Part 5

“They’re welcome to it,” yawned Sleepy. “Hope I never have to ride that far in one again. I sung all the time to kinda keep things cheerful.”

“My ----!” gasped Hashknife. “The poor girl!”

Spot Easton rode all the way from Gunsight with a blind, unreasoning rage in his heart. It had taken him quite a while to arouse the other stable-man in order to hire a saddle-horse, and then he had gone back to the oat-bin and made Blondy Hagen ride with him.

He did not have the slightest idea which way the horse and buggy had gone, until he rode into Caldwell and found it hitched outside the livery-stable. Hagen was still too drunk and sleepy to care how Easton felt, and listened indifferently while Easton polluted the morning air with profanity.

“’F I stole a horsh ’n buggy, I’d git hung,” stated Blondy knowingly.

“And that’s no ---- lie, either!” snapped Easton. “Come on.”

Blondy followed him down to Jake Blue’s office. Easton hammered on the door with the toe of his boot. In a few moments Jake’s tousled head appeared and he demanded to know what in the adjective did anybody mean by waking him up in the middle of the night.

Rapidly, and with many oaths, Easton explained that Hashknife and Sleepy had stolen his horse and buggy at Gunsight.

“Thasso?” Blue shivered slightly. “Got any idea where they went with it?”

“Brought it here!” snapped Easton. “It’s tied to the livery-stable hitch-rack.”

“Then it ain’t stole a-tall.” Blue seemed relieved over this statement.

“They stole it from me!” yowled Easton. “I tell you they hit me on the head and threw me into a ---- oat-bin!”

“Thasso,” nodded Blondy seriously. “I know, because I was in there, too.”

Blue started to laugh, but managed to choke it back. It was no place to laugh, and yet he howled inwardly at the thought of Easton and Hagen being thrown into an oat-bin.

“I want you to arrest the both of ’em on a charge of horse stealin’,” demanded Easton angrily, “and if you think there’s anything funny about it--go ahead and laugh.”

Blue grew serious. He did not relish the idea of going out to arrest those two men on such a serious charge.

“Are you sure they was the ones?” he asked. “Can you git up in court and swear that they stole your horse and buggy?”

“I’m ---- ’f I can,” said Hagen. “All I knows----”

“Of course I can swear to it!” snapped Easton. “Do you think I’d get up there and admit that I didn’t know who done it?”

“If I had a good deputy-sheriff--” Blue expressed his thoughts in words.

“Take Hagen with you, Jake.”

“Like ----!” exploded Hagen. “No sir! I ain’t----”

“Since when did you break away from us?” queried Spot meaningly.

“Oh, awright. I ain’t breakin’ away from nobody, Spot; but when you monkey with them two jaspers there’s a hoo-doo on the job, I tell you. If you lemme try agin’ with the long-range stuff----”

“And miss again,” sneered Easton. “All the good that’s done is to make old Skelton more careful.”

“We ain’t had much luck, tha’s a fact,” said Jake Blue sadly. “Mebbe we went at it all wrong.”

“You can’t expect a fortune to come along and roost in your lap, can you?” asked Easton sneeringly. “We’ll get these two punchers into jail and then we’ll settle with old man Skelton.”

“If we’d only tried to buy the ---- place at first,” argued Blue.

“Well, we didn’t!”

“It was your idea to make old Skelton sick of his place, so’s he’d be willin’ to sell cheap.”

“Yeah? How did I know that he was going to hang on in spite of everything? I done the best I could.”

“I reckon so, Spot. Doc Clevis tried to buy it agin’ from Skelton and the old son-of-a-gun made him a price this time.”

“How much, Jake?”

“Hundred thousand dollars.”

“That,” said Hagen seriously, “is more’n it’s worth.”

“Aw, ----!” exploded Easton. “If you’re tryin’ to be funny, Hagen----”

“Well, ain’t it?” wailed Hagen.

Easton turned back to Blue.

“You slam them two jaspers into jail right away,” he said. “If you need more help I can send in some of the boys from the 88.”

“All right,” Blue said dubiously. “You go and sleep f’r an hour or so, Hagen. This ain’t no blear-eyed job, y’betcha.”

“Make it longer’n that if you feel like it,” agreed Hagen. “Make it a week, and see if I git impatient.”

Easton and Hagen went back up the street toward the War-Bonnet. It was too early for Caldwell to be awake, and Easton wondered what old Lonesome Lee was doing out so early in the morning.

The old man was standing in front of the Paris restaurant, and for the first time in months he seemed to be sober.

“What in ---- are you doing around so early?” questioned Easton as they came up to the old man.

“Just lookin’ around, thassall,” Lonesome Lee’s voice was very husky, but there was no trace of drunkeness left.

“Lookin’ around, eh? What for?”

“Just for instance.” The old man was a trifle belligerent.

This attitude did not please Spot Easton. He much preferred to have the old man whining for liquor.

“What’s biting you?” he snapped.

“Not a danged thing, Spot. I’m sober today, if you take notice, and I’m lookin’ for a letter I lost.”

“Letter?” echoed Easton. “What letter?”

“I was drunk,” continued the old man, “but I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t know about that letter. Somehow I remember you tellin’ me about other letters, Spot-- letters that you wrote. I’ve been a ---- old drunken bum, but I’m sober right now and I want to know a few things.”

“That must ’a’ been the letter that the long cowboy had,” said Blondy unthinkingly.

Easton shot Blondy a withering glance and turned back to Lonesome.

“I dunno what you’re talking about, Lee.”

“I remember the tall cowboy,” muttered Lonesome. “He was a stranger. But you got the letter, Spot.”

Spot Easton’s hand went mechanically to his ear as he shook his head.

“No, I’m ---- if I did! You ask Windy who got that letter. Come on and let’s have a drink, Lonesome.”

Lonesome shook his head slowly, licked his lips and walked away. Easton glared after him and turned to Hagen:

“Will you ever learn to keep your danged tongue out of my affairs? Ain’t you got sense enough to let me do the talkin’? Now, that ---- old fool will likely talk to everybody and--aw, ----! I hope you and Jake Blue will get your men today. I don’t want Lonesome Lee to talk to Hashknife. It may take a killin’ to prevent it.”

“You don’t let me in on anythin’,” complained Blondy bitterly. “You talk about letters and cattle-brands and the Tombstone ranch, and you never let me know the why of anythin’. All I’m good fer is to bush-whack, somebody.”

“You get paid for it, don’t you?” demanded Easton.

“Yeah, I get paid for it.”

“Then keep your mouth shut, Hagen. The less you know the safer you are--_sabe_? It’ll pay you to keep still.”

* * * * *

It was about noon when Hashknife and Sleepy woke up. Bliz Skelton was cooking breakfast for them and, though evidently curious, he asked no questions of what happened the night before.

“I went up to Caldwell last night,” he volunteered. “Ain’t been up there at night for a dog’s age, ’cause it wasn’t noways safe for me to be on the road after dark.”

“Any excitement?” yawned Hashknife, as he tugged at a tight boot.

“No-o-o,” Skelton twisted his face away from the spattering bacon. “Doc Clevis offered to buy this ranch again. A few weeks ago he offered me eight thousand, but last night he made it nine. Got kinda ruffed ’cause I wouldn’t take his offer.”

“You’ve had other offers, ain’t you?” asked Sleepy.

“Yeah. Spot Easton offered me seventy-five hundred.”

“That don’t noways include the stock, does it?” queried Hashknife.

“No. Just the ranch-house and what fenced ground goes with it. When Spot made that offer I reckon I had about seven hundred head of 33 cows on this range, but right now a 33 critter is as scarce as vi’lets in Jan’wary.”

“Well, gee cripes!” exploded Hashknife, stamping his feet on the floor. “You mean to stand there and tell me that you let somebody run off all your stock?”

“Well, I--I didn’t ‘let’ ’em, Hashknife. ’Pears that you don’t have to let folks rustle your cows.”

“Ain’t you complained none?”

“Who’d I complain to?”

“That’s a question,” admitted Hashknife. “I reckon you’ll just about have to sell out, Bliz.”

“---- if I will! No gosh danged bunch of----”

Bliz let loose of his skillet and grabbed his short shot-gun from its rack beside the door. Some one had ridden up to the porch, and now was coming up the steps to the door.

Bliz stepped back out of line with the door and motioned to Sleepy to open it. Some one knocked loudly. Sleepy grasped the knob and drew the door open, keeping himself behind it, while Jake Blue and Blondy Hagen stood there and blinked into the muzzle of Skelton’s riot-gun and wished they had postponed their visit.

“Put dud-down that gun,” stuttered Blue, trying to force himself to be brave. “You--you----”

Blondy Hagen’s hands went up above his head, and he squinted dismally. His heart was not in this job at all.

“Whatcha want here, Blue?” asked Skelton.

Jake Blue tore his eyes away from the menacing gun barrels and squinted at Hashknife and Sleepy.

“I want them two,” he replied. “I’ve got warrants for their arrest for horsestealin’.”

He started to reach for his pocket, but changed his mind. Such a move might be suicide. Hashknife walked over to the door and looked at Blue.

“Who swore out that warrant, sheriff?”

“Spot Easton.”

“Yeah?” Hashknife seemed greatly amused. “You go back and tell Spot Easton to come and get us, will you?”

“I’m the sheriff!” snapped Blue.

“That’s sure a deplorable fact,” agreed Hashknife, “and one of the main reasons why we refuse to get ourselves arrested. We’d have a sweet time ever gettin’ out of jail, whether we were innocent or guilty.”

“If you could prove--” began Blue, but Hashknife interrupted him.

“Prove it? Why, we’d have a fine chance. I suppose we’d have to stay in jail until the first term of court, eh?”

“Unless the judge would turn you loose.”

“Judge Pelley’d jist about do that,” grunted Skelton. “He knows about as much law as my old pinto horse, and he’d send his mother to jail for a quart of booze. Him and Spot Easton are thicker’n thieves.”

“I’ve got to do m’ duty,” wailed Blue. “I ain’t noways responsible for what Judge Pelley would do, am I? You’re resistin’ an officer of the law, if you only know it.”

“Ain’t nobody resisted you--yet,” Hashknife reminded him softly, “but if you don’t crawl to your horses and rattle your hocks out of here, I’ll nail your pants to the floor and leave you there to starve.”

“Come on,” urged Hagen. “There’s a difference in bein’ brave and bein’ a ---- fool, Jake. I never knowed a two-barrel gun yet what wasn’t easy on the trigger. Come on.”

Hagen turned and went down the steps to his horse, flexing his tired arms as he went. Jake Blue swallowed his pride, along with a lump in his throat, and followed him down the steps.

“This ain’t the last of it, y’betcha,” he called back to the open doorway. “There’s more’n one count agin’ you now.”

Skelton stepped out on the porch and pointed to where the road wound around the point of a hill.

“Speakin’ of counts, Jake; there’s just twenty goin’ to be said by me. If you ain’t around that corner----”

Twenty counts is a short time; but Jake Blue and Blondy Hagen beat it by four. It was an ignominious retreat, especially for Jake Blue, who had a reputation to sustain, but he was wise enough to go while the going was good.

Skelton turned to go into the door, but stopped and stared at the man who was standing at the corner of the house.

“Lonesome Lee!” he grunted. “Whatcha doin’ there?”

“Waitin’ for Jake Blue and Hagen to pull out,” replied Lonesome, and came up to Skelton.

“How’d you come, Lonesome?”

“Walked. I side-tracked for Jake and Blondy.”

“Well,” Skelton scratched his head and looked up at Sleepy and Hashknife, who were standing in the doorway. “Well, this seems kinda queer t’ me.”

Lonesome looked up at Hashknife.

“I reckon you’re the man I wanted to see. ’Member me havin’ a letter the other day?”

Hashknife nodded.

“I--I kinda wanted to know what was in it,” said Lonesome slowly. “I sobered up ’specially for----”

Came the whining _pluk!_ of a bullet and Lonesome Lee jerked back a half-step, threw one hand to his face and buckled forward at the knees.

Hashknife dove forward, grasped the old man in his arms and fairly fell through the doorway with him. Another bullet bit into the door-casing, and Skelton and Sleepy dove in behind Hashknife. Another bullet _pinged_ in through the door and ricocheted off the cook-stove before Skelton kicked the door shut.

Hashknife picked Lonesome Lee off the floor and laid him on the bed. The old man’s face was a mass of gore and he was cursing wickedly, deliriously; fighting to get back to his feet.

“Like a chicken with its head cut plumb off!” gasped Sleepy.

“Lay still!” snapped Hashknife, dodging Lonesome’s kicking legs. “That bullet knocked, but didn’t come in.”

“Creased?” queried Sleepy anxiously, as he grasped Lonesome by the legs.

Lonesome ceased kicking, but his flow of profanity was undiminished. Skelton brought the water-bucket and a towel and washed the blood off the old man’s face. The bullet had cut a furrow from just above his right eye to a spot over his ear and, in the passing, it had flicked a notch in the top of the ear. The wound was superficial, but the shock was considerable.

He sat up and looked foolishly around, while Skelton mopped off the gore.

“Wh-what happened?” he croaked.

Hashknife examined the wound and turned quickly to Skelton.

“You patch him up, Bliz,” he said. “He’ll likely have a sore head, but that won’t hurt him. Me and Sleepy are goin’ to Caldwell.”

Hashknife was half-way out of the door at the finish of his statement and heading for the stable. Sleepy gawped for a moment and trotted after him. They saddled swiftly and galloped out to the Caldwell road.

“Whatcha goin’ to Caldwell for?” asked Sleepy, as they hit a level stretch and shook up their mounts.

“They’ll arrest us sure as ----, Hashknife.”

“Thasso?”

Hashknife spat out a half-burned cigaret and pulled his hat lower over his eyes.

“I’m plumb tired of bein’ shot at, Sleepy.”

* * * * *

It was about three miles to Caldwell, and they covered the distance in record speed. At the War-Bonnet hitch-rack they dismounted and went into the big saloon. There was no sign of Jake Blue or Blondy Hagen.

Windy, the bartender, gaped at ths sight of them and upset some glasses on the back-bar with his elbows.

“Seen Jake Blue lately?” asked Hashknife.

“Nope.”

“Where’s Spot Easton?”

“Dunno.”

Hashknife leaned on the bar and studied Windy closely.

“You don’t know very much, do you?”

“If I did,” said Windy slowly, “I wouldn’t be a bartender. I didn’t lie about not knowin’ where Spot Easton is, but Jake Blue and Blondy Hagen went through here a short time ago, headin’ for the 88.”

“Goin’ after help, eh?”

“Mm-m-m.”

Hashknife considered this. It was going to be very awkward if the sheriff brought the gang from the 88 outfit to help him serve the warrants.

“How many punchers on the 88?” he asked.

“Seven, I reckon.”

“That makes nine, countin’ Blue and Hagen. Odd number, ain’t it? Wish it was ten.”

“For gosh sake, why?” grunted Windy.

“I hate to fight odd numbers,” said Hashknife seriously. “Kinda hoodoos me.”

“Tryin’ to kid me?” asked Windy.

“If you think so, come with ’em. Didja hear about Lonesome Lee gettin’ killed?”

“Lonesome Lee! Whatcha mean?”

“Somebody shot him on Skelton’s porch a while ago.”

“Kill him dead?”

“Didja ever know a feller to get hit with a .30-30 and fail to grab a harp?”

“Whatcha know?” grunted Windy. “Who’d kill him?”

“Come on, Sleepy.”

Hashknife strode back to the door and headed for their horses. They rode swiftly back toward the Tombstone ranch, with Sleepy demanding to know what in ---- they ever made the trip to Caldwell for, and what good it was going to do?

“Elimination and instruction, Sleepy,” replied Hashknife, as they dismounted at the Tombstone corral.

“I had an idea that Hagen and Blue might ’a’ stopped and took a shot at Lonesome Lee; but they wouldn’t ’a’ had time to circle back and still go through Caldwell much ahead of us. I was also kinda anxious to find out how many men Blue was goin’ to bring back with him.”

“---- of a lot of good that’ll do us,” complained Sleepy, “except to know that we died fightin’. I’m sure ready and willin’ to pull out of Lodge-Pole county.”

They found Lonesome and Skelton discussing cattle over their pipes. Lonesome was not much the worse for his wound. Skelton had used up every available rag on the ranch to check the bleeding, and Lonesome’s head looked like a turban.

“What kind of a bunch are workin’ on the 88?” asked Hashknife abruptly.

“What kind?” Lonesome cogitated deeply.

“Not much good, I reckon. None of my old gang are there.”

“Easton fired ’em, eh?”

Lonesome nodded slowly and wearily.

“I reckon so. He got a bunch from Arizona. I dunno anythin’ wrong about any of ’em, but I know I wouldn’t want that kind of punchers working for me. A feller by the name of Dell Blackwood is his foreman and he----”

“That’s a plenty,” interrupted Hashknife. “I know that horse-thief. Me and him worked on the Hashknife outfit and I know him from the belt both ways. Betcha he’s got ‘Holy Moses’ Herman workin’ for him.”

“There is a Herman,” nodded Lonesome. “Short feller, with a big nose.”

“That’s him!” exclaimed Hashknife. “Ought to ’a’ been hung fifteen years before he got old enough to wear long pants. Say, how much of the 88 does Easton own?”

“I dunno. He kinda took charge, and--and----”

“You mean he’s kept you drunk for a year or two and jist kinda nudged you out of everythin’. Shot your nerve all to ---- with hooch, and hoodled you out of every thing you own.”

Lonesome stared down at the floor, but said nothing.

“Has he got a bill of sale from you?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Lonesome. “If he did, he got it from me when I was drunk.”

“And he could ’a’ got it from you any old time durin’ the last year or so,” declared Hashknife, “’cause you ain’t been sober in all that time.”

“What business is it of yours?” demanded Lonesome angrily. “It’s my ranch?”

“What about Jane Lee?”

Lonesome jerked upright and stared open-mouthed at Hashknife.

“Jane?” he croaked. “What--who----”

Lonesome Lee spluttered over his own words, his hand trembled wildly as he tried to grasp Hashknife.

“Set down!” snapped Hashknife. “She ain’t far from here, but I’m danged ’f she’s goin’ to see you in the shape you are now, old timer. She thinks you’re a dandy old dad, instead of a broken old wreck. She thinks you own the 88. You’re a ---- of a nice specimen for a young lady to pick out for a dad, ain’tcha?”

Lonesome bowed his sore old head on his hands and wept, while he swore feelingly at himself.

“You ought t’ have a gizzard,” said Hashknife, “and then you could eat with the chickens.”

“I betcha,” sobbed Lonesome. “I got it all comin’ to me, young feller. Don’t talk soft on my account.”

“All right,” grinned Hashknife. “I’ll try and say somethin’ mean to yuh. Can’t remember givin’ Easton a bill of sale, eh?”

“No.”

Sleepy got up, and going over to a rear window, peered out, then drew back quickly.

“Here they come!” he said softly. “The whole ---- works!”

Hashknife looked around quickly.

“Got a cellar, Skelton?”

“---- right I have!”

Skelton hopped across the floor and lifted his table away from a trap-door. This he raised.

“Git down in there, Lonesome,” ordered Hashknife, “and don’t make a noise; _sabe_? Don’t ask questions!”

Lonesome went down the short ladder, and the trap was closed and covered with the table, just as a crowd of men, led by Jake Blue, rode up to the front door.

Hashknife and Sleepy had closed the door as they came in, and now Skelton slipped the bar into place and picked up his shotgun.

“Come on,” whispered Hashknife. “We’ll go out the back window, Sleepy. Don’t make any resistance, Skelton. Put down the shotgun and act natural.”

He and Sleepy slid out the back window, and shut it behind them, just as some one knocked loudly on the front door.

They went cautiously around the house, walking sidewise, with their backs against the wall.

“’Bout a dozen of ’em,” warned Sleepy, but Hashknife gave his warning no heed.

They could hear Jake Blue questioning Skelton, and the murmur of other voices.

“Where’s the dead man?” It was Doc Clevis’ voice.

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” replied Skelton.

Hashknife peered around the corner and stepped out, with Sleepy beside him. Jake Blue and Doc Clevis were on the porch arguing through the open door with Skelton, while the rest of the men were still mounted. The nearest man to them was a grim-faced person, with a heavy red mustache. Just beyond him was a heavy-set cowboy, with an enormous nose.

“Horse-thieves from the Hashknife!” snorted Hashknife loudly.

Every one turned quickly, and just as quickly they realized their disadvantage. Hashknife was standing with his legs far apart, his right hand resting on his hip just over the top of his holstered gun, while Sleepy stood with one elbow braced against the house and his hand swaying over the butt of his Colt.

“Don’t move, Blue,” cautioned Hashknife. “You and Doc just hold that pose or the picture is spoiled.”

Hashknife did not seem to look at them as he spoke, but watched the two mounted men nearest him.

“Blackwood and Holy Moses,” grinned Hashknife.

Blackwood moistened his lips.

“You!” he grunted with a great effort. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“Danged right you didn’t,” agreed Hashknife. “If you did, you and that elephantnosed horse-thief over there would ’a’ fogged for Canada.”

“Thasso?” retorted the big-nosed cowboy, and cleared his throat with great difficulty.

Hashknife appeared to size up the rest of the crowd.

“I dunno the rest of you, gentlemen, but you’re in danged bad comp’ny.”

“You two are under arrest,” declared Blue loudly, “and we want Lonesome Lee’s body.”

“You don’t need to watch these two,” stated Skelton from the doorway, indicating Blue and the doctor. Skelton had them covered with his double-barreled shot-gun.

“You’re under arrest, too!” wailed Blue nervously. “Better submit quietly if you know what’s good fer you.”

The big-nosed cowboy must have thought that the Sheriff’s discourse had drawn Hashknife’s attention, because he whirled quickly in his saddle.