Chapter 41

It was Mrs. Conley who saw them from afar, as they came up the dusty road. There was a top-buggy, and several men on horseback. She had been anxiously waiting for Dawn to come home and bring the news. It had been impossible for her to leave her husband, as there was no one else to take care of him. She went back to the old man.“Some folks come,” she said. “One buggy, five, six horses. They turn in our gate.”“Who can it be? What has happened now, Minnie? Dawn said she was sure the case would go to the jury today. Who would be coming here today?”“I go look.”Mrs. Conley stood dumbly on the porch and watched Pete and Dawn and Jimmy Moran get out of the buggy, while Franklyn Moran, Slim Regan, Lovely Lucas, Hank Pitts and Hashknife dismounted from their horses.Dawn ran up and threw her arms around her mother, who merely stared at everybody, especially at Pete, who grinned sheepishly.“Peter is free, mother!” exclaimed Dawn. “He didn’t shoot Mallette! Don’t you understand? He’s free!”“Pretty damn good, eh?” The Indian woman smiled.“Will you shake hands with me?” asked Moran, holding out his hand to Mrs. Conley.She looked closely at him for a moment.“Your name Moran. You want to shake hands? You crazy?”“No, I’m not crazy. I want to be a friend.”“Damn funny.”She shook hands with him wonderingly, and they all went into the house. Dawn ran to her father, telling him the good news. Conley patted her on the head and stared at Franklyn Moran, his sunken eyes wide with wonder.“Conley,” said Moran, coming in close to the bed, “I came to see if we can’t be friends. It seems that our kids have decided to marry each other, and I think it’s time for us to bury the hatchet. Everything else has been straightened out. The 7AL were the ones that caused the trouble. They tried to start war between us. They killed my cattle on your land, and they tried to kill you. Hartley run ’em down. Cutter is dead and the rest of his gang are in jail. Ryker is dead; he was a leader in their crooked work. Will you shake hands with me?”The old man held out a shaking hand.“Hartley tells me you are rich,” said Moran, “and I want to be the first one to congratulate you. Ryker and Cutter discovered a rich gold ledge on your ranch, and that’s one of the reasons they wanted to buy you out. Hartley found it, too. That was one of his clews, I suppose.”The old man’s eyes opened widely and he stared at Hashknife.“Rich gold ledge?” he queried wonderingly.“Rich enough to make them do murder to get it,” said Hashknife. “It’s that old prospect you told me about—the one east of Hot Creek, under the big sycamore.”Conley sank back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling.“It’s awful rich,” said Hashknife. “Rotten with gold.”“Rotten with gold,” echoed Conley. “Crooked gold!”He lifted himself on his elbow and looked at Moran.“Remember why I got mad at you, Frank? You cut me out of a deal. Mebby it was business; but that’s all past. You had money; you bought several pieces of property and paid a good price on surface showings, you remember?”“I did, Mose.”“Oh, I was mad,” smiled Conley. “I was hot-headed in those days. I wanted to get even with you; so I blew over a hundred dollars’ worth of gold-dust into that rotten, red quartz, with a shotgun. I salted it for you, Frank; but before I got a chance to show it to you, you left the country. I hated you for leaving. I hated what I had done so much that I never even tried to hammer the gold out of that little ledge. And that’s what caused all this misery.”“And it’s been there over twenty-five years, Mose?”“Yes, my first and last crooked work.”“Pretty damn good!” exclaimed Mrs. Conley.“That’s right,” said Hashknife. “I know how they felt. I had a touch of it myself.”He walked out to the porch and Dawn followed him out.“Do you realize what you’ve done today?” she asked.Hashknife looked at her curiously.“Aw, I didn’t do nothin’,” he said slowly. “It just kinda worked out thataway. I think Jimmy’s lookin’ for you.”As Dawn turned back to the door, Slim Regan stepped out on the porch, his hat tilted forward. He scratched the back of his hat in evident bewilderment.“I’ll be darned,” he said slowly. “Lotsa things I don’tsabeyet, Hartley. You say that Cutter and his gang knowed you was after ’em, and jist the same they go and leave a twenty-two shell layin’ around where you could find it.”“They didn’t, Slim; I dropped it there myself. Their mistake was in admittin’ it.”“F’r gosh sake! And what made you think Jimmy Moran didn’t shoot Conley?”“Because there was two shots fired. Jimmy shot one, but Conley didn’t shoot any.”“The hell he didn’t? There was an empty shell—”“But it never was fired in Conley’s gun. He always kept the hammer of his gun on an empty shell, Slim. This shell had a queer dent in the primer, so I accidentally fired the gun to see what mark it made. That was the time Horse-Collar and his gang started the trouble. After the gravel in Mallette’s boots proved that he’d been dragged, I picked the judge as the killer.”“Detectin’,” said Slim slowly, “ain’t nothin’ but jist common sense, is it?”“And a lot of luck, Slim.”“Well, I’ll be danged!”Slim went clumping back into the house, anxious to talk.

It was Mrs. Conley who saw them from afar, as they came up the dusty road. There was a top-buggy, and several men on horseback. She had been anxiously waiting for Dawn to come home and bring the news. It had been impossible for her to leave her husband, as there was no one else to take care of him. She went back to the old man.

“Some folks come,” she said. “One buggy, five, six horses. They turn in our gate.”

“Who can it be? What has happened now, Minnie? Dawn said she was sure the case would go to the jury today. Who would be coming here today?”

“I go look.”

Mrs. Conley stood dumbly on the porch and watched Pete and Dawn and Jimmy Moran get out of the buggy, while Franklyn Moran, Slim Regan, Lovely Lucas, Hank Pitts and Hashknife dismounted from their horses.

Dawn ran up and threw her arms around her mother, who merely stared at everybody, especially at Pete, who grinned sheepishly.

“Peter is free, mother!” exclaimed Dawn. “He didn’t shoot Mallette! Don’t you understand? He’s free!”

“Pretty damn good, eh?” The Indian woman smiled.

“Will you shake hands with me?” asked Moran, holding out his hand to Mrs. Conley.

She looked closely at him for a moment.

“Your name Moran. You want to shake hands? You crazy?”

“No, I’m not crazy. I want to be a friend.”

“Damn funny.”

She shook hands with him wonderingly, and they all went into the house. Dawn ran to her father, telling him the good news. Conley patted her on the head and stared at Franklyn Moran, his sunken eyes wide with wonder.

“Conley,” said Moran, coming in close to the bed, “I came to see if we can’t be friends. It seems that our kids have decided to marry each other, and I think it’s time for us to bury the hatchet. Everything else has been straightened out. The 7AL were the ones that caused the trouble. They tried to start war between us. They killed my cattle on your land, and they tried to kill you. Hartley run ’em down. Cutter is dead and the rest of his gang are in jail. Ryker is dead; he was a leader in their crooked work. Will you shake hands with me?”

The old man held out a shaking hand.

“Hartley tells me you are rich,” said Moran, “and I want to be the first one to congratulate you. Ryker and Cutter discovered a rich gold ledge on your ranch, and that’s one of the reasons they wanted to buy you out. Hartley found it, too. That was one of his clews, I suppose.”

The old man’s eyes opened widely and he stared at Hashknife.

“Rich gold ledge?” he queried wonderingly.

“Rich enough to make them do murder to get it,” said Hashknife. “It’s that old prospect you told me about—the one east of Hot Creek, under the big sycamore.”

Conley sank back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling.

“It’s awful rich,” said Hashknife. “Rotten with gold.”

“Rotten with gold,” echoed Conley. “Crooked gold!”

He lifted himself on his elbow and looked at Moran.

“Remember why I got mad at you, Frank? You cut me out of a deal. Mebby it was business; but that’s all past. You had money; you bought several pieces of property and paid a good price on surface showings, you remember?”

“I did, Mose.”

“Oh, I was mad,” smiled Conley. “I was hot-headed in those days. I wanted to get even with you; so I blew over a hundred dollars’ worth of gold-dust into that rotten, red quartz, with a shotgun. I salted it for you, Frank; but before I got a chance to show it to you, you left the country. I hated you for leaving. I hated what I had done so much that I never even tried to hammer the gold out of that little ledge. And that’s what caused all this misery.”

“And it’s been there over twenty-five years, Mose?”

“Yes, my first and last crooked work.”

“Pretty damn good!” exclaimed Mrs. Conley.

“That’s right,” said Hashknife. “I know how they felt. I had a touch of it myself.”

He walked out to the porch and Dawn followed him out.

“Do you realize what you’ve done today?” she asked.

Hashknife looked at her curiously.

“Aw, I didn’t do nothin’,” he said slowly. “It just kinda worked out thataway. I think Jimmy’s lookin’ for you.”

As Dawn turned back to the door, Slim Regan stepped out on the porch, his hat tilted forward. He scratched the back of his hat in evident bewilderment.

“I’ll be darned,” he said slowly. “Lotsa things I don’tsabeyet, Hartley. You say that Cutter and his gang knowed you was after ’em, and jist the same they go and leave a twenty-two shell layin’ around where you could find it.”

“They didn’t, Slim; I dropped it there myself. Their mistake was in admittin’ it.”

“F’r gosh sake! And what made you think Jimmy Moran didn’t shoot Conley?”

“Because there was two shots fired. Jimmy shot one, but Conley didn’t shoot any.”

“The hell he didn’t? There was an empty shell—”

“But it never was fired in Conley’s gun. He always kept the hammer of his gun on an empty shell, Slim. This shell had a queer dent in the primer, so I accidentally fired the gun to see what mark it made. That was the time Horse-Collar and his gang started the trouble. After the gravel in Mallette’s boots proved that he’d been dragged, I picked the judge as the killer.”

“Detectin’,” said Slim slowly, “ain’t nothin’ but jist common sense, is it?”

“And a lot of luck, Slim.”

“Well, I’ll be danged!”

Slim went clumping back into the house, anxious to talk.

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