Part 4

“Was it back on those grades beyond where I met yuh?” asked Santel.

“Uh-huh. About the highest point.”

“Where’s the body?” asked Grant.

“Down at Doc Meyers’ office.”

“Let’s go and look at it,” suggested Santel.

* * * * *

They walked down to the office and the doctor met them at the door. Malloy’s body had been laid out on some planks, and a heavy sheet thrown over it. The doctor threw back the sheet enough to disclose the head, but not enough to show any of the body.

Santel stepped in close and peered at the face of the dead man. Brick noticed the muscles of Santel’s jaw set tightly and the blood quickly drained from his face. Grant was talking to the doctor and did not notice this.

For several moments Santel stared into the face of the dead man before he slowly drew back and turned away. Grant had stepped in closer and was looking closely. Then he grasped the sheet and drew it down, exposing the bare chest and arms.

“What the —— is this?” he grunted, turning to the doctor. “This man has been shot.”

Santel whirled quickly and leaned forward, looking at the blue circle on the dead man’s breast. Grant had turned and was staring at Brick and the doctor.

“We both knew it, Grant,” said Brick slowly. “Somebody shot Baldy through the heart before he went off the grade; and we thought it might be easier to find out who done it, if it wasn’t generally known that such a thing was done.”

Grant squinted thoughtfully, half-nodding in agreement.

“He never knew what hit him,” said the doctor softly. “It was a center shot.”

“A forty-five,” added Brick quickly.

Santel’s right hand dropped to his holster, but jerked away.

“You shoot a forty-five?” asked Brick.

Santel’s eyes slowly turned to Brick, a narrow-eyed stare and a slow nod.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I shoot a forty-five.”

“A lot of us do, Santel,” said Brick slowly.

“Do yuh think it was a hold-up?” queried Grant.

“We won’t know until we find out what Baldy was carryin’ from Silverton.”

“How long has he been driving this stage?” asked Santel.

“About seven or eight months, I think,” replied Brick.

“What did he do before he got this job?”

“I dunno, do you, Grant?”

“No. I never seen Baldy until he started drivin’ stage. Prob’ly the only job he ever had in Sun Dog.”

“Have any enemies?” queried Santel.

“Never heard of any,” said Brick. “Baldy was kind of an inoffensive jigger.”

“Not exactly,” Grant smiled slowly. “He knocked McGill down the day you rode the grizzly, Brick.”

“I heard about that,” smiled Brick. “Still a poke in the nose wouldn’t cause a man to do murder—not this long afterward, anyway.”

“Who is McGill?” asked Santel.

“A saloon-keeper in Silverton. Not exactly a worthy citizen, but tolerated. No, I don’t reckon that McGill shot Baldy.”

They left the doctor’s office and walked back to the street. Grant offered to buy a drink, but the other two men declined with thanks. Santel was very serious, and Brick thought very sad.

“Is Santel goin’ to stay with you, Grant?” asked Brick.

They had halted in front of Wesson’s store, and as Brick spoke Mrs. Wesson and Miss Miller came out of the store and walked past them. Brick and Grant spoke to the ladies. Miss Miller glanced keenly at Santel, but he did not pay them the slightest attention.

“Yeah, he is goin’ to stay at my ranch,” replied Grant, after the women were out of ear-shot. “I’ve hired him to punch cows.”

“Well, he looks capable,” grinned Brick.

Santel looked up quickly. He straightened his shoulders and shifted his heavy cartridge-belt slightly.

“Are they goin’ to hunt for the kid again today?” he asked.

Brick nodded.

“Y’betcha. I’ve got to grab a little sleep. We’ll probably pull out of here about noon. The boys were kinda fagged out, but they’ll be on deck.”

“I’ll go along,” volunteered Santel.

“Me, too,” said Grant quickly. “By grab, I hope we find that poor kid. He was a dinger of a little feller, Brick—him and his spurs.”

“He quit wearin’ spurs,” said Brick sadly. “He told me yesterday that stage-drivers didn’t wear spurs.”

“What was his name?” asked Santel.

“I dunno. Baldy called him ‘Whizzer.’”

Santel looked curiously at Brick, his eyes narrowed to slits, as if looking into a strong light. Then he turned away and looked across the street.

“Well, you go and grab an eye-full of sleep, Brick,” said Grant. “We’ll be ready to ride when you show up.”

Brick nodded and went back to the office. Harp and Silent were already stretched out on the two cots and were snoring a duet. Brick went into the back room and kicked off his boots. He was half-asleep before he stretched out on the bed, but his mind was running in wide circles.

“Who is Santel?” he asked himself. “Why did he act that-a-way when he looked at Baldy Malloy?”

Brick yawned widely and drew the blanket up around his neck.

“I dunno how much of a detective he is,” decided Brick, “but he’s a gun-man, if there ever was one. Mister Santel, me and you may not travel well together, but I ain’t goin’ to choose you in case I’m lookin’ for trouble. You’re a salty son-of-a-gun, even if yuh do decorate yore leather panties with dude buttons; and if you don’t mind I’d kinda like to be on yore side.”

* * * * *

The search for Whizzer Malloy was a failure. Several men came from Silverton and Barney Devine sent out a big crew from the Red Hill mine, but to no avail. Every inch of the big cañon and the mountains surrounding it had been explored, but there was not even a footprint to show where the little fellow had passed.

“She’s not leave de track,” declared Mose La Clede, who had joined the search. “Up de cañon ’bout mile be-ond where de stage go bus’, I’m find de track of beeg griz-i-lee. By gosh, she may be so dat de griz-i-lee find her firs’.”

“Aw ——!” snorted Silent. “Even if a grizzly caught the kid, we’d sure find some evidence of it, Mose.”

“I’m be not so —— sure. Griz-i-lee pick her up jus’ like you pick up ol’ hat. Dat —— bear she’s strong. She’s pick up de sheep—w’y not de leetle keed, eh?”

“Well,” growled Silent, “you don’t need to get such —— pleasant thoughts.”

It was hard for the men to give up the search, but there was nothing else to do; so they went back to town. Santel had been with the searchers, as had Grant, Leach and Hendricks. Brick had told Harp and Silent who Santel was, and both of them, while they did not admire Santel, admitted that he looked able to take care of himself.

Hank Stagg hired another stage-driver in the person of Sidney Howley, who had formerly been a “swamper” in the Short Horn saloon. In other words, Howley had been employed to clean up the place.

Howley was an angular-built young man, with a bony face, long nose and lack-luster eyes; sort of a colorless person, with only enough initiative to roll cigarets and use a mop. Stage driving was not exactly a lucrative occupation, and perhaps Hank might have been forgiven for adding Howley to his staff.

And, anyway, Hank was too busy electioneering to spend his valuable time in examining applicants for the position. From a word dropped here and there, Brick felt that Sam Leach was behind Hank’s campaign.

“Still there ain’t nothin’ funny about that,” decided Brick. “Me and Hank and Sam all belong to the same political party—and Sam don’t like me. Naturally he picks Hank.”

“Well,” remarked the philosophic Harp, “if yo’re beat, mebbe I’ll get a little rest. This here ——ed deputy job costs me a lot of sleep. And I’ve always got to be goin’ around, lookin’ like I knowed somethin’, when I don’t know a —— thing.”

“There’s a difference of sixty dollars a month between yore present job and punchin’ cows,” reminded Brick.

“Lot of difference in the sleep, too. By golly, I can go back to the old Nine-Bar-Nine and play m’ jew’s-harp unmolested, too.”

“Nobody stoppin’ yuh from moanin’ it around here, is there?”

“Yeah—moanin’! By golly, you ain’t got no appreciation for music, Brick. Moanin’ ——! Yuh got to sing through it. How in —— do yuh expect me to play it, if I don’t sing into it?”

“I don’t expect yuh to play it, Harp. Nobody hankers for yuh to play it. Hang the thing up and let the wind play it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or go over and serenade Mrs. Wesson. She speaks highly of yore ability. I’d be ashamed to let Sam Leach beat me out of a girl.”

“The —— you would? Well, he’s beatin’ yuh out of a job.”

“I reckon that’ll hold me for a while,” grinned Brick.

Harp had got to his feet and was starting for the door, when Silent Slade came stomping inside. He advanced to Brick’s desk and slapped a piece of fairly fresh cow-hide down on its polished top. It landed with a wet thud and the concussion knocked several papers to the floor.

“Get that dirty thing off my desk!” snapped Brick. “What do yuh think this is—a tannery?”

“Look at that!” snorted Silent, pointing at the offending object. “Look at that piece of hide, dog-gone yuh!”

“All right, I’m lookin’!” retorted Brick.

“Do yuh see it? Yuh do? See the Nine-Bar-Nine brand on that section of cow skin? See the edge has been burned? Yuh do? Huh!”

“Yeah, I see all them things,” grinned Brick. “Why didn’t yuh herd the cow in here? The sample looks all right.”

“Funny, ain’tcha?” Silent poked his finger at the piece of hide carefully as though expecting it to snap at him.

“Well, what’s the joke?” asked Harp. “You’ve made a lot of medicine over that piece of eppy-der-mis. What was the matter with the old critter—have dandruff?”

“——’s delight!” roared Silent. “That’s a Nine-Bar-Nine cow. Somebody killed it and burned the hide. But they missed on the important part of the thing. See where it was burnt?”

“Where did yuh find it, Silent?” queried Brick seriously.

Silent sat down and rolled a cigaret. He had excited their curiosity and now he was going to take his own sweet time in answering their question.

“Yuh hadn’t ought to have asked him that, Brick,” said Harp. “He prob’ly don’t remember.”

“Yeah?” Silent shaped his cigaret and scratched a match on the sole of his boot.

“I found that hide in Big Elk Canon.”

“Yo’re the one that’s tellin’ the story,” reminded Brick.

“I got to thinkin’ about that poor little kid,” stated Silent thoughtfully. “I knowed it wasn’t no use lookin’ for him after all this time, but I went anyway. I rode in close to the mouth of the cañon and took plenty of time. About a mile or so up the bottom I cut into one of them side gulches, kinda lookin’ around.

“I seen horse-tracks and cow-tracks, and I got to figurin’ that was why the grizzly was hangin’ around the cañon. Pretty soon I runs onto the remains of an old fire. It’s several days old, and right there I discovers a piece of cow-hide.

“It looks like it’s been burned, don’tcha know. I turns it over with my foot, and that old Nine-Bar-Nine brand looks up at me. The ground is kinda hard, and I can’t find no tracks, but I sure finds where an animal has been butchered.”

“Somebody needed meat, eh?” mused Brick.

“That’s all right,” nodded Silent. “There ain’t nobody goin’ to begrudge a hungry person a hunk of beef; but whoever killed that animal didn’t set down there and eat it. They burned the hide, and took the rest of the animal away with them.”

“Well,” grinned Brick, “it was probably somebody that needed meat pretty bad. The loss of a cow won’t break Lafe Freeman.”

Silent shook his head slowly and blew rings at the ceiling.

“Nope,” he said slowly. “Losin’ one cow won’t hurt him none, Brick. I don’t reckon there’s a man in Sun Dog that would yelp less over the loss of one cow. After I found that piece of hide I rode on up the cañon.

“There’s half-a-dozen of them side gulches that come in from the west, and in most every one of them there’s places where hides have been burnt. I tell yuh, Brick, somebody is grabbin’ off a lot of slow-elk meat. I dunno whether it’s all Nine-Bar-Nine stock or not—but one of ’em was, that’s a cinch.”

Brick frowned at his boot toes and shifted restlessly.

“Meat burglars, eh?” he said slowly. “My gosh, what a place to butcher! If yuh herd a cow into Big Elk Cañon she’s yore meat.”

“Cinch,” agreed Harp. “A cow ain’t goin’ to climb out. She’d head into one of them side gulches and they ain’t much more than blind cañons. I’ve been in there, but quite a while ago.”

“I’m glad yo’re interested,” said Silent dryly. “When a sheriff takes up ridin’ grizzlies and his deputy spends his nights serenadin’ married wimmin, it’s sure hard to interest ’em in such common things as rustlin’ cows.”

“If yuh don’t like our stock of goods, yuh might go and see what Mister Santel has to offer,” replied Harp.

“That hard-faced pelican!” snorted Silent. “I met him out there between here and the Star-Dot. He jist nodded and rode on.”

“What did yuh expect him to do—kiss yuh?”

Silent made a dive for Harp and they went rolling across the floor in a grunting tangle, colliding with one of the cots, each one striving with muscle and voice to stay on top of the other. Silent finally managed to secure the advantage and proceeded to straddle Harp and bounce his head on the floor.

“Get smart with me, will yuh?” panted Silent.

“Leggo my ears!” yelped Harp. “Leggo, I tell yuh!”

“Get up, you two-year-olds!” snorted Brick. “What do yuh think this place is—a saloon?”

“Mind papa,” chuckled Harp.

His indifference to the situation caught Silent off his guard and he managed, with a sudden twist of his body to dump Silent sidewise into the cot, and they both stumbled to their feet.

Harp made a feint to grab a chair and Silent ducked for the doorway; but Harp turned from the chair, grasped the piece of cow-hide off Brick’s desk, and hurled it at Silent.

The piece of heavy, wet hide sailed like a blue-rock shot from a trap, missed Silent by two feet and stopped with a dismal _splat_, after it had passed through the doorway.

Silent ducked back inside, his mouth wide with astonishment, while from without came a vitriolic curse, and Sam Leach stepped just inside the door, wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat.

“Who in —— hit me?” he demanded.

“Hit yuh?” queried Harp, choking back his laughter.

“Some —— thing,” Leach looked back, spitting angrily.

“Oh, it must ’a’ been that piece of hide,” said Harp slowly. “I throwed it outside. It—it was kinda spoiled, Leach.”

“Um-m-m!”

Leach felt of his face and sniffed disgustedly. Then he whirled on his heel and went away, while the three men proceeded to relieve their feelings with tears.

“Hit him right in the mouth!” choked Silent. “_Ker-splat!_”

“I wonder what he was coming here for?” panted Brick.

“He wasn’t,” Silent shook his head. “He was just goin’ past. When I came to the door he kinda slowed up and looked at me—and that’s when the old hunk of hide hit him dead center. Didn’t yuh hear it _splat_?”

“Hear it?” chortled Harp. “Never heard sweeter music in my whole life. The only thing I’m sorry about is that I didn’t hit him with the whole cow.”

“And it didn’t smell none too sweet,” chuckled Silent. “He sure acted plumb distressed over it, and he’ll likely be gunnin’ for our little playmate, eh, Brick?”

“Tha’sall right,” Harp grinned widely. “That jasper can’t start trouble none too soon to suit me, by golly.”

“They’re rivals,” Brick whispered to Silent. “Leach thinks that Harp is tryin’ to beat him out of his girl. Harp don’t want her a-tall.”

“Certainly not!” thus Silent indignantly. “Harp ain’t got no use for a girl. Why, he can’t even support himself.”

“The —— I can’t!”

Harp started for Silent, who ducked out of the door, heading for the Dollar Down with Harp close behind him. Brick grinned and sat down in the doorway.

Brick knew that Sam Leach had gone to the Dollar Down, and that Harp and Silent had gone over there to have a drink and to sympathize with Sam Leach. Their sympathy would be with a reverse English, as usual. A couple of little kids were coming from school and behind them came Miss Miller, carrying an armload of books.

“When yuh teach the young idea how to shoot, you’ve sure got to pack a lot of ammunition, ain’t yuh?” smiled Brick, as she came up to him.

“Yes indeed,” replied the teacher, a trifle wearily.

“Let me pack them books,” offered Brick, taking them from her. “I’ll walk down and see Mrs. Wesson.”

“But I can carry them,” she protested.

“Sure yuh can—but not just now,” grinned Brick.

They walked slowly up the street and were opposite the Dollar Down, when Harp and Silent came outside. The two cowpunchers stopped at the edge of the sidewalk and stared at Brick and the teacher. Brick grinned covertly. He could tell by their attitude that Harp and Silent were making uncomplimentary remarks about him.

A horseman was riding into town, heading for the rack at the Dollar Down. It was Santel. Miss Miller looked toward him and turned to Brick.

“Mr. Davidson, do you know that man?” she asked.

“Yes’m. His name is Santel.”

“What is he doing here?”

“Well, I reckon he’s workin’ for the Star-Dot outfit, ma’am.”

“For Mr. Grant?”

“Yes’m.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“No, ma’am—not a thing. Did you ever see him before?”

“Yes. It was about a year ago, I think—in Idaho. This man was mixed up in some cattle and sheep trouble. It seems that he was hired as gun-man by the sheep interests. Anyway, a couple of cowboys were murdered, and every one seemed to think that this man was the guilty party. But he left the country ahead of the sheriff.”

“Tha’sso?” Brick was interested. “Are yuh sure this is the same man?”

“As sure as I can be. I have never met him, and he probably does not remember ever seeing me.”

“Well, that kinda makes him worth watchin’,” grinned Brick, as they went up to Wesson’s porch. “You just kinda keep still about this will yuh, ma’am? It won’t help none to scatter that kind of information; but I’m sure much obliged to yuh for tellin’ me about it.”

“You are certainly welcome, I am sure.”

Mrs. Wesson opened the door. She had seen them from the window, but simulated great surprize.

“Heavenly dove!” she exclaimed. “Brick Davidson!”

“’Lo, Mrs. Wesson.”

Mrs. Wesson squinted at Miss Miller, shaking her head slowly.

“My, my! You girls sure do swing a wide loop. A new one every day. It wasn’t that way in my time. Well, I reckon you can take a look at Cale Wesson and see that I didn’t have much choice.”

“I heard Cale say about the same thing one day,” offered Brick innocently.

“Yuh did? Did that lantern-jawed—say, he picked me out of a whole herd. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Come on in, Brickie.”

“Can’t do it, Mrs. Wesson. I’ve got to go back now and square myself with Harp.”

Miss Miller thanked Brick and went into the house.

“No sign of the little Malloy boy?” asked Mrs. Wesson softly.

Brick shook his head.

“No, I guess the kid is a goner, Mrs. Wesson. I don’t _sabe_ it at all. He was a dinger of a little feller. Kinda up and comin’ all the time.”

They considered the mystery silently for a while. Then:

“Well, I’ll be goin’,” said Brick. “There’s a lot of work to bein’ a sheriff.”

“Like packin’ schoolbooks and all that.”

“Uh-huh,” grinned Brick. “So-long, Mrs. Wesson.”

“G’-by, Brick.”

Brick went to the Dollar Down, but did not find Harp and Silent. A poker game was in progress and Leach was in the game. Santel was one of the spectators. He nodded to Brick pleasantly, but not so Leach. He scowled at Brick and devoted the rest of his attention to his cards.

Brick went back to his office and found Silent and Harp, lying on the cots, reading some year-old magazines. Neither of them paid any attention to Brick, who rolled a cigaret and sat down on top of his desk.

“Miss Miller is a danged nice girl,” offered Brick.

“Yeah?” Thus Harp sarcastically.

“Yeah. I don’t care much for a girl that talks all the time about another feller.”

“Who’d she talk about?” demanded Harp quickly.

“If you don’t know, I’m not goin’ to tell yuh.”

“Leach?”

“Nope; never mentioned his name.”

“Huh!” Harp arose and yawned widely. “Is Mrs. Wesson at home?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think yo’re a liar, Brick.”

“Well, why don’tcha go and find out for yourself, Harp?”

Harp grinned and sauntered into the back room, from whence came the sounds of razor stropping and splashing water. Silent groaned aloud.

“You touch my red tie and I’ll massacree yuh,” warned Brick.

“Where do yuh think I’m goin’—to a bull-fight?” spluttered Harp. “I’ve got a green one.”

“You must have,” observed Silent meaningly. “She must have astigmatism, too.”

Silent sneaked softly out and Brick went out behind him, while Harp swore softly and searched for something to throw at them.

* * * * *

The following day Brick rode through Big Elk Cañon alone. He found plenty of evidence that cattle had been butchered, but was unable to find anything that would show who owned the animals nor who had done the killing.

It was well past noon when he arrived at the Red Hill mine and found Sam Leach and Hank Stagg in Barney Devine’s office. They were all smoking cigars, and a half-empty whisky bottle was on the table. Brick knew that Hank Stagg was electioneering.

The men were all civil enough, but Brick knew that Leach and Stagg were not at all pleased at his appearance.

“How’s the sheriff?” queried Hank Stagg thickly. Hank had imbibed much of his own liquor.

“He’s just about right,” grinned Brick.

“It’s a good thing that he thinks well of himself,” observed Sam Leach sarcastically.

“’Cause nobody else does, eh?” grinned Brick.

“You said it yourself,” reminded Leach, helping himself to a drink.

Brick laughed and stretched his legs.

“There’s no use of quarrelin’, Leach. You don’t like me, and I sure hate —— out of you; so let’s let it go as it lays.”

“What’d I ever do to you?” demanded Leach.

“Some folks don’t have to do anythin’ to me,” said Brick coldly. “I’m not that particular.”

“Aw, let’s be friends,” suggested Hank Stagg. “Have a drink, Brick. There ain’t none of us perfect. Sam has had too many shots out of the old bottle today, and it’s kinda soured on him.”

But Brick grinned and declined the drink. Sam got to his feet and picked up his hat.

“You don’t mind if we go and talk to some of the men, do yuh, Devine?” he asked.

“Go to it,” smiled Barney. He had imbibed enough to make him feel kindly toward every one.