From outside the building came a fusilade of shots, a wild yell. Some of the men ran out, crowding at the doorway, and some of them fell down. The room was in an uproar. The old judge had drawn his gun from the drawer and was standing very straight, resting the muzzle of the gun on his desk. The room was hazy with smoke. Roaring was shielding Dawn from the crowd.English Ed got slowly to his feet. One knee of his pin-striped trousers was split wide open and the knot of his necktie was under his left ear. Cutter did not get up. Ryker was sprawled across his desk, one hand hanging limply over the edge, his gun on the floor. Hashknife stepped over to the table and touched the prosecuting attorney on the shoulder.“Horse-Collar Fields shoots straight,” said Hashknife meaningly.The crowd of men was coming into the room again, headed by Horse-Collar. They were bringing a disheveled Jud Hardy, whose face was bruised and dusty, clothes torn.“He tried to git away on his bronc when he heard the shootin’!” yelled Horse-Collar triumphantly. “I had t’ hit him on the fly, by golly!”“Kent Cutter’s dead,” said Roaring Rigby. “I don’t know yet what it was all about, Hashknife.”“He’s a liar!” wailed Jud Hardy.“You don’t even know what he said!” snorted Lovely Lucas.“Bring ’em down here,” ordered Hashknife. “All three of ’em.”They came—Henry Miller, Jud Hardy, Ted Ames—brought down bodily by cowboys who longed for a chance to handle them roughly. Hashknife looked them over. Miller and Hardy shut their lips tightly. Hashknife stepped up to Ted Ames.“You’ll talk,” he said. “I’ve got the goods on all of you; but a talk will help you out, Ames—State’s evidence, you know.”“Squealer, eh?” defiantly.“Not now. It’s a hangin’ matter—unless you talk.”Ames looked around at the faces of the men.“I’ll talk,” he said. “Cutter and Ryker schemed it, just like you said. Cutter shot Conley; Jimmy Moran almost got Cutter that night. Me and Cutter killed them Big 4 steers. Pete Conley had the only twenty-two in the country, until Cutter sent away for one. Usin’ a twenty-two would cinch it on to Conley. Cutter wanted Mose Conley out of the way, so he could buy the ranch. Dawn Conley admitted to Ryker that she and her mother would be willin’ to sell.”“Who shot Sleepy, my pardner, and tried to kill me?”“Me and Jud Hardy. I missed you, Cutter said we’d have to kill you both, and they’d blame English Ed and his gang.”“All right,” nodded Hashknife. “Cutter knew I found that mine, didn’t he?”“Ryker came out and told us last night.”“And Ryker was the one who wrote the warnings, wasn’t he? He used paper that the county furnished.”“He wrote ’em,” nodded Ames. “Cutter wanted to be judge of this county, and he hated Judge Beal. They warned the sheriff, too. Cutter said he was too honest. But we didn’t know who killed Mallette. We thought Pete was to blame for that. Ryker wanted to marry Dawn Conley. Said he’d get control of the property thataway. Ryker was a bad bird.”“Thank you, Ames. You’re wise to tell it all, and it won’t hurt you none at the trial.”Hashknife turned to the old judge, who still stood at the desk, gun in hand.“You can put up your gun, Judge,” he said. “The whole county will vindicate you for your mistake. Mallette was a thief and a card-sharp. You did just what any man would have done. Now, forget it.”“I—I’ll have to put these three birdies in jail,” said Roarin’, “and turn Jimmy Moran loose, eh?”“Y’betcha.”“Bring ’em along, boys.”Hashknife turned to meet Dawn and Pete. None of them spoke for several moments. Franklyn Moran stepped beside Dawn; he seemed bewildered. Hashknife smiled at Dawn.“Let’s not talk about it, Dawn,” he suggested. “Jimmy will be out pretty quick, and he’ll come up the street, you know.”Dawn glanced quickly at Franklyn Moran.“It’s—uh—all right,” he said. “Fine, Dawn.”“I don’t talk much,” said Pete dumbly.“That’s fine,” grinned Hashknife, “You’re a man after my own heart.”Dawn and Pete went hurriedly up the aisle. The old judge came down to Hashknife and Moran and held out his hand to Hashknife.“I don’t pretend to know much about it,” he said slowly.They shook hands gravely, and Moran shook hands with the judge.“You know many things, young man,” said the judge. “I have grown very old today, but I’m going to grow younger. I hope you stay with us; Turquoise City needs men like you.”“I hope he will stay,” said Moran. “I’m still shocked, and I don’t know what to do or say.”“Will you do me a favor?” asked Hashknife.“Anything in the world, Hartley.”“Come out and see Moses Conley with me.”“Moses Conley? Why, well, that’s quite—I’ll go.”They walked from the court room and met the doctor on the stairs.“My goodness!” he blurted. “More shooting! I jump around like a grasshopper. What was it? Nobody talks—they yell. Ten men yelling at me at the same time. I can’t hardly keep Stevens in bed. Fields came up and danced on the foot of the bed. Crazy men.”“You can’t do any good up there, Doc,” said Hashknife.“Only in your capacity as coroner.”They went on down to the street. Jimmy was running up from the jail, and Dawn met him. Pete stood on the sidewalk, blinking around. He didn’t know what to do.Hashknife took Moran by the arm and led him down to where Dawn and Jimmy were looking at each other. Jimmy looked at his father and grinned foolishly.“Hyah, Dad,” he said. “How are you?”“All right, Jimmy. Why don’t you kiss her. We’re all going out to see her father.”“For heaven’s sake!” Jimmy cried. “Who upset the world?” He stepped past Dawn and held out his hand to Hashknife. “You did,” said Jimmy. “I’m all out of words, Hartley.”“Good, boy! So am I.”
From outside the building came a fusilade of shots, a wild yell. Some of the men ran out, crowding at the doorway, and some of them fell down. The room was in an uproar. The old judge had drawn his gun from the drawer and was standing very straight, resting the muzzle of the gun on his desk. The room was hazy with smoke. Roaring was shielding Dawn from the crowd.
English Ed got slowly to his feet. One knee of his pin-striped trousers was split wide open and the knot of his necktie was under his left ear. Cutter did not get up. Ryker was sprawled across his desk, one hand hanging limply over the edge, his gun on the floor. Hashknife stepped over to the table and touched the prosecuting attorney on the shoulder.
“Horse-Collar Fields shoots straight,” said Hashknife meaningly.
The crowd of men was coming into the room again, headed by Horse-Collar. They were bringing a disheveled Jud Hardy, whose face was bruised and dusty, clothes torn.
“He tried to git away on his bronc when he heard the shootin’!” yelled Horse-Collar triumphantly. “I had t’ hit him on the fly, by golly!”
“Kent Cutter’s dead,” said Roaring Rigby. “I don’t know yet what it was all about, Hashknife.”
“He’s a liar!” wailed Jud Hardy.
“You don’t even know what he said!” snorted Lovely Lucas.
“Bring ’em down here,” ordered Hashknife. “All three of ’em.”
They came—Henry Miller, Jud Hardy, Ted Ames—brought down bodily by cowboys who longed for a chance to handle them roughly. Hashknife looked them over. Miller and Hardy shut their lips tightly. Hashknife stepped up to Ted Ames.
“You’ll talk,” he said. “I’ve got the goods on all of you; but a talk will help you out, Ames—State’s evidence, you know.”
“Squealer, eh?” defiantly.
“Not now. It’s a hangin’ matter—unless you talk.”
Ames looked around at the faces of the men.
“I’ll talk,” he said. “Cutter and Ryker schemed it, just like you said. Cutter shot Conley; Jimmy Moran almost got Cutter that night. Me and Cutter killed them Big 4 steers. Pete Conley had the only twenty-two in the country, until Cutter sent away for one. Usin’ a twenty-two would cinch it on to Conley. Cutter wanted Mose Conley out of the way, so he could buy the ranch. Dawn Conley admitted to Ryker that she and her mother would be willin’ to sell.”
“Who shot Sleepy, my pardner, and tried to kill me?”
“Me and Jud Hardy. I missed you, Cutter said we’d have to kill you both, and they’d blame English Ed and his gang.”
“All right,” nodded Hashknife. “Cutter knew I found that mine, didn’t he?”
“Ryker came out and told us last night.”
“And Ryker was the one who wrote the warnings, wasn’t he? He used paper that the county furnished.”
“He wrote ’em,” nodded Ames. “Cutter wanted to be judge of this county, and he hated Judge Beal. They warned the sheriff, too. Cutter said he was too honest. But we didn’t know who killed Mallette. We thought Pete was to blame for that. Ryker wanted to marry Dawn Conley. Said he’d get control of the property thataway. Ryker was a bad bird.”
“Thank you, Ames. You’re wise to tell it all, and it won’t hurt you none at the trial.”
Hashknife turned to the old judge, who still stood at the desk, gun in hand.
“You can put up your gun, Judge,” he said. “The whole county will vindicate you for your mistake. Mallette was a thief and a card-sharp. You did just what any man would have done. Now, forget it.”
“I—I’ll have to put these three birdies in jail,” said Roarin’, “and turn Jimmy Moran loose, eh?”
“Y’betcha.”
“Bring ’em along, boys.”
Hashknife turned to meet Dawn and Pete. None of them spoke for several moments. Franklyn Moran stepped beside Dawn; he seemed bewildered. Hashknife smiled at Dawn.
“Let’s not talk about it, Dawn,” he suggested. “Jimmy will be out pretty quick, and he’ll come up the street, you know.”
Dawn glanced quickly at Franklyn Moran.
“It’s—uh—all right,” he said. “Fine, Dawn.”
“I don’t talk much,” said Pete dumbly.
“That’s fine,” grinned Hashknife, “You’re a man after my own heart.”
Dawn and Pete went hurriedly up the aisle. The old judge came down to Hashknife and Moran and held out his hand to Hashknife.
“I don’t pretend to know much about it,” he said slowly.
They shook hands gravely, and Moran shook hands with the judge.
“You know many things, young man,” said the judge. “I have grown very old today, but I’m going to grow younger. I hope you stay with us; Turquoise City needs men like you.”
“I hope he will stay,” said Moran. “I’m still shocked, and I don’t know what to do or say.”
“Will you do me a favor?” asked Hashknife.
“Anything in the world, Hartley.”
“Come out and see Moses Conley with me.”
“Moses Conley? Why, well, that’s quite—I’ll go.”
They walked from the court room and met the doctor on the stairs.
“My goodness!” he blurted. “More shooting! I jump around like a grasshopper. What was it? Nobody talks—they yell. Ten men yelling at me at the same time. I can’t hardly keep Stevens in bed. Fields came up and danced on the foot of the bed. Crazy men.”
“You can’t do any good up there, Doc,” said Hashknife.
“Only in your capacity as coroner.”
They went on down to the street. Jimmy was running up from the jail, and Dawn met him. Pete stood on the sidewalk, blinking around. He didn’t know what to do.
Hashknife took Moran by the arm and led him down to where Dawn and Jimmy were looking at each other. Jimmy looked at his father and grinned foolishly.
“Hyah, Dad,” he said. “How are you?”
“All right, Jimmy. Why don’t you kiss her. We’re all going out to see her father.”
“For heaven’s sake!” Jimmy cried. “Who upset the world?” He stepped past Dawn and held out his hand to Hashknife. “You did,” said Jimmy. “I’m all out of words, Hartley.”
“Good, boy! So am I.”