“I know m’ head,I know m’ feet,I know you’ll soonStand up to eat.”
“I know m’ head,I know m’ feet,I know you’ll soonStand up to eat.”
“I know m’ head,I know m’ feet,I know you’ll soonStand up to eat.”
“I know m’ head,
I know m’ feet,
I know you’ll soon
Stand up to eat.”
Oyster Shell chanted it softly, noticing that the detective was sitting rather sidewise in the saddle. Wade grinned widely.
“I guess that’s right,” he said. “I’m not used to riding.”
“You workin’ on that train robbery?” asked Eskimo.
“Yes, I’m supposed to be,” he turned and looked at Jimmy Legg, who was still leaning against Johnny Grant. “They tell me you’re a stranger around here, Mr. Legg.”
“I—I’ve been here a while,” stammered Jimmy Legg.
“Uh-huh,” nodded the sheriff, breaking in on the detective. “You showed up the night of the robbery, didn’t yuh?”
“He did not,” said Johnny Grant quickly, “he was here the day before.”
“Here at the AK?” queried Porter.
“Yeah,” defiantly.
“That’s funny,” smiled Porter. “We just met George Bonnette in Blue Wells, and he said you came here to the ranch the day after the hold-up. And that yuh wasn’t even hired yet.”
“And that none of the boys knew yuh, until they met yuh that day in Blue Wells,” added Scotty Olson. “Yuh bought all yore clothes there in Blue Wells, and you —— near killed me and Lee Barnhardt, because yuh acted like yuh didn’t know nothin’ about a six-gun. And yuh had plenty of money to buy anythin’ yuh wanted.”
Johnny Grant, caught in a lie, did not back up an inch. He stepped in front of Jimmy Legg and glared at the sheriff.
“Well, what if he did?” demanded Johnny.
“It’s nothing to quarrel about,” interposed the detective. “I merely wanted to know when, how and why he came to Blue Wells. He’s a stranger around here, it seems.”
“And if he is—what about it?” asked Eskimo. “There’s no law against a stranger comin’ here, is there?”
“Not at all,” smiled the detective. “This man does not fit the description of any of the robbers, but we can’t afford to miss any lead that might set us on the right track. There’s a man and a dog to be accounted for.
“It seems that this man shipped his dog in the express car. We have a fairly accurate description of the dog, but not of the man. The express messenger fought with a man who got on his car at Encinas. They fell out of the car, while the train was in motion.
“This dog was on the car at that time, because the engineer and fireman saw him when the three robbers led them back to the car. The dog was there when the engineer got the messenger’s shotgun and started battle with the three robbers.
“A few minutes later the engine crew sneaked back to their engine to escape the bullets of the bandits. The fireman says he thought he heard a man walk past the engine, just before they started back to pick up the rest of the train, but he is not sure. At any rate, the dog was missing when the train came to Blue Wells.
“Our theory is that the dog was merely a blind to let the man into the car at Encinas. It gave the robbers an inside man, in case the messenger might refuse to open the door. Of course they could dynamite the door, but that takes time. Perhaps the inside man did not expect the messenger to put up a battle, and that the falling out of the express car was an unexpected incident.
“The messenger states that the man tried to pull a gun, which strengthens the theory of the fourth bandit. It is just barely possible that this dog might be identified; so the owner took a chance, sneaked back to the hold-up and secured the dog. This would make it appear that they felt it necessary to have the dog in their possession. That dog was in the car when the engineer and fireman went back to the engine. When the train arrived at Blue Wells, the dog was gone.”
“Which don’t prove anythin’,” said Johnny Grant. “When the train was robbed there were three masked men on the car, and when the train got to Blue Wells there wasn’t a —— masked man on it.”
The detective laughed.
“That’s true. But it doesn’t explain when and how Mr. Legg came to Blue Wells.”
“I walked,” declared Jimmy Legg bravely. “The train passed me.”
“Where?” asked the sheriff.
“I don’t know. It was dark, and I’m not familiar with this country. I got a room at a hotel that night.”
“When did you hear that there had been a hold-up?”
“I heard them talking about it the next day,” said Jimmy Legg truthfully.
He did not think it necessary to tell them he had also heard it the night before.
“I don’t think he knows anything about it,” said the sheriff. “He don’t fit the description of any one of the robbers, and it’s a cinch he ain’t the big geezer that fought the messenger.”
“What kind of a dog was it?” asked Oyster.
“No special breed,” replied the detective. “It was of medium size, yellowish-red, and had one black eye. At least that’s the description which was given to me.”
A few minutes later the three officers rode away, and the cowboys turned their attention to Cowcatcher, the gray outlaw, which was still beside the corral fence. The collision with the other two horses had wrenched its right shoulder, which accounted for its not going any farther.
They took off the saddle and turned it loose. The boys were loud in their praise of Jimmy’s ability as a rider. The marvel of it all was the fact that Jim had stayed with the horse.
“If he knowed anythin’ about ridin’, he’d ’a’ been killed,” Eskimo told Johnny a few minutes later, after Jim had gone into the bunk-house. “He had the luck of a drunk. I’m glad it happened thataway, instead of havin’ to pick him up on a shovel.”
“Sure,” grinned Johnny, and then confidentially. “Eskimo, I don’tsabethat feller. Remember when them fellers were shootin’ at us from the express car? Remember the feller we seen, who comes along the track and gets into the car?”
“Yeah, I remember, Johnny. But I was too drunk to remember much more than that.”
“I wasn’t as sober as a judge myself, Eskimo. But I’ll be danged if it was a big man. Do yuh remember somethin’ about somebody named Geronimo?”
“That’s right, Johnny! I wonder if it was the man’s name, or the dog’s.”
“And that man headed for Blue Wells, Eskimo.”
Eskimo nodded seriously.
“That’s right. By golly, don’tcha know,” Eskimo scratched his head thoughtfully, “I’m wonderin’ what our little friend knows about that hold-up.”
“And why he wants to be a cowboy. Anyway,” Johnny grinned widely, “I’m for him. He’s got guts. If the Old Man will hire him, we’ll make a puncher out of him.”
Jimmy Legg was thanking his stars that Geronimo had deserted him. He was stiff and sore from his efforts to learn the cattle business all in a few days, and he did not realize that the boys had been trying to make him quit. He had been thrown from bucking horses, until it seemed to him that ranch life consisted of dull thuds.
Because he could not rope from a horse the boys had let him work from the ground during a day’s calf-branding, and his hands were seared so badly he could hardly shut them. He had managed to make enough good casts to encourage him, and he had spent hours alone in the corral, throwing loops at a snubbing post.
But his unfailing good-humor and earnest endeavor had caused the boys to go easier than they would have had he not been so foolishly innocent. George Bonnette had watched him, but said nothing. He was not running a school for making cowpunchers, but decided that Jimmy Legg was earning his board and keep.
Jimmy had decided to ride to Blue Wells that afternoon, but after a nap, which left him stiff and sore, he decided to saddle a horse and go for a ride into the hills. The other boys had ridden away before Jimmy awoke; so he saddled the horse alone for the first time. It was a fairly well broken roan mare, and he had little difficulty. He buckled on his gun and rode away.
Although the hills were fairly open, Jimmy watched his landmarks carefully. He realized that the hills and dales looked pretty much alike, and it might be difficult for him to hit a straight line back to the ranch.
A coyote crossed in front of him, stopped long enough to get a good look, and went on. Jimmy did not realize that it was a wild animal. A flock of blue quail whirred up in front of the horse and went careening down across a brushy draw. Something told him that these were game birds, and he wondered whether they were prairie chickens. He had heard of them.
He wasted several cigaret papers, trying to master the art of rolling a cigaret on a moving horse. He did not in the least resemble the James Eaton Legg, who had slid off his high stool in Mellon & Company’s office a short time before. His face was just as thin, but there was none of the office pallor. He was, as Eskimo declared, “burnt to a darned cinder.”
His hands were red, his lower lip cracked. And he had quit wearing glasses. It seemed to him that they were too indelibly stamped with his former occupation. He squinted badly in the bright sun, but his vision was all right. His ornate cowboy garb was no longer ornate, and to the casual eye he would have appeared about the same as the rest of the range riders.
And, to his great delight, he was picking up a smattering of range lingo, a few well-chosen cuss words, and he could draw his six-shooter out of the holster without shooting it accidentally. He had realized later how close he had been to killing two men, and had promised himself that when he went to town with the boys he would leave his gun at the ranch.
He rode into a well defined cattle-trail and managed to light his cigaret. Since leaving the ranch he had ridden at a walk, but now he spurred his horse into a gallop. It gave him a thrill to ride alone; to know that critical eyes were not watching his riding ability. The mare was willing to run, but he curbed her slightly. He tried to remember a song that Eskimo sang, but the words escaped him.
In his reckless abandon he stood up in his stirrups, as he had seen Johnny Grant do many times, whipped off his sombrero and slapped the mare across the rump.
The next thing he realized was that the mare’s ears had disappeared with a terrible lurch, and that he was again flying through space. He struck sitting down in the sand, and skidded along for several feet before stopping. He was badly jarred, but unhurt. His sombrero sailed into the brush, and the mare kept right on going for a hundred feet or so, where she whirled around, cut across a little ridge and went back toward the AK.
“That was an awful fool thing to do.”
The voice seemed to come from nowhere. Jimmy Legg stretched his neck and looked around. Standing in the trail, just a few feet beyond him was a girl—Marion Taylor. Jimmy Legg shut one eye and considered her gravely. He was sure he was mistaken, and wondered whether this could be a mirage. Oyster had told him of many mirages in that country, but he had never mentioned one of a pretty girl, who could talk.
“What was a fool thing?” asked Jimmy.
“Slappin’ a horse, and gettin’ throwed off,” she replied.
Jimmy got to his feet, braced his legs and stared at her.
“I dunno just what did happen,” he confessed foolishly.
Marion eyed him gravely, and he thought she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen.
“You must be the new man at the AK,” she said.
“Yes ma’am, I’m the new cowpuncher.”
“Cowpuncher?”
“Well, yea-a-ah,” he tried to imitate Johnny Grant.
The girl laughed.
“I’m James Eat—Jimmy Legg,” he stammered.
“I am Marion Taylor,” she said, smiling. “We own the Double Bar 8.”
“Oh, yes.”
They considered each other silently for a while. Jimmy glanced around.
“Where’s your horse, Miss Taylor?”
She colored slightly.
“Got away from me. Spike hates snakes, you see. We found a big rattler, and I got off to shoot it. I didn’t want to shoot off Spike, because he hates a gun; so I got off, and when I shot the rattler, Spike yanked away.”
Jimmy nodded.
“We’ve both lost our horses, it seems. You see, I don’t know anything about snakes.”
“No? You know a rattler when you see one, don’t you?”
“No, I’m sure I wouldn’t.”
“Then you better walk carefully, because we’ve got plenty of them around here. You’ll probably see one on your way back to the AK.”
“Possibly,” said Jimmy gravely. “But I’m not going back—not now. You see, I’m going to take you home first.”
“Oh, no,” Marion smiled shortly. “It’s only about three miles, you see. I don’t mind the walk.”
“Well, I’m goin’ along,” declared Jimmy. “You might get bit by a snake, or—or—”
Marion smiled with amusement.
“Do you think you could protect me from a rattler, Mr. Legg?”
“I dunno,” confessed Jimmy.
He glanced at the Colt, which swung from her hip.
“Can you hit anything with that?”
“Sometimes. Why?”
“I was just wondering.”
“Can you shoot?” she asked.
“Yea-a-a-ah, sure,” solemnly. Then he laughed outright. “I almost killed the sheriff and a prominent attorney, I believe. It—it went off when I wasn’t looking, you see.”
“I heard about it.”
They both laughed.
“Why not walk to the AK?” asked Marion. “It’s a lot nearer than the Double Bar 8. We—I could get a horse there.”
Jimmy shook his head quickly.
“Everybody is away, and the only horse there is one they call Cowcatcher.”
“Cowcatcher!” exclaimed Marion. “I’m sure I don’t want to ride him.”
“You couldn’t, anyway. I rode him today, and he ran rather wild, it seems. We knocked the horses from under the sheriff and the deputy, and ran into the corral fence, where Cowcatcher hurt his shoulder.”
Marion looked at him in amazement. She knew the reputation of that outlaw bucker.
“Do you mean to say that you rode Cowcatcher?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And were you on him when he quit?”
“Oh, yes,” innocently. “He’s not very tame, is he?” Jimmy laughed softly. “It was lots of fun.”
“Lots of fun?” Marion bit her lip and stared at this strange young man, whose language and actions did not brand him as a man of the ranges, and yet who had ridden the worst horse in the Blue Wells country, and thought it lots of fun.
And yet she had seen him thrown clean at the first pitching buck of a galloping horse. She could see that he had been freshly sunburned, and that his clothes were comparatively new.
“I don’t understand you,” she told him. Jimmy looked away, his eyes squinted seriously.
“Do you always have to understand any one?” he asked.
“You’re not a cowpuncher, Mr. Legg.”
Jimmy turned to her, a half-smile on his wide mouth.
“Do I look as raw as all that, Miss Taylor? I know I’m not a cowboy, but I’m going to be. Johnny Grant says I’ll make a good one, if I live to finish my education.”
Marion laughed at his naive confession.
“I didn’t know that anybody ever wanted to be a cowboy,” she said. “It’s just hard work.”
Jimmy Legg looked at her, a curious expression in his eyes.
“And romance,” he said slowly. “It is a big world out here. The blue nights, the sweet air of the hills in the morning, the midday, when the air fairly hums with the heat; and then when the shadows of sunset come, and the birds call—isn’t it worth learning to be a cowboy, to live here?”
“Well, when you see things that way, Mr. Legg. I’ve lived here almost all my life, and I—maybe I’m so used to it.”
“Having cowboys thrown off at your feet?” grinned Jimmy.
Marion flushed slightly.
“No, this is the first time. But you see, you are not a regular cowpuncher.”
“I suppose that does make a difference. Perhaps we better start walking, Miss Taylor.”
“Well, if you insist. I can let you have a horse to ride back to the AK.”
“That will be fine. We should be at your ranch in an hour.”
“But we won’t,” laughed Marion. “Any time you walk three miles an hour through this sand, the State of Arizona will give you a medal for bravery. In about fifteen minutes you’ll decide that high-heeled boots were never made for walking.”
It did not take Jimmy Legg that long to find it out. His left boot rubbed a blister on his heel, and his right boot creased deeply across his toes, adding several more blisters to his grand total. But he gritted his teeth and said nothing.
“Next time I go riding alone,” panted Jimmy, “I’m going to tie the lead-rope around my waist. Then, if my horse throws me off and tries to go home, he’ll have to drag me along.”
“You’ve got silk socks on, haven’t you?” asked Marion. Jimmy admitted that he had.
“No good,” said Marion. “Stylish, but terrible. Wear woolen socks.”
“You make me ashamed,” confessed Jimmy. “You travel along as though it was nothing, while I’m having an awful time. All I need is a handful of lead-pencils and I’d be a first-class cripple.”
The last mile was exquisite torture, but Jimmy managed to stumble into the patio of the Double Bar 8 and sit down on the well-curb.
He took off his boots, while Marion drew a fresh bucket of water. His feet were so swollen that he could hardly get the boots off, and his silk socks were in shreds.
He sat on the edge of the curb and soaked his feet in the cold water of the trough, while Marion found him a pair of Buck’s socks.
“Do you still think there is romance?” she asked, as he grimaced over his blisters. He looked up at her, forgetting the pain in his feet.
“Yes,” he said honestly. “You are the Beautiful Lady, and I am the Knight of the Blistered Feet.” He laughed softly. “As soon as I can get my boots on, I shall try and slay a dragon for you.”
“It isn’t going to be a hard season on dragons,” smiled the girl. “Unless all signs fail, you are going to have a hard time getting those boots on.”
There was no one else at the ranch. A mocking-bird sang from the patio wall, and a huge pepper tree threw a shade across the two at the well.
“Let’s forget about blistered feet,” said Jimmy Legg. “Tell me about this country, Miss Taylor. I’m a tenderfoot—and, oh so tender just now,” he laughed ruefully. “But I don’t mind. I didn’t know there were girls like you in this country. I’ve read stories of Arizona, where the handsome hero fought forty men, and won the heroine, who was very beautiful. But it doesn’t seem true to me, because I haven’t seen forty men since I came.”
“And there are no beautiful heroines,” she said.
“Well,” smiled Jimmy, “they didn’t have to do any heroic things. They were merely the central figure—some one to do great things for, don’t you see.”
“I suppose so,” smiled the girl. “But forty Arizona men would be rather a handful for one man to whip.”
Jimmy nodded seriously.
“Yes, I suppose a man would have to have quite an incentive.”
“He might start in on one and work his way up,” said a strange voice.
They turned quickly to see Tex Alden, who had come in so softly that they did not hear him. Perhaps they were too engrossed in their own conversation to hear him.
Tex smiled at Marion, but the look he gave Jimmy was anything but friendly.
“Hello Tex,” said Marion. “We didn’t hear you ride up.”
“Naturally.”
Marion ignored his sarcasm.
“Tex Alden, this is Mr. Legg,” she said.
“From the AK,” supplemented Jimmy.
“Runnin’ a dude ranch out there, are they?” Tex did not offer his hand to Jimmy, who did not offer his.
Marion explained how she had lost her horse, and of how she and Jimmy had met in the hills. But Tex could not see any humor in the situation. It was too much of a coincidence to suit him.
“Outside of that,” he said dryly, “I’ve got some bad news for you, Marion. Your father, Buck and Peeler are in jail at Blue Wells.”
“In jail?” Marion stared at Tex. “Why, what for, Tex?”
Tex shrugged his shoulders.
“Robbin’ that train, it seems.”
“But they never robbed that train, Tex!”
“Quien sabe. They’re in jail. Between the sheriff and that railroad detective they cooked up some sort of a case against ’em. I didn’t get all of it, but it seems that Olson, Porter and the detective, a man named Wade, came out here to the ranch. During the conversation the detective kicked the dog. Buck bawled him out for it, and the detective asked Buck if it was his dog.
“Buck said it was, it seems. The sheriff asked Buck how long he had owned the dog, and Buck said he raised it. They’ve got the dog in jail, too, holding him until they can get the engineer, fireman and the express messenger here to identify it. From what I can hear, the dog belonged to the bandits.”
Jimmy Legg stared across the patio, his eyes smarting in the bright sunlight.
“Buck never raised that dog,” said Marion hoarsely. “It was a dog that picked up with them—with dad, Buck and Peeler.”
“How long ago?” asked Tex.
“The—” Marion faltered. “It was the day after the robbery that he came here with them, Tex. They had been back on Yellow Horn mesa, looking for cattle. They left the day of the robbery.”
“What kind of a dog was it?” asked Jimmy Legg.
“Just a stray mongrel,” said Marion. “It was coarse-haired and sort of a yellowish-red color.”
There was no question in Jimmy’s mind that this dog was Geronimo.
“Quite a lot of strays comin’ to this country lately,” said Tex Alden, as he looked meaningly at Jimmy.
Jimmy caught the implication, but said nothing. He did not want to have any trouble with Tex Alden.
“I suppose yore father can prove that the dog don’t belong here, can’t he?” asked Tex.
“I don’t see why not,” replied Marion quickly.
“I was just wonderin’, Marion. There’s so many dogs around here that nobody pays much attention to ’em. Anyway, the sheriff says that even if they can prove away the dog, they’ll have to show him where they were the night of the robbery.”
“But they can’t—except their word, Tex. They were back on Yellow Horn mesa, and no one saw them back there.”
Tex smiled.
“Makes it kinda tough. If yo’re aimin’ to ride to Blue Wells, I’ll ride back with yuh.”
Marion looked at Jimmy, who was sitting on the edge of the curb, his sore feet encased in a pair of Buck’s woolen socks.
“I suppose I’ll have to go,” she said slowly. “But I don’t like to leave the ranch alone. If Mr. Legg will stay here until I get back—”
“That won’t hardly do,” said Tex quickly. “You don’t know this man, Marion. We can get some one in Blue Wells—”
“Oh, I don’t mind staying,” said Jimmy earnestly.
“But you can’t stay here with a strange man.”
“I meant—until I got back,” said Marion coldly. “And how long since you started running the Double Bar 8, Tex Alden?”
Tex flushed hotly.
“I’m not tryin’ to run the ranch, Marion.”
“Then don’t. I think Spike is around by the corral; so if you will excuse me, I’ll get him.”
Tex made no effort to get the horse for her, because he wanted a word in private with Jimmy Legg. After she had gone out through the patio gate, Tex turned to Jimmy.
“Let me give you a word of advice, young feller. Yo’re new to this country; so jist take my word for it that we don’t want strangers around. You tramped in here; now tramp out. The climate of the Blue Wells country is sure damp for yore kind.”
“I don’t think I understand what you mean,” said Jimmy. “I’m not a tramp, Mr. Alden.”
“You walked into Blue Wells. Anyway, you told the sheriff yuh did. Ain’t that trampin’?”
Jimmy smiled and shook his head.
“There’s a difference, I think, between a man who merely walks in, and a man who tramps in.”
“Not a —— bit of difference around here, Legg. I’ll probably ride back with Miss Taylor; and I don’t want to find you here. If yo’re wise, you’ll heed what I’m tellin’ yuh. I’ve give yuh a fair warnin’.”
“Reminds me of what Miss Taylor said about rattlesnakes,” said Jimmy innocently. “They nearly always buzz before they strike, it seems. She says that is what makes them less to be feared than any other poisonous snakes.”
Tex stepped in closer to Jimmy, his eyes snapping.
“Do you mean to call me a snake?”
“No; only the warning. And don’t forget, you called me a tramp.”
“If you wasn’t such an ignorant —— fool,” began Tex—but at that moment Marion made her appearance leading the blue-black horse which had left her stranded in the hills, and Tex turned to her, leaving his statement to Jimmy unfinished.
“Mr. Legg won’t be able to stay,” stated Tex. “If you’ll show him which horse to ride back to the AK, Marion—”
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Jimmy, hugging his knees. “I’m going to stay, Miss Taylor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Legg.”
Marion turned away to hide a smile. She realized that Tex had tried to make Jimmy’s decision for him, and she was glad that Jimmy defied him.
Tex glared at Jimmy, but said nothing. Marion waved at Jimmy from the patio gate, but Tex did not turn his head. Marion had little to say to Tex on the way to Blue Wells. He tried to apologize to her for what he had said to Jimmy Legg, but she paid little attention to his excuses. As a result, Tex rode to Blue Wells with a distinct peeve against this stranger.
He left Marion at the doorway of the sheriff’s office, and met Lee Barnhardt a little farther up the street. The lawyer might have ignored Tex’s presence had not Tex stepped in beside him. It was the first time they had met since the day after the hold-up.
“What do yuh know about the arrest of Taylor, Buck and the half-breed?” asked Tex. Barnhardt glanced sidewise at Tex, and a knowing smile twisted his lips.
“I know it’s probably lucky for some folks, Tex. You see, I’ve talked with them, and I’ll probably defend their case; so I haven’t any information to give out.”
“Yea-a-ah?”
“Yea-a-ah,” Barnhardt mimicked Tex’s drawl perfectly, but the expression in Tex’s eyes caused Barnhardt’s Adam’s-apple to jerk convulsively. The lawyer was a physical coward, and Tex knew it; so he grasped Barnhardt by the sleeve, whirled him around and slammed his back against the front of the office.
“—— you!” gritted Tex. “I’ve stood about all I’m goin’ to stand from you, Lee. Yo’re as crooked as a snake in a cactus patch, and we both know it. You told me about that Santa Rita pay-roll, because you wanted yore share. Now, —— yuh—get it, if yuh can!”
Tex stepped back, his eyes narrowed dangerously, as he looked at Barnhardt’s thin face, which twisted to a sneering grin, when he felt sure that Tex was not going to do him bodily harm.
“All right, Tex,” he said hoarsely. “No bad feelings, I hope.”
Tex shook his head slowly.
“I don’tsabeyou, Lee,” he said softly. “Mebbe some day I’m goin’ to have to kill you.”
Tex spoke in a matter-of-fact way, as though the killing of Lee Barnhardt would be merely a disagreeable task. Barnhardt smiled crookedly.
“You don’t need to threaten me, Tex,” he said.
“Oh, that’s not a threat.”
Barnhardt straightened his collar.
“You called me a crook,” he remarked. “You can’t prove anything, Tex; but you embezzled eight thousand dollars—and I can prove it.”
“How can yuh? You haven’t the bill of sale, nor a copy of it. You had nothing to do with the sale. The check was made out to me.”
“All right,” Barnhardt laughed shortly. “In two weeks the Fall round-up will be held, Tex. There’s going to be a shortage of X Bar 6 stock to account for. My report will show this, and I’ll have to explain just what happened—unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you shoot square with me, Tex.”
“In other words,” said Tex coldly, “if I’ll play a crooked game with you, you’ll protect me, eh?”
“You don’t need to be so —— virtuous!” snapped Barnhardt. “You’re in pretty deep already. And any time I want to, I can cut you loose from your present job. Don’t forget that I can do you a lot of harm, if I want to, Tex. One of these days that X Bar 6 is going to be mine.”
“Yea-a-ah? How do yuh figure that, Lee?”
“That’s my business. You think things over, Tex.”
Tex nodded shortly.
“All right. What kind of a case have they got against Taylor?”
“I don’t know. That Wade, the railroad detective, seems to think the dog links ’em pretty close to the case, but he’s got to wait until the engine crew and the messenger identify the dog as being the one that was on the express car.”
“Marion says it’s a dog that picked up with them the day after the hold-up. I don’t remember any such a dog around the Double Bar 8.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about it, do you?”
“Why not? I expect to marry Taylor’s daughter.”
“Well? She’s not under arrest. You better look out for Le Moyne, Tex. He’s got the same ideas that you have, and I understand that Apostle Paul thinks a lot of Le Moyne.”
“Le Moyne don’t interest me, Lee.”
“Sure he don’t. But he don’t have to interest you. Le Moyne is a handsome devil, and if I was in your boots—”
“Well, you’re not!” Tex flushed angrily. “I’ve got to help Marion find some woman to stay at the ranch with her. She can’t stay there alone. That —— tenderfoot from the AK was there when I left. His horse pitched him off in the hills, and he wore his feet out walkin’ to the Double Bar 8.”
“His name is Legg, isn’t it?” queried Barnhardt.
“Yeah.”
“What else do you know about him, Tex?”
“Not a thing—do you?”
“Only what Johnny Grant said. Legg told him that he used to be a bookkeeper in San Francisco.”
“Yeah? Well, he better go back and sling some more ink.”
Barnhardt smiled slowly.
“And he’s staying at the Double Bar 8, is he?”
“Not very —— long, he ain’t!” snapped Tex.
He whirled on his heel and looked down toward the sheriff’s office, where Marion was just coming out, accompanied by the sheriff.
“How long before they can identify that dog, Lee?” he asked.
“When the train gets in tonight, Tex.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll see yuh later, Lee.”
“All right; and in the meantime you better think over some of the things I’ve told you.”
But Tex did not reply. Marion had mounted her horse. Tex called to her, but she did not reply, as she spurred her horse to a gallop, heading toward home. Tex swore softly and went on, joining the sheriff at the doorway of the office.
“Hyah, Tex,” greeted the sheriff.
“All right, Scotty,” grunted Tex. “Mind lettin’ me see the Taylor family?”
The sheriff shook his head.
“Can’t do it, Tex. I’ve got my orders from the prosecutor. After t’night, yuh maybe can; but no chance, until after we know a little more about things.”
Tex scowled heavily.
“What evidence have yuh got, Scotty?”
“Dog. Answers the description.”
“Yea-a-ah?”
Tex leaned one shoulder against the wall of the building and began rolling a cigaret. He looked quizzically at the sheriff as he said—
“Scotty, did yuh ever wonder why them three men locked yuh in yore own jail?”
The sheriff considered the question gravely, as if it had never occurred to him before. He smiled softly and shook his head.
“No; did you, Tex?”
“It’s none of my business, Scotty.”
“No? You don’t think Eskimo, Johnny and Oyster had anythin’ to do with the hold-up, do yuh?”
“I didn’t say they did, Scotty.”
“There was four men in that hold-up. Old George Bonnette was in Blue Wells that night. They’d ’a’ had to get an outsider to help ’em, Tex. We’ve got to find four men.”
“But there’s only three in yore jail right now, Scotty.”
“Yeah; there’s still the owner of the dog.”
“Then yuh don’t think the dog belongs to Taylor?”
“No, I don’t. The man who owns the dog is the man who got on the express car at Encinas, and fought with the messenger. The dog was just a blind for that man to get on there. He was the fourth one of the gang, and he probably didn’t figure on the messenger puttin’ up a fight. He caught up with the express car as quick as possible and took the dog. The fact that he took a chance to get the dog makes it look like a cinch that if we can find the owner of that dog, we can land the whole bunch.”
It was a long explanation for Scotty Olson, and he was all out of breath.
“How about that feller Legg, at the AK, Scotty? He’d make a fourth man.”
“Him!” Scotty laughed. “Which man would he make? Not the big feller that fought the messenger. And —— knows he ain’t one of the masked men that blew the safe.”
“Don’t be too sure. He’d look pretty —— big behind a black mask, looking over the top of a six-gun. That engine crew was so —— scared they wouldn’t have known whether they were big men or small ones.”
“How do you know how scared they was, Tex?”
The sheriff snapped the question quickly. Tex stiffened slightly and his shoulder swayed away from the wall.
“Just figurin’ ’em to be human,” he said softly.
“Oh, yeah.” The sheriff’s smile was hidden behind his big mustache. “I reckon we’ll get along all right. It takes time to figure out things, Tex. Wade’s no fool. He’s investigatin’ every clue—him and Porter. I understand that the Santa Rita has hired a detective. Him and Le Moyne are on the case, kinda workin’ independent of my office, I suppose.” Scotty smiled. “But that’s all right. We want the men who got that thirty thousand.”
Tex nodded coldly.
“Good luck to yuh, Scotty. But if I was you, I wouldn’t look for them men in Blue Wells. They’re a —— of a long ways from here, I’ll betcha.”
“I’m no —— palmist,” said Scotty slowly. “If they’re out of the county I can’t do nothin’, but if they’re around here, I’m goin’ after ’em good and hard.”
“Sure,” nodded Tex, and went after his horse, while the sheriff looked after him quizzically.
“I wonder what you know, Tex Alden,” he said to himself. “I seen yuh talkin’ with Lee Barnhardt—and he’ll prob’ly defend Taylor, if this comes to court. By golly, I’m gettin’ suspicious of everybody. Wade says you’ve got to suspect everybody, if yo’re goin’ to be a successful detective; so I expect I’m startin’ out in the right way.”
It was supper time at the AK ranch when Jimmy Legg rode in. The boys had discovered his horse when they returned, and had decided that Jimmy had been thrown. They were going to wait until after supper before starting a search.
He told them of the incident and of the long walk to the Double Bar 8 ranch.
“Didja leave that girl alone there?” asked Eskimo.
“She went back to town,” explained Jimmy. “I guess she wanted to be there when the railroad men tried to identify that dog, and she said she’d stay in Blue Wells all night.”
“I’d kinda like to be there too,” said Johnny Grant. “I’ve been at the Taylor ranch quite a lot, but I don’t remember any dog of that description.”
“Let’s all go in after supper,” suggested Oyster. “I’ve got a few dollars that’s restless.”
Old George Bonnette called Jimmy aside after supper.
“What do yuh aim to do?” asked the old man.
Jimmy smiled foolishly.
“I kinda wanted to be a cowpuncher,” he confessed, lapsing into the dialect easily.
“Yuh do, eh?” Bonnette smiled. “That’s quite an ambition, don’tcha think? Forty a month, and feed. Yo’re educated, Legg. I don’tsabewhy yuh want to be a puncher.”
“I’ve got a reason, Mr. Bonnette.”
“Some girl dare yuh to be a cowboy?”
“There’s a woman in the case,” confessed Jimmy.
Bonnette grunted softly and helped himself to a liberal chew of tobacco.
“I thought as much,” he grinned. “Well, you ain’t—yet. I’m full-up on hired hands right now, Legg. It’ll soon be round-up time, and yuh might come in handy.
“It’ll mean a —— of a lot of hard work. I can’t pay yuh a cowpuncher’s wages, because yuh don’tsabethe work well enough to earn it; but I’ll pay yuh half-salary. It’ll sure as —— be an education to you, if yuh want to be a puncher. But I’m —— if I know why yuh want to.”
“Thanks,” smiled Jimmy. “Johnny Grant asked you to do this, didn’t he?”
“Well, he said yuh was jist brainless enough to make a good puncher, if that’s what yuh mean.”
“Don’t cowpunchers have any brains, Mr. Bonnette?”
“Huh!” The old man spat explosively. “Evidence is all agin’ ’em! If they had any brains, they wouldn’t punch cows.”
Jimmy thanked him for the half-pay job, and rode away with the three cowpunchers, after Bonnette had warned them not to antagonize the sheriff again.
“Yo’re gettin’ a bad reputation,” declared Bonnette. “Next thing I know I’ll have some cripples hobblin’ around here.”
“We’re plumb antiseptic now,” assured Johnny Grant. “There ain’t money enough in the crowd to start anythin’.”
They headed for town, talking about the robbery. None of them had told Jimmy about their battle with the engineer and fireman. The AK boys were tight-mouthed over it, because they didn’t want to be hauled in on the case, and they were just a little suspicious about Jimmy Legg.
Near where the AK road paralleled the railroad, it intersected with the road from Encinas, and as they neared the intersection they saw two riders coming from the east, jogging along through the dust, as if time was of no importance.
The four riders from the AK drew rein and waited for the two cowboys, thinking them to be two of the Blue Wells riders. But in this they were mistaken, as the two riders were strangers to the country.
One of them was a lean, rangy sort of individual, with a long face, prominent nose, wide mouth, and widely spaced blue eyes, set in a mass of tiny wrinkles. The other rider was of medium height, rather blocky of countenance, wide-mouthed, and with deep grin-wrinkles, which seemed to end beneath a firm jaw. His eyes were wide, blue and innocent.
Both men were dressed in range costume, well-worn, weathered. Their riding rigs were polished from much usage, and the boys from the AK noted that their belts and holsters were hand-made by men who knew the sag of human anatomy. The tall man removed his battered sombrero, disclosing a crop of roan-colored hair, and the wide grin, which suffused his whole face, showed a set of strong, white teeth.
“Howdy,” smiled the tall man. “Is this the road to Blue Wells?”
“It sure is,” grinned Johnny. He instinctively liked this tall man, whose grin was contagious.
“Well, that’s good,” nodded the shorter man.
Johnny Grant’s eyes had strayed to their two horses, which were branded on the left shoulder with a Circle X, the iron of a ranch about twelve miles east of Encinas.
“We’re goin’ to Blue Wells,” said Eskimo, “and we’ll see that yuh don’t stray.”
“That’s sure kind of yuh,” said the innocent-eyed one. “You don’t know what a load that takes off my mind.”
Eskimo squinted closely at him, but could not determine whether the man was joking or not. Johnny Grant moved his horse in closer.
“My name’s Grant,” he told them.
He turned in his saddle and introduced the others, concluding with Jimmy Legg, of whom he said:
“This is Jimmy Legg. He wants to be a cowpuncher so badly that he don’t know what to do—and we’re teachin’ him.”
“I’m sure he’ll make a good one,” said the innocent-eyed stranger, sizing up the uncomfortable Jimmy. “Yuh can’t hardly tell him from one now. If yuh hadn’t told us about him, we’d never know but what he was a top-hand. My name is Stevens. My pardner answers to the name of Hartley, and we’re proud to know you gents.”
“Proud to know you,” nodded the boys of the AK.
“We might as well mosey along,” said Johnny. “You aimin’ to stay in Blue Wells a while, gents?”
“All depends,” said “Hashknife” Hartley. “We hear that the Fall round-up is about to start, and thought we might hook on with some cow-outfit. We ain’t never been in here, yuh see.”
“Well, yuh might,” admitted Johnny. “I dunno how the rest of the ranches are fixed for help.”
“Does anythin’ ever happen around here?” asked “Sleepy” Stevens. “You know what I mean—any excitement?”
“Everythin’ happens,” said Eskimo, and they proceeded to regale them with a story of the robbery.
Johnny Grant went into details regarding the dog, which figured in the evidence, and by the time they got to Blue Wells, Hashknife and Sleepy knew practically all the details, as far as was known.
“We’d know more about it when the train gets in,” said Oyster. “Them trainmen say they can identify the dog, if it’s the same one.”
They rode in to Blue Wells, and tied their horses at the Oasis hitch-rack. Hashknife and Sleepy went to the Oasis hotel, where they secured a room, after which they took their horses to the livery-stable.
Quite a crowd of people had gathered in Blue Wells, waiting for the train to come in. There was much speculation as to whether or not the trainmen could identify the dog as being the one on the express car. Tex Alden was in town, as was Le Moyne. Johnny Grant pointed out Le Moyne, and introduced Hashknife to Tex.
Hashknife did not strike Tex for a job, but merely exchanged a few words with him. They met the sheriff in the Oasis, and Johnny introduced him to Hashknife. But the sheriff was not friendly, and Johnny explained the reasons why. They found Al Porter and Wade, the railroad detective, but Porter gave Johnny a wide berth. He could see that Johnny had imbibed a few drinks, and Mr. Porter did not want his dignity disturbed.
The train arrived on time, and the crowd repaired to the hall over Abe Moon’s store, which was used as a courtroom. Jimmy Legg had imbibed a large drink of liquor, which had caused him to forget certain things, and as a result he found himself in the hall, almost rubbing shoulders with the express messenger.
The sheriff ordered every one to sit down and not to interfere with the proceedings. He brought Apostle Paul Taylor, Buck Taylor and Peeler into the room and seated them against the wall. The half-breed was frightened, but the Taylor family were cool. Marion was there, and joined her father. Hashknife and Sleepy remained in the background, watching the proceedings.
Al Porter, the deputy, brought the dog into the room, a short piece of rope tied to its collar. It was Geronimo! Jimmy Legg gasped, drew his hat farther over his face and acted indifferent.
Geronimo apparently thought that the gathering was for his special benefit, for he cavorted on the end of the rope, barking, whining, sniffing. Suddenly he whirled around, headed toward Jimmy Legg, head up, sniffing. The scent of the man who had befriended him!
His sudden lunge almost yanked the rope out of Porter’s hands, and his paws scraped across Jimmy Legg’s knees, when the angry deputy jerked the dog back to him. Jimmy gasped with relief, looked up from under the low-pulled brim of his hat, and found the railroad detective looking at him.
The engineer and fireman positively identified the dog. The express messenger was not so positive, but said that it surely looked like the same dog. Johnny Grant, with a few drinks of liquor under his belt, walked out and took a close look at the dog.
“I’ve been at the Double Bar 8 a lot of times,” he told the sheriff, “but I never seen that dog before. I like dogs, Scotty. I never miss a chance to play with a dog, and if that dog was a reg’lar at the Double Bar 8, I’d shore know it.”
“Buck swears he raised it from a pup,” replied the sheriff.
“Buck wasn’t telling the truth,” said Marion. “He was mad at you for kicking it, and questioning the ownership.”
“When did you see it the first time, Miss Taylor?” asked the sheriff.
“When it came home with dad, Buck and Peeler.”
“The day after the hold-up, eh?”
“Yes.”
The railroad detective sauntered up.
“Where did they say they got the dog, Miss Taylor?” he asked.
“Why, they said it picked up with them, when they were on their way home from Yellow Horn Mesa.”
The sheriff smiled and told Porter to take the dog back to the office.
“I reckon we’ll hang on to the dog until we find out who owns it,” he said.
“But you can’t hold us any longer,” protested Apostle Paul.
“Can’t I?”
“It’s a bailable offense,” said the detective. “I suppose you’ll have a hearing tomorrow, and have your bail set.”
“And have to stay in jail tonight, eh?”
“Yes; unless the judge wants to hold a night session.”
“Which he won’t,” declared Porter. “Old Judge Parkridge will take his own sweet time—and it won’t be at night.”
The sheriff removed his prisoners and the crowd filed down the stairs. Jimmy Legg moved in beside Marion and went down to the street with her. Most of the crowd headed for the Oasis, and Tex Alden was with them. He stopped long enough to see that Jimmy Legg was with Marion, but went on.
“Gee, that’s a dirty shame, Miss Taylor,” said Jimmy. “They haven’t anything on your father, nor any of the rest.”
“Oh, I know it, Mr. Legg; but what can we do?”
“You might start in by calling me Jimmy. I hate the rest of my name. It’s James Eaton Legg. Sounds like a cannibal, doesn’t it. Parents never stop to think, when they’re naming innocent children.”
“All right, Jimmy—if you’ll call me Marion. Every one does. We are not formal out here in the wilderness.”
“I’m glad you’re not. My feet feel fine in those socks. I’ll buy me some tonight and give Buck a new pair.”
“Don’t bother about that, Jimmy.”
“No bother at all. Say, that Tex Alden don’t like me, does he?”
“Possibly not.”
“Does he—” Jimmy hesitated.
“Does he what, Jimmy?”
“Oh, that’s a little too personal, Marion.”
“I suppose so. You meant to ask me if Tex thought he had the right to say who I shall speak to, didn’t you?”
“Well, has he?”
“Only in his own mind.”
Jimmy laughed softly.
“Some folks are blessed with wonderful imaginations. Are you going to stay at the hotel tonight?”
“Yes, I’ll stay there tonight, anyway.”
They walked up the street and met Chet Le Moyne in front of Abe Moon’s store. He shook hands with Marion, who introduced him to Jimmy.
“You are paymaster of the Santa Rita mine, aren’t you?” asked Jimmy. “I thought that’s what Johnny Grant said.”
“Yes,” said Le Moyne patronizingly. “And you are the new cowboy at the AK ranch.”
“Yea-a-ah,” drawled Jimmy. “That’s me.”
Marion laughed.
“He’s going to be a good one, too.”
“As good as any,” laughed Jimmy.
“You’ve had a good start, I hear,” chuckled Le Moyne. “They tell me that you almost killed Scotty Olson and Lee Barnhardt the day you came here.”
“And never got arrested,” laughed Jimmy. “This is a wonderful country.”
Hashknife Hartley and Sleepy Stevens came out of the store, halted on the edge of the sidewalk to light their cigarets, and went on across the street.
“Who are those men?” asked Marion. “I noticed the tall one looking at me in the courtroom.”
“One—the tall one—is named Hartley,” said Jimmy. “The other is Stevens. They met us at the forks of the road this evening, and rode in with us. They’re strangers here, it seems.”
Marion and Jimmy strolled on toward the hotel and Le Moyne went to the store. Hashknife and Sleepy mingled with the crowd in the Oasis, and finally took seats at a table near the rear of the place. Business was good, all the games filled, and the bar was doing a big business.
The engineer, fireman and the express messenger came over to the saloon and joined the crowd at the bar.
“Plenty of excitement,” observed Hashknife. “This hold-up seems to have kinda stirred up Blue Wells, Sleepy.”
“Yeah,” Sleepy did not seem to be very enthusiastic.
“Aw, shake yore hide,” grinned Hashknife. “You act like a mourner at a funeral, cowboy.”
“I’m all right,” muttered Sleepy. “But it makes me tired. Every time we go anywhere, somethin’ happens. There’s no peace anywhere. When them fellers was tellin’ about that hold-up, yore nose was twitchin’ like the nose of a pointer dog. Dang it, me and you didn’t come here to hunt bandits.”
Hashknife chuckled softly.
“And I’m not huntin’ ’em, Sleepy. What do yuh think of that? I ain’t lost no bandits. It’s nothin’ to me how many pay-rolls they steal.”
“Then don’t say nothin’ more about that girl, Hashknife. Ever since you got a look at her, you’ve spoke about her several times.”
“Pshaw! I didn’t realize it, Sleepy. Mebbe I just remarked about her folks all bein’ in jail.”
“Let ’em stay in jail,” grunted Sleepy heartlessly. “They prob’ly robbed that train. We didn’t come here to—”
“I know that sentence by heart, Sleepy. And you ought to know my reply. But that don’t alter the fact that she’s one pretty girl.”
“There yuh go!” gloomily.
Johnny Grant had spotted them and was coming their way, slightly unsteady on his legs, but grinning widely.
“C’mon and have a drink,” he urged. “I jist runs four-bits into a ten-spot in the black-jack game. If yuh don’t drink yuh can have a see-gar. But I warns yuh, their see-gars are a lot older than the liquor they sell. C’mon up to the bar and meet some of the folks.”
Neither of them wanted a drink, but they did want to be friendly with Johnny Grant and his crowd; so they elbowed their way to the bar. Ed Gast and Bill Bailey, of the X Bar 6, were at the bar, and Johnny introduced them, after which he deposited his money on the bar, and demanded action.
“Beatin’ that game is as easy as holdin’ up a train,” he declared, chuckling. “Runs four-bits up to ten dollars, and sticks my thumb at m’ nose at the dealer.”
Hashknife noticed that the sheriff was at the bar, and that Johnny’s remark interested him.
“Except that yuh can’t very well lose at holdin’ up a train,” added Eskimo Swenson, who had caught the sheriff’s reflection in the mirror. “If yuh ever get the money in yore hands, yo’re as safe as a church. Political affluence shore as —— don’t make a sheriff a man-catcher.”
Realizing that this conversation was for his benefit, the sheriff moved away from the bar, while the AK boys chuckled over their drinks. Even Sleepy Stevens shed his pessimistic attitude and grinned.
“These are home folks,” he said to Hashknife. “It appears that the sheriff ain’t standin’ very well with the AK.”
“Aw, he’s all right,” said Oyster. “Scotty’s as good as the average sheriff, except that he’s too serious. He’d give his right eye for a chance to prove first degree murder agin’ the whole AK outfit, because we devil him. He’s—”
The men at the bar jerked around when from out in the street came the unmistakable sound of a revolver shot.
“Somebody celebratin’,” decided Johnny Grant, as the sheriff and several men moved to the doorway and went outside. They gulped their drinks, and went out into the street, where the only lights were those from the saloon and store windows.
“Somebody tryin’ to be funny,” grumbled the sheriff.
He went back into the Oasis. Some men had come from Moon’s store across the street, evidently wondering who had fired the shot. Two men with a lantern were fussing around a wagon in front of the blacksmith shop. One of the men came across from the store and went into the Oasis. It was Chet Le Moyne.
“Well, I reckon it was some puncher wishful of makin’ a noise,” decided Johnny Grant. They turned and were going back into the saloon, when some one called from the hotel, which was across the street, and about a block north of the Oasis.
“C’mere!” yelled the man. He was evidently calling to some one in the hotel. “Come out and help me with this feller!”
“That sounds like somethin’ wrong,” said Hashknife. “Let’s go and see what it is.”
They hurried up the street and crossed to the hotel, where several men had gathered around a man who was lying flat on the ground.
“He’s been shot,” they heard one of them say. “Better pack him into the hotel and send for a doctor.”
A man scratched a match, but it flickered out. Hashknife shoved him aside, dropped on his knees beside the man, and ignited a match, with a snap of his thumb-nail. The illumination showed a gory face, gray as ashes, where the blood had not stained.
“My ——!” blurted Johnny. “It’s Jimmy Legg!”
He dropped on his knees beside Hashknife, grasping Jimmy’s shoulders.
“Hey! Jimmy!” he exclaimed.
“Don’t shake him!” roared Eskimo. “You big idiot!”
“Somebody go and find a doctor,” ordered Hashknife. “We’ll take him in the hotel.”
They carried him into the little hotel office, where there was light enough for them to discover that Jimmy Legg had missed death by a very scant margin. The bullet had struck him just above his left ear, slanted along his skull, and had furrowed deeply for about three inches.
Some one had gone after a doctor, and in the meantime Hashknife secured a basin of water and a towel, with which he mopped some of the blood away.
“I heard that shot,” said the proprietor of the hotel. “I thought it was somebody just makin’ a noise. Say, I seen that young feller talkin’ to Miss Taylor not five minutes ago. They was just outside the door there.”
“To Miss Taylor, eh?” Johnny blinked at the lamp. “Is she here now?”
The commotion in the office attracted Marion’s attention, and she was standing in the hallway door when Johnny spoke.
“I’m here,” she said. “What do you want of me?”
The cowboys removed their hats, as Johnny went toward her.
“You was talkin’ with Jimmy Legg a few minutes ago?” he asked.
“Why yes.” She was unable to see the man on the floor.
“Well, he got shot,” said Johnny bluntly.
“Shot?” Marion jerked forward. “Did somebody—not dead?”
“He ain’t badly hurt, ma’am,” said Hashknife. “The doctor will fix him up in no time.”
Marion came forward to where she could see. Her face was white and her two hands were clenched tightly, as she looked at Jimmy Legg, stretched on the floor.
“Why, I just left him a minute or so ago,” she whispered. “Where did it happen?”
“Jist out in the street,” replied Johnny.
“By ——, I want to find the jasper that shot the poor devil!”
“If yuh do, don’t keep it to yourself,” growled Eskimo.
Marion stopped at the desk, bracing herself with one hand.
“Who would shoot him?” wondered Eskimo. “He wouldn’t hurt anybody. If it had been one of us—”
“That would be justified,” finished Johnny Grant.
Jimmy Legg lifted his head and stared around, blinking his eyes.
“What was it?” he whispered.
“Somebody took a shot at yuh,” said Johnny quickly.
Jimmy Legg felt of his head.
“Hit me, didn’t they?”
At this moment the doctor arrived, ordered them to carry Jimmy to a room, and proceeded to fix up the wound. Marion insisted on helping him, and Jimmy blinked his gratitude.
“Did you see the man who shot at you?” asked Marion.
“I never knew I was shot, until I woke up, Marion. You had just gone into the hotel, and I started to cross the street, when I saw a big flash, like an explosion. But I never heard the noise.”
The doctor washed and sewed up the wound. It was a painful proceeding, but Jimmy gritted his teeth and did not make a sound.
“You better get a room here at the hotel and go to bed,” advised the doctor. But Jimmy refused.
“I’m all right,” he insisted. “It aches a little, but not enough to put me in bed. Gee, it sure knocked me out!”
“And you’re lucky to be alive,” said the doctor, packing his kit-bag. “An inch further to the right, and you’d have no top on your head right now.”
The crowd was just outside the door, waiting for the doctor to finish, and they crowded in, hardly giving the doctor a chance to wiggle his way out into the hall. Jimmy held out his hand to Marion, disregarding the clamoring cowboys.
“Thank you,” he said. “It was nice of you to stay with me.”
Marion colored slightly, and her reply was drowned in Johnny Grant’s greeting.
“Hyah, Topknot! Howsa head, Jimmy?”
“Don’t jiggle me!” laughed Jimmy. “My face is so tight I can hardly laugh.”
“Don’t laugh,” advised Eskimo. “Now who do yuh know that might hate yuh enough to shoot yuh, Jimmy?”
Jimmy frowned painfully at the floor, and when he looked up he caught Marion’s eye. Tex Alden’s threat came back to him—
“The Blue Wells country is sure damp for your kind.”
Jimmy tried to smile, but it was only a grimace.
“I dunno,” he said slowly. “I haven’t had any trouble with any one here, except that day I accidently shot at the sheriff and the lawyer.”
“But that was an accident,” said Johnny. “Nobody blames yuh for that. Somebody wanted to kill yuh, kid.”
“Maybe,” faltered Jimmy, “they mistook me for somebody else.”
As Jimmy spoke he was looking at Marion, and he switched his eyes to Hashknife, who was watching him closely. The eyes of the tall cowboy seemed to bore into him, and Jimmy turned away.
“You was talkin’ with Miss Taylor just a minute or so before yuh got shot, eh?” Oyster Shell had an idea.
“Yes,”
“Uh-hah!”
“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Johnny.
“Aw, let’s go and get a drink,” suggested Oyster. “Jimmy is all right. How about yuh, Jimmy?”
“I’m fine,” replied Jimmy. “Except that my feet don’t track and there’s a ton of rocks on my head—I’m as good as ever.”
They moved out of the hotel and headed for the Oasis, where Jimmy was the center of attraction. Le Moyne and Dug Haley were there. Johnny introduced them to Hashknife and Sleepy, and they all drank to the poor aim of some bushwhacker.
After a few more drinks the AK boys decided to go home. Jimmy’s head was bothering him, and Johnny Grant decided that a bunk was the best place for Jimmy Legg. Before they left, the sheriff and deputy bustled in, having just heard of the shooting, and wanted a detailed account of it.
“Aw, whatsa use?” wailed Eskimo. “Somebody popped Jimmy on the head with a bullet, and that’s all there is to it. Unless petrification sets in, he’ll be able to fall off a horse agin’ tomorrow—as usual. C’mon.”
And the sheriff was obliged to get his information from those who knew as much about it as the AK boys did. He went back to his office with Al Porter, and they sat down to discuss it.
“Well, who do yuh think tried to kill the tenderfoot?” queried Porter.
“If we didn’t have three men in jail, facin’ a charge of holdin’ up a train, I’d say that this here Legg person was the fourth one of the gang, and that some of ’em tried to bump him off for somethin’.”
“Well, I’ll be ——!” snorted Porter. “If we can’t hang it on to the Taylor gang, that might be worth workin’ on, Scotty. But who are these two strange cowpunchers who rode in with the AK gang tonight? Johnny Grant acts kinda friendly with ’em.”
“I don’t know, Al. I reckon I’ll hit the hay. Tomorrow we hold a hearin’ for the Taylor gang, and we’ll see what we’ll see. You better feed that —— dog before yuh go to bed, or he might mistake old Judge Parkridge for a strip of jerky. —— knows, he looks like one.”