It was about an hour after dark when Lovely Lucas came into the Ranger saloon, where Hashknife, Sleepy and Jimmy were playing seven-up, and announced that the Big 4 outfit had come to town in force.“The whole works, I tell you,” declared Lovely. “Old Man Moran, Slim Regan, Clayton, Allard, Creswell and Pitts. They’re all in the Black Horse, except Slim. He went down to see the sheriff.”The game broke up immediately, and the four men trailed up the street past the sheriff’s office, where they found Wind River Jim alone.“Yeah, it was about that shootin’ today,” said Wind River. “The whole Big 4 is b’ilin’ mad. They hopped all over Roarin’ when he said there wasn’t anythin’ to be done about it. He’s over in the Black Horse, arguin’ about it with ’em right now.”“Pretty sore, eh?” said Lovely.“Right to a head.”Jimmy touched Hashknife on the arm.“I’ll see you later, Hartley,” he said.“Yeah, all right,” replied Hashknife, and Jimmy hurried up the street.They listened to Wind River Jim’s opinion of the case, and then they moved over to the Black Horse. Lovely demurred about going in.“I owe ’em forty dollars for busted glass,” he said. “If I go in there I might have to kill somebody. You boys go ahead and hear what’s bein’ said.”Hashknife and Sleepy strolled in unnoticed. The Big 4 gang was at the bar with Roaring Rigby; Slim Regan seemed to have the floor.“It jist means that there ain’t no law here,” decided Slim, “and when there ain’t no law, it’s up to the citizens to make a little.”“When you jiggers git through runnin’ off at the neck, I’ll speak my piece,” said Roaring. “Through yet? Can’t think of another thing to say? Fine. You’ve talked a lot and ain’t said anything. In the first place, Old Man Conley owns that land. He’s got it fenced. You know he fenced that to keep the Big 4 off his land. There’s been bad blood between him and Frank Moran for twenty-five years. You and Moran both know that Conley said he’d shoot the first man to come on his place. And yet you went on, didn’t you? Trespassed, didn’t you?“Started over there with the intention of givin’ him the devil over them steers. And all he done was to make good his promise. You got off easy. That old pelican can hit a gnat in the eye at fifty feet. All you lose is one horse. What you ought to do is to write him a letter tellin’ him you’re much obliged.”It was a long speech for Roaring Rigby.“If Conley didn’t have a pretty girl, you’d talk different,” said one of the men farther back in the room.Roaring whirled quickly, but he did not know who had made the remark.“Will the dirty bum who made that remark say it once more?” he asked coldly.But no one spoke. They knew the temper of that sad-eyed, bat-eared sheriff, whose shoulders hunched as his eyes swept the faces under the hanging lamps.“Your arguments hardly do justice to your office,” said Franklyn Moran. “We have demanded the arrest of Moses Conley on a charge of assault with a deadly weapon. I didn’t know that this county paid you a salary as a debater.”“You’ve got all the argument you’ll git from me,” said Roaring.He turned his back on them and stalked from the room. Several people laughed, but he did not turn his head. Nor did he hurry as he crossed the street. They could see him from the lighted windows, as he went slowly toward his office. But once inside that office he did not move so slowly. Wind River Jim stared at him, as he sprang to the gun-rack, grabbed down a rifle and a belt of ammunition.“You stay here, Wind River,” he ordered, and ran out through the back door.Wind River walked to the front door, where he leaned out, chewing his tobacco violently. It was possibly five minutes later that Hank Pitts and Mark Clayton strolled past.“Hyah, Wind River,” greeted Hank. “Howsa job?”“Swell, elegant, Hank; beats punchin’ cows.”“I s’pose it does,” agreed Hank. He craned his neck past Wind River and looked into the office.“Roarin’ ain’t home, eh?”“No-o-o-o, he ain’t exactly home jist now; he’s out.”“Where’d he go?”“Well, he didn’t leave no address,” grinned Wind River. “Didn’t say nothin’ much. He ain’t much of a hand to talk. Pers’nally I think he went huntin’ bear.”“Bear!” blurted Clayton.“Prob’ly.” Wind River spat across the sidewalk. “Anyway, I’d say he was heeled for bear. Took a thirty-thirty and a full belt of shells along, and he went out that back door like somethin’ was bitin’ his heels.”“By golly, I told Slim!” snorted Pitts and, without waiting for any more information, they started on a run for the Black Horse Saloon.“Well, that’s shore queer,” observed Wind River. “Jist like I’d touched a match to ’em.”Pitts and Clayton ran to the doorway of the saloon, where they met Regan and Moran, who were coming out.“Gone!” exclaimed Pitts. “Took a thirty-thirty along. He’s gone out to the Hot Creek ranch.”“Yeah, and we’re goin’ along,” said Regan. “Get the boys.”Hashknife and Sleepy came out and Regan saw them.“Want to ride out and see the fun, Hartley?” he asked.“What fun?” asked Hashknife.“Out at the Conley place. Old man’s crazy. When we finish up tonight he’ll be in jail and we’ll strip every strand of wire off his fence. This half-witted sheriff has beat us to it, he thinks. But if he won’t enforce the law, we’ll have to. Better come along and see the fun.”Hashknife shook his head slowly.“No-o-o-o, I reckon not, Regan. My sense of humor don’t run to laughin’ at folks who make mistakes.”“Well, he’s made his last mistake,” laughed Regan.“I wasn’t thinkin’ about old man Conley,” said Hashknife.The men were mounting at the hitch-rack, and one of them called to Regan.“I didn’t quite get what you meant, Hartley,” he said.“Better think it over on your way out, Regan.”Regan turned and went to the rack.“Thank the Lord it’s none of our business,” said Sleepy, as the men rode away.“Don’t lie,” cautioned Hashknife. “Your knees itch for the feel of a saddle right now. You’re dyin’ to ride with ’em, and you know it.”“So are you, Hashknife.”“I didn’t thank the Lord for anythin’, did I? Let’s play three games of pool and then go to bed. I’m tired.”“Will we play in here?”“Nope, down at the Ranger. This Black Horse ain’t safe.”
It was about an hour after dark when Lovely Lucas came into the Ranger saloon, where Hashknife, Sleepy and Jimmy were playing seven-up, and announced that the Big 4 outfit had come to town in force.
“The whole works, I tell you,” declared Lovely. “Old Man Moran, Slim Regan, Clayton, Allard, Creswell and Pitts. They’re all in the Black Horse, except Slim. He went down to see the sheriff.”
The game broke up immediately, and the four men trailed up the street past the sheriff’s office, where they found Wind River Jim alone.
“Yeah, it was about that shootin’ today,” said Wind River. “The whole Big 4 is b’ilin’ mad. They hopped all over Roarin’ when he said there wasn’t anythin’ to be done about it. He’s over in the Black Horse, arguin’ about it with ’em right now.”
“Pretty sore, eh?” said Lovely.
“Right to a head.”
Jimmy touched Hashknife on the arm.
“I’ll see you later, Hartley,” he said.
“Yeah, all right,” replied Hashknife, and Jimmy hurried up the street.
They listened to Wind River Jim’s opinion of the case, and then they moved over to the Black Horse. Lovely demurred about going in.
“I owe ’em forty dollars for busted glass,” he said. “If I go in there I might have to kill somebody. You boys go ahead and hear what’s bein’ said.”
Hashknife and Sleepy strolled in unnoticed. The Big 4 gang was at the bar with Roaring Rigby; Slim Regan seemed to have the floor.
“It jist means that there ain’t no law here,” decided Slim, “and when there ain’t no law, it’s up to the citizens to make a little.”
“When you jiggers git through runnin’ off at the neck, I’ll speak my piece,” said Roaring. “Through yet? Can’t think of another thing to say? Fine. You’ve talked a lot and ain’t said anything. In the first place, Old Man Conley owns that land. He’s got it fenced. You know he fenced that to keep the Big 4 off his land. There’s been bad blood between him and Frank Moran for twenty-five years. You and Moran both know that Conley said he’d shoot the first man to come on his place. And yet you went on, didn’t you? Trespassed, didn’t you?
“Started over there with the intention of givin’ him the devil over them steers. And all he done was to make good his promise. You got off easy. That old pelican can hit a gnat in the eye at fifty feet. All you lose is one horse. What you ought to do is to write him a letter tellin’ him you’re much obliged.”
It was a long speech for Roaring Rigby.
“If Conley didn’t have a pretty girl, you’d talk different,” said one of the men farther back in the room.
Roaring whirled quickly, but he did not know who had made the remark.
“Will the dirty bum who made that remark say it once more?” he asked coldly.
But no one spoke. They knew the temper of that sad-eyed, bat-eared sheriff, whose shoulders hunched as his eyes swept the faces under the hanging lamps.
“Your arguments hardly do justice to your office,” said Franklyn Moran. “We have demanded the arrest of Moses Conley on a charge of assault with a deadly weapon. I didn’t know that this county paid you a salary as a debater.”
“You’ve got all the argument you’ll git from me,” said Roaring.
He turned his back on them and stalked from the room. Several people laughed, but he did not turn his head. Nor did he hurry as he crossed the street. They could see him from the lighted windows, as he went slowly toward his office. But once inside that office he did not move so slowly. Wind River Jim stared at him, as he sprang to the gun-rack, grabbed down a rifle and a belt of ammunition.
“You stay here, Wind River,” he ordered, and ran out through the back door.
Wind River walked to the front door, where he leaned out, chewing his tobacco violently. It was possibly five minutes later that Hank Pitts and Mark Clayton strolled past.
“Hyah, Wind River,” greeted Hank. “Howsa job?”
“Swell, elegant, Hank; beats punchin’ cows.”
“I s’pose it does,” agreed Hank. He craned his neck past Wind River and looked into the office.
“Roarin’ ain’t home, eh?”
“No-o-o-o, he ain’t exactly home jist now; he’s out.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Well, he didn’t leave no address,” grinned Wind River. “Didn’t say nothin’ much. He ain’t much of a hand to talk. Pers’nally I think he went huntin’ bear.”
“Bear!” blurted Clayton.
“Prob’ly.” Wind River spat across the sidewalk. “Anyway, I’d say he was heeled for bear. Took a thirty-thirty and a full belt of shells along, and he went out that back door like somethin’ was bitin’ his heels.”
“By golly, I told Slim!” snorted Pitts and, without waiting for any more information, they started on a run for the Black Horse Saloon.
“Well, that’s shore queer,” observed Wind River. “Jist like I’d touched a match to ’em.”
Pitts and Clayton ran to the doorway of the saloon, where they met Regan and Moran, who were coming out.
“Gone!” exclaimed Pitts. “Took a thirty-thirty along. He’s gone out to the Hot Creek ranch.”
“Yeah, and we’re goin’ along,” said Regan. “Get the boys.”
Hashknife and Sleepy came out and Regan saw them.
“Want to ride out and see the fun, Hartley?” he asked.
“What fun?” asked Hashknife.
“Out at the Conley place. Old man’s crazy. When we finish up tonight he’ll be in jail and we’ll strip every strand of wire off his fence. This half-witted sheriff has beat us to it, he thinks. But if he won’t enforce the law, we’ll have to. Better come along and see the fun.”
Hashknife shook his head slowly.
“No-o-o-o, I reckon not, Regan. My sense of humor don’t run to laughin’ at folks who make mistakes.”
“Well, he’s made his last mistake,” laughed Regan.
“I wasn’t thinkin’ about old man Conley,” said Hashknife.
The men were mounting at the hitch-rack, and one of them called to Regan.
“I didn’t quite get what you meant, Hartley,” he said.
“Better think it over on your way out, Regan.”
Regan turned and went to the rack.
“Thank the Lord it’s none of our business,” said Sleepy, as the men rode away.
“Don’t lie,” cautioned Hashknife. “Your knees itch for the feel of a saddle right now. You’re dyin’ to ride with ’em, and you know it.”
“So are you, Hashknife.”
“I didn’t thank the Lord for anythin’, did I? Let’s play three games of pool and then go to bed. I’m tired.”
“Will we play in here?”
“Nope, down at the Ranger. This Black Horse ain’t safe.”