CITY VS. RANGE
THE following day William H. Cates, special investigator of the Wells-Fargo, came to Pinnacle City, and went into a lengthy session with Len Kelsey and Jack Ralston. Cates was a big, burly man with a square jaw and blue eyes. In fifteen minutes he knew as much as Kelsey did about the robbery and the life of Toe Rich.
Cates’ questions were snappy and to the point. But what he learned was of little value to him. Cates was a city man, an ex-detective of San Francisco. He knew much more about pavements than he did about ranges, and he was not egotistical enough to expect much success in this case.
“The idea seems to be—get Joe Rich,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s the idea,” agreed Kelsey, resting his heels on the desk. “But how are yuh goin’ to get him, pardner?”
“We’ve been after him for days,” grumbled Ralston.
“He got over twenty thousand that last haul,” said the detective.
“My gosh, was there that much in the safe?” exploded Kelsey. “Whew!”
“That much, at least, Sheriff. The company are offering a reward of twenty-five hundred.”
“I didn’t know they carried that much,” said Ralston.
“Well, they do. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”
“Well, what do yuh propose doin’?” asked Kelsey.
“Keep looking for Joe Rich, I suppose. You say he’s got a lot of friends around here?”
Kelsey nodded glumly, remembering how the cowboys had avoided riding after Joe.
“Yeah, yuh can’t expect much help, Cates. They’ll all spot yuh—and these cow-punchers can shore be clams.”
“Oh, I’m not going out to hunt him” smiled Cates. “I’d be a fool to do that. When you boys can’t find him—what could I do? I don’t know this country. Why, I haven’t been on a horse for fifteen years!
“Nope,” Cates sighed deeply. “This is no job for a man like me. What this needs is a man like Hashknife Hartley.”
“Hashknife Hartley?”
Kelsey pricked up his ears and took his feet off the desk. Jack Ralston showed proper interest.
Cates nodded slowly as he bit the end off a cigar.
“Yes, he might do something with it. Ever hear of him?”
“What about him?” asked Kelsey quickly.
Cates smiled as he puffed his cigar.
“I never met him,” he said slowly. “One of those sage-brush Sherlocks, I suppose. Maybe I hadn’t ought to make fun of him—he did some good work for my company. Oh, I’ve heard a lot about what he has done. It’s our business to keep track of all those things, you see. But some of it sounds rather mythical.”
“Well, that’s shore funny,” said Kelsey. “There’s a Hartley and Stevens out at the HJ ranch right now.”
“Eh?” Cates stared at Kelsey. “Hashknife Hartley?”
“I dunno; name’s Hartley.”
“Stevens? Huh! Say, I believe he has a partner by that name. Wouldn’t that be funny if it was Hashknife Hartley. How do you get out to that HJ ranch?”
“We can take yuh out, Cates.”
“Fine. But how do they happen to be here?”
Kelsey told him about the burning bridge and the stalled cattle-train.
“But do yuh reckon they’ll work on the case?” asked Jack Ralston.
“We can soon find out. I’m curious to see him. It may not be the same man, but we can soon find that out, too.”
Kelsey obtained a buggy at the livery-stable, in which he and Cates rode out to the HJ, while Ralston followed them on horseback. But they did not find Hashknife and Sleepy at the ranch. Kelsey introduced Cates to the two girls, and Cates found out that Hartley’s name was Hashknife.
“They rode away this morning with Honey Bee,” said Peggy. “No, I don’t know where they were going, Mr. Kelsey, nor when they’ll come back.”
“I see,” nodded Cates. “Well, would you mind telling Hartley that William Cates, of the Wells-Fargo, is in Pinnacle City and is anxious to see him?”
“Why, certainly I’ll tell him,” replied Peggy. “Do you know him?”
Cates smiled and shook his head.
“Only by reputation. I happened to mention his name to the sheriff and found that he was here at your ranch. He will find me at the Pinnacle Hotel.”
They rode back to the gate, where Ralston told Kelsey he was going out to the Circle M.
“I’ve got a pair of boots out there,” explained Ralston. “And if I don’t get ’em pretty soon, somebody’ll be wearin’ ’em.”
Ralston spurred away, while Kelsey and Cates rode back to Pinnacle City.
IN THE meantime Hashknife, Sleepy and Honey were riding through the hills south of the HJ. Hashknife rode a tall roan horse and Jim Wheeler’s saddle and Sleepy bestrode a Roman-nosed buck skin and a saddle which had been purchased for Peggy.
Honey led them out on a high pinnacle where they could look over a great part of the Tumbling River range. To the southwest, about a mile away, was the Circle M ranch, half-hidden in a clump of green trees. To the northwest was the Lazy B, three miles away, which Honey was able to locate definitely by a gash in the hills. They could follow the windings of Tumbling River for miles in each direction. To the east of them was the railroad, winding around through the hills.
They could see the ribbon of smoke from a passing train heading for Kelo. Far down on the wagon-road they could see a lone rider heading for the Circle M. It was Jack Ralston, going after his boots, though they didn’t know it.
“Is it possible to ford the river near the HJ?” asked Hashknife, as they turned to ride back.
“The old ford is about two hundred yards below the bridge,” said Honey. “There’s an old sand-bar. Some of the old road may be washed out by this time, but I reckon yuh could get across all right.”
“Don’tcha like to cross on bridges?” grinned Sleepy.
“Oh, sure. But sometimes I get finicky.”
They swung down off the hills and struck the road, which they followed back to the HJ. Peggy came down to the corral and delivered Cates’ message to Hashknife. The tall cowboy did not change expression, but leaned one elbow against the corral fence, as she told him about the coming of Kelsey, Ralston and Cates to see him.
“He didn’t know you were here,” she explained. “But he mentioned your name, and Mr. Kelsey told him where he could find you.”
“I don’t reckon I know Mr. Cates, Peggy.”
“He said you didn’t, but he wants to see you.”
“Oh, yeah. Thank yuh very much, Peggy. How are yuh feelin’?”
“Better.”
“That’s great. I hope Wong Lee won’t throw me out for the appetite I’ve got tonight.”
Peggy laughed and assured him that Wong Lee loved people who had big appetites. Honey was a trifle curious about what Cates wanted.
“Said he was a Wells-Fargo man, eh? Prob’ly a detective.”
“Prob’ly,” said Hashknife dryly, hanging up his saddle.
“Just about how in did he happen to mention you?” wondered Sleepy.
Hashknife did not reply, but Sleepy knew that he was just a trifle curious himself. But both of them realized that they had figured in deals which affected the Wells-Fargo, and it would not be at all strange if an express company investigator had heard of them.
But they did not go to Pinnacle City that night. Hashknife did not seem at all interested in finding Mr. Cates, and Sleepy knew Hashknife too well to insist that they go to town. But Cates was not to be denied a chance to talk with Hashknife. He and Kelsey drove out to the HJ early the following morning and found everybody at breakfast.
Hashknife left the table and met them at the porch. Kelsey introduced them, and Cates lost no time in telling Hashknife who he was and why he was in the Tumbling River country.
“But I can’t do any good here, Hartley. I was talking with the sheriff about the case, and I told him it was a deal that required a man like you. I hadn’t the slightest idea that you were here in the country. Yes, we’ve heard a lot about you and your ability. I am sure the company will pay you well for your services, and all I have to do is to send a wire.”
“But there ain’t nothin’ to it, except catchin’ Joe Rich,” said Hashknife. “I don’t know this country, Cates. When the sheriff’s office, bein’ familiar with the country, can’t get him, what chance would a stranger have? Anyway, I’m not a man-hunter, Cates.”
“No?” Cates lifted his eyebrows slightly. “Perhaps some of the stories I’ve heard were not true.”
“They hardly ever are,” seriously. “No, you’ve got me wrong, Cates. Never in my life did I go out and get a man who was wanted by the law—never took a man with a price on his head. That’s a job for a sheriff or a policeman.”
“Well, maybe that’s true, Hartley. There’s a nice reward for Joe Rich. Means about thirty-five hundred dollars.”
“I don’t want it,” said Hashknife flatly.
“Don’t want it?” Cates laughed huskily. “You’re a queer bird, Hartley. Ain’t you interested in putting criminals behind the bars?”
“Not a bit. Don’t believe in the ‘eye for an eye’ theory. Never put a man behind the bars that I didn’t wish it hadn’t happened.”
“Do yuh mean to say that you never collected a reward?” asked Kelsey.
“Never.”
Kelsey laughed shortly.
“You must be pretty rich to turn down good money. Cates has told me that you and yore pardner have cleaned up a lot of bad-man outfits, and there’s usually a reward for a bad man.”
“Unless he hides his light under a bushel, Kelsey.”
“Uh-huh. Well, Joe Rich don’t hide his, that’s a cinch.”
Hashknife grinned widely.
“You’ve got to admire him, just the same. He’s operatin’ in his own country, and he ain’t tryin’ to disguise himself a whole lot. And it looks to me as though he’s makin’ a monkey out of yore office.”
“What do yuh mean, Hartley?”
“By stayin’ around here. It don’t look to me as though he was scared of yuh, Kelsey.”
“I see what yuh mean.”
“Well, can’t I induce you to work with us, Hartley?” asked Cates. “I can put you on the pay-roll in thirty minutes after I get back to town. I tell you, I’m helpless; and the sheriff admits that he can’t do anything.”
Hashknife shook his head slowly.
“No-o-o, I’m not interested, Cates. As I said before, it’s just a case of goin’ out and gettin’ a man who knows every blade of grass in this country by its first name. What the sheriff ought to do is to make up a posse and comb this whole country. He must be hidin’ in the valley.”
“Fine chance!” snorted Kelsey. “In the first place I’d have a hard time gettin’ any men. Joe is too popular. And in the second place, with all the friends Joe’s got—well, figure it out for yourself.”
“Do yuh think somebody is hidin’ him, Kelsey?”
“I won’t say that, but it could happen.”
“Yeah, I think so,” nodded Hashknife.
“Well, then you don’t care to come in on the deal, eh?” queried Cates.
“Nope. Oh, I’m much obliged to yuh and all that, but it’s out of my line, Cates. I wish yuh luck.”
Cates laughed sourly.
“I’ll need it, Hartley.”
They shook hands with Hashknife and went back to their buggy. Hashknife watched them ride away and turned to see Sleepy and Honey standing in the doorway.
“We snuck out and listened,” said Honey truthfully.
Hashknife smiled at them and rolled a cigaret.
“It kinda looks to me as though the law is stuck,” observed Honey.
“It is,” smiled Hashknife.
He scratched a match on the steps, lighted his cigaret and turned to Honey.
“Honey, who is there in this country that likes Joe Rich and didn’t like Jim Wheeler?”
Honey scratched his elbow on his hip and blinked.
“Never heard of anythin’ like that,” he said. “Everybody liked Jim, and everybody liked Joe. What’sa idea, Hashknife?”
“Just curiosity. Everybody knows that Joe Rich stole that five thousand from Jim Wheeler, and the sheriff thinks somebody is hidin’ Joe.”
“I see yore idea. He thinks Joe is bein’ taken care of by somebody, eh?”
“That’s the only solution, Honey. He’s got to eat and have a place to hide out. It must be somebody that likes Joe too well to turn him in for the reward—somebody that don’t care about the loss of the HJ.”
“By golly, that’s right! But who could it be?”
“That’s it,” grumbled Sleepy.
“Well, he could ’a’ made out long enough to have robbed the train,” said Honey. “He’s prob’ly high-tailin’ it out of the country right now. It looks to me as though he’s about twenty-five thousand dollars ahead of the game, and a man’s a fool who never knows when he’s got enough.”
“Easy money,” said Hashknife thoughtfully. “No man ever quits takin’ easy money.”
“Yuh don’t think he’ll try it again, do yuh?” asked Honey.
“From my point of view—yeah, I think he will, Honey.”
Honey snorted and threw away his cigaret.
“I’ll betcha he’s pullin’ away from here awful fast. Joe ain’t no fool. I’ll bet he knows when he’s had enough.”
“Might be,” said Hashknife. “But I doubt it. Suppose we ride over to town and have a look around.”
Sleepy and Honey were more than willing. They told the girls they would be back for supper. Peggy drew Hashknife aside and wanted to know what the sheriff had in mind. Hashknife told her frankly that Cates was a detective, and wanted him to help find Joe Rich.
“Just why did he want you to help?” she asked.
“Well, yuh see, it’s like this,” lied Hashknife. “Kelsey’s got the idea that folks around here are too friendly with Joe to hunt him. Me and Sleepy, bein’ strangers to Joe, might not be so particular.”
“Oh, I see. And are you going to help him?”
“No-o-o-o—I’m goin’ to help us find him, Peggy.”
“But what good will that do?”
“Any ‘good’ is better than we’ve got, Peggy.”
“I suppose it is,” she sighed. “But I can’t see where it will help anybody. If the law gets him—”
“Mebbe—-and mebbe not.”
“What do you mean, Hashknife?”
“I was just thinkin’ out loud, Peggy. Yuh quit worryin’ about things.” He patted her on the arm. “We’ll be back for supper, and I’ll want to see yuh grinnin’.”
Hashknife went out to his horse, which was the one Jim Wheeler had ridden the day he was killed. Hashknife noticed that the animal was a trifle sore-footed; so he examined its hoofs and found that it wore no shoes.
He pulled the saddle off and put it on a chunky bay, turning the sore-footed one back in the corral. The bay was shod in front.
“Jim said somethin’ about’ goin’ to have that bronc shod,” said Honey. “I remember him speakin’ about it a week before he was killed.”
“I hate to see a horse limp,” said Hashknife. “I’d a lot rather walk.”
They rode to Pinnacle City and Hashknife left Sleepy and Honey at the Pinnacle Saloon, where several more cowboys were arguing at the bar. After inquiring at the store, Hashknife found old Doctor Curzon’s office.
The old doctor was not busy. He considered Hashknife gravely when Hashknife asked him about die death of Jim Wheeler.
“Well, just what did you wish to know?” he asked.
“All about it,” smiled Hashknife. “They tell me Jim Wheeler died from concussion of the brain.”
“You might call it that. His skull was crushed. Wonder he lived at all.”
“And they tell me that his skull was crushed by the rocks.”
“No doubt of it. I don’t believe you told me your name.”
“Hartley. I’m out at the HJ ranch—Jim Wheeler’s place.”
“Oh, yes. No, I don’t think there is any doubt of Wheeler’s head having been crushed by the rocks. You know how a body would bound, fastened by one foot to a stirrup.”
“The rocks cut kinda deep, didn’t they, Doc?”
“Mm-m-m-m—well, yes.”
“Do yuh know—it’s a funny thing, Doc?”
“What is?”
“The fact that there ain’t a rock as big as a pea on that whole stretch of road where Wheeler was dragged.”
“You say there isn’t?”
“Well,” smiled Hashknife, “I said ‘there ain’t’. It amounts to the same thing, I suppose. Your English is better than mine.”
“But there must be rocks along there,” insisted the doctor. “Every one seemed to take it for granted that—”
“That’s the trouble, Doc—takin’ it for granted. I looked it over the day after the rain, when the dust was settled; and it’s as smooth as a billiard-table; not even a humpy spot on the road or along it. Go out and see for yourself.”
“Well, well! No, I’ll take your word for it. You don’t look like a person who would lie about it. You have very good eyes, my friend.”
“Thanks,” smiled Hashknife.
“But to get back to Jim Wheeler. I believe it was Joe Rich who discovered him first after the accident. They tell queer tales about Joe Rich. I knew him.”
“Like him?”
“Very much. He—I believe he said that the foot was still in the stirrup.”
“This wound on the head,” said Hashknife. “Just where was it the worst, Doc?”
“Nearly on the crown. In fact it extended from just above the left ear to the top of the head. Of course, it is easily possible for the horse to have struck him with a sharp-shod hoof.”
“On top of the head, Doc?”
“Well, barely possible. Come to think of it, the wound did have that appearance; as though a horseshoe might have crushed the skull.”
“His horse wasn’t shod, Doc.”
“It wasn’t shod?”
The old doctor ran his hand through his white hair and squinted gravely.
“Hadn’t been for weeks, said Hashknife.”
“You are a detective?” asked the doctor quickly.
Hashknife smiled and shook his head.
“No, Doc; just curious.”
“Mm-m-m-m-m,” the doctor studied the ceiling of his office. “No rocks, no shoes. But the man had been dragged, Hartley. The skin showed evidence of that, and his shirt was rubbed through. More than that, his leg had been broken from a twist, and the pull of the stirrup.”
“Look at it this way,” suggested Hashknife. “Suppose Jim Wheeler met a man, who stopped him. This man strikes Wheeler over the head with a gun, knocking him off the saddle. Then this man robs him. Perhaps this man hooked one of Wheeler’s feet in the stirrup, struck the horse and let it run away. Or, again, the foot might have hung in the stirrup when the man fell from the horse. Wouldn’t it look as though it had been an accident?”
“No doubt of it, my friend. And in that case, it would appear that Joe Rich had not only robbed Jim Wheeler, but had murdered him as well.”
“There’s a lot of ways to look at it, Doc,” smiled Hashknife, as he shook hands with the doctor. “I’m sure much obliged to yuh for yore help in this matter. Yuh would be doin’ me another favor, if yuh don’t tell anybody what we talked about.”
“The ethics of my profession preclude such a thing.”
“Well, thanks just the same, Doc. So long.”
Hashknife went back to the Pinnacle, where he found Honey and Sleepy buying drinks for the Heavenly Triplets, the three boys from the Flying H. They tried to get Hashknife to join them, but he was in no mood to join their festivities. After telling Sleepy he was going back to the ranch, he mounted and rode out of town.
Hashknife was satisfied after his talk with the doctor, that Jim Wheeler had not died through an accident. That Joe Rich should have found Wheeler dragged to unconsciousness and have robbed him was too much for Hashknife to believe. Rich had been knocked down by Wheeler, and Hashknife, not knowing Rich, would not have any idea of Rich’s nature.
As Hashknife neared the spot where Wheeler had been found he saw two saddled horses standing near the road. He drew rein and rode slowly along, wondering where the riders might be. Then he saw them about fifty feet off the road, looking around in some weeds and low brush.
They were Len Kelsey and Jack Ralston. They did not see Hashknife until he was almost up to their horses. Then they left off their search and came over to him.
“Howdy, gents,” grinned Hashknife.
Kelsey showed a slight embarrassment but nodded pleasantly.
“Just lookin’ around,” he said, as if his actions demanded an explanation. “This is where they found Jim Wheeler, yuh know.”
“That’s what they tell me. I reckon the rain wiped out any tracks yuh might expect to find.”
“Yeah, it did,” said Ralston quickly. “We found that out.”
“No sign of Joe Rich, eh?”
“Not a sign!” snapped Kelsey, swinging into his saddle.
“I reckon he’s a pretty smart lad,” said Hashknife. “What became of the detective?”
“He’s in town,” said Kelsey. “You should have taken him up on that deal, Hartley. Made good wages out of it, even if yuh couldn’t find Joe Rich.”
“No-o-o-o, I didn’t want the job. Joe’s got too many good friends around here, Kelsey; and I might stop a bullet, if I knew too much.”
“There’s a of a lot of truth in that, Hartley.”
“Sure,” grinned Hashknife. “I’m no fool.”
“Playin’ safe, eh?” said Ralston. “Well, I don’t blame yuh. When a feller’s a stranger, he can’t be too careful.”
“I’ll watch my own hide,” declared Hashknife. “I dunno where that feller, Cates, heard all that stuff about me. He must ’a’ got me mixed with somebody else. Anyway, he’s all wrong if he thinks I’m huntin’ rewards.”
“Well,” laughed Kelsey, “he told me he didn’t believe half he had heard about yuh.”
“I’m shore glad about that,” said Hashknife simply. “Well, I’ve got to be movin’ along, gents. Good huntin’ to yuh.”
Hashknife rode on toward the ranch, while Kelsey and his deputy went on to Pinnacle City. Kelsey swore softly at sight of the Heavenly Triplets’ horses at the Pinnacle rack.
“There’s two HJ broncs there, too,” observed Ralston. “That means Honey Bee and Stevens. I don’t reckon we’ll have much to do with the Pinnacle as long as they’re holdin’ forth.”
And they were surely holding forth. Sleepy and Honey still had a little money, and the boys from the Flying H were spending their next month’s wages. William H. Cates, the detective, had fallen into their toils and was enjoying it.
Also, Mr. Cates was marveling at the amount of raw liquor they could consume without showing it. Mr. Cates was rather proud of his own ability, but he was beginning to have a hunch that before long he was going to see a lot more men than were actually in the room.
“Thish is lots of fun,” he announced.
“Par’ner, you ain’t started,” declared Lonnie. “You stay with us and we’ll show yuh bush’ls ’f di’monds. Oh, yessir, you’ll shee lots of ’m. We’ll show yuh levity, y’betcha.”
Supper time came but none of them was hungry. Darkness came down upon Pinnacle City, and still those six men leaned on the bar, their toasts becoming more and more elaborate. Then Lonnie leaned his forehead against the bar and wept bitterly.
“Thish is all there ish,” he announced. “Nothin’ t’ do. Spen’ all day gettin’ drunk, and there’s nothin’ t’ do but go home.”
“O-o-o-oh, my!” wailed Nebrasky. “Tha’s a fac’. The jigger that wrote ‘Home, Sweet Home’ must ’a’ never got out. Wha’s to be done, I’d crave to get an answer? No entertainment? Can’t you think of anythin’, Misser Detective?”
Not so Cates. He clung to the bar with both hands.
“Let’s all go out to the ranch,” suggested Nebrasky
“Wha’ for?” queried Honey. “Uncle Hozie’d hop our necks.”
“Le’s go for ride,” choked Cates. “Need—uk—air.”
“That,” said Sleepy owlishly, “is a shuggestion.”
“I know!” exploded Lonnie. “C’mere.”
They followed him outside, much to the relief of the bartender, and Lonnie unfolded his scheme. There were many drawbacks, but each and every one was overcome.
With great difficulty Lonnie Myers and Dan Leach secured their horses at the hitch-rack, and they all weaved their erratic way down to the Pinnacle livery-stable, where they circled to the rear. A shed with a long sloping roof had been added to the stable at some remote time, and within this stable was the hearse.
The door was merely fastened with a hasp. They rolled the old hearse out into the yard and tied two lariat ropes to the end of the tongue. The ancient equipage of the dead was resplendent in a fresh coat of varnish and the four horsetail plumes waved boldly from the corners of the top.
They put Cates inside, because he was unable to climb to the top, while Honey Bee, Sleepy and Nebrasky crowded together on the narrow seat. It was quite a task to get both horses pulling at the same time, but once they got the old hearse rolling it was no trick to keep it rolling.
Around they went into the main street, gaining momentum each moment; so much momentum, in fact, that the horses took notice of things and seemed to desire more distance between themselves and this creaking equipage with the yelping cowboys and flowing plumes.
Lonnie’s mount was traveling one side of the street, while Dan’s mount seemed to prefer the opposite sidewalk, while the hearse took a fairly straight route up the middle of the street, until almost opposite the Pinnacle City bank. Then Lonnie’s horse got tangled up in a hitch-rack and Dan’s whirled and started the opposite direction.
Crash! The front wheels of the hearse jack-knifed and struck the sidewalk.
Crash! The end of the swinging tongue took out one of the front windows of the bank, while the hearse lurched to a standstill with the front wheels against the front of the bank building.
Sleepy was thrown off the seat when the wheels struck the sidewalk and he landed on his hands and knees in the street. The sound of the wreck was audible for quite a distance, and in a few minutes the hearse was surrounded by a curious crowd. There was hardly enough light to see what had happened.
Sleepy staggered across the street and sat down on the sidewalk, feeling very foolish over the whole thing. A horseman rode past him and stopped at the hitch-rack. It was Lonnie Myers. Sleepy went over to him.
“That thing headed into the bank,” he told Lonnie.
“My ! It did? Whatcha know about that? Where’s the rest of the gang?”
“Let’s go over and have a look.”
No one in the crowd seemed to know who had done it. Kelsey was there, as was Jack Ralston.
“Somebody got pretty smart, it seems to me,” growled Kelsey.
“Hey, Kelsey!” yelled a voice, “there’s a body inside the hearse.”
“My , it’s Cates!” whispered Lonnie. “Let’s get away from here before we all get arrested.”
They hurried back to the Pinnacle bar where they found Dan Leach and Nebrasky. Nebrasky had a lot of skin off his long nose and Dan limped in one leg. None of them mentioned what had just taken place. They had a drink, after which Lonnie leaned on the bar and wondered where Honey might be.
“The last time I seen him he was goin’ toward the bank,” said Sleepy dryly. “Prob’ly wanted to borrow some money.”
Jack Ralston came in and looked the boys over, but did not say anything. Perhaps he had a fair idea as to who had taken the hearse, but he had no evidence. Apparently these boys were merely having a friendly drink.
“Have any of you gents seen that feller Cates?” he asked.
“Cates?” Lonnie screwed up his eyes. “Oh, yeah—the detective! Why, I think he died, didn’t he?” Lonnie turned to Nebrasky.
“Oh, yeah—Cates. Believe he did, Lonnie.”
“Uh-huh,” Lonnie turned to Ralston. “Yeah, he died. Have a drink, Jack?”
“Nope.”
Ralston turned on his heel and went out.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Nebrasky. “Wait’ll they find him.”
“They found him,” said Sleepy. “We’ll probably have to pay for that busted window.”
“But wasn’t it worth it?” chuckled Nebrasky. “My , I never went higher in my life. There goes the hearse.”
They walked to the door and saw several men pulling the hearse back to its shed. They could see a crowd in front of the bank, and apparently there was a man on a ladder, nailing boards over the broken window.
“Where in is Honey?” asked Sleepy. “By golly, we’re shy one man!”
“That’s right. Let’s go find him.”
They wended their way to the Arapaho saloon, but did not find him there, and then they made a systematic search of every place they could think of.
They finally came back past the bank, where they found the object of their search sitting on the sidewalk, holding his head in his hands. Lonnie almost fell over him in the dark.
“Now, where in have you been keepin’ youself?” demanded Lonnie. “We’ve been lookin’ for yuh for about a week.”
This was hardly true, because the accident had not happened more than twenty minutes previous.
Honey lifted his head and wiggled his arms.
“I’m all right, I reckon,” he said huskily. “Didn’t any of you ord’nary drunks see me go into the bank?”
“See yuh go into the bank?” grunted Nebrasky.
“Abs’lutely! Right through the window! I landed on my chin right in front of the deposit window with one of them horsetail plumes in my right hand.”
“And didn’t get killed?” wondered Nebrasky.
“Oh, , I got killed all right, as far as that’s concerned. Oh, my! I heard a lot of folks talkin’ about the busted window, while I’m crawlin’ around on my hands and knees, tryin’ to find a way out.
“And then I got the scare of my life,” Honey laughed foolishly. “I found a man in there.”
“Yuh found a man in there?” queried Sleepy quickly.
“Uh-huh. Honest Injun, cross m’ heart. He’s there yet, too, By golly, it scared me so much that I got right up and walked out the back door. Funniest feelin’ yuh—”
“Hold on a minute!” snorted Sleepy. “You walked out the back door, Honey?”
“Shore did, Sleepy.”
“Was it unlocked?”
“Must ’a’ been—I jist turned the knob. I was on my hands and knees, kinda crawlin’ and feelin’ along, when I got hold of somethin’ that feels a lot like a man’s legs. I keeps on feelin’, and I keeps on a-risin’, until my hands touch his face, and then I hightailed it outside. I fell down over a box and bumped my head against the building, but kept on goin’. I reckon I plumb circled this side of the street, and just came back here a little while ago.”
“Yo’re drunk,” declared Nebrasky.
“I was drunk,” corrected Honey. “But by golly, I was sober a-plenty when I felt that jigger.”
“Is he there yet?” asked Lonnie.
“, I tell yuh he’s roped to the chair!”
“Wait a minute,” said Sleepy. “You boys go over to the Pinnacle and let me handle this, will yuh?”
“Go to it,” said Lonnie. “C’mon, you fellers.”
Sleepy went down the street to the sheriff’s office. He was perfectly sober and none the worse for their escapade, except for a slightly skinned knee. Both Kelsey and Ralston were at the office when Sleepy came in.
“Yuh better investigate the bank,” said Sleepy. “I just came past there, and I thought I heard a man groanin’.”
“Yeah?” Kelsey grinned knowingly. “Yuh did, eh? Just what kind of a game are you punchers tryin’ to pull off now?”
“Oh, well, go ahead and be a fool,” sighed Sleepy, turning back to the door. “I’m tellin’ yuh what I heard, tha’sall.”
But Kelsey stopped him at the door.
“Yuh think yuh heard a man groanin’, eh?”
“It don’t make any difference,” said Sleepy. “Go on to bed. I’ll find the man that owns the bank, and he’ll probably be interested.”
“If this is a joke—” warned Kelsey picking up his hat.
“I better go and get Warner, the cashier,” said Ralston. “He rooms at MacRae’s place.”
Ralston trotted down the street while Kelsey followed Sleepy back to the front of the bank. They listened at the broken window, which had been barred with some planks, but could hear nothing.
“Yuh probably heard the wind blowing,” said Kelsey.
“What wind?” asked Sleepy.
Kelsey didn’t explain just which wind he had meant, as there was not a breath of air stirring. In a few minutes Ralston joined them, panting from his run.
“Warner ain’t been there since supper, Len. He was workin’ tonight, they said.”
“And Old Man Ludlow, the president, is on a trip to the coast,” said Len. “How in are we goin’ to find out anythin’?”
“Smash out another window,” suggested Ralston.
“How about the back door?” asked Sleepy.
They went around to the back and found the door sagging open. Kelsey swore softly and led the way inside, where they lighted matches to guide them. And they found just what Honey Bee had found—a man roped to a chair and gagged. It was Warner, the cashier, his eyes blinking foolishly at the light of Kelsey’s match, while Ralston took a pocket-knife and severed the lariat rope which bound him.
Warner was apparently unhurt. After they untied the gag he worked his jaw painfully, rubbed his lips and managed to get back a measure of his speech.
Sleepy found a lamp, which he lighted, and the three men watched the cashier stretch his arms and legs, grimacing as the returning circulation pained him.
“You better send a wire to Old Man Ludlow,” he said huskily. “Palace Hotel, San Francisco. The bank has been cleaned out.”
“Cleaned out, Warner?” asked Kelsey.
“Look at the vault door.”
It was wide open. The sheriff did not investigate. Sleepy stepped over and peered inside. It was an old-fashioned vault with the ordinary combination. Time locks had not come to Pinnacle City yet.
“How many in the gang?” asked Kelsey.
“One,” Warner spat painfully and rubbed his lips. “One man, Sheriff. I was working tonight. I used the back door. When I unlocked it and stepped outside, this man confronted me with a gun and forced me back inside.
“I refused to open the vault—at first. But he produced some dynamite and told me was going to blow it open. He said he would tie me close enough to see it bust. There wasn’t anything for me to do except to open it. Then he roped me to a chair, put a gag in my mouth and helped himself. There was enough light through that side window for me to see that he put every thing in a sack.”
“Masked?” asked Kelsey.
“Yes. I wish one of you would wire Ludlow. What was that crash that broke the front window?”
“Some drunken cowboys,” growled Kelsey. “How long before that did the robbery take place?”
“Possibly fifteen minutes. Might have been longer. But there was another man in here after that crash. I couldn’t see what he looked like, but he felt all over me, and then I heard him go out through the back door.”
Kelsey squinted closely at Sleepy, but Sleepy looked very innocent. His blue eyes did not waver for an instant.
“Pretty queer!” snorted Kelsey.
“Ain’t it?” agreed Sleepy. “Queerest thing I ever heard.”
“It might have been the man who tied me up,” said Warner.
Warner was a small, thin-faced man, slightly stooped, wearing steel-bowed glasses. He took them from his pocket and hooked the bows over his ears, his hands trembling.
“Might have been,” agreed Sleepy. “Prob’ly took him quite a while to clean out the place. How much did he get?”
“I can’t tell you that, sir. I think Mr. Ludlow would like to hear about it as soon as possible.”
“No hurry; he can’t help any,” said Kelsey. “Warner, did you get a good look at this robber?”
“It was dark in here. He held a match in his left hand while I worked the combination.”
“Did, eh?” Kelsey seemed interested. “Well, how much of him didja see, Warner?”
“Not much, I’m afraid; only that arm in the light. You see, he stood rather behind me.”
“All right; and didja see that arm well enough to tell what it looked like?”
“Yes, I saw it well enough, I think. It—it looked like a—a—well, just like an arm,” he finished weakly.
“That’s fine,” sneered Kelsey. “All we’ve got to do is to find a man who has a left arm that looks like an arm. Didn’t yuh see his clothes, his hands, his gun?”
“Yes, I—I saw his gun. Certainly I saw his gun.”
“Was it like this one?” Kelsey jerked out his Colt and held it in front of Warner.
“No, not exactly. I think it had a white handle.”
“Ah-hah! Now, about his sleeve, Warner. Did he wear leather cuffs?”
“Yes, yes! I forgot them. Black, I think. Perhaps they merely looked black. But the matchlight—there were silver ornaments, Sheriff. I remember now—silver stars. It’s funny I didn’t remember before.”
“Uh-huh. We’ll go and send that wire to Ludlow, Warner. Lock that back door, will yuh, Warner. Not much use, at that; nothin’ left to steal. Mebbe yuh better shut that vault door and spin the combination.”
Warner went with the sheriff and deputy, while Sleepy cut across the street and found the rest of the boys in front of the Pinnacle. From there they could see the light in the bank, and they were burning with curiosity.
“Forget what you know, Honey,” warned Sleepy. “The rest of yuh don’t know a thing; sabe? The bank was cleaned out by a lone bandit fifteen minutes ahead of our smash. The man Honey found was Warner, the cashier. He was roped and gagged, but he wasn’t knocked out.”
“F’r ’s sake!” snorted Honey. “That was it, eh?”
“Yeah, and we better all head for home,” advised Sleepy. “We don’t know a thing. The bank is as clean as a hound’s tooth and the man who cleaned it out wore silver stars on his cuffs and used a white-handled gun. Let’s mosey.”
They all got their horses and headed out of town, the Heavenly Triplets going to the Flying H, while Honey and Sleepy rode swiftly out to the HJ where they woke Hashknife in the bunk-house and told him their story. He sat up in bed and smoked a cigaret, his lean fingers scratching at his unruly hair.
“It looks to me as though Joe Rich missed his callin’ when he got himself elected sheriff,” he said slowly. “That boy shore is featherin’ his nest. And yuh had Mr. Cates laid out in the hearse, eh?”
“Fit to be buried,” nodded Sleepy. “I reckon he was the only one that didn’t do a high dive. That little cashier shore was scared. The robber told him he’d either open the safe or get a front seat at the explosion. And he held a match while the cashier worked the combination. By golly, it’s so easy to do a thing like that, that I wonder why men work for a dollar a day! It’s shore easy money.”
“Easy to get, uneasy to keep, Sleepy.”
“Yea-a-a-ah! Who in is goin’ to get it away from him? You can preach honesty to me all yuh want to, cowboy, but when I see a job done as easy as that one—”
“Aw, c’mon to bed, and stop yappin’. I want to think.”