“Oh, yeah,” Honey scratched his head. “The railroad bridge caught fire. Uh-huh. Ho-o-o-old on!”
He ran across the room, grabbed up a wash-basin and placed it under a fresh leak. Then he came back and introduced the girls to Hashknife and Sleepy.
“My name’s Bee,” he said. “B-e-e.”
“Last or first?” asked Hashknife.
“Last. Say, I better rustle some wood for that fireplace. Kinda take the chill off the air. Gosh, you fellers shore are wet.”
Honey hurried away for some wood, while Hashknife moved some of the containers to more advantageous spots. There seemed to be no end to the leaks in the HJ ranch-house.
“Terrible, isn’t it?” smiled Peggy.
It seemed to her that these two strange cowboys, even with their wet garments and muddy boots, had brought a warmth and cheer to the ranch that was sorely needed.
“Oh, not so bad,” said Hashknife, squinting at a leak. “Didja ever stop to think how much worse it would be if them few little spots were the only place where it didn’t leak?”
“That would be terrible,” declared Laura.
“Yeah, it would. But suppose it leaked everywhere. That would be worse, eh?”
“Do you always look at things that way?” asked Peggy.
“Mostly,” said Hashknife seriously. “Why not, Miss Wheeler? Sunlight is brighter than shadows; and it’s a lot easier to find, if yuh look for it. Bright things are easier to see than dark ones.”
“You listen to him a while and he’ll prove to yuh that a leaky roof is a godsend,” laughed Sleepy.
“Well, ain’t it?” asked Hashknife. “If this roof hadn’t leaked, you folks would probably have been in bed—and we wouldn’t have seen their light, Sleepy.”
“That is true,” said Laura. “Oh, it was way past bedtime at the HJ ranch!”
Honey came in with an armful of wood, which he threw in the big fireplace.
“I’m makin’ a bet you fellers are hungry,” he said.
“Never mind that,” grinned Hashknife. “Point us the way to Pinnacle City, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Not in that rain,” declared Peggy quickly.
She went into the kitchen, where she called Wong Lee.
“Aw, don’t bother the cook,” begged Hashknife. “Pshaw, it ain’t worth it.”
“It’s no bother to Wong Lee,” said Peggy. “You boys get over by that fire and dry out a little. Wong Lee will get you a meal, and Honey will show you where to sleep. Laura and I will go to bed. Good night, everybody.”
“Good night, and thank yuh a thousand times.”
Hashknife and Sleepy crossed the room and shook hands with the two girls. Peggy smiled at Hashknife.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
The two cowboys went back to the fire and removed some of their wet garments, after which Hashknife went back to the porch and got their water-proof war-bags, which contained some dry clothing. They could hear Wong Lee shuffling about the kitchen, preparing them a meal.
He came to the door and looked in on them. He was a little, wizen-faced Celestial.
“Yo’ like some ham-egg?” he asked.
Hashknife grinned at him, but did not reply. A smile slowly stole across the Chinaman’s face and he bobbed his head.
“Yessa, velly good,” he said. “No tlouble.”
“You kinda got the Injun sign on Wong Lee,” grunted Honey. “Darned old rascal almost laughed. I tell yuh, he ain’t even smiled since Jim Wheeler was killed.”
“Thasso?” Hashknife borrowed Sleepy’s tobacco and rolled a cigaret. “What happened to Jim Wheeler?”
“Horse dragged him to death the other day.”
Hashknife shuddered. The thought of a man’s hanging by one foot to a stirrup never failed to rasp his nerves. He had seen men die that way, and once when he was but a youngster he had been thrown from a wild horse and had hung from a stirrup. Luckily the horse had whirled into a fence corner, where another cowboy was able to hold the animal and extricate Hashknife.
“Tough way to die,” said Hashknife.
“Y’betcha,” nodded Honey. “Head all busted up on the rocks, and his leg twisted. Golly, it shore was awful! He owned this HJ outfit. I work for the Flyin’ H, but I’m down here kinda helpin’ out. Hozie, Jim’s brother, owns the Flyin’ H.”
“Miss Wheeler is Jim’s daughter, eh?”
“Uh-huh. It’s shore been a hard time for her, Hartley,” Honey lowered his voice. “She was engaged to marry Joe Rich, and he got drunk on his weddin’ night. Didn’t show up. Then Peggy aims to go East with Laura Hatton. Yuh see, Jim wasn’t awful well heeled with money. He owes the Pinnacle bank quite a lot; so he borrows five thousand from Ed Merrick, who owns the Circle M, and gives Ed his note.
“Ed gives him the money, and Jim starts home with it. And that’s the last anybody ever seen of the money. Joe Rich was aimin’ to pull out of the country; so he comes out to tell Peggy good-by. And Joe was the one who found Jim Wheeler. Hozie Wheeler and Lonnie Myers comes ridin’ along just a little later, and found Joe with Jim.
“And when the sheriff finds out about the missin’ money, he tries to make Joe wait for an investigation, and Joe pops him through the gun-arm. That’s the last we saw of Joe. There’s a reward for him, and the sheriff has been ridin’ the hocks off his horse, but ain’t found nothin’. So yuh can see it’s been awful tough for Peggy.”
Hashknife had been standing on one foot like a stork, holding the other foot out to the blazing fire, while Honey sketched his story. Sleepy hunched down, his back to the fire, his damp hair straggling down over his forehead.
“I wonder,” he said, “if it ain’t stopped rainin’ enough for us to go on to town? We don’t want to miss that train, Hashknife.”
“Joe Rich was the sheriff,” said Honey, as an afterthought. “But he resigned the mornin’ after he got drunk. They made a sheriff out of his deputy. Jim Wheeler knocked Joe down that mornin’, but Joe didn’t do anythin’, they say.”
“And it hadn’t ought to take long to fix that bridge,” said Sleepy. “This rain would put the fire out.”
“What kind of a jigger was this Joe Rich?” asked Hashknife curiously.
“Jist salt of the earth, Hartley.”
“Uh-huh,” thoughtfully. “And got so drunk he forgot to get married, eh?”
“Yeah, that’s true,” sighed Honey. “I dunno why he did; and he never said.”
“Didn’t have no quarrel with the girl?”
“⸺, no! Aw, it was to be a big marriage. I was to be best man. My ⸺, I almost crippled myself for life, tryin’ to wear number six shoes.”
“You come eat now?” asked Wong Lee.
Honey sat down with them. Sleepy looked gloomily at Hashknife and reminded him gently that sugar was for the coffee, and not for the eggs.
Hashknife chuckled, but sobered quickly. The rain still pattered on the old roof and dripped off the eaves. It was warm in the kitchen.
“Five thousand dollars is a lot of money,” mused Hashknife, stirring his coffee with a fork. He had used the same fork to dip sugar from the bowl and did not seem to realize that it had all leaked out.
Sleepy knew the symptoms and groaned inwardly. Years of association with Hashknife had taught Sleepy to recognize the sudden moods of the tall cowboy. Trouble and mystery affected Hashknife as the scent of upland fowl affects a pointer.
Hashknife, in the days of his callow youth, had been known as George. His father, an itinerant minister in the Milk River country and head of a big family, had had little time or money to do more than just let this boy grow up. As soon as he was able to sit in a saddle he lived with the cowboys and became one of them.
Blessed with a balanced mind, possibly inherited from his father, who surely needed a balanced mind to make both ends meet, the boy struck out for himself, absorbing all kinds of knowledge, studying human nature. Eventually he drifted to the ranch, which gave him his nickname, and here he met the grinning Sleepy Stevens, whose baptismal name was David.
From the Hashknife ranch their trail led to many places. Soldiers of fortune they became, although Hashknife referred to themselves as cowpunchers of disaster. From the wide lands of Alberta to the Mexican Border they had left their mark. They did not stay long in any place, unless fate decreed that a certain time must elapse before their work was finished. And then they would go on, possibly poorer in pocket. Their life had made them fatalists, had made them very human. To salve their own consciences they declared that they were looking for the right spot to settle down; a place to live out the rest of their life in peaceable pursuits.
But down in their hearts they knew that this place did not exist. They wanted to see the other side of the hill. Hashknife’s brain rebelled against a mystery. It seemed to challenge him to combat. Where range detectives had failed utterly because they were unable to see beyond actual facts, Hashknife’s analytical mind had enabled him to build up chains of evidence that had cleared up mystery after mystery.
But solving mysteries was not a business with them. They did not pose as detectives. It merely happened that fate threw them into contact with these things. Sleepy’s mind did not function with any more rapidity than that of any average man, but he was blessed with a vast sense of humor, bulldog tenacity and a faculty for using a gun when a gun was most needed.
Whether it was merely a pose or not, Sleepy always tried to prevent Hashknife from getting interested in these mysteries of the range country. He argued often and loud, but to no avail. But once started, Sleepy worked as diligently as Hashknife. Neither of them were wizards with their guns. No amount of persuasion would induce them to compete with others in marksmanship, nor did they ever practise drawing a gun.
“Leave that to the gun-men,” Hashknife had said. “We’re not gun-men.”
Which was something that many men would take great pains to disprove, along the back-trail of Hashknife and Sleepy.
And right now, while he ate heavily of the HJ food, Sleepy Stevens knew he was being dragged into the whirlpool of the Tumbling River range. He could tell by the twitch of Hashknife’s nose, by the calculating squint of his gray eyes; and if that was not enough—Hashknife was cutting a biscuit with a knife and fork.
“Five thousand is a lot of money for the HJ to lose,” agreed Honey. “Take that along with the seven thousand owin’ to the Pinnacle City bank and it jist about nails the HJ hide to the floor and leaves it there to starve.”
“Was Jim Wheeler a sickly man?” asked Hashknife.
“Sickly? Not a bit; he was built like a bull.”
“Drink much?”
“Hardly ever took a drink.”
“Ride a bad horse?”
“Been ridin’ the same one three years, and it never made a bobble. Jim’s broncscratchin’ days was over, Hartley.”
“Uh-huh,” Hashknife rubbed his chin with the fork. “Was it goin’ to take five thousand dollars for to ship that girl back East?”
“Probably not.”
“What kind of a feller is Ed Merrick?”
“Good cow-man. He’s one of the county commissioners. Owned the Circle M about five years, and is kind of a big man in the county. Mostly horse outfit.”
“Yuh say they made a sheriff out of the deputy?”
“Yeah; Len Kelsey.”
Honey described the trouble on the street between Kelsey and Rich, in which Kelsey was wounded. He also told them how the cowboys hid out to keep from being sworn in to follow the fugitive. This interested Sleepy.
“Sounds like there was some reg’lar boys around here,” he said.
“Oh, the boys like Joe,” grinned Honey. “You’d like him.”
“I dunno. Any man that ain’t got no more sense than to get drunk and miss a chance of a wife like that dark-haired girl ain’t very much of a feller. Or the blonde one.”
“The blonde one is my girl,” said Honey softly.
Sleepy reached impulsively across the table and shook hands with Honey, who looked foolish.
“I’m glad yuh told me,” said Sleepy seriously. “Prob’ly save me a lot of heartaches. She’s a dinger.”
Hashknife shoved back from the table, thanking Wong Lee for his hospitality.
“Velly good,” Wong Lee bobbed his head. “No tlouble. You come some mo’.”
“Mebbe we will, Wong.”
“All lite; I cook plenty.”
The rain had increased again, and Honey advised them against attempting to go to Pinnacle City. It was not difficult to convince them. Sleepy’s tooth did not ache any more, and their clothes were beginning to dry; so they followed Honey down to the dry bunk-house and went to bed.
It did not take the rain long to extinguish the fire at the bridge, and after an examination the train crews decided that it was still safe. Many of the timbers were badly charred, and but for the heavy rain which followed the wind, the whole bridge would have been doomed.
The cattle-train, minus two of the cowhands, proceeded slowly to Pinnacle City, where it took the siding. It would spend several hours there, watering stock, and the man in charge expected Hashknife and Sleepy to put in an appearance before leaving time.
The passenger train drew in at the station, possibly an hour late. The wires being down, it was impossible for them to get orders. The heavy rain swept the wooden platform, but the depot agent trundled out some express packages. The express car door was partly open, but there was no messenger.
The agent climbed into the car, and the first thing that greeted his eye was the through safe, almost in the center of the car, its door torn open. A single car light burned in the upper end of the car, and it was there that the agent found the messenger, bound hand and foot.
Running back to the depot, the agent told what he had found, and the train crew hurried to the car, while another man went to get an officer. In the waiting room of the depot the express messenger told what he knew of the robbery. A man had struck him over the head, and he was a trifle hazy about what had happened.
The man had boarded the car at Kelo. The messenger said he had received several packages from the agent at Kelo, and had gone to place them before closing the door. The wind was blowing a gale, and he did not hear the man come in. In fact he merely surmised that the man got on at Kelo, because as far as he knew there was no other man than himself on the car when they stopped at Kelo.
At any rate, the man had forced him at the point of a revolver to close and lock the door, and had made him sit down and wait for the train to pull out. There was quite a long delay, and the bandit seemed rather nervous.
In fact he grew so nervous that he knocked the messenger unconscious with his gun, and the messenger didn’t know that the safe had been blown open. He dimly remembered a loud noise, but was in no shape to find out what it was. Anyway, the robber had bound and placed him behind some trunks out of the way of the explosion.
He was just a little sick all over, yet he gave Len Kelsey a fairly good description of the robber—as good as usually is given. A masked man of medium height. Might have been tall, or possibly short. Wore black sombrero, striped shirt, overalls and boots. No vest. The shirt might have been blue and white—or red and green. The messenger wasn’t sure. He noted particularly that the robber had a six-shooter in his right hand, and that he wore leather cuffs—black leather, with silver stars in a circle around the upper edge of the cuffs.
“Was there any money in the safe?” asked Len.
“A lot of it,” declared the messenger. “I don’t know how much. I’d like to see a doctor about my head.”
Slim Coleman, of the Lazy B, happened to be there at the depot, and he walked back with Len Kelsey.
“What do yuh think about it, Len?” he asked.
“I dunno,” lied Len.
Slim had noted the expression of Len’s face when the messenger told about the leather cuffs.
When Joe Rich had left Pinnacle City he was wearing a blue and white striped shirt, black sombrero, overalls and a pair of black leather cuffs, on which were riveted a lot of small, silver stars. Joe had done the decorating himself, and Slim knew that no other cowboy in the Tumbling River country wore a cuff like Joe’s.
Len did not seem inclined to talk about it, so Slim went back to the depot, where old Doctor Curzon was bandaging up the messenger’s head. A drink of raw liquor had helped to make the messenger more sociable and willing to talk.
“You got a good look at his gun, didn’t yuh?” asked Slim.
“I felt it,” smiled the messenger, wincing slightly from Doctor Curzon’s ministrations.
“What did it look like?”
“Very large caliber—about six inches in diameter.” The man laughed at his description. “Weighed a ton. Seriously, I can’t describe it, but it seems to me that it had a white handle. Perhaps it was yellow, like bone. You know what I mean—not pearl. It was a Colt, I am sure.”
Slim sighed deeply.
“Man wear any rings on his fingers?”
“I didn’t see any.”
Slim went back uptown. Joe Rich carried a Colt .45 with a yellow bone handle. Slim remembered when Joe had carved out those pieces of bone, working for days, at odd times, shaping the grip to fit his hand. Slim didn’t know of another cowpuncher in the country that carried a bone-handled gun.
The news spread quickly around the town that the safe of the passenger train had been blown by a lone bandit who wore silver stars on his cuffs and carried a bone-handled gun. Joe Rich’s name did not need to be mentioned. Len Kelsey did nothing, because there was nothing to be done. The telegraph wires were down and there was no use in his riding out into the storm. Even if the robber did get out at the river bridge, the storm would wipe out any tracks he might make, and even if there were no storm, how could he track one man?
Len Kelsey was very wise. He stayed at home where it was warm and dry, and went to bed. He had sufficient description to prove who had pulled the job, and he had already worn out two perfectly good horses trying to find this elusive young man.
Sometime during that night the trouble shooters for the telegraph company had repaired the break, and this enabled the despatchers to straighten out the trains. The cattle-train headed out of Pinnacle City the following morning, minus two cowboys.
The depot agent knew about this, and told Len Kelsey that there were two lost cowpunchers somewhere on the east side of the river. The agent knew from what he had heard the crew of the cattle-train say that these men had left the train, intending to walk down to the wagon-bridge. But he also knew they had taken their war-bags with them and had buckled on their belts and guns before leaving the train.
“Kinda looks as though they intended missin’ the train,” said Kelsey.
“Might be worth investigating, Sheriff. The passenger was close behind the cattle-train for a long time out there by the bridge. And that express messenger had been hit so hard on the head that he wasn’t sure of anything.”
“Sure—I’ll look into it,” agreed Len. “I won’t leave any stone unturned.”
He had read this in a book, and it sounded like the proper thing for a sheriff to say.
Hashknife and Sleepy did not mention to Peggy that Honey Bee had told them about her troubles. She was in good spirits that morning, and even Wong Lee sang at his work. Laura told Honey that Peggy had talked quite a while about the tall cowboy and his wonderful grin—and Honey told Hashknife about it.
“Didn’t either of ’em mention me?” asked Sleepy. “No? That’s tough. But how could I grin, with my jaw all swelled? But that’s jist my luck!”
Honey offered to take them to Pinnacle City in the buggy. They were hitching up the horses when Len Kelsey and Jack Ralston rode in.
“Now, what do them ⸺ whippoorwills want?” growled Honey. “That’s the sheriff and deputy.”
“What had we ought to do—put up our hands?” asked Sleepy.
The two officers dismounted and spoke to Honey.
“Howdy,” growled Honey.
Hashknife could plainly see that Honey Bee did not care for these two officers of the law.
Len Kelsey studied Hashknife and Sleepy for a moment.
“I reckon you boys are the two missin’ members of the cattle-train outfit, eh?”
“If there’s two missin’—we’re both of ’em,” said Hashknife gravely. “Has the train left Pinnacle City?”
“Before daylight.”
“Stranded again,” groaned Sleepy. “I’ll never see the East, that’s a cinch.”
Hashknife hitched up his belt and leaned against the buggy.
“Yuh wasn’t exactly lookin’ for us, was yuh?” he asked.
“I don’t hardly think so,” replied Kelsey. “The safe on the express car of the passenger train that stopped back of yuh at the bridge last night was dynamited somewhere between Kelo and Pinnacle City.”
Hashknife and Sleepy exchanged a quick glance. That might explain why a shot had been fired at them in the dark. They had blundered into the bandit who was making his getaway.
“For gosh sake!” snorted Honey. “Did they get much, Len?”
“Dunno how much. One man pulled the job, Honey—a man who wore black leather cuffs with silver stars, and a bone handled six-shooter.”
“Leather cuffs with silver stars and bone—” Honey stopped and came in closer to the sheriff.
“Are yuh sure of that, Len?”
“That’s the messenger’s description.”
“Well, for gosh sake!”
Honey looked toward the house, shaking his head sadly.
“You recognize the description?” asked Hashknife.
“Joe Rich,” said Honey. “He made the stars and put ’em on a pair of black cuffs and he made the bone handles for his gun. Yuh say yuh don’t know how much he got, Len?”
“No, I don’t, Honey. But it was enough, I reckon.”
“Uh-huh. Excuse me, I forgot to introduce you gents.”
After the introduction they all sat down on the steps of the bunk-house and rolled smokes. Hashknife did not tell the sheriff about the shot that was fired at them in the dark.
“I dunno just where to start,” admitted Kelsey. “I’ve been huntin’ Joe Rich all over these hills, and now he comes back and robs a train right under my nose.”
Kelsey, who was still wearing his arm in a sling, noticed Hashknife looking at it.
“A little souvenir of makin’ a fool move,” he said.
“Yeah, I heard about it,” nodded Hashknife. “Joe Rich must be pretty fast with a gun, eh?”
“Fast enough,” growled Kelsey. “Funny, ain’t it? Here I was his deputy all this time, and now I’m huntin’ him. Don’t seem right.”
“Are yuh dead sure it is?” asked Hashknife seriously.
Kelsey looked quickly at him.
“Dead sure?” Kelsey laughed shortly. “Well, about as sure as anythin’ could be, Hartley. I dunno what got into Joe. He was sure strong on enforcin’ the law, and now he seems just as strong on breakin’ it.”
“Them’s the kind that go wrong—when they do go,” said Ralston.
“Yeah, you know a ⸺ of a lot about it,” snorted Honey.
“Well, it allus works out that way.”
“It does, eh? I suppose yuh knowed two months ago that Joe Rich would turn out bad. What do yuh use—palmistry or one of them glass balls?”
“Aw, yuh don’t need to get sore, Honey.”
“Thasso? Every time I think about Joe, I get sore. I wish I knowed where he was hidin’ out.”
“Me, too,” grinned Kelsey. “I’d be a thousand better off.”
“Yea-a-a-ah? Well, when you find out where he is, yuh better take plenty of help along to get him, Len; two of yuh ain’t enough.”
Kelsey could see that the argument might wax rather hot; so he got to his feet, stretched wearily and told Ralston they better be going. Nobody asked them to stay. Honey looked after them morosely.
“Don’t like ’em, eh?” queried Hashknife.
“No! You boys go ahead and hitch up the team. I’ve got to tell the girls about that robbery. I sure as ⸺ hate to tell Peggy that they think Joe pulled that job, but I’d rather tell her than to have her get it from somebody else.”
The team was hitched when Honey came back, and he drove out to the main road.
“How did she take it?” asked Hashknife. Honey looked at Hashknife, a pained expression on his face.
“A-a-a-aw, ⸺!” he said explosively.
“Does she believe it?”
“Huh! I dunno what she believes. Yuh can’t tell nothin’ about a woman, Hartley. She didn’t say anythin’. I was wonderin’ if she heard what I told her, but I reckon she did. Anyway she didn’t say anythin’—jist walked away.”
They jolted along over the rough road. Honey turned to Hashknife, a grin on his lips.
“I ain’t no gentleman,” he said.
“Ain’t yuh?” asked Hashknife.
“Nossir,” Honey shook his head violently. “Can’t lie good enough. Laura said I ought to be crowned with an ax-handle for comin’ in and tellin’ Peggy that Joe Rich robbed the train. She said I should have lied about it.”
“Mebbe yuh should.”
“Cinch! Giddap! I always think of a lie too late. Some day I’m goin’ to be hung for tellin’ the truth.”
“You’ll be the first puncher that ever had that honor,” said Sleepy. “There’s that bridge we was huntin’ for, Hashknife. If we’d ’a’ found it last night, we’d be on our way East right now.”
“Glad yuh didn’t,” grinned Honey, as they rattled over the loose floor-planks of the bridge. “It’s only a little ways out here to where Jim Wheeler was killed. I’ll show yuh the place.”
He drove off the bridge and around to the spot where Joe had found Jim Wheeler. Honey knew the exact spot and drew just off the road. Hashknife walked up and down the road while Honey explained things to him. The rain of the night before had laid the dust, and the road was almost as smooth as asphalt.
After looking the place over they rode on to Pinnacle City, where they met Uncle Hozie Wheeler and Aunt Emma. Honey introduced them to Hashknife and Sleepy, and told how they happened to be in the Tumbling River country.
They had heard about the train robbery. It seemed to be the general opinion that Joe Rich had done it.
“I knowed him a long time,” said Uncle Hozie. “He never struck me as bein’ a bad boy in any way. I don’t sabe him. Why he jist went all to ⸺ in a week!”
“Does Peggy know about it?” asked Aunt Emma.
“Yeah,” Honey nodded solemnly. “Yeah, she knows. But I’ve told her the last bad news I’ll ever tell.”
“Took it hard, did she, Honey?”
“I dunno. She never said anythin’. Laura give me ⸺. Sometimes I think that girl don’t care for the truth. Oh, if she wants lies, I reckon I can supply her.”
Uncle Hozie and Aunt Emma were going to ride out to the HJ to see the girls. Curt Bellew and Ed Merrick were at the Pinnacle. They shook hands with Honey, who introduced Hashknife and Sleepy.
“What do yuh think of Joe Rich now?” asked Curt, after he had invited them to share his hospitality.
“Jist the same as I always did,” declared Honey. “Somethin’ has gone wrong with the boy. How’s the Circle M, Merrick?”
“All right, Honey. I’ll bet yore old ranch-house leaked last night.”
“Did it? My gosh, I’ll betcha it did. Ask Hartley and Stevens; they showed up in the rain. Yuh see, they was on that stalled cow-train, and Stevens had a toothache; so they tried to find their way to the wagon-bridge in order to get to town. But I reckon they got kinda lost, and ended up at the HJ.”
Merrick laughed.
“I don’t believe I could have found my way either—as well as I know the country. Whew! It sure was dark and wet. My place didn’t leak, but it got damp. Are you boys goin’ to be with us a while?”
“I dunno,” Hashknife leaned an elbow on the bar and began rolling a cigaret. “It looks as though Fate kinda dropped us off here for some reason or other.”
“Too bad it’s the slack season. I’m short two men of my regular crew, but there ain’t enough work for me and Ben Collins and ‘Dutch’ Seibert. Later on I might use yuh.”
“I loaned Honey to the HJ,” laughed Bellew. “I’ve still got Eph Harper and Slim Coleman on my hands. Ma says that’s two men too many. She allus says I’m tryin’ to make a mountain out of a molehill—meanin’ that I can’t ever hire enough men to make the Lazy B a big cow-outfit.”
While they were drinking a man came in whom the bartender seemed to know. It was the telegraph operator at the depot. He bought a drink and a cigar.
“I suppose the sheriff is hunting bandits,” he said.
“We seen him out at the HJ this morn-in’,” offered Honey.
The man nodded.
“I was just over to his office, but there wasn’t anybody home. Had a telegram for him from Ransome. They found a little gold penknife in the express car. It didn’t belong to the messenger, he said. The wire said there were the initials J. R. on the handle.”
“J. R.?” said Honey. “Little gold knife! My gosh, that’s the knife Peggy gave Joe for his birthday!”
“I dunno,” said the man vacantly. “All I know is what the wire said. I reckon it will keep until the sheriff gets back.”
He went out, and Merrick laughed softly.
“He guesses it will keep. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
Honey leaned on the bar and looked dismally at himself in the mirror.
“I’ll not tell Peggy,” he declared, but amended it with, “I might come right out and tell her that if anybody says they found Joe Rich’s gold knife on that car—they lie.”
“Why even mention it?” asked Hashknife.
“Mebbe that’s the best thing to do. Oh, they’ve got Joe cinched!”
“But he overlooked one bet,” said Hashknife thoughtfully.
“What was that?” asked Merrick.
“He forgot to carve his name on the safe.”
“Is that meant to be serious?” asked Merrick.
“No-o-o-o,” drawled Hashknife. “I suppose I’m jokin’.”
“Aw, he wouldn’t write his name on the safe,” said Honey.
“Might as well,” grinned Hashknife. “It sure shows that Joe is a beginner at the game. A regular hold-up man don’t tag his work thataway.”
Merrick looked seriously at Hashknife. “You talk as though you were familiar with hold-up men, Hartley.”
“No; I just use common sense, Merrick.”
“Uh-huh. Well, it’s a good thing to use. A lot of us don’t do it.”
“No, that’s true,” admitted Hashknife seriously.
Merrick scratched his chin and turned back to the bar. He wasn’t exactly sure whether this tall, level-eyed cowboy was making fun of him or not. He had the feeling that he was, but there was nothing to justify this feeling. Both of the strange cowboys were very serious of face, and Sleepy’s blue eyes looked entirely innocent. But Merrick did not know that Sleepy’s innocent blue eyes were his greatest asset.
“I wonder if the sheriff’s office had anythin’ to go on this mornin’,” said Merrick.
“Couple of horses,” replied Sleepy. “Now let me buy a drink, will yuh?”
“I’ve got to go kinda easy,” said Curt Bellew. “I git down here and lap up liquor, and have to eat cloves all the way back to the ranch.”
“And then prove why yuh ate cloves,” grinned Honey.
“Sure. Honey, if yo’re a wise boy, you’ll stay sober and single.”
“A-a-aw, I don’t drink much, Curt.”
“Yuh don’t get married much either, do yuh?”
“Well,” laughed Honey, “I won’t get drunk and forget to get married.”
Bellew and Merrick left the saloon and a few minutes later Honey, Hashknife and Sleepy stocked up on tobacco and rode back to the HJ.
“I feel foolish goin’ back there,” said Hashknife. “Kinda looks as though we were imposin’ on yuh.”
“Yuh throw that in a can,” said Honey. “Yo’re welcome to stay as long as yuh can. I can’t quite sabe you two boys.”
“Jist in what way?”
“Well, I never seen yuh before until last night. Yuh come in and I forget that I don’t know yuh. I tell yuh all about the trouble, and—well, yuh know what I mean don’tcha? It jist seemed the natural thing, to do. And Wong Lee took to yuh. Wong’s kinda funny thataway.
“Why, sometimes the boys from the Circle M stop here. Yuh see they go past here to their ranch from town. Wong ain’t never spoken to one of ’em. Other fellers show up here at meal-time, and Wong says nothin’. But he shore talked to yuh, and promised yuh more meals. Do dogs ever foller yuh?”
“Sometimes,” laughed Hashknife.
“I’ll betcha. Never bite yuh, do they?”
“Haven’t yet.”
“Never will. Huh!” Honey jerked up on the lines. “I know what the word is. I read somethin’ about it in a magazine. It’s called personality. Know what it means, Hartley?”
“Yeah, I think I do.”
“Well, that’s what you’ve got. Giddap, broncs! Joe Rich had it. His must ’a’ back-fired on him.”
Hashknife laughed. Honey Bee was so sincere in his statements.
“Was Rich a good sheriff?” asked Hashknife.
“Y’betcha. Joe was a man that wouldn’t stop at anythin’ to enforce the law. Some men kinda play fav’rites, yuh know. But Joe wasn’t that kind. At least I don’t reckon he was, and I knew him awful well.”
“How did it happen that you wasn’t his deputy?”
“Politics,” explained Honey. “Merrick controls a lot of votes in this county, and he told Joe he’d support him if he’d appoint Len Kelsey deputy. Joe agreed, and it was the Merrick vote that won for Joe.”
“Who was the other candidate?”
“John Leeds, of Ransome. He’s a hard old customer, Hartley. He was sheriff before Joe was elected, and he made a lot of enemies. Pretty smart, too. I’ll betcha, if old John was sheriff he’d ’a’ been on the trail of that robber before daylight. He was a sticker, old John was, and nobody ever told him what to do. Mebbe that’s why he got beat.”
They drove along to where Jim Wheeler had been killed, and Hashknife leaned out of the buggy. But he did not say anything. They drove across the bridge and to the HJ, where they saw the Flying H buggy team tied to the front porch.
“Uncle Hozie and Aunt Emma,” said Honey. “They’re salt of the earth, gents. Always tryin’ to do somethin’ for yuh. Aunt Emma hops all over yuh for doin’ somethin’, but all the time she’s laughin’ inside at yuh. They don’t make ’em any better. Hozie and Jim was pretty thick, and it hurt Hozie to see old Jim pass out. He didn’t say much—but that’s his way. Tears don’t show much—except moisture.”
Hashknife and Sleepy went to the bunk-house, and did not see Uncle Hozie and his wife until they were ready to drive away. Honey had told them about the gold-handled knife, but did not tell Peggy. A little later Ed Merrick stopped on his way out to the Circle M and talked with the three cowboys about the robbery of the night before. He was expecting a horse buyer from Kelo, so did not linger long.
“How are prices in this range?” asked Hashknife.
“Depends on the buyer,” replied Merrick. “Some of ’em play square with yuh. The horse market ain’t very strong, and we have to almost take what’s offered. This buyer wants quite a lot of horses, so he says.”
“For Eastern market?”
“Yeah, I think so. Anyway, the buyer is from the East.”
Merrick rode away and a few minutes later Wong Lee rang the dinner bell. Peggy and Laura did not eat with the boys, but a little later Hashknife wandered around the rear of the house and found Peggy sitting on an old bench in the shade of the cottonwoods, a picture of abject lonesomeness.
Hashknife squatted down on his heels against the tree and rolled a cigaret. Neither of them had spoken. Peggy sighed and leaned back against the bole of the tree, watching Hashknife’s long, lean fingers fashion a cigaret.
“My, it’s shore peaceful out here!” said Hashknife.
Peggy nodded slowly.
“Yes, it is peaceful.”
“It kinda looks as though we were imposin’ on yuh.”
“You are not,” declared Peggy quickly. “I’m glad you came. And I don’t know why I’m glad. Queer, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s queer. Life’s a queer thing. Yesterday we were on our way East in that caboose, when the bridge caught fire and changed everythin’. Yuh never know what will come tomorrow.”
“I realize that, Mr. Hartley. I suppose Honey has told you of the things that have happened lately.”
“Well, yeah, I reckon we’ve heard quite a lot about it, ma’am. It shore was tough luck. Are yuh goin’ away with Miss Hatton?”
“No; I can’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said wearily. “You see, I’ve got to stay and see that things are straightened up. Dad owed the bank seven thousand. Oh, I wish he had let things go as they were! I didn’t need that trip. He was so thoughtful of me, and he thought I’d like to get away for a while. Now he’s gone, and the ranch—we’ll have to sell everything in order to pay the debts.”
“That’s shore tough. Miss Wheeler, I’d like to know more about Joe Rich. I don’t like to be personal, but I’d like to get yore opinion of him.”
“My opinion?” Peggy laughed bitterly. “I don’t think it is worth much, Mr. Hartley.”
“Yore honest opinion, I mean.”
“My honest opinion?”
“Yeah. Yuh see we all have two opinions on things like that—the one we express and the one we hide.”
“I—I think I know what you mean, Mr. Hartley.”
“Fine. I wish you’d leave the mister off my name. All my friends call me Hashknife. When anybody says ‘Mr. Hartley’ I look around to see who they’re speakin’ to. Now, yuh jist go ahead and tell me about Joe Rich.”
Peggy looked earnestly at Hashknife.
“Why should I? Why do you wish to know about Joe Rich—my opinion of him? Who are you, anyway?”
Hashknife studied his boot-toes for several moments, but finally looked up at her with a grin in his eyes.
“It’s kinda queer,” he admitted. “But I’m one of them funny folks who always asks questions. All my life I’ve asked a lot of questions, Miss Wheeler. Sometimes I find out things. I’m like the feller who said he made up his mind to kiss every pretty woman he met. Somebody said—
“‘I’ll bet you got whipped a lot of times,’ and he said—
“‘Well, yeah, I did, but I shore got a lot of kisses.’
“And that’s the way with me—except that I was after answers instead of kisses.”
Peggy laughed with him.
“But I don’t see yet,” she said. “What good will my opinion do you? What do you want to know about Joe Rich?”
“Well, it’s like this, Miss Wheeler: Yore opinion of him will go quite a ways with me. If I was to come right out and ask yuh if yuh loved Joe Rich in spite of everythin’ he’s done to yuh—what would yuh say?”
Peggy turned her head away and rested her chin on her hand. After a space of time she shook her head.
“That isn’t a fair question,” she said softly.
“No, but yuh gave me a fair answer,” said Hashknife. “I’d like to shake hands with yuh, Miss Wheeler.”
Wonderingly she shook hands with him, and he smiled down at her, his gray eyes twinkling.
“But I—I didn’t answer you,” she said, choking slightly.
“Oh, yes yuh did, Peggy. I’m goin’ to call yuh Peggy. If yuh can love him in spite of everythin’ he’s done, by golly, he’s worth savin’ for yuh.”
“Worth saving?” Peggy got to her feet. “I don’t understand. How can you save him?”
“I dunno exactly,” Hashknife scratched his head, tilting his sombrero over one eye. “But there ain’t nothin’ that can’t be done.”
“But what could save him? Why, they’re hunting for him now—offering a big reward.”
The tears came into her eyes and she turned away. Hashknife patted her on the shoulder.
“Keep smilin’,” he said softly. “Remember how it was here last night? All wind and rain, wasn’t it? And today the sun is shinin’ and the sky is blue. Life’s like that, Peggy. The old sky gets pretty black and all clouded up, but the old sun is always on the job, and it breaks through eventually.”
“It is wonderful to look at things in that way, Hashknife.”
“I think so, Peggy. My old man was that way. He preached the gospel in bunk-houses and out on the range. But he didn’t wear a long face and say long prayers. He said he wasn’t trying to make folks fit to die—he was makin’ ’em fit to live. And after all, that’s the gospel. If yo’re fit to live, yuh’ll be fit to die. And when yo’re fit to live yuh’ll always see the sun behind the clouds.”
Peggy smiled at him through her tears. “I’m glad you came here,” she said simply, and went back to the house.
Hashknife sat down on the bench and rolled a fresh cigaret. Sleepy had been sitting on the bunk-house steps, but now he came up to Hashknife and sat down beside him.
“Well, what do yuh know, cowboy?” queried Sleepy.
“What do I know?” Hashknife grinned wistfully at his smoke. “I know I’ve bit off a ⸺ of a big chew for one man to masticate.”
“Yeah,” nodded Sleepy, “yuh mostly always do, Hashknife.”
“Uh-huh. Where’s Honey?”
“Settin’ on the front porch with Laura. By golly, if this keeps up I’m goin’ to get me a squaw! You at one end of the place and Honey at the other. While Mister Stevens sets on the bunk-house steps all alone. And he’s the best-lookin’ man on the ranch, too.”
“Who is—Honey?”
“Na-a-aw—Stevens! Honey’s second.”
“And I’m third,” grinned Hashknife.”
“Sure,” said Sleepy. “Wong Lee don’t count, because he’s a Chinaman.”
“I’m glad one entry is scratched. There goes the sheriff and his hired hand.”
Len Kelsey and Jack Ralston rode past, heading for the old bridge.
“Reckon they didn’t have very good luck,” observed Sleepy. “That must ’a’ been Joe Rich we almost ran into in the rain. He was just makin’ his getaway, eh?”
“Looks thataway, Sleepy. Mebbe we should ’a’ told the sheriff about it.”
“That wouldn’t help him any; yuh can’t foller horse tracks.”
“No, yuh can’t,” agreed Hashknife getting up. “I reckon we better go down and see how many ridin’ rigs there are on this place, and pick out a horse.”
“Yuh mean to stay here a while, Hashknife?”
“It ain’t an unpleasant place, is it?”
“No-o-o, but—”
“Yuh didn’t hope to catch that train, didja?”
“The cattle-train? Certainly not.”
“Have yuh got any other place you’d like to go to?”
“No-o-o-o, I reckon not, Hashknife.”
“Fine! Then yuh don’t mind stayin’ a day or so, eh?”
They looked seriously at each other for a moment and both grinned widely as they headed for the stable.
The following day William H. Cates, a special investigator of the Wells-Fargo, came to Pinnacle City, and went into a lengthy session with Len Kelsey and Jack Ralston. Cates was a big, burly man with a square jaw and blue eyes. In fifteen minutes he knew as much as Kelsey did about the robbery and the life of Joe Rich.
Cates’ questions were snappy and to the point. But what he learned was of little value to him. Cates was a city man, an ex-detective of San Francisco. He knew much more about pavements than he did about ranges, and he was not egotistical enough to expect much success in this case.
“The idea seems to be—get Joe Rich,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s the idea,” agreed Kelsey, resting his heels on the desk. “But how are yuh goin’ to get him, pardner?”
“We’ve been after him for days,” grumbled Ralston.
“He got over twenty thousand that last haul,” said the detective.
“My gosh, was there that much in the safe?” exploded Kelsey. “Whew!”
“That much, at least, Sheriff. The company are offering a reward of twenty-five hundred.”
“I didn’t know they carried that much,” said Ralston.
“Well, they do. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”
“Well, what do yuh propose doin’?” asked Kelsey.
“Keep looking for Joe Rich, I suppose. You say he’s got a lot of friends around here?”
Kelsey nodded glumly, remembering how the cowboys had avoided riding after Joe.
“Yeah, yuh can’t expect much help, Cates. They’ll all spot yuh—and these cowpunchers can shore be clams.”
“Oh, I’m not going out to hunt him,” smiled Cates. “I’d be a fool to do that. When you boys can’t find him—what could I do? I don’t know this country. Why, I haven’t been on a horse for fifteen years!
“Nope,” Cates sighed deeply. “This is no job for a man like me. What this needs is a man like Hashknife Hartley.”
“Hashknife Hartley?”
Kelsey pricked up his ears and took his feet off the desk. Jack Ralston showed proper interest.
Cates nodded slowly as he bit the end off a cigar.
“Yes, he might do something with it. Ever hear of him?”
“What about him?” asked Kelsey quickly.
Cates smiled as he puffed his cigar.
“I never met him,” he said slowly. “One of those sagebrush Sherlocks, I suppose. Maybe I hadn’t ought to make fun of him—he did some good work for my company. Oh, I’ve heard a lot about what he has done. It’s our business to keep track of all those things, you see. But some of it sounds rather mythical.”
“Well, that’s shore funny,” said Kelsey. “There’s a Hartley and Stevens out at the HJ ranch right now.”
“Eh? Cates stared at Kelsey. “Hashknife Hartley?”
“I dunno; name’s Hartley.”
“Stevens? Huh! Say, I believe he has a partner by that name. Wouldn’t that be funny if it was Hashknife Hartley. How do you get out to that HJ ranch?”
“We can take yuh out, Cates.”
“Fine. But how do they happen to be here?”
Kelsey told him about the burning bridge and the stalled cattle-train.
“But do yuh reckon they’ll work on the case?” asked Jack Ralston.
“We can soon find out. I’m curious to see him. It may not be the same man, but we can soon find that out, too.”
Kelsey obtained a buggy at the livery-stable, in which he and Cates rode out to the HJ, while Ralston followed them on horseback. But they did not find Hashknife and Sleepy at the ranch. Kelsey introduced Cates to the two girls, and Cates found out that Hartley’s name was Hashknife.
“They rode away this morning with Honey Bee,” said Peggy. “No, I don’t know where they were going, Mr. Kelsey, nor when they’ll come back.”
“I see,” nodded Cates. “Well, would you mind telling Hartley that William Cates, of the Wells-Fargo, is in Pinnacle City and is anxious to see him?”
“Why, certainly I’ll tell him,” replied Peggy. “Do you know him?”
Cates smiled and shook his head.
“Only by reputation. I happened to mention his name to the sheriff and found that he was here at your ranch. He will find me at the Pinnacle Hotel.”
They rode back to the gate, where Ralston told Kelsey he was going out to the Circle M.
“I’ve got a pair of boots out there,” explained Ralston. “And if I don’t get ’em pretty soon, somebody’ll be wearin’ ’em.”
Ralston spurred away, while Kelsey and Cates rode back to Pinnacle City.