Hashknife and Sleepy circled the Hot Creek ranch fence to where the wire had been cut at the north side and then they came down to the coulee where the Big 4 steers had been killed. Luckily they had been killed far enough away so as not to pollute the water. A coyote sneaked away from one of them, and a flock of magpies went chattering into the trees. Nature’s scavengers were swiftly obliterating the Big 4 losses.Hashknife examined one of the steers. It had been shot in the head.“Funny they didn’t hear the shootin’ down at Conley’s,” said Sleepy.“A twenty-two don’t make much noise, Sleepy.”“F’r gosh sake! No wonder. Probably used longs; them little guns are beef killers. Looks as though the killers didn’t want to be heard, eh?”“Looks thataway,” agreed Hashknife, mounting his horse. “Let’s ride down and see how Conley is feelin’.”The doctor had gone to town a short time before they arrived. Conley was conscious, but the doctor had left orders with Dawn that he was to see no one. She came outside to talk with them.“What did he have to say?” asked Hashknife. “Did he know who shot him?”Dawn nodded, her eyes filled quickly with tears.“Jimmy, eh?” said Hashknife softly.“Yes. The doctor wouldn’t let him talk much.”“Of course not; but the doctor thinks he’ll get well, don’t he?”“He thinks Dad has a good chance now.”“Well, that’s great.”Hashknife sat down on the steps and rolled a smoke.“Is there much deer huntin’ around here in the fall?” he asked.“Not very close,” said Dawn. “The boys go back about fifteen miles. They get quite a lot.”“Plenty grouse, eh?”“Quite a few; Peter kills lots of them.”“It’s a lot of fun, if you’ve got a shotgun,” said Hashknife.“Peter uses a twenty-two rifle,” said Dawn.“Uh-huh.” Hashknife did not look at Sleepy. He had found out that the Conley family owned a .22.They did not stay long. Mrs. Conley was sleeping, and Hashknife realized that Dawn wanted to be with her father.“How much longer are we goin’ to stick around here?” asked Sleepy, as they rode back toward Turquoise City.“Not long, I reckon. It kinda looks as though the Conley family killed those steers.”“Well, that’s what everybody else thinks; so why not you?”“I hoped they hadn’t, Sleepy, that’s all.”“As far as ownin’ a twenty-two is concerned—there must be more twenty-twos in this country.”Hashknife grinned at Sleepy.“You do have an idea once in a while, cowboy. But how much easier it would have been if Conley didn’t.”“I suppose it would. But what do we care? Let’s figure on pullin’ out tomorrow.”Hashknife frowned thoughtfully. There were still things that puzzled him greatly, and he hated to leave things unsolved. The jury would find Pete guilty, and he would be sentenced to hang; that was almost a certainty. If Conley died, Jimmy Moran might get off with a sentence. It would all depend on the jury, and a Black Horse jury would give Jimmy the benefit of a doubt.But Jimmy wanted to marry Dawn Conley, and nothing except complete vindication would ever give him that chance. Hashknife did not believe English Ed Holmes. He had a feeling that Holmes merely wanted to know whether Hashknife was going to work on the case.It was rather hard for Hashknife to believe that old Moses Conley had cut the fence, herded in those Big 4 steers and shot them down just for revenge. Revenge for what? For something that had happened twenty-five years before. That would be ridiculous presumption. No doubt Conley had fenced in Hot Creek against the Big 4; but that was no crime. He owned the land.Had some of the Big 4 cut that fence and killed the steers merely to have a reason for starting trouble with Conley? Possible but hardly probable, he decided. Slim Regan was a hard-bitted sort of person, but Hashknife could hardly believe that Slim would do that.“You’re doin’ a lot of thinkin’,” observed Sleepy.“Am I?” grinned Hashknife. “It ain’t doin’ me much good. I’m kinda stuck.”“Glad to hear it. Mebby you’ll quit.”“I might,” grinned Hashknife.About a mile out of Turquoise City they met the old doctor, heading back to the Conley place, driving his old sway-backed gray. The two cowboys drew rein beside the road, and the doctor stopped.“Hyah, Doctor,” smiled Hashknife. “Hear your patient is comin’ along fine.”“Good enough,” answered the doctor gruffly. “Didn’t talk to him, did you?”“The little lady wouldn’t let me.”“Good for her. Smart girl; nice girl, too. Obeys orders. Feel sorry for her. Conley says Moran shot him. Lucky thing I’m pulling Conley out of it. Hate to see the kid strung up.”The old doctor talked jerkily.“Conley didn’t say he saw Moran, did he?”“Didn’t say; suppose he did. Kind of hot today.”“Little warm,” agreed Hashknife. “You’re the coroner, ain’t you, Doc?”“Yes, who’s dead this time?”Hashknife laughed and shook his head.“Nothin’ like that, Doc. You handled this Mallette, didn’t you?”“Naturally, bein’ a murder case.”“Didn’t find any bullet?”“No; shot in the head; bullet went on. You’re not trying to find out who killed him, are you?”“Why not?”“No question about Pete Conley, is there?”“Might be, Doc. Tell me about how Mallette looked. Was he shot at close range?”“Guess not. Not close enough to get burned. They said he had been drinking heavily. Drank absinth with his liquor. Darn bad combination. Wore cowboy boots. Funny thing about his boots. When I took them off I found a lot of gravel in them. I told the sheriff about it.” The doctor laughed heartily. “He said Mallette wasn’t very clean.”“Gravel in his boots, eh?” mused Hashknife. “Man would have to go without a bath a long time to acquire gravel.”“He would,” laughed the doctor, picking up his lines. “I’ve got to be going on, boys.”They told him good-by and rode on. Hashknife’s eyes were keen now and his lips shut tightly. Sleepy looked closely at him, groaned and yanked his hat down viciously.
Hashknife and Sleepy circled the Hot Creek ranch fence to where the wire had been cut at the north side and then they came down to the coulee where the Big 4 steers had been killed. Luckily they had been killed far enough away so as not to pollute the water. A coyote sneaked away from one of them, and a flock of magpies went chattering into the trees. Nature’s scavengers were swiftly obliterating the Big 4 losses.
Hashknife examined one of the steers. It had been shot in the head.
“Funny they didn’t hear the shootin’ down at Conley’s,” said Sleepy.
“A twenty-two don’t make much noise, Sleepy.”
“F’r gosh sake! No wonder. Probably used longs; them little guns are beef killers. Looks as though the killers didn’t want to be heard, eh?”
“Looks thataway,” agreed Hashknife, mounting his horse. “Let’s ride down and see how Conley is feelin’.”
The doctor had gone to town a short time before they arrived. Conley was conscious, but the doctor had left orders with Dawn that he was to see no one. She came outside to talk with them.
“What did he have to say?” asked Hashknife. “Did he know who shot him?”
Dawn nodded, her eyes filled quickly with tears.
“Jimmy, eh?” said Hashknife softly.
“Yes. The doctor wouldn’t let him talk much.”
“Of course not; but the doctor thinks he’ll get well, don’t he?”
“He thinks Dad has a good chance now.”
“Well, that’s great.”
Hashknife sat down on the steps and rolled a smoke.
“Is there much deer huntin’ around here in the fall?” he asked.
“Not very close,” said Dawn. “The boys go back about fifteen miles. They get quite a lot.”
“Plenty grouse, eh?”
“Quite a few; Peter kills lots of them.”
“It’s a lot of fun, if you’ve got a shotgun,” said Hashknife.
“Peter uses a twenty-two rifle,” said Dawn.
“Uh-huh.” Hashknife did not look at Sleepy. He had found out that the Conley family owned a .22.
They did not stay long. Mrs. Conley was sleeping, and Hashknife realized that Dawn wanted to be with her father.
“How much longer are we goin’ to stick around here?” asked Sleepy, as they rode back toward Turquoise City.
“Not long, I reckon. It kinda looks as though the Conley family killed those steers.”
“Well, that’s what everybody else thinks; so why not you?”
“I hoped they hadn’t, Sleepy, that’s all.”
“As far as ownin’ a twenty-two is concerned—there must be more twenty-twos in this country.”
Hashknife grinned at Sleepy.
“You do have an idea once in a while, cowboy. But how much easier it would have been if Conley didn’t.”
“I suppose it would. But what do we care? Let’s figure on pullin’ out tomorrow.”
Hashknife frowned thoughtfully. There were still things that puzzled him greatly, and he hated to leave things unsolved. The jury would find Pete guilty, and he would be sentenced to hang; that was almost a certainty. If Conley died, Jimmy Moran might get off with a sentence. It would all depend on the jury, and a Black Horse jury would give Jimmy the benefit of a doubt.
But Jimmy wanted to marry Dawn Conley, and nothing except complete vindication would ever give him that chance. Hashknife did not believe English Ed Holmes. He had a feeling that Holmes merely wanted to know whether Hashknife was going to work on the case.
It was rather hard for Hashknife to believe that old Moses Conley had cut the fence, herded in those Big 4 steers and shot them down just for revenge. Revenge for what? For something that had happened twenty-five years before. That would be ridiculous presumption. No doubt Conley had fenced in Hot Creek against the Big 4; but that was no crime. He owned the land.
Had some of the Big 4 cut that fence and killed the steers merely to have a reason for starting trouble with Conley? Possible but hardly probable, he decided. Slim Regan was a hard-bitted sort of person, but Hashknife could hardly believe that Slim would do that.
“You’re doin’ a lot of thinkin’,” observed Sleepy.
“Am I?” grinned Hashknife. “It ain’t doin’ me much good. I’m kinda stuck.”
“Glad to hear it. Mebby you’ll quit.”
“I might,” grinned Hashknife.
About a mile out of Turquoise City they met the old doctor, heading back to the Conley place, driving his old sway-backed gray. The two cowboys drew rein beside the road, and the doctor stopped.
“Hyah, Doctor,” smiled Hashknife. “Hear your patient is comin’ along fine.”
“Good enough,” answered the doctor gruffly. “Didn’t talk to him, did you?”
“The little lady wouldn’t let me.”
“Good for her. Smart girl; nice girl, too. Obeys orders. Feel sorry for her. Conley says Moran shot him. Lucky thing I’m pulling Conley out of it. Hate to see the kid strung up.”
The old doctor talked jerkily.
“Conley didn’t say he saw Moran, did he?”
“Didn’t say; suppose he did. Kind of hot today.”
“Little warm,” agreed Hashknife. “You’re the coroner, ain’t you, Doc?”
“Yes, who’s dead this time?”
Hashknife laughed and shook his head.
“Nothin’ like that, Doc. You handled this Mallette, didn’t you?”
“Naturally, bein’ a murder case.”
“Didn’t find any bullet?”
“No; shot in the head; bullet went on. You’re not trying to find out who killed him, are you?”
“Why not?”
“No question about Pete Conley, is there?”
“Might be, Doc. Tell me about how Mallette looked. Was he shot at close range?”
“Guess not. Not close enough to get burned. They said he had been drinking heavily. Drank absinth with his liquor. Darn bad combination. Wore cowboy boots. Funny thing about his boots. When I took them off I found a lot of gravel in them. I told the sheriff about it.” The doctor laughed heartily. “He said Mallette wasn’t very clean.”
“Gravel in his boots, eh?” mused Hashknife. “Man would have to go without a bath a long time to acquire gravel.”
“He would,” laughed the doctor, picking up his lines. “I’ve got to be going on, boys.”
They told him good-by and rode on. Hashknife’s eyes were keen now and his lips shut tightly. Sleepy looked closely at him, groaned and yanked his hat down viciously.