel walked, and promptly retired to the bar and made a fast friend of the bartender.
That afternoon the younger of the two hard-looking characters, the gray-eyed man, became exceedingly intoxicated and quarrelled with his swarthy friend who remained quite sober. The friend endeavoured to get him to bed—they had taken a room at the hotel—but the drunken one ran away. For a gentleman overcome by drink he ran remarkably well.
He was discovered an hour later in Mr. Archer's corral, making hysterical endeavours to climb the fence, and bawling that he was being detained against his will and would presently make a sieve of the individual who had hidden the gate. To which end he flourished a six-shooter.
Mr. Archer opened the gate and invited the tippler to come out. But this he refused to do, and offered to fight Mr. Archer rough-and-tumble or with knives on a blanket.
Mr. Archer, with an eye to future patronage, did not send for the marshal. He sent for the man's friend. When the swarthy one appeared, the other immediately sheathed his six-shooter, burst into maudlin tears, and fell on his neck. Weeping bitterly, he was led away to the hotel and to bed.
"I've seen drunks," observed a plump dance-hall girl, "but I never seen one as full as he is that could walk so good. His licker only seems to hit him from the belt up."
"Oh, there's drunks an' drunks," sagely replied Mr. Archer. "When yo're as old as I am, Clarice, yuh won't wonder at nothin' a drunk does."
When the two strangers were in their room with the door shut the younger one lay down on his cot and stuffed the end of a blanket into his mouth. His whole big frame shook with uproarious mirth. He kicked the cot with his boot-toes and bounced up and down. His friend laughed silently.
"Telescope," whispered the man on the bed, when he could open his mouth without yelling, "Telescope, I got it all. They's five hosses in that corral o' Archer's, all of 'em sore-footed an' all branded Barred Twin Diamond. It's done mighty slick, too. Yuh can't hardly tell it ain't the real thing. An' one of 'em, a black with two white stockings, I can swear to like I can to that sorrel the bartender said the Judge bought. I've rode 'em both."
"Sleeck work," breathed Laguerre. "I kin sw'ar to dat sorrel, too. I know heem, me. He ees six year old, un dat red one I see een de corral, I know heem. I bust heem a t'ree-year old. He ees five now. But de odders I not so shore."
"It don't matter. They're all Scotty's horses. That's a cinch."
"I won'er eef de rest back een de heel. W'at you t'ink?"
"No, they ain't. Why, look here, Telescope, them six sorefoots tell the story. If the rustlers was holdin' the band in the hills they'd 'a' kept the six. But they didn't. They turned 'em over to Archer. That shows they was drivin' 'em, an' drivin' 'em some'ers near here. Well, the railroad ain't more'n fifty mile south. Farewell's about sixty mile north. If them rustlers got the band this far their best move would be to keep right on to the railroad an' ship the hosses east or west. An' I'll gamble that's what they've done."
Loudon gazed triumphantly at Laguerre. The latter nodded.
"You are right, you bet," he said, his eyes beginning to glitter. "I hope dem two odder boys geet a move on."
"They ought to pull in to-morrow. To-night, when I'm all sober again, we'll go down to the dance hall an' find out if Archer's made any little out-o'-town trips lately. Telescope, I'm shore enjoyin' this. To-morrow I'm goin' to make the acquaintance o' the Judge an' see what he thinks o' this rustler Loudon who goes spreadin' the Crossed Dumbbell brand up an' down the land. Yes, sir, I got to shake hands with Judge Allison."
Again mirth overcame him, and he had recourse to the blanket.
"I wouldn' go see dat Judge," advised Laguerre, with a dubious shake of the head. "She may not be de damfool. She might have you' face describe', huh. She might see onder de w'iskair. You leave heem 'lone, my frien'."
But Loudon remained firm in his resolve.
Mr. Archer was a good business man. His two fiddlers were excellent, and his girls were prettier than the average cow-town dance-hall women. Consequently, Mr. Archer's place was popular. When Loudon and Laguerre entered, four full sets were thumping through a polka on the dancing floor, and in the back room two gamblers sat behind their boxes, players two deep bordering the tables.
After a drink at the bar the two watched the faro games awhile. Then Laguerre captured a good-looking brunette and whirled with her into a wild waltz. Loudon singled out a plump little blonde in a short red skirt and a shockingly inadequate waist and invited her to drink with him.
"I seen yuh this mornin'," she confided, planting both elbows on the table. "Yuh shore was packin' a awful load. I wondered how yuh walked at all."
"Oh, I can always walk," said Loudon, modestly. "Liquor never does affect my legs none—only my head an' my arms."
"Different here, dearie. When I'm full it hits me all over. I just go blah. Yuh got to carry me. I can't walk nohow. But I don't tank up much. Bill Archer don't like it. Say, honey, what djuh say to a dance? Don't yuh feel like a waltz or somethin'?"
"I'd rather sit here an' talk to yuh. Besides, my ankle's strained some. Dancin' won't do it no good."
"That's right. Well, buy me another drink then. I want to get forty checks to-night if I can."
"Help yoreself. The bridle's off to you, Mary Jane."
"Call me Clarice. That's my name. Ain't it got a real refined sound? I got it out of a book. The herowine was called that. She drowned herself. Gee, I cried over that book! Read it six times, too. Here's luck, stranger."
"An' lots of it, Ethel. Have another."
"Just for that yuh don't have to call me Clarice. Yuh can call me anythin' yuh like 'cept Maggie. A floozie named that stole ninety-five dollars an' four bits an' a gold watch offen me once. I ain't liked the name since. Well, drown sorrow."
"An' drown her deep. Say, I kind o' like this town. It suits me down to the ground. How's the cattle 'round here?"
"Nothin' to brag of. They's only a few little ranches. They's gold in the Dry Mountains over east a ways. Placers, the claims are. Bill Archer's got a claim some'ers west in the foot-hills o' the Fryin' Pans. He works it quite a lot, but he ain't never had no luck with it yet. Leastwise, he says he ain't."
"Has he been out to it lately?" asked Loudon, carelessly.
The girl did not immediately reply. She stared fixedly into his eyes.
"Stranger," she said, her voice low and hard, "stranger, what do yuh want to know for?"
"Oh, I was just a-wonderin'. Not that I really want to know. I was just talkin'."
"Yuh seem to enjoy talkin' quite a lot."
"I do. Habit I got."
"Well, what do yuh want to know about Bill Archer for?"
"I don't. Say, can't I make a natural remark without yore jumpin' sideways?"
"Remarks is all right. It's yore questions ain't. Stranger, for a feller who's just makin' talk yore eyes are a heap too interested. I been in this business too long a time not to be able to read a gent's eyes. Yo're a-huntin' for somethin', you are."
"I'm a-huntin' a job—that's all. What do yuh take me for, anyway?"
"I dunno how to take yuh. I——"
"Oh, have another drink an' forget it."
"Shore I'll have another drink, but I dunno as I—— Oh, well, yo're all right, o' course. I'm gettin' foolish, I guess."
Her words did not carry conviction, and certainly she did not cease to watch Loudon with furtive keenness. He strove by means of many drinks and a steady flow of conversation to dispel her suspicions. The girl played up to perfection, yet, when he bade her good-night, it was with the assured belief that she and Archer would have a little talk within five minutes.
The bar was nearly empty when Loudon and Laguerre entered the hotel. Two drunken punchers were sleeping on the floor, a mongrel under a table was vigorously hunting for fleas, and the bartender was languidly arranging bottles on the shelves. Loudon ordered drinks and treated the bartender.
"Any chance o' pickin' up a stake in the Dry Mountains?" hazarded Loudon.
"How?" queried the bartender.
"Placer minin'."
"Well, gents, if yuh don't care how hard yuh work for five dollars a day, the Dry Mountains is the place. I never had no use for a long-tailed shovel myself."
"I heard how them stream-beds was rich."
"Don't yuh believe it, gents. If they was, there wouldn't be no Marysville 'round here. It'd be all over in the Dry Mountains. No, gents, it's like I says. Yuh can get the colour all right enough, but yuh won't make more'n five a day on an average. Who wants to rock a cradle for that?"
"Now ain't that a fright?" complained Loudon. "Chucked up our jobs with the Flyin' Diamond A 'cause we heard how there was gold in the Dry Mountains, an' come all the way up here for nothin'. It shore does beat the devil!"
"It does, stranger, it does. Have one on the house, gents."
"Say," said Loudon, when the liquor was poured, "say, how about east in the foothills o' the Fryin' Pans? Any gold there?"
"Stranger, them Fryin' Pans has been prospected from hell to breakfast an' they ain't showed the colour yet. Take my word for it, gents, an' leave the Fryin' Pans alone. Bill Archer's got a claim some'ers over that way an' he goes traipsin' out to it every so often. Stays quite a while, Bill does, sometimes. Don't know why. He don't never get nothin'."
"How do yuh know?"
"Stranger, I know them hills. I've prospected that country myself. There's no gold in it."
"Maybe Bill Archer don't agree with yuh."
"Likely he don't. He's a hopeful cuss as ever was. Why, gents, only about ten days ago he got back from a two weeks' trip to his claim. A month ago he was gone maybe a week. An' it goes on like that. Why, I'll bet Bill Archer spends mighty nigh four months in every year out on his claim. There's perseverance for yuh, if nothin' else."
The two friends agreed that it was indeed perseverance and retired to their room.
"We've got Archer pretty nigh hog-tied," murmured Loudon as he pulled off his trousers.
"You bet," whispered Laguerre. "Archer she ees w'at you call de fence, huh? De odder feller dey run off de pony un de cow, un Archer she sell dem. Eet ees plain, yes."
"Plain! I guess so. It'll be a cinch."
It might appear cinch-like, but there were more dips and twists in the trail ahead than Loudon and Laguerre dreamed of.
In the morning Loudon strolled down the street and entered the dance hall. Mr. Archer was behind the bar, and he greeted Loudon with grave politeness.
There was nothing in Archer's manner to indicate that Clarice had talked. In perfect amity the two men drank together, and Loudon took his departure. His visit to the dance hall had one result. The depth of Mr. Archer's character had been indicated, if not revealed. Loudon had hoped that he was a hasty person, one given to exploding at half-cock. Such an individual is less difficult to contend with than one that bides his time.
Loudon, not wholly easy in his mind, went in search of Judge Allison. He found him in the Sweet Dreams Saloon telling a funny story to the bartender. The Judge was an approachable person. Loudon had no difficulty in scraping an acquaintance with him. Half-an-hour's conversation disclosed the fact that the Judge's hobby was the horse. Loudon talked horse and its diseases till he felt that his brain was in danger of developing a spavin.
Judge Allison warmed to the young man. Here was a fellow that knew horses. By Jove, yes! Reluctantly the Judge admitted to himself that Loudon's knowledge of breeding secrets far exceeded his own. In a land where horses are usually bred haphazard such an individual is rare.
The Judge took Loudon home with him in order to pursue his favourite subject to its lair. Which lair was the Judge's office, where, cheek by jowl with "Coke upon Littleton" and Blackstone's ponderous volumes, were books on the horse—war, work, and race.
"It's astonishing, sir," pronounced the Judge, when his negro had brought in a sweating jug of what the Judge called cocktails, "truly astonishing what vile poison is served across our bars. And I say 'vile' with feeling. Why, until I imported my own brands from the East my stomach was perpetually out of order. I very nearly died. Have another? No? Later, then. Well, sir, my name is Allison, Henry B. Allison, Judge of this district. What may I call you, sir?"
"Franklin, Judge, Ben Franklin," replied Loudon, giving the name he had given the landlord of the hotel.
"Any relation of Poor Richard?" twinkled the Judge.
"Who was he?" queried Loudon, blankly.
"A great man, a very great man. He's dead at present."
"He would be. Fellah never is appreciated till he shuffles off."
"We live in an unappreciative world, Mr. Franklin. I know. I ought to. A judge is never appreciated, that is, not pleasantly. Why, last year I sentenced Tom Durry for beating his wife, and Mrs. Tom endeavoured to shoot me the day after Tom was sent away. The mental processes of a woman are incomprehensible. Have another cocktail?"
"No more, thanks, Judge. I've had a-plenty. Them cocktail jiggers ain't strong or nothin'. Oh, no! Two or three more of 'em an' I'd go right out an' push the house over. I'm feelin' fine now. Don't want to feel a bit better. Ever go huntin', Judge?"
"No, I don't. I used to. Why?"
"I was just a-wonderin'. Yuh see, me an' my friend are thinkin' o' prospectin' the Fryin' Pans, an' we was a-wonderin' how the game was. Don't want to pack much grub if we can help it."
"The Frying Pans! Why, Bill Archer has a claim there. Never gets anything out of it, though. Works it hard enough, too, or he used to at any rate. Odd. About three weeks ago he told me he was riding out to give it another whirl. Last week, Tuesday, to be exact, I was riding about twenty miles south of here and I met Bill Archer riding north. He seemed quite surprised to meet me. I guess he doesn't work that claim as much as he says."
"That's the way we come north—through that country east of the Blossom trail."
"Oh, I was west of the Blossom trail—fully ten miles west. What? Going already? Why, I haven't had time to ask you about that extraordinary case of ringbone you ran across in Texas. Wait. I'll get a book. I want to show you something."
It was fully an hour before Loudon could tear himself away from Judge Allison. As he crossed the street, a buckboard drawn by two sweating, dust-caked ponies rattled past him and stopped in front of the Judge's office. The driver was a woman swathed in a shapeless duster, her face hidden by a heavy veil, and a wide-brimmed Stetson tied sunbonnet-fashion over her ears. At first glance she was not attractive, and Loudon, absorbed in his own affairs, did not look twice.
"Find out anythin'?" inquired Laguerre, when Loudon met him at the hotel corral.
"I found out that when Archer came back from that claim in the Fryin' Pans he come from the direction o' the railroad. The Judge met him twenty mile south an' ten mile west o' the trail to Blossom. Blossom is almost due south o' here. The next station west is Damson. We'll go to Damson first. C'mon an' eat."
The long table in the dining room was almost deserted. At one end sat Archer and a lanky person in chaps. Loudon caught the lanky gentleman casting sidelong glances in his direction. Archer did not look up from his plate. It was the first meal at which they had met either the dance-hall keeper or his tall friend.
"I wonder," mused Loudon. "I wonder."
After dinner Loudon inquired of the bartender whether it was Archer's custom to eat at the hotel.
"First time he ever ate here to my knowledge," said the bartender. "He's got a home an' a Injun woman to cook."
"It's the little tumble-weeds show how the wind blows," thought Loudon to himself, and sat down in a corner of the barroom and pondered deeply.
A few minutes later he removed his cartridge-belt, hung it on the back of his chair, and composed himself ostensibly to doze. His three-quarter shut eyes, however, missed nothing that went on in the barroom.
Archer and his lanky friend entered and draped themselves over the bar. Loudon, after a brief space of time, arose, stretched, and yawningly stumbled upstairs. He lay down on his cot and smoked one cigarette after another, his eyes on the ceiling.
Laguerre wandered in, and Loudon uttered cogent sentences in a whisper. Laguerre grinned delightedly. His perverted sense of humour was aroused. Loudon did not smile. What he believed to be impending gave him no pleasure.
"Guess I'll go down," announced Loudon, when an hour had elapsed. "No sense in delayin' too long."
"No," said Laguerre, "no sense een dat."
He followed his friend downstairs.
"Seems to me I took it off in here," Loudon flung back over his shoulder, as though in response to a question. "Shore, there it is."
He walked across the barroom to where his cartridge-belt and six-shooter hung on the back of a chair. He buckled on the belt, Archer and his lanky friend watching him the while.
"How about a little game, gents?" suggested Archer.
In a flash Loudon saw again the barroom of the Happy Heart and the Sheriff of Sunset County surrounded by Block's friends. The wolf-faced man had employed almost those very words. Loudon smiled cheerfully.
"Why, shore," he said, "I'm with yuh. I left my coin upstairs. I'll be right down."
He hurried up to his room, closed the door, and set his back against it. Drawing his six-shooter he flipped out the cylinder. No circle of brass heads and copper primers met his eye. His weapon had been unloaded.
"Fell plumb into it," he muttered without exultation. "The —— murderers!"
He tried the action. Nothing wrong there. Only the cartridges had been juggled. He reloaded hastily from a fresh box of cartridges. He would not trust those in his belt. Heaven only knew how far ahead the gentleman who tampered with his gun had looked.
When Loudon returned to the barroom, Laguerre and the other two men were sitting at a battered little table. The vacant chair was opposite Archer's lanky friend, and the man sitting in that chair would have his back to the door.
"I don't like to sit with my back to the door," stated Loudon.
"Some don't," said the lanky man, shuffling the cards.
"Meanin'?" Loudon cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Oh, nothin'."
"Shore?"
"Positive, stranger, positive."
"That's good. Change seats, will yuh?"
The lanky citizen hesitated. Loudon remained standing, his gray eyes cold and hard. Then slowly the other man arose, circled the table, and sat down. Loudon slid into the vacated chair.
The lanky man dealt. Loudon watched the deft fingers—fingers too deft for the excessively crude exhibition of cheating that occurred almost instantly. To Archer the dealer dealt from the bottom of the pack, and did it clumsily. Hardly the veriest tyro would have so openly bungled the performance. For all that, however, it was done so that Loudon, and not Laguerre, saw the action.
"Where I come from," observed Loudon, softly, "we don't deal from the bottom of the pack."
"Do you say I'm a-dealin' from the bottom of the pack?" loudly demanded the lanky man.
"Just that," replied Loudon, his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest.
"Yo're a liar!" roared the lanky one, and reached for his gun.
Archer fell over backwards. Laguerre thrust his chair to one side and leaped the other way.
No one saw Loudon's arm move. Yet, when the lanky man's fingers closed on the butt of his gun, Loudon's six-shooter was in his hand.
The lanky man's six-shooter was half drawn when Loudon's gun spat flame and smoke. The lanky's one's fingers slipped their grip, and his arm jerked backward. Lips writhing with pain, for his right elbow was smashed to bits, the lanky man thrust his left hand under his vest.
"Don't," cautioned Loudon.
The lanky man's hand came slowly away—empty. White as chalk, his left hand clenched round the biceps of his wounded arm, the lanky man swayed to his feet and staggered into the street.
Archer arose awkwardly. His expression was so utterly nonplussed that it would have been laughable had not the situation been so tragic. A thread of gray smoke spiraled upward from the muzzle of Loudon's slanting six-shooter. Laguerre, balanced on his toes, watched the doorway.
Loudon stared at Archer. The latter moved from behind the table and halted. He removed his hat and scratched his head, his eyes on the trail of red blots leading to the door.
"——!" exclaimed Archer, suddenly, raising his head. "This here kind o' puts a crimp in our game, don't it?"
"That depends on how bad yuh want to play," retorted Loudon. "I'm ready—I'm always ready to learn new tricks."
"I don't just feel like poker now," hedged Archer, ignoring the insult. "I reckon I'll see yuh later maybe."
"Don't strain yoreself reckonin'," advised Loudon.
"I won't. So long, gents."
With an airy wave of his head Bill Archer left the barroom.
Inch by inch the head of the bartender uprose from behind the breastwork of the bar. The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun rose with the head. When Loudon holstered his six-shooter the bartender replaced the sawed-off shotgun on the hooks behind the bar.
"Well, sir, gents," remarked the bartender with an audible sigh of relief, "which I'm never so glad in my life when Skinny Maxson don't pull that derringer. She's a .41 that derringer is, the bar's right in the line o' fire—it ain't none too thick—an' Skinny always shoots wide with a derringer. Gents, the drinks are on the house. What'll yuh have?"
"Yo're a Christian," grinned Loudon. "Is Skinny Maxson anythin' special 'round here?"
"He's a friend o' Bill Archer's," replied the bartender, "an' he's got—I mean he had a reputation. I knowed he was lightning on the draw till I seen you—I mean till I didn't see yuh pull yore gun. Mr. Franklin, that was shore the best exhibition o' quick drawin' I ever seen, an' I used to work in Dodge City. Good thing yuh was some swift. Skinny don't shoot a six-gun like he does a derringer. No, not for a minute he don't! But look out for Skinny's brother Luke. He's got a worse temper'n Skinny, an' he's a better shot. This nickin' o' Skinny is a heap likely to make him paint for war. He's out o' town just now."
A clatter of running feet was heard in the street. Through the doorway bounded a stocky citizen, blood in his eye, and a shotgun in his hand.
"Where's the —— shot Skinny!" he howled.
"Luke!" cried the bartender, and dived beneath the bar.
"Stranger, I wouldn't do nothin' rash," observed Loudon, squinting along the barrel of his six-shooter. "Drop that shotgun, an' drop her quick."
Loudon's tone was soft, but its menace was not lost on the wild-eyed man. His shotgun thudded on the floor.
"By Gar!" exclaimed Laguerre. "Eet ees——"
"Shut up!" roared Loudon. "I'm seein' just what yo're seein', but there's no call to blat it out!"