Part 9

Marlin City was a sorry-looking place in the gray dawn. One whole side of the main street was a smoldering mass of ruins, while the buildings on the opposite side were badly scorched and warped from the extreme heat. The street was like an ash-heap, and strewn with everything that was possible to salvage from the doomed buildings.

Silent Slade, his face covered with strips of plaster, poked moodily among the blackened ruins of the sheriff’s office, hoping against hope that he would not find anything resembling a human remain. A number of men wandered about the street, talking about the fire, and Slade noticed that some of them were from Silverton.

Ike Welden sat on the sidewalk in front of the Dollar Down, and Silent scowled at him. He blamed Ike for the loss of his horse and wondered how he could prove it sufficiently to take Ike and tie him into a bow-knot. A rider was coming up the street, and Silent recognized him as Meecham, the cashier of the Silverton bank. He dismounted and looked at the results of the fire.

“Pretty bad blaze,” he said to Silent.

“Yeah, pretty bad,” admitted Silent.

“How did it start?”

“With a —— of a crash.”

Meecham looked curiously at him, but Silent did not feel in any mood to talk about it.

“Did you hear how Mr. Caswell is this morning?”

Silent shook his head. He was not interested in Soapy. Meecham glanced up the street, where Leach, Bill Grant and Slim Hunter were coming toward them. There was a bullet-hole in the cantle of Meecham’s saddle, which was plainly visible, and Silent wondered how it came there.

The three men spoke to Meecham and from them he gathered the information that Soapy was conscious again and stood a good chance of complete recovery. Then Meecham mounted and rode up the street toward the doctor’s home.

“Find anythin’, Silent?” queried Grant.

“Not a thing, Bill. They wasn’t in that fire, that’s a cinch. That fire wasn’t hot enough to——”

Silent paused to stare at two saddled horses, which were straggling into view, coming toward the ruins of Brick’s old stable.

“By ——, there’s their horses!” exploded Silent.

He ran across the smoldering mass and managed to catch Brick’s sorrel. The other men joined him, and Slim Hunter captured Harp’s roan filly.

Neither horse had been injured in any way, and the reins had been tied to the saddlehorns. From under the right-hand fender of each saddle extended a gun-scabbard, and in each one was a rifle—fully loaded.

Silent scratched his head wonderingly.

“By grab, there’s dirty work here!” he declared. “These horses were turned loose. Both of them broncs are rein-broke, and they never wandered away, y’betcha.”

Leach laughed scornfully and shook his head.

“Does it sound funny to you?” growled Silent.

“For the sheriff to lose his horse—yes.”

“Yeah?”

Silent squared around and studied Leach, who drew slightly away from the menace of the big man’s expression.

“Somebody stole my horse last night,” said Silent, after a moment. “Now yuh might try laughin’ at that information, Leach.”

“But you are not the sheriff, Slade.”

“No, but I’m jist such a ——ed good friend of his that it’s all in the fambly. I hope yuh laugh, you darned pole-cat.”

Leach drew back and his face went dark with anger, but Grant stepped between them.

“There’s enough trouble around here without you two takin’ shots at each other,” he said quickly. “Forget it, both of yuh.”

“I’m gettin’ tired of it,” declared Leach. “I can’t talk to the sheriff, deputy nor anybody connected with the ——ed office without gettin’ insulted.”

“Nobody asked yuh to talk to ’em,” retorted Silent hotly. “They’ll get along without yuh.”

“Well, there’s one satisfaction,” said Leach. “We’ll soon be rid of the present incumbents.”

“What’s incumbents?” queried Silent.

Leach growled something about ignorant people and walked across the street toward the saloon. Silent watched him moodily before turning to Grant and Slim Hunter.

“When did Ike Welden come back to Marlin City?”

“He rode up with me,” said Slim. “We just got here a while ago. I found him in the Short Horn saloon, half-drunk, and talkin’ about the big fire in Marlin City. They could see it from there. I told him I was comin’ up here to see what it was all about; so he came along.”

“They could see it from Silverton, couldn’t they?” asked Silent.

“Yeah, you bet they could,” replied Slim.

“How come yuh didn’t get here sooner?”

Slim grinned widely and dug his toe into the ashes.

“I was out settin’ up with m’ best girl, and I never knowed there was a fire until I came into town.”

Bill Grant laughed and looked toward the street. A rider was coming toward them and they all recognized him as Brick Davidson. He was riding a mule bareback. Silent whooped like an Indian and fairly dragged Brick off the long-eared beast, while the others crowded around and shot questions at him so fast that he could answer none of them.

“For gosh sake hold on!” he begged. “Yeah, Harp’s all right. He stopped at the doctor’s place to get his arm dressed. He got stuck with a knife. Now, what in —— happened to Marlin City?”

And between the three of them they managed to give Brick a fairly good idea of what had taken place the night before—or rather, that morning. Brick said nothing during the telling.

“And I’ve been huntin’ for yore danged carcasses ever since,” declared Silent.

“Uh-huh!” Brick squinted at the ruins and back at their two horses. “When did our broncs show up?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” replied Grant.

Brick looked over his sorrel carefully, and then removed his rifle from the scabbard. It was loaded, and with a cartridge in the chamber. He grinned at the three men, cocked the gun, pointed it at the sky and pulled the trigger.

Only the dull click of the hammer came to their ears. Brick shoved the gun back into the scabbard and went over to the mule.

“I’ve got to put this animile in the stable,” he told them. “He ain’t much of a vehicle, but he was all I could get.”

He started away with the animal and Silent turned triumphantly to Grant and Hunter.

“Somethin’ is due to drop pretty danged hard, gents. He knowed them guns had been monkeyed with, didn’t he? Grins all over his face, too. Don’t want to talk, does he? That’s Brick Davidson. He’s got somethin’ on his mind, I tell yuh.”

“I hope so,” sighed Grant.

“I’ve got to see Harp,” declared Silent. “Stuck with a knife, eh? By golly, they sure do use every old kind of a weapon. Next thing we know somebody will get bit.”

Silent strode away, shaking his head, while Grant and Hunter crossed the street to the saloon.

“Do yuh think Brick has got any ideas?” queried Slim.

“I’ll betcha,” nodded Grant. “And what’s more, I’m glad that I can stand investigation.”

“Holy cats, me, too!” snorted Slim.

Brick turned the mule over to Jimmy Meeker and went back up the street, where he spent a little time looking at what was left of that side of the street. Miss Miller came down the street, but did not see Brick until face to face with him. She was carrying some school-books. He tipped his hat and grinned, and only real quickness on his part saved her books from falling into the ashes.

She was staring at him, as he handed the books to her, and she caught his hand.

“Mr. Davidson,” she faltered, “you—you are all right?”

“Uh-huh. Sure I’m all right. What’s the matter?”

She had turned and was staring at the tangle of burnt buildings.

“Nun—nothing. I—you see, we thought that you——”

“Yuh mean that folks thought we was in that fire, ma’am?”

“Yes. You see, we thought—somebody said——”

“That we went to bed at nine o’clock?”

“Yes.”

Brick grinned widely and shook his head.

“Harp’s at the doctor’s office,” he volunteered.

Miss Miller turned and glanced quickly in that direction.

“At the doctor’s office? Why—what is the matter?”

“Somebody stuck a knife in his arm last night.”

“A knife? Is he——”

She paused anxiously.

“Nope. It wasn’t much of a cut, ma’am. He’ll be all right. Harp is so darned tough and ornery that cold steel won’t never hurt him. I’ll betcha they’ll have to grind a new point on that knife.”

Brick grinned, lifted his hat and walked on, watching her from the corner of his eye. She seemed undecided what to do, but finally went on toward the other end of town where the little schoolhouse was located. Brick laughed to himself and shook his head.

“That’s what’s the matter, eh?” he chuckled. “School-teacher worryin’ about a skinny puncher. Huh! I won’t dare to tell Harp, that’s a cinch. Plumb ruin him for my use. By golly, I never do understand women. Still, she may like jew’s-harp music so much that she’s willin’ to overlook anythin’ else.”

Bill Grant crossed from the saloon and joined Brick.

“What do yuh make of it?” queried Grant. “Do yuh think that somebody tried to kill you and Harp last night?”

Brick grinned, but without mirth.

“Looks that-a-way, Bill. We were supposed to be in bed, yuh know.”

“Sure.”

“But we wasn’t, Bill. Me and Harp busted into some meat stealin’ last night and we danged near got our needin’s. They sure did outsmart us in great shape. Even stole our horses and we had to borrow a couple of mules from the Red Hill mine. Harp got a knife in his shoulder—and we don’t know a —— of a lot more than we did before.”

“Who were the thieves, Brick?”

“I can’t swear to anybody. That’s the worst of workin’ in the dark.”

* * * * *

Harp and Silent were coming from the doctor’s office, leading the mule that Harp had ridden in from the mine. Aside from being slightly pale Harp showed no ill-effects from his knife wound. He nodded to Grant and looked over the ruins. Silent had told him all about the explosion and fire; so he had no questions to ask.

“Must ’a’ been warm around here,” was his only comment.

“It sure was,” agreed Bill Grant. “My neck is still hot, and it was mostly all over when I got here. I’ll buy a drink.”

As they started toward the saloon, Silent stepped in beside Brick and whispered—

“There’s a saddle at the hitch-rack with a bullet-hole in the cantle.”

“Who owns it?” asked Brick.

“Meecham, the Silverton bank cashier, rode in on it a while ago.”

“Sure it’s a bullet-hole, Silent?”

“Y’betcha.”

Brick squinted thoughtfully, as they lined up at the bar. Meecham was sitting at a card-table, reading a paper, paying no attention to any one. Leach and Cale Wesson were standing near the front of the room, talking about the fire, and, near the rear, Ike Welden and Slim Hunter were playing a listless game of pool.

The bartender greeted Brick effusively and insisted that the drinks were “on the house.”

“I was afraid yuh died in that fire, Brick. By golly, I’m sure glad to see yuh. And old Harp, too.”

Brick grinned and looked over at Meecham.

“Have a little drink, Meecham?” he asked.

Meecham looked up at Brick and shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Brick pleasantly. “I just thought yuh might be one of the sufferers.”

Meecham stared at him closely.

“What do you mean, Davidson?” he asked.

“Oh, I just didn’t know but what somebody had tried to kill you off, too. There’s a bullet-hole in the cantle of yore saddle, yuh know.”

“A bullet-hole?”

Meecham’s tone had been rather loud and attracted the attention of every one. Leach came back toward the bar, and the two cowpunchers stopped their pool playing to listen.

“In yore saddle,” nodded Brick. “Of course, it ain’t likely that you was in the saddle at the time, Meecham.”

“Well, I—you see that horse and saddle belongs to the livery-stable. I merely rented it.”

“What about the bullet-hole?” asked Leach.

“I don’t know anything about it,” declared Meecham. “It must have been there when I got it.”

“They’d know at the stable,” opined Silent.

“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Brick, “McKeever would know.”

“Let’s take a squint at that saddle,” suggested Grant. “It might not be a bullet-hole.”

“Well, what if it was!” snorted Ike Welden. “My ——, yo’re makin’ a lot of fuss about a bullet-hole in a saddle. You act like it had hit all of yuh.”

Silent turned and looked at Ike.

“Welden, yo’re breedin’ a lot of misery for yourself,” he declared. “I dumped yuh into the street once, yuh remember. Last night somebody swiped my bronc—and I better not find out that it was you.”

“You tryin’ to make out that I stole yore bronc, Slade?”

“If I thought yuh did I’d fill yuh so ——ed full of holes that they’d have to use ce-ment instead of embalmin’-fluid, if they wanted yuh to keep.”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” Ike sneered openly, but was careful to keep his hands above waist-level. He was the equal of any man on the draw, but he was afraid of this big man—afraid that he might not be able to stop him.

“Don’t argue with that worm,” said Harp impatiently. “He ain’t goin’ to take any chances. Now, if it was dark and he had a tree or a rock in front of him—aw, c’mon, Silent.”

They went out through the doorway, leaving Ike to swear and buy himself a drink. At the hitch-rack they examined the saddle. There was no doubt of it being a bullet-hole. The saddle was a cheap affair, and the bullet had smashed through the cantle, but was lodged between the wood and the leather covering of the back.

With a slash of his knife Brick cut through the leather and salvaged the bullet, which was so badly battered that it was impossible, except by weight, to tell what caliber it had been.

“Well,” said Grant dryly, “there ain’t much question about it bein’ a bullet-hole.”

“Yeah, it is a bullet-hole,” admitted Leach, although he did not seem greatly concerned over it.

“Well, I don’t know anything about it.” Meecham was inclined to be a trifle peevish over it. “I hired this horse and saddle to ride up here and see how Mr. Caswell was getting along, and if they gave me a saddle with a bullet-hole in it——”

“Well, that’s all right,” grinned Brick. “Nobody’s blamin’ you for it, Meecham.”

Brick turned and went back toward the saloon, as though dismissing the subject. Meecham talked with Leach and Grant for a few minutes before mounting his horse and going back toward Silverton.

Harp got their two horses and took them to the livery-stable. In a few minutes he came back, carrying the two rifles, and found Brick talking with Cale Wesson.

“You fellers come down to my house,” suggested Cale. “We’ve got plenty of room. You ain’t got no office, jail nor stable, Brick; so yuh might as well hive up at my place until yuh get somethin’ built.”

“By golly, that would be fine,” agreed Harp joyfully.

Brick and Cale exchanged amused glances and Cale drawled slowly:

“I’d rather have the music inside my house at a reasonable hour than to have it outside at four o’clock in the mornin’. Ma kinda likes music, too. Of course, Miss Miller won’t mind. Anyway, she’s too danged much of a lady to say what she thinks.”

“All right, Cale,” grinned Brick. “It would be mighty nice if yuh could take care of us for a few days.”

“Sure would,” nodded Harp, and without further argument he headed for the Wesson home, carrying the two useless rifles.

Leach, Slim Hunter and Ike Welden went to the hitch-rack, mounted their horses, and rode out of town toward Silverton. They nodded to Cale and Brick as they rode past. Santel came in from the other end of town and left his horse at the hitch-rack. He had not been there during the fire, and now he came over and considered the wreckage.

His examination was very brief and he came past Brick and Cale, on his way to the Dollar Down. He nodded curtly and Brick felt instinctively that Santel had been drinking. His eyes were bloodshot and he walked rather too deliberately, as though trying to show that he was perfectly sober. He met Bill Grant in the doorway, and, after a moment of conversation, they both went into the saloon.

“I couldn’t like that Santel,” observed Wesson. “I ain’t got a darned thing against him, yuh understand, but there’s somethin’ so dog-goned cold-blooded about him that it kinda gits me.”

“He’s salty,” grinned Brick. “He’s also drunk right now, Cale. Let’s go down and help Harp arrange them two rifles. That’s all we’ve got left to move.”

“Yo’re lucky. I lost danged near everythin’ I owned. But Ma says we’re kinda lucky, and I s’pose that’s a good way to look at things. We’ll go down and see if she’s got anythin’ to cook for a meal.”

Mrs. Wesson gave Brick and Harp an upstairs room, where they decided to grab a few hours’ sleep. Both of them were weary, and the peacefulness of the Wesson home sent them quickly into dreamland.

Mrs. Wesson woke them up at supper-time and they came down to the outdoor wash-bench to clean up a little.

“Bill Grant has been over twice to see yuh,” stated Mrs. Wesson.

“Tha’sso?” Brick lifted his wet face from the basin and blinked the soap out of his eyes. “What’d Bill want?”

“He didn’t say. I asked him if it was important, but he never said whether it was or not. Said he’d come again.”

They were just sitting down at the table, when Bill Grant knocked on the door and informed Mrs. Wesson that he wanted to see Brick. He wouldn’t come in; so Brick went out to him.

“I don’t like to take yuh away from a meal, Brick; but I’ve got somethin’ yuh ought to know. Santel’s drunk. He got me in a corner this afternoon and talked for an hour. He’s been detectin’ to beat ——, so he says. And here’s his solution of the thing:

“You and Silent Slade and Harp Harris must be the three men who done the dirty work; _sabe_? Yo’re the medium-sized one, Silent is the big one, and Harp is the tall, skinny one. Now, what do yuh think of that, Brick?”

Brick squinted hard over the information and Grant watched him closely. Then Brick’s face broke into a grin, as he looked up.

“Well, Bill, I’m s’prized that Santel ever found out that much. It sure does look like us three jiggers have been featherin’ our nests, don’t it?”

“Aw, ——, I didn’t believe him, Brick.”

“Thank yuh, Bill. Where is Santel now?”

“He’s gone to Silverton. I reckon he’s through around here. He told me that he was, anyway.”

“Yeah, I reckon he is,” Brick grew serious.

“He said he was goin’ to put his case up to Leach and Hendricks and let them do what they dang pleased about it.”

“That’s real thoughtful of him, I’m sure. Bill, I’m glad yuh told me this, and I thank yuh kindly.”

“Yo’re welcome, Brick. But dang it all, I wish you could put the deadwood on the guilty parties. I’m for yuh.”

“Well,” Brick grinned widely, “mebbe I will, as soon as I get time. I’ve been so dog-gone busy lately. Say, didja see Silent around the Dollar Down when yuh left?”

“He’s playin’ single-handed black-jack with Le Blanc.”

“Fine. Tell him to come down here right away, will yuh, Bill?”

“Sure.”

Grant turned and walked back toward the street, while Brick went back to his supper.

Miss Miller smiled at Brick as he sat down beside Harp.

“I have been trying to get Mr. Harris to tell me how he came to get that wound in his shoulder,” said Miss Miller, “but he refuses to tell me.”

Harp squinted at Brick, who grinned covertly and shook his head.

“I don’t blame him for not talkin’ about it,” declared Brick. “Mebbe next time he’ll look out for knife-throwin’ women.”

“Knife-throwing women?”

Miss Miller glanced sharply at Harp, whose ears immediately assumed a scarlet tint.

“Half-breed,” nodded Brick. “Married woman, too. Her husband was shootin’ mad, too.”

Harp shoved back his chair and got to his feet.

“That’s all a danged lie!” he wailed. “I—I——”

“I can’t understand this risin’ generation,” interrupted Mrs. Wesson seriously. “They do the darndest things. Why, when I was young, if a man monkeyed around a married woman——”

Harp whirled around, picked up his hat and stamped out of the house, while Brick put his head on his arms and cried tears. Mrs. Wesson hammered Cale on the back until the poor man slid sideways out of his chair; but Miss Miller failed to see the humor of the situation.

“It’s a —— shame,” declared Cale. “Don’tcha believe a danged thing that either of these critters try to make yuh believe, Miss Miller. That’s their idea of fun.”

“O-o-o-oh, that was good!” wailed Mrs. Wesson. “The look on his face! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Brick, he’ll hate us both for life.”

“I fail to see anything funny about it,” stated Miss Miller. “Why accuse a man of something that isn’t true, Mr. Davidson?”

“It was true,” choked Brick. “But not the way it sounded. He did get knifed by a woman. Anyway, I think it was a woman. And her husband was shootin’ mad, too. Me and Harp caught ’em stealing cattle—butcherin’ at night and burnin’ the hides.”

Brick wiped away his tears and was about to tell them what had happened the night before, when Silent knocked loudly at the front door.

“What happened to little Harp Harris?” he asked. “I met him up the street and asked him what you wanted. He said he didn’t care a —— what you wanted, but he knew what you was goin’ to get.”

“He’s got indigestion,” said Mrs. Wesson. “He told me the other day that he had it real bad. You know that upsets a man somethin’ awful. I’d sure hate to marry a man that has indigestion. I sure know what it’s like, ’cause Cale has touches of it.”

“I never had anythin’ like that in my life!” snorted Cale.

“I’ll betcha yuh got it right now,” grinned Brick. “Anybody that would speak to Ma Wesson that-a-way has got stummick trouble.”

Cale picked up his hat and started for the door.

“All right, all right! I s’pose I’ve got to stand for it. If I’d ’a’ had any sense I’d never invited the sheriff’s office to settle down in my house. Between Ma and Brick, I’ll prob’ly have to pitch a tent, if I want to have any peace.”

“Didja want me, Brick?” queried Silent, “or is that part of the joke?”

Brick laughed and shook his head.

“I was just wonderin’ if you’d like to ride to Silverton with me this evenin’.”

Silent squinted closely at Brick’s face. Their eyes met for a moment and a grin spread Silent’s lips. He knew that Brick was not riding to Silverton just for the ride.

“Yeah, I’d like to go along,” said Silent indifferently. “I’m ready any time you are. Is Harp goin’ along?”

“No, I don’t think so. He better take care of that shoulder for a day or two.” Brick turned to Miss Miller. “Are you goin’ to the dance tomorrow night with Harp, Miss Miller?”

“Not that I know of,” she replied.