CHAPTER IV
SO DOES HASHKNIFE
Hawkworth’s Tumbling H ranch buildings were not much to look at. They were situated at the mouth of a cañon, which gave them a fair view of the broad expanse of Hawk Hole, and the elements had colored them until they blended into the gray of the landscape.
The ranch-house was a two-story, half-adobe, half-frame construction. The house had originally been a one-story adobe, but later a frame had been built upon the original, giving it the appearance of a shack that had been lifted by a mud upheaval.
Behind it and to the right was a one-story adobe stable and a pole corral, where several horses drowsed in the heat. To the left of the ranch-house was the little adobe blacksmith shop, and back of that, nearer the cañon, was the bathhouse.
There was a general air of don’t-care-a-hang-how-we-look about the place. The front yard was a bare expanse of gravel and weeds, the fence fallen down in places. It might have well been a deserted ranch, instead of what it was.
Sleepy sniffed disgustedly, as they rode in past the sagging gate.
“For gosh’ sake, what smells around here?” he asked.
“That’s the hot springs,” grinned Hashknife. “Sulphur and a lot of other stuff. I sabe the smell. Some folks like to drink it.”
“Some folks ought to be investigated,” grunted Sleepy. “You may lose yore rheumatism, but you’ll gain somethin’ worse. Git that stuff in yore hair and see how long I stay around yuh.”
A saddled horse was tied to a porch post, and as they dismounted its owner came out. And he stood not upon the order of his coming. The door had opened suddenly, and this man came out asprawl. He struck on his hands and knees at the edge of the top step, turned completely over, and landed out in the gravel.
He was a short, heavily built man of about forty years of age, with a reddish mustache and a florid complexion.
For several moments he blinked violently, got slowly to his feet, and walked over to his horse. He turned his head to stare at Hashknife and Sleepy, but lost no time in mounting his horse and riding away. His hat came out in the yard with him, but he did not stop to pick it up.
Hashknife and Sleepy grinned at each other, and turned toward the doorway to see Big Medicine Hawkworth looking at them. He was stooped in the doorway, his big hands hanging low, his mop of white hair falling forward over his eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked sullenly.
Hashknife grinned and looked toward the cloud of dust, which marked the passing of the man who had been thrown out.
“Not what he got,” said Hashknife.
Big Medicine lifted his head and squinted down the road. His attention was attracted by the hat in the yard. Slowly he came down the steps, picked up the hat and sailed it far off across the tumbledown fence. Hashknife and Sleepy watched him with amusement as he came back to the edge of the porch.
“Perhaps,” he said, “that was a childish thing to do, but I was irritated beyond endurance.”
“Yeah,” admitted Hashknife, “I reckon yuh was, pardner.”
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“I’ve got rheumatism,” stated Hashknife, “and somebody said that yore hot spring was a sure cure. How about it?”
He considered the question gravely. “My dear man, there is no such a thing as a sure cure. It is all theory until proved by practice, and on each individual case. Diseases do not react the same in all bodies.”
“You talk like a doctor,” smiled Hashknife.
“I have studied,” said Big Medicine slowly, pushing back the big mop of hair. “Perhaps I might better say, I have read.”
“Outside of that,” grinned Hashknife, “do I get to try out yore hot water?”
Big Medicine looked narrowly at Hashknife from under his bushy eyebrows for several moments. He seemed undecided. Then:
“I’m not in the habit of allowing strangers to use my spring, sir; but I should be a hell of a citizen if I refused to let a suffering man share what Nature provided. You are welcome to use it as long as you find the need.” He pointed to the rear of the ranch-house. “You will find the bathhouse back there, sir. I think your nose will guide you.”
He smiled and walked back into the house, closing the door behind him.
“Can yuh beat that?” grinned Hashknife. “Looks like one of the old Bible prophets, talks like a dictionary, and throws men out through the front door. No wonder they say queer things about Big Medicine Hawkworth. Let’s find the bathhouse.”
Big Medicine was correct when he said that their noses would guide them. A cloud of vapor was coming from the adobe bathhouse, and with it the odor that resembled that of decayed eggs.
Inside the place they found a six-by-nine sunken tub, made from rough boards, with an inlet and outlet made of square wooden pipe. Hashknife lost no time in undressing and getting into the tub. The water was almost too hot for comfort, but he was game to give it a trial.
Sleepy moved just outside the door to get away from the steam, and saw Lucy and Wanna drive up to the stable, where Ike Marsh met them and took charge of the team. They did not look toward the bathhouse as they crossed the yard and entered the kitchen door.
Hashknife spent about fifteen minutes in the tub, after which he dressed and came outside. The heat of the bath had weakened him, and he looked solemnly at Sleepy.
“If you’d stick a fork in me, you’d sure find me well done,” he declared shakily. “There’s parts of me that are kinda rare yet, I suppose, but another stewin’ like that would sure put me in the fried-egg class.”
“Yuh look kinda shriveled up,” admitted Sleepy, looking him over closely. “I seen a dead fish that looked like you. I’ll betcha you’ll start fallin’ apart as soon as yuh get into the saddle ag’in, so I’ll ride behind yuh and pick up the pieces.”
They went back to their horses and started to mount, when Big Medicine came out to them.
“Where are yuh goin’?” he asked.
“Back to town,” said Hashknife. “Thank yuh very much for the bath.”
“You ain’t goin’ back to no town,” declared Big Medicine. He was talking cow-town English now. “Yo’re goin’ to wrap up in a blanket and take a sleep. How in hell do yuh expect that hot bath to do yuh any good thataway? Yore pores are all open now, and if you catch cold, you’ll have pneumonia. C’mon in the house and I’ll show yuh a bed.”
He turned and stalked inside, leaving no course open to Hashknife and Sleepy except to follow him. He led them up the creaking stairs and into a bedroom.
“You flop into that bed,” he ordered. “When yuh get in, I’ll have Wanna bring yuh a hot drink.”
He turned to Sleepy.
“Put yore horses in the stable. Ike Marsh is down there and he’ll show yuh where to put ’em.”
He went back down with Sleepy and they met Lucy and Wanna in the living-room. Big Medicine turned to Sleepy.
“I beg your pardon,” he said slowly, “but I have never heard your name.”
“My name’s Stevens,” smiled Sleepy. “My friends all call me Sleepy.”
“Ah, yes.” He turned to the women. “May I present Mr. Stevens? Mr. Stevens, this is my wife, Mrs. Hawkworth, and my daughter, Wanna.”
The old squaw held out her hand.
“I like to meet you,” she said. “How do?”
“Pleased to meetcha,” grinned Sleepy, and held out his hand to Wanna. She shook hands shyly and moved back.
“His friend is upstairs in bed,” said Big Medicine, looking at Wanna. “In about ten minutes, I want you to mix him a hot drink of rum, sugar, and water and take it up to him, Wanna.”
The girl nodded quickly and went toward the kitchen. Big Medicine led Sleepy outside and pointed toward the corral, where Ike Marsh was repairing a broken pole.
“Take your horses down there, Mr. Stevens. Ike will show you where to put them.”
“Thank yuh,” nodded Sleepy, and went to get the animals.
Ike Marsh met him at the stable door and Sleepy told him Big Medicine’s orders.
“Yeah, we got room,” said Ike, opening the doors.
They put the animals in two vacant stalls and came outside. Sleepy passed his tobacco and papers and they squatted down to smoke.
“I seen you fellers go up to the bathhouse,” said Ike thoughtfully, “and I wondered if you was friends of Big Medicine.”
“We dunno yet,” smiled Sleepy. “Yuh see, we never seen him before in our lives.”
“Yuh didn’t?”
Ike inhaled deeply at the wonder of it all.
“Yuh never seen him before, eh? Well, I’ll just say that yo’re lucky, if yuh needed a hot bath. Big Medicine ain’t in the habit of lettin’ strangers use his private tub. Yuh see, he’s got an idea that somebody might beat him out of the spring.”
“Is it worth anythin’?” asked Sleepy.
“Hell, I dunno.” Ike wrinkled his nose. “Not to me, it ain’t. I’ve been here a long time, but she still smells like hell. I suppose she’s worth somethin’. I dunno. Goin’ to stay long?”
Sleepy told him why they hadn’t gone back to town.
“That makes me paw my head,” declared Ike. “Mebbe you and yore pardner hypnotized Big Medicine.”
“What kind of a feller is he?” asked Sleepy.
“Jist what you’ve seen. He’s two kinds of person, if yuh know what I mean. Sometimes he gits dignified as a undertaker and talks like a book, and the next minute he talks like the rest of us. Who in hell was Shakespeare?”
“I dunno him,” admitted Sleepy.
“Me neither. Big Medicine did. Hell, yeah! Repeats things that Shakespeare said. I don’t sabe what it means, but it kinda pleases Big Medicine; so we listen. Oh, he’s smart, all right. And if yuh don’t think he’ll fight, try him.”
“I’ll take yore word for it,” grinned Sleepy. “He throwed a man out just as we rode up.”
Ike grunted softly and looked at Sleepy.
“He did?”
“Him, or somebody else in the house,” nodded Sleepy. “Anyway, this feller sure came out all spraddled, clawed his way onto his horse, and fogged away toward town.”
“That was Jim Reed,” stated Ike wonderingly. “Wasn’t nobody else but Jim Reed. He showed up when me and Big Medicine was talkin’, so I came down here to the barn. Well, I’ll be darned! Throwed him plumb out, eh?”
“Right on his neck.”
“Uh-huh. Well, well! Him and Jim Reed was good friends.”
“I’ll betcha,” grinned Sleepy. “He must ’a’ jist loved old Jim.”
“It shore has the earmarks of brotherly love,” grinned Ike. “I don’t like Jim Reed. He’s from Greenhorn. Owns some mines, and I reckon he’s been tryin’ to peddle part of ’em to Big Medicine. How did yore pardner like his bath?”
“All right, I reckon. Big Medicine made him come in and go to bed. He’s had rheumatism pretty bad, and we came here to see if the springs would cure it, yuh see. He was almost cured today. Got peeved at a gaudy-lookin’ Mexican and throwed him into the slack tub in the blacksmith shop. Plumb forgot his limp.”
“Th’owed a gaudy-lookin’ Mex into a slack tub?” wondered Ike. “Had a little mustache, wore his hair long in front of his ears and dressed like a tin-horn gambler?”
“That’s the curio,” nodded Sleepy. “Wore a red sash instead of a belt.”
“Pete Torres, as sure as the Devil made little apples. Th’owed him into a tub of dirty water! What did Pete do?”
“He damn near drowned. When we rode away he was braced ag’in’ the forge, drippin’ rusty water. I’ll tell a man, he wasn’t noways gaudy then.”
“Aw, gosh, that sounds too good to be true. I’d give half of my life to ’a’ seen it done. Now listen: Tell yore pardner to look out for Torres. He’s a bad hombre. What he don’t know about th’owin’ a knife ain’t to be learned. Why, that son of a gun could pin yore ears to the wall plumb across a room, and he’s no slouch with a gun.
“And he’s got a pardner named Garcia, half-Mex, half-Apache. If Torres asked Garcia to kill somebody, Garcia’d do it. He ain’t got brains enough to see farther than the killin’. It won’t be a even break, and yuh can bet on that.”
“We’re much obliged,” said Sleepy sincerely. “Hashknife Hartley don’t ask for a even break. That’s my pardner’s name. Mine’s Sleepy Stevens.”
“Mine’s Ike Marsh.”
They shook hands solemnly.
“Pleased to meetcha,” said Sleepy.
“Happy t’ know yuh,” muttered Ike. “You fellers ain’t from down in this country, are yuh? Notice yore boots are higher than most punchers wear down here.”
“Got these in Miles City, Montana,” said Sleepy.
“Hell, you fellers are shore travelers. Way up there, eh? I’ve heard about the cow-country up thataway. Good riders up there, they tell me. A Oregon puncher was a-tellin’ me that the bronc-riders are better up there, and the horses bigger, but he said that the Southwest puncher was a better roper. I dunno.”
“Mebbe”—Sleepy passed his Durham and papers—“I ain’t seen enough punchers in this country to see how they compare. We’ve got some hy-iu cowhands up there, pardner. Where is that Oregon puncher?”
“Works for the K-10 outfit. Name’s Sam Blair. I dunno just where he’s from, but he talks about Oregon; so I figured he was from there.”
“Uh-huh.” Sleepy squinted away from the smoke of his cigarette and considered his toes. “What kind of an outfit is this K-10?”
“Cattle. Baldy Kern owns the place. Him and Big Medicine ain’t friendly. Yuh see, Big Medicine didn’t want another cattle outfit in Hawk Hole; so Baldy kinda sets on the edge. No, they ain’t never had no open trouble, but Baldy knows where to head in at.”
“Hawkworth been here a long time, ain’t he?”
“Hell, yes. Must ’a’ come here twenty-five years ago. Took up a homestead, I reckon. Then he got other men to take up homesteads and turn ’em over to him. Bimeby he’s got most of Hawk Hole. Then he bought the rest from the Government for about two bits per acre.
“I dunno what he wants it for. There’s just him and Lucy and Wanna. Big Medicine ain’t never been out of here since he came. Money don’t mean nothin’ to him. Once in a while we herds some cattle out to Caliente, sells ’em to a buyer, and Big Medicine shoves the money in his sock. Me and Musical and Cleve takes ’em out and brings back the money.”
“Kind of a funny way to live,” observed Sleepy. “His money don’t do him much good. That half-breed girl is kinda pretty.”
Ike ground his cigarette under his heel and got to his feet.
“She’s a real nice girl,” he said slowly, “and nobody ain’t allowed to think any other way around here, Stevens.”
“I didn’t say nothin’ wrong, did I?” asked Sleepy.
“No, yuh didn’t. I don’t think yuh had any idea of sayin’ anythin’ wrong, but I just wanted yuh to know how things lay.”
“Suits me,” smiled Sleepy. “Where I come from we ain’t in the habit of sayin’ anythin’ against any girl, Marsh.”
Ike considered it gravely and nodded.
“That’s a good country, Stevens. Let’s go up to the house.”