Part 12

“He’s dead, Brick,” said Harp in an awed voice. “He’s dead, but won’t lay down.”

Then Hank Stagg suddenly came to life. With an animal-like scream he sprang away from the bar, drawing his gun, and whirling on Brick, only to be met with a bullet that caused him to spin on his heel, and a second later he went crashing to the floor, with Harp on his back.

Brick backed against the bar and looked at the wreckage. Leach was sprawled on his face, arms outstretched; Silent was sitting on the prostrate figure of Meecham, while Harp sat on Hank Stagg and tried to find out just how badly hurt his victim was. Santel was still on his hands and knees, but now he sat down, supporting himself with one arm, while he tried to brush the mists away from his muddled brain.

The crowd came drifting back in, questioning, wondering, coughing from the fumes of burnt powder which clouded the room.

There was silence, as the crowd realized the tragedy which had just been enacted. Came a crash, as Ike Welden fell from his standing position on the chair, and the crowd started to duck for cover again.

“He decided to quit,” said Harp blandly. “Takes some folks a long time to find out anythin’.”

Santel looked around the circle of faces until he found Brick. He seemed dazed, sick, but his voice was still strong enough.

“Much obliged, Davidson,” he said. “I was in on the deal, but you found out more than I could. Leach had me come here to keep you from investigating. He wanted me to kill yuh.” Santel hesitated, forcing a grin. “I suppose I would, if they hadn’t killed Baldy Malloy.

“They offered me a thousand dollars to force yuh into a gun-fight, and I—I fell down on the job. I’m glad I did—now.

“I held up you and Soapy Caswell. That was a dummy sack. They didn’t trust me. Meecham fixed it up. They took a —— of a big chance, didn’t they? Leach wanted to loot Sun Dog, just like you said. Baldy and Ike Welden robbed themselves, and then Ike set the fire that day, while Meecham hid the bank money.

“They all gave the same description. Leach thought it might put you three fellers in bad—and he wanted to elect Hank Stagg. Leach wanted too much, I reckon. I—I never got my split of the money, but it’s in the cellar of Meecham’s house. Welden set the dynamite off under your office, and Hank Stagg shot Soapy Caswell.

“Meecham was out there the night you found Mostano killin’ the beef, and one of your bullets hit his saddle. He came huntin’ for me to find out about the payroll. I don’t know who killed the livery-stable keeper, but it was some of the gang. They didn’t want you to question him about the bullet-hole in the saddle.”

“Thank yuh, Santel,” said Brick weakly. “That all proves that I’m a good guesser. But I don’t know yet why yuh killed Leach.”

Santel smiled softly and his eyes wandered around the circle of interested faces.

“Some of yuh take care of the kid, will yuh?” His voice was weaker now. “Baldy was my brother. I—I took the name of Santel, because I was no good—a killer. Baldy must ’a’ been led into doin’ wrong. They named the kid after me—Whizzer. Hank knew this, but Leach didn’t until later—and he was afraid I’d find it out. I killed Mostano today, but I couldn’t find the kid.”

“By golly, that’s where the resemblance came in, Brick,” exclaimed Harp. “Little Whizzer looks like Santel.”

“I’ll take care of Whizzer,” said Brick.

“We’ll all take care of Whizzer,” amended Silent. “Don’tcha never worry about that, Santel.”

Santel nodded as if satisfied, and little Whizzer came out from behind the bar, his eyes wide with fright, and ran to Brick.

“Geeminy gosh!” he shrilled. “Is all that shootin’ over?”

“It’s all over, buddy,” said Brick weakly. “There ain’t goin’ to be no more shootin’—not for a while, I hope.”

“I hope there never will be again,” said Santel slowly. “It don’t pay.”

He swayed sidewise on his hands and sank down on his face.

“When do I see my daddy?” asked Whizzer impatiently.

Brick drew the youngster to him with his one good arm, and looked around at the crowd, as if appealing to them for an answer.

“You better see a doctor, Brick,” advised Harp. “You’re losin’ a lot of blood.”

“Ain’t nobody goin’ to tell me where my dad is?” demanded Whizzer. “Is he out on his trip?”

“Yeah, he’s out on his trip,” whispered Brick.

Whizzer turned his head and looked out through the open door into the darkness. He knew that his father always came home before dark. His eyes came back to Brick, as he said—

“He must be takin’ a long trip this time.”

“Yeah, a long trip, buddy,” breathed Brick.

There was a silence. Then—

“Aw-w-w, —— the luck!”

It was Banty Harrison. Tears were trickling down his cheeks and his lips trembled. He started angrily toward the door, but turned and looked back at the crowd.

“Wh-what’s the matter?” choked Harp.

Banty pointed at his flopping necktie, which had crawled up above the top of his celluloid collar.

“That —— string busted—that’s what’s the matter.”

The rest of them had no alibi. But the looting of Sun Dog was over and they looked at each other unashamed, while Brick, with Whizzer clinging to his one good hand, went hunting for a doctor, and the orchestra across the street struck up a waltz.

[Transcriber’s Note:

1. This story appeared in the August 30, 1924 issue of _Adventure_ magazine. 2. This story also exists in extended novel form in the Distributed Proofreaders Canada collection at www.fadedpage.com ]