Part 7

“Well, I’ll be ——ed, if this country ain’t gettin’ awful salty, Brick. But what can we do? When they start shootin’ buckshot from ambush in the dark, what’s the use of us, I’d like to know? By cripes, I’d sure like to swap lead with the jigger that shot Soapy.”

“I hope we will, Harp. In fact, I’m kinda sure we will.”

“When?” Harp jumped out of his chair and grabbed Brick by the shoulders. “When do we start, Brick?”

“As soon as we find out who shot him.”

“Aw-w-w, ——!” Harp exploded his disgust and walked to the doorway. “I thought you had some idea who done it.”

“It was somebody who wanted to kill Soapy Caswell—and they wanted it bad enough to bushwhack him with a shotgun. Now, if we can find out who wanted him dead——”

“That ought to be easy, Brick. We’ll start askin’ questions as soon as it gets daylight, eh?”

But the sarcasm of Harp’s question was lost upon Brick, who sat staring intently at the floor, trying to convince himself that certain things might be true. Bill Grant came to the office and sat down with them.

“Doc’s pickin’ out shot,” he told them hopefully. “Soapy don’t know what it’s all about, but he’s doin’ a lot of cussin’ over it. Soapy’s a tough old customer and he’s got a fightin’ chance, boys.”

“We’re pullin’ for him, Bill,” said Harp. “Brick is pullin’ for him—or for somethin’. When Brick gets to thinkin’ that-a-way, somethin’ is due to rattle real hard.”

Brick looked up, his brow furrowed deeply.

“Got an idea, Brick?” queried Grant.

Brick sighed and reached for his cigaret makings.

“It’s far-fetched, Bill. Mebbe it’s too ——ed far-fetched, but I’m goin’ to work on it.”

They sat and talked until daylight, when they went over to the Dollar Down and searched for evidence. Some distance away from the saloon they found the empty shotgun cartridge. It was a 12 gage, brass shell. Brick examined it closely and dropped it into his pocket.

“No clue in that,” he told them. “Every shotgun in the country is 12 gage, and mostly every one reloads their own shells.”

They went down to the doctor’s office and found that Soapy was doing as well as possible. Grant got his horse and rode back to his ranch, while Harp and Brick went back to the office to get some sleep.

“You goin’ to that Silverton dance Friday night?” asked Brick, as they pulled off their boots.

“I dunno,” Harp shook his head sadly. “I was goin’ to ask Miss Miller, but I kinda lost my nerve. I found out about that dance after you went away yesterday; so I went right down to Wesson’s. Mrs. Wesson told me that Leach had been there early that mornin’ to ask Miss Miller to go with him.

“I thought that ended it. Later on I met Mrs. Wesson and she said—” Harp snapped off a boot and flung it across the floor—“Mrs. Wesson’s the dangdest josher I ever seen, Brick. She said that she only told me that Leach had asked Miss Miller; but she didn’t say that Miss Miller refused him.”

But the point of the joke was lost on Brick, who was looking straight at Harp, a queer expression in his blue eyes.

“Leach asked her, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Before you knew about the dance, Harp?”

“Yeah. It must ’a’ been before Miss Miller went to school.”

“Uh-huh.”

Brick rolled a cigaret thoughtfully, but did not light it. Then he removed his clothes, placed the cigaret on a chair beside the cot and got into bed.

“Well,” Harp yawned and rolled into his blankets, “you’ve lost yore sense of humor, Brick—or didn’t yuh hear what I told yuh?”

“I heard it all right, Harp, and I thank yuh.”

“Yuh thank——”

Harp raised up and squinted at Brick, but there was nothing to see, except the mop of tousled red hair against the pillow. Harp snuggled back down into his blankets and grinned to himself. He knew that Brick’s mind was pretty busy, when he failed to see a joke.

* * * * *

It was nearly noon when someone hammered on the office door and awoke Brick, who wrapped a blanket around himself and went to the door. It was Barney Devine. He stepped inside and Brick closed the door behind him.

“Kinda forgot to wake up,” smiled Brick, shoving out a chair for Barney. “Set down while I put on some clothes.”

Harp awoke and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Hello, Barney,” he said hoarsely. “How yuh comin’?”

“With a little news,” said Barney seriously. “I heard about Soapy Caswell a few minutes ago, and I’m bringing more grief. Last night, or rather about two o’clock this morning, somebody dynamited my safe.”

“Dynamited your safe?” Brick had his shirt half-way on, and his head popped out the collar like a jack-in-the-box.

“Completely,” nodded Barney. “In fact they ruined it.”

“I’ll be ——ed!” exploded Harp.

“What did they get?” asked Brick.

Barney spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

“About ten dollars. They ruined some books and a quart of good whisky—and a good safe. They also ruined one of the walls of the office.”

“They must ’a’ thought there was money in that safe, didn’t they?” queried Harp.

Barney looked questioningly at Brick, who grinned.

“I told Harp about the hold-up, Barney.”

“Well, what’s the answer?” asked Barney. “It looks to me like two gangs working, Brick. One of them evidently thought that the payroll got there O. K. Don’t it look like it to you?”

Brick picked up the cigaret he had rolled before going to bed, moistened it with his tongue and scratched a match on the floor.

“Yeah, it looks somethin’ like that, Barney.”

“What about your payroll?” asked Harp.

“I’ll have to take it from here, I suppose. Soapy told them that the payroll money would go from here today. It’s a lucky thing he spoke to them about it, because I’ve got to have that money at the mine before quitting-time today.”

“We’ll go with yuh, Barney,” stated Brick softly, and added, “And I hope somebody tries to hold yuh up. Get yore clothes on, Harp. We’ll devour some ham and eggs right away, Barney; and then we’ll see that yuh get safely to the mine, if we have to shoot every crook in Sun Dog County.”

“They won’t try any monkey business with us,” declared Harp.

“Tha’sso?” Brick grinned and buckled on his belt. “Yuh must remember that my presence didn’t help much yesterday.”

As a measure of precaution and convenience they split the money into three parts, and rode away. Harp and Brick carried Winchesters handy, and after they reached the Big Elk grades they rode in single file, about fifty feet apart.

And there was no wild riding this time. They took plenty of time, and if there were any hold-up men on the Big Elk grades they changed their mind about trying to hold up the second payroll of the Red Hill mine.

Barney was profuse in his thanks and asked them to stay a while, but Brick shook his head. Barney had enough trusted men to look after the money until pay-time, and Brick was anxious for action. They rode back along the grades to where Soapy and Brick had been held up.

Beyond the curve, where Brick had been thrown off the grade, they dismounted and led their horses along the upper side of the grade, trying to find where the robber had left the road. About a hundred yards beyond the curve, where the road curved sharply around the head of a ravine, they discovered an old trail, which angled up through the brush. They mounted and followed the old trail to the top of the divide, where it disappeared. There was nothing to show that the bandit had taken that trail, except that it was the nearest available place where he could have left the grade and traveled under cover.

It was not far from where Santel’s horse had been killed; so they rode down there and found that Santel had taken his saddle away. Brick had told Harp about his suspicions of Mostano, and they decided to ride over and take a look at Mostano’s place.

But instead of approaching it from the bluff, Brick led the way around to the east, where they came out on the side of a hill about half a mile from the ranch-house. From their elevation they were able to command a good view of the place. There were two horses in the corral, and the half-breed woman was out in the yard.

“Too danged bad we haven’t a pair of glasses,” mused Brick. “I’d like to get a good look at that place.”

“Let’s go down there,” suggested Harp.

They had dismounted, and as they climbed into their saddles and started angling down the hill, they heard the report of a rifle. The shot had been fired from considerable distance away. They drew up and studied the house. The woman was hurrying into the house, as though the rifle shot had been a signal for her to get under cover.

Brick laughed and began rolling a cigaret.

“No use goin’ down there now, Harp,” he said. “We’ve been spotted. Mostano is no fool. My visit to his place warned him that we might be dangerous; so he’s watchin’ for us. I’m bettin’ that he sees everybody that comes over Big Elk grade. Next time we won’t play the game to suit him, and he’s goin’ to be a sorry half-breed. Let’s go home.”

“Do you think he had anythin’ to do with the shootin’ of Soapy?” asked Harp.

“Prob’ly not. Mostano is a meat thief, Harp.”

“Well, what has meat thieves got to do with all this dirty work?” demanded Harp.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Brick yawned and swung his horse around. “I’ve just got a fool idea, tha’sall. C’mon.”

* * * * *

“And I’m here to state that Brick Davidson is jist about all through bein’ sheriff of this county.”

Ike Welden, driver of the Redrock stage, hooked his prominent shoulder-blades over the top of the Dollar Down bar and spat viciously. Ike was a sallow-complexioned young man, with wry-neck, tobacco-stained chin and very bony wrists.

Ike had little imagination, which made him dangerous. Danger had little terrors for him, because his mind was of the single-track variety, and his future did not extend beyond the next meal time. Just now he was rather drunk and inclined to be quarrelsome. His thin waist-line sagged sidewise under the drag of the heavy, holstered gun on his thigh, as though weakening under the strain.

There was a motley crew in the Dollar Down, but only one of them, Silent Slade, paid any attention to Ike’s remark. Silent was standing beside a poker table, watching the play, but now he considered Ike Welden closely.

Several of the men were from Silverton, who had come to Marlin City upon receipt of news regarding Soapy Caswell. Leach was in the poker game, as was Al Hendricks. Santel was tilted back in a bar-room chair, seemingly paying little attention to anyone. Banty Harrison and Slim Hunter were engrossed in a game of pool, while several others stood around the table and offered advice.

“And I know ——ed well what I’m talkin’ about,” declared Welden loudly.

Hank Stagg came into the room, nodded to everyone who paid him any heed, and went to the bar.

“Ain’t I right, Hank?” queried Ike.

“I dunno what yo’re talkin’ about, but I’ll bet yuh are,” laughed Hank. “Have a drink?”

“I can’t refuse,” grinned Ike widely. “I’m a he-buzzard and I’m soarin’ strong. I jist said that Brick Davidson is all through in this county, Hank. Nobody had guts enough to say that I was wrong. No, I don’t want no water with mine. I’m a he-buzzard. Here’s how.”

A moment later Ike squealed like a rabbit. As he lifted his glass of liquor, a strong hand grasped his collar, while another gathered up the slack of his pants. He twisted his head enough to see that Silent Slade was behind him, and then he was lifted bodily, carried to the door and cast out into the street.

Ike landed on his hands and knees on the hard ground, busting the knees out of his overalls and bruising his hands on the gravelly earth. His gun went spinning out of its holster and skidded into the dust.

It was an ignominious thing to happen to a man such as Ike thought he was. He got slowly to his feet, cursing wickedly, and looked at Silent, who stood in the doorway. He turned from Silent, dusted off his sore knees with his sore hands and went to his gun. As he stooped over to pick it up, the dust fairly exploded under his hand, while from behind him came the crashing report of Silent’s six-shooter. Ike yanked away and almost fell down.

“Yo’re kinda ignorant, ain’t yuh?” queried Silent coldly. “Better leave that gun alone until yuh sober up.”

Ike squinted at Silent for a moment, straightened up and went across the street. He stopped in front of Wesson’s store and looked back, before he headed down the street. Silent went back into the saloon, where the poker game was resuming play. Banty Harrison and Slim Hunter had crowded in behind Silent, carrying their billiard cues, and now they whooped loudly and dragged Silent to the bar.

“That’s bouncin’ ’em!” applauded Banty. “I’ll betcha he won’t do much crawlin’ for a while. I just knowed that Ike was goin’ to talk himself out of here.”

Banty lowered his voice and glanced at Hank Stagg, who had moved over by the poker table.

“Look out for Ike, Silent. He’s a dirty little pup, and he’s a streak with his gun.”

“Kill him first, that’s my motto,” grinned Slim.

“That’s right,” nodded Banty. “Every man that Slim has killed has been killed in just that way.”

They finished their drinks and went back to their game. Silent remained at the bar, where he could watch both front and rear. He noticed that Santel had paid no attention to the trouble, not even getting out of the chair to see what was going on outside.

“A salty gent,” decided Silent, “and worth watchin’!”

Silent had hoped to find Brick and Harp in town, but had been informed that they had ridden away with Barney Devine. Soapy Caswell was still unconscious, but the doctor was optimistic.

Slim and Banty finished their game and Silent joined them.

“Yore fussy friend decided to sleep off his jag, I reckon,” opined Slim.

“Mebbe.” Silent wasn’t so sure. “How does it come that Ike ain’t drivin’ stage today?”

“He quit the job,” laughed Slim. “It was prob’bly too much for his brain. The strain must ’a’ been awful.”

They walked outside and stood on the porch. Ike’s gun was not in the street and they all noticed this.

“Sneaked back and got it,” said Silent seriously. “It’ll take him quite a while to clean the dust out of it, I’ll bet.”

Brick and Harp were riding into town and the three men crossed to the office to meet them.

“Hyah, pleecemen,” greeted Silent. “What do yuh know that’s worth the wear and tear on our ear-drums?”

“Not much,” grinned Brick, turning his horse over to Harp, who took them away to the little stable at the rear of the office.

“Silent just throwed Ike Welden out of the saloon,” laughed Slim. “Took him by the collar and the seat of his pants and throwed him plumb into the middle of the street.”

“What for?” queried Brick.

“Too much talk about you.”

“Yeah,” Brick grinned affectionately at Silent. “What’s the latest from Soapy?”

“Last report said he was still alive,” rumbled Silent.

Bill Grant and Al Hendricks came out of the Dollar Down and went toward the doctor’s office. In a few moments Santel came out and went to the hitch-rack, where he mounted a gray horse and rode toward the Star-Dot. Banty and Slim started arguing over their respective pool abilities, and adjourned to the Dollar Down to settle the championship of the world, as far as they were concerned.

Silent, Brick and Harp went into the office and sat down.

“I ain’t gettin’ a square deal,” declared Silent seriously. “There’s a lot of dirt blowin’ around and I ain’t in on it, Brick. Somehow, I’ve kinda got a feelin’ that somebody is goin’ to burn powder, and that I ain’t goin’ to smell none of it.”

“Just be danged thankful yuh ain’t, Silent.”

“How in —— do yuh figger it? I’m a strong, good-lookin’ young feller, and it ain’t noways fair. I just had a taste of action a while ago, and I kinda hankers for somebody to shoot at me.”

“Yo’re crazy all right,” declared Harp. “Any old time that I wish somebody to shoot at me, he don’t. I ain’t been shot at for quite a while, but with all these things happenin’ around here, I’m gettin’ so’s I duck every time anybody sneezes.

“Sun Dog is gettin’ so she ain’t no place for to live into. Every day there’s a hold-up or a murder. When I think of these ——ed fools fightin’ for the sheriff’s office, I have to laugh. They sure must seek suicide, by golly.”

“All right,” grinned Silent. “You resign, Harp. I’m willin’ to take yore job, if yo’re gettin’ scared. No use frazzlin’ out all yore nerves, cowboy.”

“Yeah?” Harp stretched out on a cot and crossed his knees. “Any old time, Silent. It ain’t because I hanker for the job, but I’d hate to leave Brick in the lurch. Right now he needs a man with brains—so I stay with him; _sabe_?”

* * * * *

At supper-time there was no change in Soapy Caswell’s condition. His wife and daughter had come from Silverton and were with him at the doctor’s home. Ike Welden had come back to the Dollar Down, but now he minded his own business and drank alone.

It was nearly dark when Brick called Harp aside.

“Sneak the horses out, Harp,” he said, “and tie ’em back of the stable. Don’t let anybody see yuh, if yuh can help it. Mebbe yuh better wait ’till it’s a little darker.”

“Y’betcha,” grinned Harp.

He had visions of a ride and of possible trouble. Silent had taken a seat at the poker-table and would stay there as long as the game, or his money, lasted.

A little later Harp joined Brick at the saloon, where they stayed until about nine o’clock.

“Want to set in on the game, Brick?” asked Grant.

Brick yawned and shook his head.

“No-o-o, not tonight, Bill. I’m goin’ to fold up a little of the sleep stuff.”

“Same here,” grinned Grant. “I’m gettin’ old, I guess. Just a few more hands and I’ll be ridin’ toward the blanket.”

Brick got up and started for the door, with Harp behind him. They went to the office, drew the curtains, lighted the lamp and sat down.

“What’s the idea?” queried Harp.

Brick did not reply, so Harp did not repeat the question. For probably fifteen minutes they sat there before Brick blew out the light. Then they went to the rear of the place, crawled out through a window, closing it carefully behind them, and went out to their horses.

They led the horses quite a distance from the stable before mounting, and then Brick led the way straight back toward the Big Elk grades. There was no moon to light their journey, but Brick set the pace at a steady gallop until they reached the upgrade of Big Elk cañon. Harp asked no questions. He knew that Brick would explain things to him when he got good and ready, and not before.

They turned off the grade at the little trail and wormed their way up through the brush to the top of the divide. There the rising moon silvered the timbered hills and lighted their path, making it much easier for Brick to lead the way to where he and Harp had been when the warning shot had been fired.

Here they stopped and rested the horses. There was a dull glow, as from a fire, at Mostano’s place, but it was impossible for them to tell whether it was within the house or outside. Then they saw someone go from the house to the fire, carrying a lighted lantern.

“We’ll take a li’l trip over and look at ’em,” decided Brick. “But we’ve got to be danged careful, Harp.”

They rode down the hill, circled the ranch, and came in on the opposite side from the fire. At a tumble-down corral they left their horses and went on afoot. There was no light in the house, so they sneaked up to the side and circled toward the rear.

At the corner they were able to get a look at the fire, which seemed to be burning inside the corral. There was an odor of burning hair, mixed with wood-smoke, and Brick chuckled to himself, as he instructed Harp:

“They’re butcherin’ inside the corral and burnin’ the hides. We’ve got ’em dead, Harp; but look out. Keep down low.”

Brick led the way toward the corral, both of them almost crawling the last fifty feet. They gained the side of the corral unseen, and it was then that Brick realized that he had miscalculated on the gate. It would be suicide to try to climb the fence, and possibly disastrous to try to arrest them from that distance. And it would be almost impossible to go as far as the gate without being detected.

The fire was burning briskly, but the green hides were cutting off the blaze to such an extent that it was impossible for them to see how many men were there and just what they were doing. The lighted lantern was sitting on the ground, but it did little to light up the scene.

“Got to take a chance on ’em, Harp,” breathed Brick. “If they look this way they’ll see us. C’mon.”

Slowly, cautiously, they raised up, gun in hand, and started to climb the fence. Someone picked up the lantern swung it around and the yellow light picked them up instantly.

Came a quick word of warning, a guttural grunt, and the lantern was dashed out. Then a tongue of yellow light flashed at them, and Brick felt the bullet brush his cheek. He and Harp were only half-way up the side of the fence, and in a bad position to shoot.

Brick climbed swiftly to the top, while Harp dropped to the ground and raced for the gate. Two more shots licked out into the night toward Brick, who was shooting at the flashes, while Harp was pounding along, trying to block the one exit.

He gained the gate, shooting swiftly at a shadowy figure, when he felt a thudding blow against his shoulder and the gun fell from his fingers. Someone darted past him and faded into the night. Brick came running across the corral, calling to Harp, who was leaning against the fence, searching dizzily for the thing that was searing his shoulder.

Brick almost ran into him.

“Where’d they go, Harp?” he panted.

“I dunno,” muttered Harp. “Come and help me, will yuh, Brick? I’ve got hit with somethin’.”

“You got hit, Harp? For —— sake! Wait a minute.”

Brick lighted a match and held it between them. Then he whistled softly.

“Hang onto yourself, Harp,” he cautioned. “They knifed yuh. Grit yore teeth, cowboy.”

They both grunted softly and Brick laughed shortly.