The train was late that afternoon. It had taken a long time to clear away the wreck. Hashknife was alone at the depot, when Sleepy climbed off the train, a wide grin on his face. He had Moran’s two valises, but Moran had told Hashknife to leave them at the depot, because he and Regan were going back to the Big 4.“I was sure glad to see this train pull in at Sibley,” grinned Sleepy. “That bartender drove me wild. When he ran out of talk about himself, he read out loud from his book. Where’s the horses?”“Tied to a hitch-rack up the street, Sleepy.”“Uh-huh,” Sleepy’s blue eyes studied Hashknife seriously.“How soon do we pull out, Hashknife?”“Most any time, I reckon.”“Oh!” he exclaimed in surprise.Sleepy was rather taken aback. Hashknife lighted a cigaret and sat down on the rear platform of the depot.“Remember Ed Holmes, the remittance man, who bootlegged hooch to the Flatheads, Sleepy?” he asked.“Holmes? Lemme see—Holmes. Remittance man, oh yeah.”“He’s top hand in a big honkatonk here. Owns the place. I sprung the bootleg thing on him and he flinched; but he shook out of the loop pretty quick and denied everythin’. I admitted I might be mistaken; but he knows I ain’t, and he knows I know it. Got a few gunmen workin’ for him. Somebody has scared the sheriff out of the country, and tried to scare the county judge, but he don’t scare. Tin-horn gambler got shot by a half-breed a few days ago, but they got the breed. Old Man Moran owns the Big 4, and his wayward son is in love with this half-breed’s sister. Yesterday they found eight Big 4 steers dead on this squaw-man’s place, but before they got the sheriff out to see the evidence, somebody skinned out the brands. And that’s about all there is, Sleepy.”Sleepy sighed deeply and rolled a cigaret.“I’m shore glad,” he said slowly. “I tell you I was scared there might be trouble over here, and that you’d get your long nose into it. Didja get the twenty-five from Moran?”“Y’betcha.”Sleepy smoked slowly, eyeing the main street of Turquoise City.“Didja meet young Moran?” he asked.“Nope. Regan, the foreman of the Big 4, told me a lot about him. Wild young Irishman, I reckon. Busted with his father, they say. Took the money his mother left him and bought a ranch here. Too much liquor and cards have put him on the rocks, but he’s still a wild go-devil. Sent word to his father to mind his own damn business.“The sheriff is a character, Sleepy. You’ll like him. He ain’t got a brain in his head, and he’s got a deputy that don’t know there ever was a Civil War—and don’t care. This sheriff was a deputy just long enough to learn how to pin his badge on right side up. There’s nobody to show ’em what to do. I met the prosecuting attorney. Queer looking jigger, named Ryker. Wears celluloid cuffs and a collar two sizes too big. Ex-assayer. Still owns the assay office here.“They tell me that the judge is an old-timer here. Lives alone, with a crippled Chinese cook. Square as a dollar, drinks like a fish and thinks the town needs cleanin’.”“What about this half-breed girl?” asked Sleepy.Hashknife smiled softly over his cigaret.“I haven’t seen her, Sleepy. Regan says she’s as pretty as a picture. She stuck Regan and one of the cowboys up with a shotgun and took away their guns last night.”“Um-m-m-m-ha-a-ah!” grunted Sleepy. “Beauty is as beauty does. I’ll say she ain’t no frail lily. And it’s her brother they’ve got in jail, eh?”“And the sheriff is also in love with her,” smiled Hashknife. “I dunno how many others. And her old man sits on the porch with a great big .45-70 Winchester in his hands and swears he’ll kill the first man that shows up on his land.”Sleepy stretched wearily and threw away his cigaret.“I shore didn’t sleep much last night. Every time I turned over I knocked the bartender out of bed, and every time he turned over he knocked me out. I ate more cheese, crackers and salmon for supper, salmon, cheese and crackers for breakfast, and I ain’t had no dinner today. Let’s put on a feed-bag.”They went to a restaurant next door to the Black Horse Saloon, where they found Roaring Rigby and Wind River Jim, sitting at a table with Jimmy Moran. Roaring waved a fork at them, inviting them to sit at his table. He introduced Hashknife, after which Hashknife introduced Sleepy to all of them.“This is Frank Moran’s son,” explained Roaring. “Owns the Stumblin’ K, and is master of his own soul, ain’tcha, Jimmy?”“To my own sorrow most of the time,” grinned Jimmy. “Dad probably painted a scarlet picture of me, didn’t he?”“He said outside of bein’ a proper damn fool, you was all right,” replied Hashknife seriously.“Well, that’s kinda soft language for him,” laughed Jimmy. “He hates me because I’m such a success. Right now I’m just one jump ahead of the sheriff. Ain’t that right, Roarin’?”“Yeah, that’s right, Jimmy.”Jimmy was facing the door. Suddenly he slid away from the table, grabbed his hat from a nail on the wall and headed for the door. Roaring twisted his head around and looked toward the front window in time to see Dawn Conley ride past in the rickety old buggy. Jimmy was already outside.“Bet she came back to see you, Roarin’,” said Wind River. “She was at the office this mornin’, and she told Ryker her old man was gunnin’ for anybody that showed up on his ranch. I reckon she was a little nervous.”Wind River walked to the window and looked out, but he came right back, nodding his head.“Her and Jimmy are in front of the office, talkin’.”Roaring was staring at his plate; his lips shut tightly. Hashknife watched the expression of his face, as he lifted his eyes slowly and cleared his throat.“That’s all right,” he said, trying to make his tone indifferent. “They’ve prob’ly got things to talk about.”The men resumed their meal, but something had caused the conversation to lag. It was possibly ten minutes later when Jimmy came in. He sat down across the table from the sheriff, his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands.“Roarin’,” he said slowly, “Dawn wants to see you.”“To see me? What for, Jimmy?”“It made me laugh,” said Jimmy seriously. “You probably won’t see anythin’ funny about it. When Dad and Slim Regan left here this mornin’, Dad got the idea of goin’ to see Conley. I suppose he was goin’ to tell Conley what he thought of him. Dad would, you know. He hasn’t any sense of humor, I guess. And Slim’s a sort of a fool, too. He’d back any play that Dad started. So they went over to see Conley—or rather that seems to have been their idea. It—”“Say!” blurted Roaring anxiously.“Who got killed?”“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, Roarin’. They got in reach of Conley’s Winchester, and Dad’s horse got killed. He piled on behind Slim, and they high-tailed it for the ranch. Dawn has the idea that you might be able to do somethin’. Might go out and explain to the old man that—”“Me? Me go out there and—and— yea-a-a-ah! Like hell!”“Well, go down and talk with her, Roarin’. She’s upset.”“So was your pa,” grinned Wind River Jim.“But I can’t do a thing,” protested Roaring.“Is the old man crazy?” asked Hashknife.“He is not,” declared Jimmy. “He’s mad. He thinks they’re all pickin’ on him. He hates Dad. He gave me orders to keep away. His son is in jail charged with murder and he thinks everybody is against him. And,” sighed Jimmy, “he may be right about it, at that.”Roaring got heavily to his feet, yanked his Stetson down over his ears and went scuffling toward the door. Wind River Jim choked on his coffee and wiped the tears out of his eyes.“He’s a great sheriff, that feller,” said Wind River.Roaring found Dawn waiting for him in front of the office. She looked searchingly at him and he grinned rather foolishly.“You know what happened, don’t you?” she asked.“Y-yes, Jimmy told me. I dunno.” Roaring shoved his hat on the back of his head and rubbed his chin with the palm of his right hand. “I dunno what to do,” he said.“I don’t either,” she said. “Dad’s stubborn. It will mean a killing, I’m afraid. But it was wrong for Slim Regan and Mr. Moran to come. Slim knew how Dad feels. Oh, it was lucky that only the horse was killed.”“Lot of luck depends on your aim, when you shoot as well as your dad does, Dawn. Did he shoot more ’n once?”“No, just once.”“Makes it look better,” said Roaring, “but what can I do?”“Can’t you come out and have a talk with him?”“And git my earthly envelope all gummed up?”“I don’t believe he—if he knew you were just coming to talk with him, he wouldn’t harm you.”“Talk to him about what, Dawn?”“Oh, about everything. Try to make him understand. He’s bitter. Sometimes I think he’s losing his mind. He hasn’t hired a lawyer for Peter. I asked him why he don’t, and he says it’s no use. He says that the Big 4 and the Black Horse Saloon are running the country and that they’ll hang Peter in spite of any lawyer.”“Pshaw, that ain’t no way to feel,” said Roaring slowly. “Old Judge Beal ain’t against your dad.”“No, he’s honest. Dad knows he is; but Dad says they’ll kill him before the trial.”“Uh-huh,” Roaring caressed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I dunno; mebby they will.”“And what chance has an honest judge, if a crooked jury brings in a verdict of guilty?”“Shore, that’s the worst of it. I tell you what you do. You tell your dad I’ll be out this evenin’, and we’ll see what we can figure out. Pers’nally, I think he had a right to hoodie Moran and Regan off the ranch. They had plenty of warnin’.”“I’ll tell him,” said Dawn wearily. “He likes you. But I hope nobody else comes.”“I hope to gosh he don’t mistake me for anybody else.”Dawn climbed into the buggy, while Roaring untied the horse.“Why did Jimmy Moran’s father come here?” she asked.Roaring tied up the rope carefully, looked the patched harness over and stepped aside.“Don’t you know?” she asked.“You better ask Jimmy,” he said. “He knows more ’n I do about it.”“Was it about me, Roaring?”Roaring leaned back against a porchpost and looked at the horse.“Don’t let that git you down,” he said softly. “Lotsa parents are like that; they prob’ly didn’t pick so well themselves and they want to try and help the kids.”Dawn drove away from the hitch-rack, and Roaring watched until she disappeared. The men were coming from the restaurant, so he went to meet them. But he didn’t tell them that he was going out to talk with Moses Conley.Hashknife and Sleepy got a room at the Turquoise Hotel and put their horses in the livery-stable. Jimmy Moran had taken a liking to them and had introduced them to every one they met.
The train was late that afternoon. It had taken a long time to clear away the wreck. Hashknife was alone at the depot, when Sleepy climbed off the train, a wide grin on his face. He had Moran’s two valises, but Moran had told Hashknife to leave them at the depot, because he and Regan were going back to the Big 4.
“I was sure glad to see this train pull in at Sibley,” grinned Sleepy. “That bartender drove me wild. When he ran out of talk about himself, he read out loud from his book. Where’s the horses?”
“Tied to a hitch-rack up the street, Sleepy.”
“Uh-huh,” Sleepy’s blue eyes studied Hashknife seriously.
“How soon do we pull out, Hashknife?”
“Most any time, I reckon.”
“Oh!” he exclaimed in surprise.
Sleepy was rather taken aback. Hashknife lighted a cigaret and sat down on the rear platform of the depot.
“Remember Ed Holmes, the remittance man, who bootlegged hooch to the Flatheads, Sleepy?” he asked.
“Holmes? Lemme see—Holmes. Remittance man, oh yeah.”
“He’s top hand in a big honkatonk here. Owns the place. I sprung the bootleg thing on him and he flinched; but he shook out of the loop pretty quick and denied everythin’. I admitted I might be mistaken; but he knows I ain’t, and he knows I know it. Got a few gunmen workin’ for him. Somebody has scared the sheriff out of the country, and tried to scare the county judge, but he don’t scare. Tin-horn gambler got shot by a half-breed a few days ago, but they got the breed. Old Man Moran owns the Big 4, and his wayward son is in love with this half-breed’s sister. Yesterday they found eight Big 4 steers dead on this squaw-man’s place, but before they got the sheriff out to see the evidence, somebody skinned out the brands. And that’s about all there is, Sleepy.”
Sleepy sighed deeply and rolled a cigaret.
“I’m shore glad,” he said slowly. “I tell you I was scared there might be trouble over here, and that you’d get your long nose into it. Didja get the twenty-five from Moran?”
“Y’betcha.”
Sleepy smoked slowly, eyeing the main street of Turquoise City.
“Didja meet young Moran?” he asked.
“Nope. Regan, the foreman of the Big 4, told me a lot about him. Wild young Irishman, I reckon. Busted with his father, they say. Took the money his mother left him and bought a ranch here. Too much liquor and cards have put him on the rocks, but he’s still a wild go-devil. Sent word to his father to mind his own damn business.
“The sheriff is a character, Sleepy. You’ll like him. He ain’t got a brain in his head, and he’s got a deputy that don’t know there ever was a Civil War—and don’t care. This sheriff was a deputy just long enough to learn how to pin his badge on right side up. There’s nobody to show ’em what to do. I met the prosecuting attorney. Queer looking jigger, named Ryker. Wears celluloid cuffs and a collar two sizes too big. Ex-assayer. Still owns the assay office here.
“They tell me that the judge is an old-timer here. Lives alone, with a crippled Chinese cook. Square as a dollar, drinks like a fish and thinks the town needs cleanin’.”
“What about this half-breed girl?” asked Sleepy.
Hashknife smiled softly over his cigaret.
“I haven’t seen her, Sleepy. Regan says she’s as pretty as a picture. She stuck Regan and one of the cowboys up with a shotgun and took away their guns last night.”
“Um-m-m-m-ha-a-ah!” grunted Sleepy. “Beauty is as beauty does. I’ll say she ain’t no frail lily. And it’s her brother they’ve got in jail, eh?”
“And the sheriff is also in love with her,” smiled Hashknife. “I dunno how many others. And her old man sits on the porch with a great big .45-70 Winchester in his hands and swears he’ll kill the first man that shows up on his land.”
Sleepy stretched wearily and threw away his cigaret.
“I shore didn’t sleep much last night. Every time I turned over I knocked the bartender out of bed, and every time he turned over he knocked me out. I ate more cheese, crackers and salmon for supper, salmon, cheese and crackers for breakfast, and I ain’t had no dinner today. Let’s put on a feed-bag.”
They went to a restaurant next door to the Black Horse Saloon, where they found Roaring Rigby and Wind River Jim, sitting at a table with Jimmy Moran. Roaring waved a fork at them, inviting them to sit at his table. He introduced Hashknife, after which Hashknife introduced Sleepy to all of them.
“This is Frank Moran’s son,” explained Roaring. “Owns the Stumblin’ K, and is master of his own soul, ain’tcha, Jimmy?”
“To my own sorrow most of the time,” grinned Jimmy. “Dad probably painted a scarlet picture of me, didn’t he?”
“He said outside of bein’ a proper damn fool, you was all right,” replied Hashknife seriously.
“Well, that’s kinda soft language for him,” laughed Jimmy. “He hates me because I’m such a success. Right now I’m just one jump ahead of the sheriff. Ain’t that right, Roarin’?”
“Yeah, that’s right, Jimmy.”
Jimmy was facing the door. Suddenly he slid away from the table, grabbed his hat from a nail on the wall and headed for the door. Roaring twisted his head around and looked toward the front window in time to see Dawn Conley ride past in the rickety old buggy. Jimmy was already outside.
“Bet she came back to see you, Roarin’,” said Wind River. “She was at the office this mornin’, and she told Ryker her old man was gunnin’ for anybody that showed up on his ranch. I reckon she was a little nervous.”
Wind River walked to the window and looked out, but he came right back, nodding his head.
“Her and Jimmy are in front of the office, talkin’.”
Roaring was staring at his plate; his lips shut tightly. Hashknife watched the expression of his face, as he lifted his eyes slowly and cleared his throat.
“That’s all right,” he said, trying to make his tone indifferent. “They’ve prob’ly got things to talk about.”
The men resumed their meal, but something had caused the conversation to lag. It was possibly ten minutes later when Jimmy came in. He sat down across the table from the sheriff, his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands.
“Roarin’,” he said slowly, “Dawn wants to see you.”
“To see me? What for, Jimmy?”
“It made me laugh,” said Jimmy seriously. “You probably won’t see anythin’ funny about it. When Dad and Slim Regan left here this mornin’, Dad got the idea of goin’ to see Conley. I suppose he was goin’ to tell Conley what he thought of him. Dad would, you know. He hasn’t any sense of humor, I guess. And Slim’s a sort of a fool, too. He’d back any play that Dad started. So they went over to see Conley—or rather that seems to have been their idea. It—”
“Say!” blurted Roaring anxiously.
“Who got killed?”
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, Roarin’. They got in reach of Conley’s Winchester, and Dad’s horse got killed. He piled on behind Slim, and they high-tailed it for the ranch. Dawn has the idea that you might be able to do somethin’. Might go out and explain to the old man that—”
“Me? Me go out there and—and— yea-a-a-ah! Like hell!”
“Well, go down and talk with her, Roarin’. She’s upset.”
“So was your pa,” grinned Wind River Jim.
“But I can’t do a thing,” protested Roaring.
“Is the old man crazy?” asked Hashknife.
“He is not,” declared Jimmy. “He’s mad. He thinks they’re all pickin’ on him. He hates Dad. He gave me orders to keep away. His son is in jail charged with murder and he thinks everybody is against him. And,” sighed Jimmy, “he may be right about it, at that.”
Roaring got heavily to his feet, yanked his Stetson down over his ears and went scuffling toward the door. Wind River Jim choked on his coffee and wiped the tears out of his eyes.
“He’s a great sheriff, that feller,” said Wind River.
Roaring found Dawn waiting for him in front of the office. She looked searchingly at him and he grinned rather foolishly.
“You know what happened, don’t you?” she asked.
“Y-yes, Jimmy told me. I dunno.” Roaring shoved his hat on the back of his head and rubbed his chin with the palm of his right hand. “I dunno what to do,” he said.
“I don’t either,” she said. “Dad’s stubborn. It will mean a killing, I’m afraid. But it was wrong for Slim Regan and Mr. Moran to come. Slim knew how Dad feels. Oh, it was lucky that only the horse was killed.”
“Lot of luck depends on your aim, when you shoot as well as your dad does, Dawn. Did he shoot more ’n once?”
“No, just once.”
“Makes it look better,” said Roaring, “but what can I do?”
“Can’t you come out and have a talk with him?”
“And git my earthly envelope all gummed up?”
“I don’t believe he—if he knew you were just coming to talk with him, he wouldn’t harm you.”
“Talk to him about what, Dawn?”
“Oh, about everything. Try to make him understand. He’s bitter. Sometimes I think he’s losing his mind. He hasn’t hired a lawyer for Peter. I asked him why he don’t, and he says it’s no use. He says that the Big 4 and the Black Horse Saloon are running the country and that they’ll hang Peter in spite of any lawyer.”
“Pshaw, that ain’t no way to feel,” said Roaring slowly. “Old Judge Beal ain’t against your dad.”
“No, he’s honest. Dad knows he is; but Dad says they’ll kill him before the trial.”
“Uh-huh,” Roaring caressed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I dunno; mebby they will.”
“And what chance has an honest judge, if a crooked jury brings in a verdict of guilty?”
“Shore, that’s the worst of it. I tell you what you do. You tell your dad I’ll be out this evenin’, and we’ll see what we can figure out. Pers’nally, I think he had a right to hoodie Moran and Regan off the ranch. They had plenty of warnin’.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Dawn wearily. “He likes you. But I hope nobody else comes.”
“I hope to gosh he don’t mistake me for anybody else.”
Dawn climbed into the buggy, while Roaring untied the horse.
“Why did Jimmy Moran’s father come here?” she asked.
Roaring tied up the rope carefully, looked the patched harness over and stepped aside.
“Don’t you know?” she asked.
“You better ask Jimmy,” he said. “He knows more ’n I do about it.”
“Was it about me, Roaring?”
Roaring leaned back against a porchpost and looked at the horse.
“Don’t let that git you down,” he said softly. “Lotsa parents are like that; they prob’ly didn’t pick so well themselves and they want to try and help the kids.”
Dawn drove away from the hitch-rack, and Roaring watched until she disappeared. The men were coming from the restaurant, so he went to meet them. But he didn’t tell them that he was going out to talk with Moses Conley.
Hashknife and Sleepy got a room at the Turquoise Hotel and put their horses in the livery-stable. Jimmy Moran had taken a liking to them and had introduced them to every one they met.