Part 10

“I must remind Harp of that,” said Brick seriously. “He told me to be sure and remind him to ask yuh—but it slipped my mind completely.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Miss Miller’s brows lifted slightly and she glanced at Mrs. Wesson, who was still chuckling.

“And if I forget it, Ma will remind him of it when he comes back.”

Brick picked up his hat and walked out behind Silent, while Ma Wesson wiped away her tears and patted Miss Miller on the arm.

“Don’t mind him, dearie,” she choked. “Brick don’t lie, but he sure does twist the truth around until it won’t neither lay down nor stand up. Harp would do the same to Brick, if he had the chance. They’re both salt of the earth.”

“And you—” began Miss Miller accusingly.

“Oh, me!” Ma Wesson laughed heartily. “I’ll back either of ’em, ’cause I love ’em both. Don’t mind me. If Harp don’t ask yuh to go with him, I’ll have Cale take both of us. By golly, I’d like to tromp around over a dance floor ag’in myself.”

“I think that would be fun, Mrs. Wesson.”

“Fun, ——! It’d be a riot.”

* * * * *

It was dark when Santel rode into Silverton. He took his horse to the livery-stable and turned it over to a skinny youngster. Santel had bought a bottle of liquor at Marlin City and had emptied it on the way down. He threw it away, as he came out of the stable and went toward the Short Horn saloon.

He was pretty drunk, but did not stagger as he went into the saloon and stopped at the bar. Leach was in the rear of the room, talking to Al Hendricks, and Santel went to them. They gave him a chair and he sat down with them at a card-table.

“Well, what’s the news?” asked Hendricks guardedly.

“I’m quittin’ the job,” announced Santel. “I told Grant what I decided upon, and he didn’t seem to believe me.”

“You mean to say that you couldn’t find out anythin’?” asked Hendricks.

Santel laughed angrily. Leach watched him closely. He knew that Santel was drunk.

“I reckon I could find out enough,” said Santel hoarsely, “but what the —— is the use? We all know that these robberies were done by three men, don’t we?”

“Well?”

“Three men,” continued Santel. “A big man, a medium-sized man and a tall, thin man. I’ve been lookin’ for three men of that description—three men who are close enough together to do this work. And—” Santel shook his head slowly—“there’s just three men in this county that answer that description, and that is the sheriff, his deputy and the big fellow, Slade.”

“Aw, ——!” snorted Hendricks.

“There yuh are,” Santel shrugged his shoulders wearily.

“And why not?” queried Leach. “Are they so ——ed pure that they wouldn’t do a thing like that, Al?”

Hendricks frowned heavily and looked at Santel.

“Is this the best you could do, Santel?”

“Suits me.”

“Where’s your proof?”

“Proof? What in —— do yuh want—a confession?”

Hendricks shook his head quickly.

“You couldn’t convict anybody on that evidence.”

“There’s a murder or two connected with this,” reminded Leach meaningly. “It might not be a jury case, Al.”

Hendricks laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t be a fool, Leach. Brick Davidson never done these things. Santel may be a good detective, but he sure got off on the wrong foot that time. I’d stake my life on Brick.”

“There yuh are,” said Santel disgustedly. “It’s about time for me to quit.”

“It sure is—if Brick finds it out.”

“All right,” Santel got to his feet. “I’ve quit. Now I’m goin’ to get drunk and as soon as I get paid for my work, I’m goin’ to pull my freight, _sabe_?”

He swaggered back to the bar, leaving Hendricks and Leach at the table.

“You sure picked a good man,” observed Hendricks.

“Did I?” Leach smiled crookedly. “I guess that Santel found out what he came here to find. It’s no fault of his if we don’t agree with him.”

“It’s a free country, Leach, and—here comes Brick now.”

Brick was coming into the place, with Silent behind him. Santel was at the bar, taking a drink, but he turned and looked at Brick, who stopped short and faced Santel.

Hendricks started to get up from the table, but Leach grasped him by the arm, drawing him back. Santel was just drunk enough to forget caution, and his lips drew up in a wolfish grin.

“Well,” he said, as his voice carried to all parts of the room, “here’s Sun Dog County’s little tin god.”

The bartender scuttled to the upper end of the bar, out of line with the two men, and those at a card-table behind Brick immediately lost all interest in their play and moved quickly. Brick was grinning and it irritated Santel.

“You, I’m talkin’ to!” snarled Santel.

“To me?” Brick laughed. “Well, that’s nice of yuh, Santel. I sure wondered who yuh meant, and I’m glad that Sun Dog likes me so well.”

“Tha’sso?” Santel sneered. “You ain’t got sense enough to know when yo’re insulted.”

“Have you insulted me?” questioned Brick wonderingly.

He turned his head and looked around the room, as if asking someone to confirm it. Hendricks caught his eye and tried to signal a warning. Silent moved in beside the bar and began rolling a cigaret, as if nothing was the matter. Santel shot a glance at Silent, and it seemed that the big man’s unconcerned attitude irritated him.

Brick turned back to Santel—

“You didn’t really mean to insult me, didja, Santel?”

“Well, I’ll be ——ed!” Santel’s voice was hoarse with indignation. “Did I really mean it?”

Santel leaned forward until his face was within a foot of Brick, his hands spread out from his sides. His anger had made him forget that Brick was egging him on.

“You red-headed pup!”

Santel had evidently figured that Brick was afraid of him, but he was jerking back as he spoke; jerking back, as his right hand flashed for his gun. As quick as a cat Brick shifted just a trifle, slashing out with his right hand; a cutting stroke with the side of his hand, which caught Santel just at the middle of his throat and made him lose immediate interest in his gun.

He straightened up, with both hands going to his throat, his face twisted with the agony of it, as he slithered along the edge of the bar.

“Ambulance on the job!” snorted Silent; and before any one could prevent him he stepped in, caught Santel with both hands, swung him over his shoulder and went striding out of the saloon.

The crowd rushed to the doorway and windows in time to see Silent step to the edge of the sidewalk and fairly hurl Santel into the street, where he rolled over and over.

“Hookum cow!” yelped Silent. “Yee-ow-w-w! Cowboy!”

Santel got slowly to his feet, but fell down once before he got himself steadied enough to stagger away across the street.

“Mebbe he don’t know what it was all about,” stated Silent, “but he’s got sense enough to not come back for information.”

“I never seen anythin’ like it,” declared a cowboy. “Brick hit him with the side of his hand. Right on the old apple. I’ll betcha that jigger will have an apple-juice taste in his mouth for a month.”

Hendricks congratulated Brick silently and Brick grinned.

“I seen yuh wig-waggin’ me, Al. Santel was on the prod, eh?”

“He sure was, Brick. You ain’t heard about what he found out, have yuh?”

“Grant was tellin’ me, Al.”

“What do yuh think of it?”

“Well,” Brick grinned widely, “I feel suspicious of myself.”

“I told Santel he was crazy.”

“Thank yuh, Al.”

“But look out for Santel, Brick. I don’t know a thing about him, but I’ll bet he won’t forgive yuh.”

“If he does, he’s plumb loco. Anyway, I ain’t lookin’ for forgiveness. See yuh later, Al.”

Brick and Silent went down to the livery-stable and found the gangling youth in charge, sitting in the office, playing a game of solitaire.

“Where’s McKeever?” asked Brick.

“I dunno. I come to work at four o’clock, but he wasn’t here.”

“He didn’t say where he was goin’, did he?”

“He didn’t say he was goin’ anywhere. I suppose he got into a poker game and forgot he owned a livery-stable.”

“He wasn’t at the Short Horn.” Thus Silent.

“Tha’sso? Didja look in at McGill’s place? He plays over there once in a while.”

“That’s probably where he is,” said Brick.

“Was it anythin’ I can do for yuh, Sheriff?”

“No-o-o, I guess not. I just wanted to ask Jimmy how one of his saddles happens to have a bullet-hole in the cantle.”

“One of his saddles?” The youth squinted at Brick, as he lighted a limp-looking cigaret. “I didn’t know about that.”

“The saddle that Meecham rode today,” explained Brick. “It’s a cheap saddle—one of them red leather hulls, with a rawhide-covered horn. Meecham was ridin’ a Triangle 8 bay filly.”

“Uh-huh?” The youth squinted thoughtfully. “I know the saddle and the bronc. Lemme see.”

He led them out into the stable and examined the saddles, but was unable to find the right one. The bay filly was in a stall, and Brick knew it was the same animal that Meecham had ridden to Marlin City.

“I dunno where that ——ed saddle is,” declared the boy. “I know it. McKeever bought it from a mail-order catalog. One of the worst forks I ever set into. Cost about fifteen dollars, I reckon. Are you sure that’s the horse he was ridin’?”

“That’s the horse.” Brick was positive.

“What about the bullet-hole? Been some shootin’ goin’ on?”

“Bullet-holes don’t occur by themselves,” grinned Brick. “We’ll see if we can find Jimmy.”

They left the stable and crossed the street, going past McGill’s saloon, but there was no sign of McKeever. McGill was behind the bar, reading a newspaper, alone in the place. They went on up to the Short Horn, but found no trace of McKeever.

They asked the bartender, who said that he had not seen McKeever since about noon. At the Boston hotel, where McKeever lived, they were informed that he had not been around there since morning.

They went back to the Short Horn and had barely entered the place when the youth from the livery-stable followed them in. He was hatless, pasty-faced, and in one hand he carried an old tin bucket.

“For ——’s sake, come on!” he panted to Brick. “Come on with me! My ——!”

He turned and ran out, with Brick and Silent close behind him. Several of those in the saloon, who had heard, followed them down the street.

Straight to the stable they went, and the boy stopped in the middle of the floor, under the light of a lantern.

“Tut-take the lantern,” he faltered. “You go ahead, will yuh? Look in the grain box. My ——!”

Brick grabbed the lantern and ran into the grain-room, a built-in room, adjoining the little office. A big grain-bin extended the full length of the room, with three different covers.

“That’n on the end,” panted the boy.

Brick lifted the cover and held up the lantern. Lying doubled up on some loose oats was Jimmy McKeever, his head a welter of blood. Silent and the men from the saloon crowded in and took a look.

“I—I ju-just found him that-a-way,” explained the boy. “I dunno how I did it. We didn’t use that bin any more. Sus-somethin’ made me look in there, I reckon.”

Brick fastened back the cover and climbed into the bin.

“One of yuh go after the doctor,” he ordered, and a man hurried away.

Brick lifted McKeever up to where they could all get hold of him, and they placed him on the floor of the stable.

Brick examined him, while Silent knelt down and held the lantern.

“I don’t reckon he needs a doctor,” observed Silent.

Brick shook his head slowly.

“Don’t look like it, that’s a cinch. Somebody beat his head all up.”

“Somebody—yeah.” It was an old cattleman from the southern end of the range. “I’d admire to know jist who that somebody was.”

The man who went after the doctor had shouted the news in at the Short Horn, and the stable soon filled with curious and interested people. Doctor Bridger came bustling in and the crowd gave him room. His examination was short and to the point.

“Been dead quite a while. Skull crushed. Who found him?”

Doctor Bridger was the coroner. The youth shouldered his way inside the circle.

“I found him, Doc. I—I thought he was out some’rs, playin’ poker, and I finds him in that danged old oat-bin. I told the sheriff jist as quick as I could.”

“I reckon he did,” agreed Brick. “He was still packin’ his oat-can with him.”

“But why would any one kill Jimmy McKeever?” Thus Banty Harrison indignantly. “Jimmy was a good guy.”

“Didn’t have an enemy that I ever heard about,” offered Slim Hunter. “By gosh, this country is gettin’ too salty to suit me. Mostly every day there’s a robbery, a killin’ or a dynamitin’. Makes a feller scared to do anythin’, I tell yuh.”

“Anything missing around here?” questioned the doctor. “It might have been done by a horse-thief.”

“There ain’t no horses gone,” declared the boy.

He was about to mention the missing saddle, but Brick’s eyes signaled him a warning and he turned away.

“Better take the body down to my place,” suggested the doctor.

They rolled the body onto a blanket and four men carried it away. Brick and Silent left the stable ahead of the crowd, and were half-way to the Short Horn when the doctor joined them.

“Murder, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“The dirtiest kind,” said Brick slowly. “They probably put him in there until they got a chance to dispose of him.”

The doctor shook his head wearily.

“I can’t understand men doing a thing like that, sheriff. Murder is so unnecessary.”

“From yore angle,” said Brick softly.

They left the doctor and went to the hitch-rack, where they mounted and rode out of town. Just at the outskirts, Brick swung off the road and led the way into the hills with Silent’s horse pounding along behind him.

“Can’t take a chance on the road,” declared Brick, as the lights of Silverton faded from view. “There’s too much —— to pay in Sun Dog. We’ll stay at the Nine-Bar-Nine tonight.”

* * * * *

It was about four o’clock the following afternoon. Brick and Silent crouched in the brush and watched the ranch-house of Mostano. They had been there since the middle of the forenoon but had seen nothing of interest.

Their few hours of sleep at the Nine-Bar-Nine had only been an aggravation to Silent, who complained wearily against accompanying a half-witted sheriff on a foolish quest. They had left the Nine-Bar-Nine before daylight, having cooked their own breakfast, and had ridden the entire distance away from the road.

Brick was taking no chances now, and he was forced to admit that his spying on the Mostano ranch was inspired by a “hunch.” Something seemed to tell him that the answer to the riddle was at that ranch. He knew that Mostano was not the only man at the ranch when he and Harp were chased out of the house.

The dynamiting of his office proved that the criminals feared him and felt that he knew too much. Just why they would dynamite the Red Hill mine safe, after stealing the payroll, was more than he could figure out. In some way it was connected with the attempted killing of Soapy Caswell, he decided.

Perhaps, he thought, there were two different gangs, or they might have blown the safe to make him think that there were two different outfits working. He grinned as he thought of Santel’s findings. Still, the descriptions covered the three of them. Baldy Malloy, Ike Welden and Meecham had all been robbed by men of the same description. Suddenly Brick laughed aloud and Silent looked at him curiously.

“What’s so ——ed funny?” Silent was tired and uncomfortable.

“Somethin’,” Brick’s brows were drawn in a thoughtful frown and the ball of his right thumb caressed the stubble on his chin. “Somethin’ good, Silent.”

“Oh, yeah,” Silent turned away, squinted at the ranch-house and nudged Brick on the knee.

A man was riding toward the ranch-house on the bluff trail, and both of them knew that it was Santel. They watched him ride up to the front door and dismount. But before he had time to go to the door, Mostano came out.

“Now what the —— is Santel doin’ there?” queried Silent.

“That’s a question,” grinned Brick. “I wish my ears were as good as my eyes, ’cause I’d sure like to hear what they’re sayin’.”

After a few minutes of conversation they walked around the house and back to the corral. Mostano, judging from his gestures, was doing most of the talking. They stopped at the corral gate and continued the conversation.

After a time Santel turned away and took several steps toward the house, as though going to leave, but turned. Mostano had stepped away from the corral, facing Santel. They were too far away for the two men in the brush to distinguish the detail of their movements, but just in front of Santel appeared a puff of smoke.

Mostano fell sidewise into the fence, trying to keep his feet. Another puff of smoke, and the closely spaced reports of two shots sounded. Brick and Silent could not see Mostano now, because he had fallen into the shadows of the pole corral.

Santel stood still for several moments, looking around, before he turned and hurried to the house. He knocked on the front door, but no one let him in. Then he stepped back, took a short run and hit the door with his shoulder. Brick grinned as Santel fell back. Brick knew that the oak bar was thick.

“He’s goin’ to smash the window,” observed Silent.

Santel had picked up a short length of pole, and now he proceeded to demolish a front window. He made short work of it, tore the curtain away and crawled inside.

“What in —— is he doin’ in there?” wondered Silent.

Brick shook his head and watched the house. In a few minutes Santel came out, looked around and mounted his horse. He did not seem to be in a hurry, but finally rode away up the bluff trail and disappeared toward the Red Hill mine.

“Well,” said Silent dryly, “we’ve got another dead man.”

“They’re almost as common as live ones around here,” said Brick sadly, his eyes glued on a certain patch of brush about a hundred feet to the east of the house. Something had caught his attention.

“Watch that patch of brush beyond the front of the house, Silent. There’s somethin’ there.”

And as an answer to his statement a woman left the patch of brush and went swiftly out of sight on the far side of the house, only to reappear, going toward the corral.

Brick got to his feet and motioned for Silent to follow him. They went swiftly down through the brush and out into the open, where they ran toward the house. The woman had discovered Mostano’s body and was too interested to see anything else.

They ran past the house and out to the brush patch before the woman saw them. She ran toward them, stopped, as though undecided what to do and went back to the corral. Brick crashed into the brush and stopped short. Just at his feet was the entrance to a tunnel, and in this entrance lay the half-breed baby and—little Whizzer Malloy.

Silent crowded in beside Brick and stared at the children. Little Whizzer looked up at them, but there was no recognition in his face. His little feet were tied tightly together with a whang-leather string, and he was as dirty as a child could possibly become.

Brick lifted him out and cut the string.

“Don’tcha know me, Whizzer?” he asked gently.

But the child only whimpered, his eyes filled with fear.

“My ——, I’ll betcha they’ve treated him tough,” declared Silent. “But how in —— did he happen to be here? Can yuh figure it out, Brick?”

Brick shook his head, his jaws shut tight. The half-breed woman was coming slowly toward them now, her shoulders drooped, her face set in lines of deep grief. She stopped in front of Brick, but would not look at him, as she said—

“My man dead—shot.”

“Yeah, I know it,” said Brick. “I reckon he had it comin’.”

“He dead,” she repeated.

“Where did you get this child?” asked Brick, not unkindly. He thought he could get more out of her by not adopting a threatening attitude. She looked blankly at him.

“Where did you get this boy?” he asked again. “You tell me where you get him.”

“Don’t know,” she said slowly, blankly.

“You don’t know? Come on now, tell me where yuh got him.”

“Don’ know.”

“She sure is a good witness,” observed Silent. “When her kind don’t want to talk, they can sure ruin the perade. Ask her why Santel killed Mostano?”

“She don’t know that either.”

“Don’ know,” she muttered blankly. “My man dead—shot.”

“Well, that’s one thing she does know.” Silent was inclined to sarcasm.

Little Whizzer Malloy whimpered and looked at Brick, as if trying to remember who Brick was.

“Don’tcha know me, Whizzer?” he asked.

But the child only looked blankly at him. Brick noticed that the little fellow had a bad bruise on the right side of his head and his right arm was painfully bruised.

“What the —— was that hole over there?” Silent pointed back toward the brush patch.

“That’s the tunnel that opens under the house,” said Brick. “They had a slick getaway. When Santel showed up Mostano put the woman and kids into the tunnel and slid the bunk over the trap-door. No wonder Santel didn’t find anythin’.”

“What do yuh reckon he was lookin’ for, Brick?”

Brick squinted at Silent and back toward the house.

“Does seem kinda funny, Silent. I’ll betcha this woman would know—if she made a sneak with the kids.”

“Don’ know,” persisted the woman blankly.

“Is there anythin’ yuh do know?” snorted Silent.

She looked blankly at Silent and turned her gaze back toward the corral.

“My man dead,” she said simply.

They walked over to the corral and looked at Mostano. Either of Santel’s bullets would have killed him. Mostano’s six-shooter was lying in the dust beside the corral, several feet away, proving that he had made an attempt to defend himself, but had dropped the gun as he fell.

“There ain’t nothin’ we can do for him,” observed Brick, “so we’ll just put the body in the house and take this kid back to Marlin.”

Little Whizzer’s legs had evidently been bound ever since he had disappeared, and they were too weak to support his body. They propped him against the fence, while they placed Mostano’s body in the house, but made the woman accompany them.

“We’ll send somebody out here,” Brick told the woman, as they picked up Whizzer and started for their horses.

“Don’ want nobody,” she declared. “You keep away.”

“Write yore own ticket,” said Brick shortly, and walked away.

They got their horses and rode back toward Marlin City with Brick carrying Whizzer in his arms. The youngster seemed to be trying to figure out what it was all about, and Brick grinned encouragingly.

“Don’tcha worry, Whizzer,” he told him. “Yo’re plenty safe now.”