CHAPTER X
“THANK THE LADY”
And at the same hour of the morning the Tumbling H outfit ate breakfast to the scratching music of “The Holy City,” while Musical Matthews, a boot in each hand, sat before the ornate horn of the old machine and drank in the song.
Hashknife had said nothing about the events of the night. Jack Hill was able to attend the meal, but said little. Since Big Medicine had upbraided him he had been sullenly silent, except when he had an opportunity to speak alone with Wanna.
As a result the boys of the Tumbling H ignored him. They had been considerate of him, but not friendly.
“Hair’s too slick,” declared Ike, and that seemed to be their general opinion.
But their indifference had little effect on Jack Hill, who looked upon them as a lot of uncouth louts, which, from his viewpoint, they probably seemed to be.
Breakfast was hardly over when three men rode up to the house and dismounted. Big Medicine saw them through the window, and he squinted wonderingly.
“Federal officers,” he said. “Three of ’em.”
He went to the door, followed by the other men. It was the first visit of the officers, three hard-bitten border officers, Ed McGurk, Art Whaley, and “Skinner” Burns.
“Hello, Hawkworth,” said McGurk, as his eyes searched the faces of Hashknife and Sleepy, knowing that they were strangers.
“Good morning, McGurk,” replied Big Medicine easily. “Riding early, it seems.”
“Does seem thataway,” nodded the officer. “Rode a lot earlier than this—and others done the same.”
“Yes? I don’t quite understand you.”
“I’m not talkin’ riddles,” said McGurk. “Mebbe yuh don’t know what I mean, and mebbe yuh do. Last night”—McGurk shifted his belt a trifle, but kept his eyes on Big Medicine’s face—“we chased three men and a packhorse, comin’ from toward the border.
“They had the jump on us. We chased ’em here to yore place, where they gave us the slip long enough to make a getaway. We follered ’em over the ridge on the south side of the cañon back of here, but lost ’em in the breaks.”
“Interesting,” said Big Medicine.
“Yeah, it is.” McGurk was sarcastic. “Yuh remember I spoke about a pack animal? Well, when we gave up the chase, Skinner says he’s sure they’ve ditched the packhorse. We decided to circle back this way and take another look, and we runs slap into a feller takin’ the horse away from here, from yore ranch.”
“From here?” queried Big Medicine wonderingly.
“Yeah, from here. But he seen us at the same time. The packhorse was too tired to run, so he cut loose and got away down through a manzanita flat, but we got the pack animal.”
“Well—and then what?” asked Big Medicine.
“The pack sacks were empty.”
“Empty?”
“Yeah, empty! They wasn’t empty when that horse was left here.”
“How do yuh know?” asked Hashknife.
McGurk squinted closely at Hashknife.
“Who are you?” he asked coldly.
“Do yuh have to tell yore name in order to ask a question?”
McGurk spat angrily, while the Tumbling H boys grinned.
“I’ll ask the same question, if you don’t care to answer Mr. Hartley,” said Big Medicine. “How do you know that the pack sacks weren’t empty when the horse came to my ranch, McGurk?”
“Would them three men fight so hard for a getaway if there wasn’t smuggled stuff on that horse?” demanded McGurk.
“Mebbe they stole the horse,” suggested Sleepy.
“Na-a-aw, hell!” exploded Skinner Burns angrily.
“I’ve knowed horse-thieves to put up a hell of a race and a fight to get away,” said Sleepy innocently.
“The hell yuh have,” grunted McGurk. “You’ve been around quite a lot, ain’t yuh?”
“Twice,” said Sleepy.
“Around where?” asked Burns.
“Quite a lot.”
“All right,” said McGurk angrily. “This ain’t gettin’ us no place. We’ll search the place, Hawkworth. You know we’ve got the right to do this.”
“Certainly, McGurk. The Tumbling H has nothing to conceal.”
The three officers headed for the stable, while the men of the Tumbling H grouped together and followed them. They all knew, except Hashknife, that the officers were all wrong, and he felt sure that they would not find his cache.
Nor did they. After an hour of searching, which included the ranch-house, they were forced to admit that nothing had been overlooked. They were satisfied that the Tumbling H contained no contraband, but they were not contented.
“Yuh didn’t overlook any place, didja?” asked Hashknife, when the officers came back to their horses.
“If we think of any place we didn’t look, we’ll come back,” said McGurk peevishly. “You got away with it this time, I guess.”
“Kinda looks like it,” grinned Hashknife. “Mind tellin’ us what was in them pack sacks?”
McGurk looked him over coldly. He wanted to make some cutting remark, but Hashknife’s grin was too infectious. So McGurk grinned, although wearily, and mounted his horse.
“I don’t know what was in ’em,” he admitted. “I don’t know whether there was anythin’ in ’em or not. The rest of the story is just like I told it to you. Drugs are bein’ run across the line in big bunches, and if any man deserves killin’, it’s a drug-runner. Lotsa times I can forgive a horse-thief or a murderer, but not a drug-runner.”
“Same here,” said Hashknife thoughtfully. “Officer, you’ve got the story pretty straight, but there’s a few pages missin’. Go back to the border and try again next time. I reckon there’ll be a next time.”
“What do you mean?” queried McGurk.
“You’ll have to guess,” grinned Hashknife.
The three officers rode away, wondering what Hashknife meant, while the Tumbling H men lost no time in asking Hashknife what he meant. But Hashknife refused to say. He knew what it would mean to Big Medicine to have that cargo of drugs found on the Tumbling H, so he said nothing. Jack Hill, the invalid, heard what had been said, from just inside the front door, but asked no questions.
He went back to his seat in the shade at the rear of the ranch-house, where he re-read an old magazine. Hashknife, Sleepy, and Ike elected to spend their time at the corral, breaking a pair of colts, while Big Medicine, Musical, and Cleve saddled their horses and rode into the hills toward the border.
Wanna finished her work in the house and came outside, where Jack huddled in his chair and looked out across the hills. He smiled at her preoccupied expression and motioned for her to sit down beside him. She came closer, but did not sit down.
“What’s the matter, little girl?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Wanna shook her head.
“I know.” He laughed softly. “You’re getting tired of living out here in the wilderness. I don’t blame you. I think I’ll go away about tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” she asked quickly. “You going away?”
“Well”—he smiled crookedly—“I can’t stay here any longer. Your father don’t like me, Wanna.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He don’t want me to talk to you.”
“Don’t he?”
Wanna turned and started for the door.
“Here!” he called to her. “Where are you going, Wanna?”
“I’m going away.”
“Can you beat that?” wondered Jack aloud, addressing the wide world. “Come back here, you foolish girl. Your father can’t expect to keep you from talking, can he? Come back and sit down.”
Wanna stopped, but did not come back.
“Why don’t my father want you to talk to me?” she asked.
“Oh, gosh, I don’t know. What do we care? Come back here and I’ll talk to you about San Francisco. Come on, Wanna. Your father won’t be back for several hours, so it will be all right.”
Wanna went slowly back. She did not want to disobey her father, but she did want to hear more of the wonders of the outside world. Finally she sat down beside Jack, forgetful of everything, except his word pictures of the places outside Hawk Hole.
Lucy came to the kitchen door, where she could hear the soft drone of voices from around the corner. She listened for several moments before going to the corner, where she could see Wanna and Jack, sitting close together, talking in undertones.
“Wanna!” said Lucy sharply.
The girl sprang to her feet and turned to look at her mother.
“Come, Wanna,” said Lucy.
Wanna looked quickly at Jack, who threw his old magazine aside in disgust. Wanna went slowly to her mother, who motioned for her to go into the house. Jack turned and scowled at Lucy, his eyes snapping with anger.
“You, too, eh?” he snapped. “What harm is there for me to talk to the poor ignorant kid?”
“Big Medicine say no,” said Lucy calmly. “You know that.”
“Oh, all right!” disgustedly. “I’m about through with this place.”
“You all through,” said Lucy stolidly.
She turned and went down to the corral, where she called to Ike. He threw down his rope and came to her.
“You hitch up team,” she said. “You take Jack Hill to town.”
“All right,” nodded Ike. “All well, now, eh?”
“Too damn well,” said Lucy inelegantly, and went back to the house, where she confronted Jack again.
“You git ready,” she said. “You go away right now.”
“All right.” He got to his feet and started for the house. “I’m good and ready to go, you bet. I never was as sour on any place in my life.”
“This place sour for you now, you bet,” said Lucy.
He whirled and glowered at her.
“I’ll remember this,” he told her.
Sleepy was coming up from the corral, but neither of them noticed him.
“Some day I’ll show Big Medicine Hawkworth where to head in—and the rest of you.”
“Me included?” asked Sleepy.
Jack turned his head. This was not so good. He turned to enter the house, but Sleepy stopped him.
“Thank the lady for what she’s done for you,” ordered Sleepy.
“I will, like hell!”
“I only ask once,” said Sleepy warningly. “I hate to hit a cripple, but if you don’t thank Mrs. Hawkworth for takin’ care of you, I’ll make you an invalid for the rest of your life—you dirty, low-down cur.”
Sleepy was close to Jack, and coming closer. Instead of complying with Sleepy’s order, Jack reached inside his coat. Sleepy dived into him, slamming him back against the door jamb, while he almost twisted Jack’s right arm out of the socket in order to force him to drop a small pearl-handled revolver, which he had drawn from an inside pocket.
Sleepy flung him aside and kicked the gun out into the yard.
“Baby had a pretty tooth, didn’t he?” mocked Sleepy. “Now, you cross between a polecat and another one, thank the lady.”
Jack shrank back against the wall, panting with anger, while Sleepy waited for him to regain his breath. Then Jack thanked Lucy for her kindness to him. It was the only way out. He knew that Sleepy would make good his threat, and Jack felt that a live coward was worth several dead heroes.
Hashknife and Ike were coming up with the wagon, so Sleepy let Jack go in to pack up his few belongings.
Hashknife picked up Jack’s revolver and looked at it curiously.
“Shook it out of little ‘Slick-Hair,’” said Sleepy. “He didn’t want to thank Mrs. Hawkworth. Got real huffy and drawed his prize peashooter.”
“Uh-huh.”
Hashknife sniffed at the caliber of the gun and tossed it aside as something unclean.
“Gimme that,” said Ike seriously. “I’ll have a pin put on it and wear it in my necktie.”
“Too gaudy.” Hashknife shook his head. “Smells of beauty powder.”
Jack came out and climbed into the wagon, as Hashknife picked up the gun and examined it again.
“Whatcha lookin’ for?” asked Ike.
“I’m lookin’ for the manicure scissors in this darned thing.”
Jack growled a soft oath, and Ike spoke excitedly to Hashknife.
“He says there ain’t none in it, Hashknife. It’s a perfume bottle. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
Ike kicked off the brake and they started for town.
Lucy smiled at Sleepy and held out her hand.
“Mahsie,” she said softly.
Sleepy shook hands with her thoughtfully. Then—“Kiwa teahwit,” he said.
It was the only Chinook he could remember, in response to her “Thank you.”
He turned to Hashknife.
“Ain’t we goin’ to town, too?” he asked.
“Yeah,” laughed Hashknife. “C’mon, old bowlegs.”
After the border officers left the Tumbling H Ranch no wiser than before they came, they overtook Lon Pelly, the sheriff, and Cloudy Day, who were heading for Pinnacle. Pelly had not been able to find enough poker-players in Caliente, so he made it appear that urgent business called him to Pinnacle.
McGurk and Pelly were old friends, and, both of them being officers of the law, it was perfectly natural that McGurk should tell Pelly about their chase and disappointment. Pelly was both amused and sympathetic.
“Does look kinda funny,” admitted Pelly. “Still there’s lots of queer things happen in this neck of the woods, Mac. I’ve got so I don’t believe anythin’ I hear, and only half what I see.”
“And that’s about fifty percent more than I do,” said McGurk. “Maybe that packhorse didn’t have nothin’ on but the empty sacks. Maybe somebody just didn’t want us to see who they were. There’s a lot of maybes about it, Lon, but somethin’ tells me that the pack sacks were loaded, and that somebody shifted the cargo on us.”
“You’ll get a lot of gray hairs worryin’ about it,” laughed Pelly. “I’d rather set back of some reds, whites, and blues on a green-covered table than to pack the red, white, and blue along that damn border. I could be knowed as a hell of a good sheriff, and die young.”
“I guess that’s right,” grinned McGurk. “But either one is a good game when yuh win. I had a good hand last night, but somebody stole all the aces.”
The revenue officers rode straight through Pinnacle, but the sheriff and deputy tied their horses at the Greenback rack and went into the saloon. The sheriff lost no time in getting a seat in a poker game, while Cloudy Day proceeded to regale his insides with his favorite beverage, which carried a high percentage of alcohol.
Baldy Kern, Two-Fingers Kohler, and Jack Baum rode in from the K-10. Baldy’s wrist was heavily bandaged, and he wore his holster on the left side, which proved that Baldy was ambidextrous—or tried to be. Kohler explained that his cheek was cut from accidental contact with a barbed wire, which cut it did not resemble in the least.
Cloudy was fairly well “organized” when the K-10 outfit rode in, and they were not averse to helping him imbibe a few more. Cloudy’s sense of humor grew greater with each successive drink, so it was not long before he laughed aloud at what McGurk had told them.
“What’s funny?” asked Kohler.
“A revenue officer chasin’ a empty packhorse.”
“Empty packhorse?” queried Baldy.
“Yuh know what I mean—empty pack sacks.”
Cloudy was almost crying with alcoholic mirth.
“Chasin’ it where?” demanded Kohler.
Cloudy wiped his eyes on his sleeve and explained as well as he could what McGurk had told them. He drew diagrams in the air with both hands and otherwise illustrated how McGurk, Whaley, and Burns had chased three riders and one pack animal almost all the way from the border to the Tumbling H Ranch.
He dilated on the fact that the packhorse had been left at the ranch, and how the officers, suspecting such a thing, had come back in time to capture the horse, but lost the man who was taking it away. And then he leaned against the bar and sobbed out the fact that the packhorse carried nothing but empty pack sacks.
Baldy, Kohler, and Baum laughed with Cloudy. They slapped him on the back and bought more liquor. Jim Reed came in from the Greenhorn country and joined them. Of course Cloudy had to tell the story all over again, with certain variations, and Jim Reed laughed.
Faro Lanning came from his private room at the rear of the building, and Cloudy felt obliged to tell the story to Faro. By this time his continuity was very bad, so he was prompted by Baldy, Kohler, and Baum, and Reed, who knew the story probably better than Cloudy did.
Faro listened attentively and joined in the inevitable laugh at the expense of the revenue officers. In fact the story went over so well that Cloudy wanted to hire a hall and charge a nominal admission. He was serious. So was Baldy.
The story meant much to Baldy. He knew that some outfit had got wind of their crossing with the big cargo, and had hijacked them out of it. He felt sure that the officers had heard the shooting and had run into the men who had ambushed him. But he was at a loss to understand who had removed the cargo from the pack animal.
He wondered if Big Medicine and his men were this outfit. It looked very much as if they had pulled the trick.
“Could it be that Torres is in with the Tumblin’ H outfit, and they killed Blair to keep him from tellin’ somethin’?” he asked himself.
It looked plausible. Anyway, it was worth thinking over.
A little later Ike Marsh drove in, bringing the disgruntled Jack Hill to town, and Jack Baum, looking from the saloon window, saw them stop in front of the hotel, where the stranger got out and went inside. Ike drove to a hitch-rack and tied the team.
Before he left the rack, Hashknife and Sleepy rode in and tied their horses at the same rack. Baum lost no time in telling Baldy about it.
“The young feller seemed to walk pretty good,” said Jack.
“Probably quittin’ the ranch,” said Baldy. “I’ve got to see him as soon as I can. Yuh never can tell what he knows about that damn layout at the Tumblin’ H.”
“What about these three punchers?” asked Baum. “We owe ’em somethin’ for that other deal, Baldy.”
“Not yet,” cautioned Baldy. “Sing small just now. We don’t care what they think, sabe?”
The three cowboys from the Tumbling H came in and almost bumped into the three from the K-10. It was their first meeting since the escape of Torres, but Baldy did not seem to hold any grievance. He grinned at Hashknife and invited them all to have a drink.
“How’s the wrist?” asked Hashknife, after they had accepted the invitation.
“Pretty good,” replied Baldy. “Healin’ up fine. How’s things at the Tumblin’ H?”
“All right. Hello, Cloudy.”
Cloudy Day recovered sufficiently to realize that these men had not heard his side-splitting tale, so he proceeded to tell it incoherently. Baldy watched Hashknife’s face closely, while Cloudy managed to mumble out the main details, but the tall cowboy’s expression told him nothing.
“Sounds all right,” grinned Hashknife, after Cloudy subsided. “But what does he mean about the stuff bein’ left at the Tumblin’ H?”
“Search me,” said Baldy. “All I know about it is what he’s been tellin’. Wasn’t the revenue officers out there?”
“Sure they was. They searched the ranch from top to bottom, while we sat around and wondered what it was all about.”
“Somebody havin’ a pipe dream,” smiled Baldy. “Ever’ once in a while them revenue officers do things like that.”
“Always tryin’ to put the deadwood on somebody,” declared Jim Reed, who had moved in close to hear the discussion.
Hashknife looked at Jim Reed, and a grin widened his mouth.
“The last time I seen you,” said Hashknife, “you was comin’ out of Hawkworth’s house on yore ear.”
Reed flushed angrily, started a denial, thought better of it and moved away. He did not care to discuss such a painful affair, and had hoped that no one would ever know that Big Medicine had thrown him out.
“I thought that him and Hawkworth were good friends,” said Baldy.
“I dunno anythin’ about it, except that he came out on his ear. Mebbe that’s a mark of friendship in this country.”
“Not hardly,” grinned Baldy. “Mebbe Jim Reed was tryin’ to sell Hawkworth some minin’ property. I see yuh brought the young feller back with yuh. Is he all right again?”
“Able to take care of himself,” said Hashknife. “He don’t weigh very heavy, as a man, Kern.”
“Didja find out what he’s doin’ here, or what he intended to do here?”
Hashknife shook his head.
“No, he didn’t say. He’s an ungrateful young pup, I know that much about him. Mrs. Hawkworth nursed him all this time, took care of him every minute, and he swore at her when he left. If his body was heavy enough to break his neck, he’d probably been hung long ago.”
Baldy grinned at Hashknife’s opinion of Meline’s son, whether he agreed with Hashknife or not. Baldy sat down at one of the games and Hashknife drifted away to join Sleepy and Ike. None of them wanted to gamble or drink, and Pinnacle held little else to amuse them, so they decided to go home.