Part 3

He sat down on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office and held his chin in his hands, while he mentally picked a quarrel with Sam Leach. It was a dandy quarrel, ending in a fight, in which Harp beat Sam Leach to within an inch of his life.

There was also a big audience cheering Harp on to kill his opponent, but Harp spared his miserable life. He did not want Leach’s blood on his head. Anyway, he could afford to be generous. The crowd was cheering him now. Crowds are peculiar things.

Then he hugged his elbows to his sides and started the argument all over again. This time it was man to man, but with guns. The crowd had scattered. It was a tense moment. Harp knew that he was quicker on the draw, a better shot than Leach.

“Pull yore gun, Leach,” he said calmly. “Cock it, if yuh wish. Are yuh ready, Leach? All right. I’m givin’ yuh an even break. Now, you give the word yourself.”

And as the hero waited for the signal that would cause him to draw swiftly and send shot after shot into the heart of his hated rival, a horse and buggy came into town.

Harp lifted his head and watched Sam Leach drive past him, with Della Miller beside him. They turned off the main street, going toward Wesson’s house. Harp spat angrily and tried to conjure up another big fight, but the spell was broken.

In a few minutes Leach drove past him again, went into the livery-stable and was gone for some time. Harp knew that the stableman was asleep and that Leach would have to stable his own horse. After a time, Leach came out, leading a saddle-horse, which he mounted. It was still too dark to distinguish objects clearly. Leach lighted a cigar or cigaret and rode slowly up the street, going past Harp once more and heading North.

Harp thought that Leach might be going back to the Wesson house, but he continued out of town.

“In that last fight,” said Harp to himself, “I let him draw and cock his own gun. Huh! In that fist-fight I let up on him, when I had him where I wanted him. But if I ever get at him ag’in he’s got to look out for himself. Bein’ a hero is all right, but I’m all through heroin’ around that danged jigger, y’betcha.”

Harp went into the office and sat down on his cot. Brick was asleep in the back room, so Harp went cautiously. He knew that Cale Wesson would spread the news and that everyone in Marlin City would be informed of the fact that Harp Harris had serenaded Mrs. Wesson at four a.m.

* * * * *

Brick awoke at eight o’clock and found Harp fully dressed. It was not like Harp to be up and doing at that time in the morning. He had left Harp in a poker game in the Dollar Down at midnight, and took it for granted that the game had just broken up.

Cale Wesson was just opening his general merchandise store as they went up the street to the restaurant. Cale saw them coming, and began a clumsy imitation of a troubadour. Brick squinted at him, wondering what it was all about; but Harp knew.

Cale pointed his nose toward the sky and began singing in a voice that was even worse than the one owned by Harp Harris—

“I care not for the sta-a-ars that shi-hine.”

Cale paused and seemed to be searching for the proper note.

“Well, tha’sall right,” observed Brick. “I never had much use for stars that shine either. I like mine kinda dim, Cale.”

Harp’s ears were very red, his jaws shut tight. Brick glanced at him curiously, but Harp remained silent.

“What’s the idea, Cale?” queried Brick.

“Li’l love-bug, Brick. I can’t tell yuh much more, ’cause I don’t want no scandal in my own family. Me and Ma has been married seventeen years; livin’ peaceful-like with nothin’ to mar our happiness—but things are changin’. Ma’s romantic. I s’pose—” Cale yawned widely, seriously— “I s’pose I’ve got to learn to play some ——ed instrument and lose a lot of sleep, playin’ and singin’ beneath her winder—or take a chance on losin’ her.”

“Oh, yeah,” Brick grinned widely, but did not look at Harp. “Well, good luck to yuh, Cale. If yuh want to learn the jew’s-harp, I can put yuh next to a master of the thing. C’mon, Harp.”

They went to the restaurant and ordered breakfast. Harp was silent and thoughtful, but Brick did not question him. Cale had told enough for Brick to have a fair idea of what had happened.

As they came out of the restaurant they met Mrs. Wesson and Della Miller. Harp stood stock-still and wished himself miles away, because at a glance he knew that Mrs. Wesson had told the school-teacher all about it.

“Hello, Brickie,” greeted Mrs. Wesson.

“Hello, folks,” grinned Brick.

Mrs. Wesson squinted at Harp, frowned heavily, as though trying to remember him. Then:

“By golly, that’s Harp Harris, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” nodded Brick, “this is Harp himself. You’ve met these ladies, ain’t yuh, Harp?”

Harp grunted something unintelligible.

“Wouldn’t hardly knowed him,” declared Mrs. Wesson. “Yuh see, I ain’t used to seein’ him in daylight.”

She turned to Miss Miller—

“This is Mister Harris, Miss Miller.”

“Aw-w-w, dog-gone it, I’ve met yuh and—and I—I—” Harp stammered to a stop, his face red.

“I think I have met Mr. Harris,” smiled the school-teacher.

“That’s right!” exclaimed Mrs. Wesson. “Come to think of it, yuh have. Why don’t you boys come over and see us once in a while? We like company. Come over any evenin’. Harp can bring his music along and entertain us.”

“Oh, do you play, Mr. Harris?” asked Miss Miller.

“Does he play?” Mrs. Wesson seemed surprised that the girl should ask such a question. “Does he? He not only plays, but he sings. Sings and plays his own accompaniment on a jew’s-harp. Writes his own stuff, too, don’tcha, Harp?”

“Aw-w-w, for gosh sake!” Harp swallowed heavily and looked around for a place to put his hands.

“Well, we must be going along,” said Mrs. Wesson. “Pleased to have seen you in daylight, Harp. Come and see us, won’t yuh?”

“Sure be pleased to,” grinned Brick.

The two ladies went on down the street and Harp heaved a sigh of relief.

“Now,” said Brick grinning, “what happened, Harp?”

“Aw, ——!” Harp shoved his hands deep in his pockets and glared at the sidewalk. “I forgot what time it was, Brick; and like a ——ed fool, I—I——”

“You tried to serenade Miss Miller, eh?”

“Yeah. She wasn’t home either. I woke up Cale and his wife.”

“My ——! Didja sing?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh. Where was Miss Miller?”

“She went to a dance at Silverton, with Sam Leach.”

“Tha’sso? With Sam Leach, eh? Well, don’t let that worry yuh. She’ll soon find out that he can’t neither sing nor play.”

“Brick,” Harp’s voice was strained, “are you tryin’ to be funny?”

“Not intentionally, cowboy. Miss Miller is educated and she’s bound to recognize talent. I could tell by the way she was lookin’ at yuh that she admires yuh a heap. In fact, she had tears in her eyes. By golly, that’s appreciation. And she ain’t even heard yuh yet.”

“Yeah, I know all about them tears,” snorted Harp. “Mrs. Wesson told her what happened.”

“Well,” hopefully, “mebbe they was tears of sympathy, Harp.”

“Like ——! I suppose I’ll never hear the last of this. What do we do today, Brick?”

“I dunno. I’ve got a danged good notion to ride up to the Red Hill mine today. I want to have a little talk with Barney Devine. He might have an idea, and I haven’t seen him since that hold-up. Want to go along?”

“Yeah, I’d like to.”

Harp was willing to go anywhere. He wanted to get out of Marlin City.

“All right. We’ll bust out of here about noon, Harp.”

* * * * *

It was about eleven o’clock when the stage came in from Silverton, on its way to the Red Hill Mine. Little Whizzer sat beside Baldy on the driver’s seat, as proud as a peacock. It was several days since the grizzly episode, during which time Baldy had taken the child with him everywhere. It was a new experience for Whizzer.

Baldy shook hands with Brick, who picked Whizzer off the seat and carried him into Wesson’s store after candy.

“Where’s yore spur?” asked Brick, noting that Whizzer was not wearing it.

Whizzer removed the candy long enough to gasp for breath and inform Brick that—

“I ain’t no puncher now. Stage drivers don’t wear spurs.”

“By golly, that’s my mistake,” laughed Brick. “I’m sure an ignorant jigger.”

“Yeah,” nodded Whizzer seriously, much to Harp’s delight.

He put the boy back on the seat and waved his hat at him, as they swept out of town. It was about two hours later when Brick and Harp saddled their horses and headed north.

It was eighteen miles from Marlin to the Red Hill mines. For a greater part of the distance the road followed the cañon, but about five miles from the mines it led to higher ground, winding along the sides of the mountain where, as Brick expressed it, “a driver is only allowed one mistake.”

As they rode out of the cañon and began climbing, a rider came into view, coming down the grade. He was a medium-sized man, possibly forty years of age, slightly stooped in his saddle.

He drew up at their approach, removed his sombrero to wipe his forehead, disclosing a mop of tow-colored hair. His face was bony of contour, nose slightly crooked. Neither Brick nor Harp had ever seen the man before, but there was something familiar about him—a resemblance to someone they had known.

He was wearing a faded blue shirt, nondescript vest, chaps that were heavy with nickel and brass trimmings, matching the design on his cartridge-belt and holster. The horse was a tall, powerfully built sorrel.

“Is this the road to Marlin City?” he asked.

“Y’betcha,” nodded Brick. “Stay on it and you’ll hit Marlin.”

“Good! By golly, I’ve been on so many wrong roads that it’ll sure be a surprize to hit the right one once. Say, have yuh got any smokin’?”

Brick handed him a package.

“Gosh, that’s fine, stranger. I tried to buy some Durham back at that mine, but they didn’t have any. I reckon them hon-yocks all chaw or snuff. Much obliged.”

He handed back the package, but Brick shook his head.

“You keep it. You’ll need another smoke soon.”

“Well, all right—thanks.”

He put the package into his pocket, and his eyes squinted at the sheriff’s star on Brick’s shirt.

“Sheriff, eh?” he queried.

“Uh-huh,” smiled Brick. “We have to carry our label—like a can of tomatoes.”

“Or a box of dynamite,” added the stranger dryly. “Well, I reckon I’ll be driftin’ on. Much obliged for the tobacco, sheriff. _Adiós._”

Brick and Harp nodded and rode on up the grades. At the top of the long climb they drew up their horses and looked back. The stranger was but a tiny speck, moving slowly down the cañon.

“Didja ever see him before, Brick?” queried Harp.

“Nope. But there’s somethin’ about him that reminds me of somebody.”

“Me too,” nodded Harp. “I ain’t got the slightest idea who he looks like though. Sure wears a fancy lot of leather. I hate to see a feller hammer his chaps full of rivets that-a-way.”

They rode on along the narrow grades and drew up at the Red Hill mine office. Barney Devine, a slight, hatchet-faced, nervous sort of a person, met them at the office door and greeted them effusively.

“How’s tricks, Barney?” asked Brick, stretching his legs in one of Barney’s comfortable chairs and accepting a cigar.

“Pretty good,” replied the mine superintendent. “Everything is going along pretty fine. Property is getting richer all the time. We just cut a new vein that runs pretty high. How is everything in Marlin City?”

“So, so. Nothin’ much new goin’ on.”

“I heard about you and the grizzly,” smiled Devine. “Baldy Malloy sure told everybody about it. He seems to think it was the greatest thing that was ever done.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” smiled Brick.

“It must have been.” Devine shook his head. “Some folks have queer ideas of fun. Anyway, what brought you up here, Brick?”

“Oh, just to see if you had dried up and blowed away yet. You get thinner every day, Barney.”

“I knew that was why you came,” said Barney dryly. “But that wasn’t all, was it?”

“Just a little information,” confided Brick. “How much did that hold-up nick you, Barney?”

“Thirty-eight hundred dollars.”

“Uh-huh. How often do you ship by stage?”

Barney shook his head slowly.

“Not any more. Anyway, nobody will know when we do.”

“Who knew about this shipment?”

“Not a darned soul, Brick. Baldy Malloy carries one of those old treasure-boxes for small packages. I gave him this box and told him to deliver it to the bank at Silverton. It was just a plain wooden box, with the cover just nailed on. There wasn’t a thing to indicate what was in it.”

“Whole thing would weigh about fourteen or fifteen pounds, wouldn’t it? And it was consigned to the bank?”

“Yes. If the stage was held up the robbers would probably investigate that old treasure-box. But how do you suppose they knew when it was to be shipped?”

Brick shook his head.

“That wasn’t the first shipment you’ve made, was it?”

“No. But there was no schedule, Brick. We shipped when it was ready.”

A man came into the office and deposited a suit-case on the floor. It was one of the office men and Devine introduced him to Brick and Harp. Devine glanced at his watch.

“Baldy will be getting out of here rather late, if he don’t hurry,” observed Devine.

“He’s usually on time,” replied the man. “Anyway, I can’t get a train out of Marlin until near midnight.”

“Goin’ for a trip?” asked Brick.

“Going to Frisco. My folks live there. I’ve been here at the mine for almost two years without a vacation; so I think it is about time to see the old folks.”

“That’s right,” smiled Brick. “I wish I could see mine. Goin’ out on the stage, eh?”

“If it ever shows up.”

“If it ever shows up?” parroted Brick. “Hasn’t it been here?”

“Not today.”

Brick and Harp stared at each other. They could hardly believe that statement.

“Why, it went through Marlin City about eleven o’clock,” stated Brick.

“And we just came over the road,” added Harp wonderingly.

“Well, it never came here, that’s a sure thing,” declared Devine.

“The little kid was with Baldy,” said Brick, getting to his feet. “What do yuh reckon has happened to ’em?”

“I don’t see how anything could happen to them.”

Brick strode to the door, but turned to Devine.

“Barney, was there a stranger here today—a man on a tall sorrel?”

“Yes. He wanted to buy some Durham tobacco, but we didn’t have any. He didn’t say who he was, but he did say that he picked the wrong road.”

* * * * *

Brick and Harp mounted and rode out of the camp, heading back toward Marlin City. They rode at a swift gallop, with Brick riding at the outer edge of the grades, watching the road closely.

There were many sharp curves, where they were forced to slacken their pace; but only long enough to obviate the danger of running into some one coming toward them. About three miles from the mines, Brick jerked his horse to a stop and dismounted. Harp whirled and rode back to him, peering down the steep side of the hill, where the underbrush grew in a tangle among the tall timber.

“Here’s where they went over,” said Brick rather shakily, pointing at the wheel tracks, which had cut deeply into the outer edge of the road.

They could see where the stage had torn into the dirt of the side-hill, like the gash of plow-shares.

“My ——!” gasped Harp. “They tore plumb down through that brush! I’ll betcha they went clear to the bottom of the cañon.”

They dropped their bridle-reins and began the descent. The going was rough and the hill so steep that they were forced to cling to the rocks and brush. Down they went through the brush, following the marks of the stage.

A smashed wheel, driven into the side of a pine-tree, was the first evidence of the crash. Then a dead horse, upside down in a tangle of laurel, its harness stripped from its body. Beyond that was another horse and the wreck of the stage. It had turned over and crashed into a tree, splintering the body. There was no sign of the other two wheels.

Brick and Harp stood silently, gazing at the wreckage.

“Good ——, what a smash!” breathed Brick. “They must have fell two hundred feet. C’mon.”

They moved down to the stage. Just beyond it, huddled in a bush, they found Baldy Malloy. His clothes were almost torn from his body, and it did not take an expert to tell that Baldy had made his last trip.

“Poor ——,” said Brick sadly. “He stayed with her until they hit the tree. But where is Whizzer?”

“That’s right,” nodded Harp. “The kid was with him.”

They separated and began their search. Twice they combed every inch of ground between the stage and the grade. They went far down in the cañon below the stage, searching closely for any sign, but there was nothing to show that the little boy had wandered down the hill.

After two hours of determined search, Brick sat down and admitted himself beaten.

“He just ain’t here, Harp.”

“He ain’t,” declared Harp. “By golly, we’ve sure looked over every inch of this mountain. But where in —— is he?”

Brick wiped his brow and shook his head.

“That’s the queer part of it, cowboy. He must be—and ain’t. We’ll pack old Baldy up to the horses and take him to town. It’s barely possible that Whizzer wasn’t hurt, and that he got back to the grade and headed for town.”

“That’s right,” agreed Harp hopefully. “By jinks, that’s right.”

It was a big task to get the body up to the grade, and both men were tired out, when they swung onto their horses, with the body on Brick’s saddle. They were unable to travel fast, but they did not overtake Whizzer. There were no tracks from his little feet in the dusty road, and Brick’s eyes squinted painfully as he visualized the little fellow wandering alone in that deep cañon, looking for a way out.

Their arrival caused a sensation in Marlin City. Brick turned the body over to Doctor Meyers and went back to the Dollar Down saloon, where he told them about the missing boy. There were several men there who had seen the boy with Baldy that day, and in about thirty minutes a group of twelve riders, including Harp, Brick and Silent Slade, were heading back for the scene of the wreck.

Several of them carried lanterns, and there were enough blankets along to wrap up a dozen children. Even Le Blanc, the blacksmith, borrowed a horse and went along. It was almost dark when they arrived, and in a short time there were lanterns bobbing around the timbered sides of Elk Cañon, as the men searched in every possible and impossible place.

Some went far down into the bottom of the cañon, while the others examined places far to the sides of where the stage had been wrecked. It was almost daylight when the last of the searchers arrived at the grade, tired and discouraged.

“By gosh, she’s not be here!” panted Le Blanc. “Not’ing on de hill. H’even de brush is clear h’off. I’m h’even dig a little.”

They mounted their horses and rode back toward Marlin City, with every man still straining his eyes for a sight of the boy. The women of the town were waiting for them, hoping that their search had not been in vain. Mrs. Wesson had a mighty pot of coffee waiting for them and they attacked it with a will.

Doctor Meyers drew Brick aside and spoke softly—

“Has any one ever threatened Baldy Malloy, Brick?”

“Threatened him?” Brick gulped some strong coffee. “Not that I know of, doc. Why do you ask?”

“He was shot.”

“Shot?”

“Yes. When Baldy Malloy drove off the Elk Cañon grade, he was dead, Brick. There was a bullet through his heart.”

Brick’s jaw set tightly and the hand that held the cup of coffee dropped to his side, spilling the fluid onto the floor.

“He was shot before he went off the grade, eh? Shot through the heart.”

“Yes. It was either a revolver bullet, or possibly a rifle, fired at long range. The bullet was still in him, Brick. It is a .45 caliber.”

Brick glanced quickly around. The men were busy with the coffee and none of them had heard what the doctor had told.

“Doc, can yuh keep this a secret?” queried Brick. “Mebbe we better let Harp in on it. Can yuh do this? It might be easier that-a-way.”

“You are the sheriff,” replied the doctor softly. “I am ready to do as you say. Every one thinks that Malloy accidentally ran off the grade. We can always exhume the body, you know.”

“All right,” nodded Brick. “And I’m much obliged, doc.”

“That’s all right, Brick. And there was no sign of the child?”

Brick shook his head wearily and went back after more hot coffee. Miss Miller and Mrs. Wesson were talking to Harp, who was too tired to even be bashful. But they were not joking him now.

The men gradually drifted away to get a few hours sleep before renewing the search. Brick, Harp and Silent went down to the office, with the intention of going to bed, but they had only been there a few minutes when Bill Grant came in, accompanied by the stranger who had met Brick and Harp on the road.

“Hello, Brick,” greeted Grant. “I want yuh to meet Mr. Santel.”

“I’ve met the sheriff before,” grinned Santel. “In fact I owe him a sack of tobacco.”

Brick introduced Santel to Harp and Silent.

“Can we talk to yuh alone for a few minutes, Brick?” asked Grant.

“Sure thing.”

Brick grabbed his hat and followed them outside. They walked up the street a short distance and stopped.

“Mr. Santel is the man we told yuh about, Brick,” said Grant.

“The detective?”

Santel smiled.

“Not exactly a detective. Leach seemed to think that I could kinda clean up some of the crime around here; so here I am.”

“You with the Cattle Association, Santel?” queried Brick.

“No. I’m not connected with any outfit right now. The men in the association are too well known.”

“I s’pose,” nodded Brick thoughtfully. “Still yuh wasn’t able to find the right road, yuh know.”

Santel laughed softly.

“That’s right, sheriff.”

“Grant, you heard about Baldy Malloy, didn’t yuh?”

Grant hadn’t. He and Santel had just ridden in from Grant’s ranch, the old Star-Dot, located about six miles due north from Marlin City, on Whispering Creek.

It did not take Brick long to tell of the wreck, the finding of Malloy’s body and of their futile search for the youngster.

“Well, how in the —— did Malloy happen to drive off the grade?” wondered Grant. “He was a good driver.”

“I dunno,” sighed Brick. “It was one awful smash-up.”