CHAPTER VI
KNIFE OR GUN?
They rode away from the ranch over the road which led to Pinnacle, while the lights from the open door of the Tumbling H faded in the distance.
“So Sam Blair was the puncher from Oregon, eh?” said Hashknife.
“Kinda looks like it,” agreed Sleepy. “He had that lantern up close to his head and I knowed him right away. I’ll betcha he recognized you, Hashknife.”
“He sure would.”
Hashknife squinted ahead, as he visualized the day that he and Sleepy had busted up a little gang in the Idaho hills, a gang of four horse-thieves. Sam Blair had been the sole survivor. They turned him over to the sheriff, and he had later wounded a deputy sheriff and made his escape.
“Mebbe it’s a good thing he’s passed on,” observed Hashknife. “Blair could do us a lot of harm, if he’s connected with a bad outfit down here. We’ll just set tight and see which way things jump. Either Blair tried to kill me with a knife, or he was connected with Torres. I don’t think Blair done it. He got a good look at me, and when you showed up he got panicky and started throwin’ lead. But what was he there for?”
“Don’t ask me,” replied Sleepy. “I ain’t no use when it comes to thinkin’ things out. Where did we find Blair?”
“Right here.”
The road turned sharply around the point of a hill with brush on each side. Hashknife dismounted and kicked around in the brush, digging his heels into the dirt and otherwise making it appear as though the body had been found there. Sleepy forced the horses to turn several times in the road.
Then, as sort of an afterthought, Hashknife drew the long knife from inside his shirt bosom and tossed it near the spot.
“Somebody’ll recognize that knife, Sleepy,” he said as he mounted. “We’ll give ’em somethin’ to quarrel about.”
They rode into town and up to the front of the Greenback Saloon, where they dismounted and tied their horses. Lon Belly was in a poker game, sitting across the table from Baldy Kern. Cloudy Day leaned against the bar, talking with two of the men from the K-10. The other games were fairly well patronized, and the two-piece orchestra was dispensing music to three couples of dancers.
Hashknife went to the poker game and spoke directly to Lon Pelly.
“You better step out here a minute, Sheriff,” he said.
“I’ve got a dead man.”
“You’ve got a what?” blurted the sheriff, half-rising.
“Dead man,” repeated Hashknife. “Found him beside the road between here and the Tumbling H.”
“F’r gosh’ sakes!”
Lon Pelly upset his pile of poker chips in getting to his feet. The table was deserted in a moment, as all the players wanted to see who the corpse might be. They filed outside and helped Sleepy untie the body and take it into the saloon.
Baldy Kern swore softly as he looked at Blair’s body. There was little doubt in his mind that Torres or Garcia had killed Blair.
“Where did yuh find him?” asked the sheriff.
“About a mile from here, out toward the Tumblin’ H,” said Hashknife. “He was lyin’ near the road, and his horse had kinda got tangled in the brush. Do yuh know who he is?”
“Sam Blair,” said Baldy. “Worked for me.”
The crowd ringed the body, while the sheriff made his examination.
“Knife or gun?” queried Baldy.
“Gun—twice,” said the sheriff. “Good shootin’.”
He opened the dead man’s shirt and covered the two wounds with the palm of his hand.
“Wasn’t no nervous finger on that trigger, gents. Sam Blair never knowed what hit him.”
“Didja find his gun?” asked Baldy, examining the empty holster.
“Never looked,” replied Hashknife. “Probably there in the dirt.”
“We’ll take a look in the mornin’,” said the sheriff. “Some of you boys take the body down to the doctor’s place, will yuh? I’m right in a big jackpot. Anyway, there ain’t nothin’ I can do.”
Several of the men carried Blair’s body down to the doctor’s house, so Hashknife and Sleepy went along.
The doctor was properly indignant, and told them in plain language that he was not running a morgue, so they trooped back uptown with the body.
The doctor recognized Hashknife and Sleepy as being two of the men who had brought in the wounded stranger, and spoke to them about him, asking if they knew where he could get a nurse.
“You might get Mrs. Hawkworth,” said Hashknife. “She sure is a good nurse.”
“The Indian woman? Hm-m-m. I wonder if she would take the case. This man is out of danger, but needs a nurse badly. I can’t be here all the time, and I hate to leave him to the mercies of some man who knows nothing about nursing.”
“How long before he’ll be able to navigate?” asked Hashknife.
“Two weeks at least.”
“Well, I dunno about the Indian woman,” said Hashknife. “I’ll ask her.”
“You’d be doing me a big favor,” said the doctor. “I’ve got to get someone pretty soon.”
They went back to the Greenback and found that the body had been deposited in a vacant storeroom for the present. There was much speculation over who killed Blair, but Baldy Kern said nothing. He felt sure that Torres and Garcia had killed him. Jack Baum, who had been Blair’s bunkie, knew that Blair had ridden out to see where Torres went, and he also believed that Torres or Garcia had killed him.
The sheriff was too interested in the poker game to speculate on who might have killed Blair. Hashknife and Sleepy stood at the bar, listening to the buzz of conversation.
Lee Yung, the big Chinaman, was at the bar, sipping a drink, his inscrutable eyes taking in the activity of the place.
A little later the sheriff dropped out of the game and came to the bar. He had fared badly, and was not in good humor.
“Got three full-houses beat, hand-runnin’,” he complained. “When they do that to yuh, it’s time to quit.”
“Before that, if possible,” said Lee Yung in perfect English.
“That’s right,” laughed the sheriff. “Saves money, if you’ve got sense enough to see it.”
The stage line owner came into the saloon, saw the sheriff and came to him.
“I just got word from Caliente,” he explained hurriedly. “They couldn’t tell just how much of a haul the robbers got off the stage, but there was a valuable package for Hawkworth in the treasure box. I think Hawkworth’s package was valued at five hundred dollars.”
“For Big Medicine, eh?” mused the sheriff.
Hashknife and Sleepy had heard what was said, as had Lee Yung. The sheriff turned to Hashknife.
“When will you see Hawkworth again?” he asked.
“Tomorrow mornin’, I reckon.”
“All right. You tell him about that package, will yuh?”
“Sure thing.”
The agent went out and the sheriff went hunting for another chance to lose his money. He was an inveterate gambler. Lee Yung finished his drink and crossed to the roulette game, while Hashknife and Sleepy went to the hotel, engaged a room, and put their horses in the hotel stable.
“Well,” said Sleepy, “we got away with it, cowboy. They never even questioned us closely.”
“That’s true,” agreed Hashknife. “I wish I knew who Kern suspects. He kept his mouth shut tight, ’cause he thinks he’s got the deadwood on somebody. And there was a valuable package on that stage for Big Medicine, valued at five hundred dollars.”
“We’re here to cure yore rheumatism,” reminded Sleepy.
“I’m cured,” grinned Hashknife.
“Then we might as well roll our little ball of yarn out of here, eh?”
Hashknife squinted thoughtfully at the little oil lamp in their room, as he painfully bent his knee in removing a boot.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I ain’t exactly cured, Sleepy, but I’m recoverin’. That hot water sure is great medicine.”
“Between that and a pretty girl to bring yuh hot whiskey.”
Hashknife grinned widely.
“Y’betcha. I’d hate to be cured too quick. I noticed her smilin’ at you, Sleepy.”
“Yuh did not,” indignantly.
I did too. I asked her if she liked you and she says, “Kiwa teahwit.”
“What does that mean?”
“I dunno,” said Hashknife innocently. “There’s a lot of that language I don’t sabe myself. Anyway she smiled at yuh, so it must be all right.”
“I s’pose,” agreed Sleepy. “They’re real nice folks at that ranch.”
He walked to the window of their room, which was on the ground floor, and looked out. The night stage was just leaving, after waiting for the delayed mail from the Greenhorn Mines, and in the light from the hotel office, Sleepy was able to get a fairly clear view of the equipage.
He watched it disappear and turned to Hashknife, who was already in bed.
“The stage just left, and that big Chinaman was on the seat with the driver,” he said.
Hashknife rubbed his nose on the edge of the blanket and grinned at Sleepy.
“Didja want him for anythin’?”
“Not that anybody knows about,” retorted Sleepy. “I jist said that he went away on the stage. If you’d ’a’ told me that, I’d be supposed to marvel to beat hell and lose sleep over it, wouldn’t I?”
Hashknife nodded thoughtfully.
“Thank yuh, Mr. Stevens. I sure do appreciate yore information. C’mon to bed, you limber-jawed saddleslicker. Just because yuh saved my life tonight don’t give yuh no license to get sarcastic with me.”
“I never saved yore life,” declared Sleepy. “Sam Blair wasn’t tryin’ to kill yuh. He was jist lookin’ at yuh. I saved my own life, if anybody rises up to inquire.”
“Well, don’t brag about it, Sleepy. If yuh ever do anythin’ real big, I’d like to hear about it, but don’t bother me with little incidents. Blow out that lamp, if yuh ain’t run out of wind, and c’mon to bed.”
Early the following morning Ike Marsh rode into Pinnacle. He was too anxious to wait for the news, so came in to get it first hand. Guarded inquiries revealed the fact that Hashknife and Sleepy were at the hotel, and a short conversation with one of the swampers at the Greenback Saloon informed him that the body of Sam Blair was in a vacant storeroom.
Then Baldy Kern and Jack Baum rode in and tied their horses at the Greenback rack. Ike, being discreet, went out the back door and came around to the front just in time to meet the sheriff.
“Howdy, Lon,” he said, wondering just how much the sheriff knew.
“Hello, Ike,” returned the sheriff. “What do yuh know?”
Ike shook his head. That was the trouble; he wanted to know something. The sheriff squinted at the horses at the rack.
“Baldy Kern rode in early,” he observed. “I reckon he wants to see where Sam Blair was shot. Yuh heard about it, didn’t yuh?”
Ike spat dryly and shook his head. The sheriff told him about Hashknife and Sleepy’s finding Blair’s body beside the road, and Ike marveled greatly.
“Who done it, do yuh suppose?” he asked.
“Gosh only knows, Ike. Somebody sure shot straight. Here comes Hartley and his pardner.”
Hashknife and Sleepy were coming from the hotel, heading for the restaurant. Ike and the sheriff met them just as Baldy and Baum came from the saloon. Baldy scowled at Ike and got one in return, while Hashknife shook hands all around.
“I’d kinda like to see where yuh found Sam Blair,” said Baldy.
“Right away,” agreed Hashknife. “Me and Sleepy was goin’ to start for the Tumblin’ H, so we’ll all ride out to the spot.”
It did not take them long to ride to where Hashknife and Sleepy had planted the signs of conflict, and Baldy was the one to find the knife. He looked it over carefully and handed it to the sheriff.
“Some toad-sticker,” admitted the sheriff, testing the point with his thumb, as he scrutinized the ground carefully.
Baldy and Jack Baum exchanged knowing glances. That Torres had killed Sam Blair was a certainty now. They had seen Torres with that knife.
But search as they might, they could not find Blair’s gun.
“Hell, the murderer took it,” declared Baum. “He lost his knife, but took the gun. We’ll get him, y’betcha.”
Satisfied that they could find nothing more, Baldy, Baum, and the sheriff rode back toward town, while Hashknife, Sleepy, and Ike went on to the Tumbling H, where Big Medicine sat on the rickety porch and waited for the news.
Ike told him the whole story before Hashknife had a chance to explain anything.
“They even throwed that knife away where Baldy could find it,” declared Ike. “By golly, they sure drawed the wool over Lon Belly’s eyes, too. I seen Baldy look at Jack Baum when Baldy found that knife, and I’ll betcha they know who killed Blair.”
Big Medicine nodded approvingly.
“Thank you, boys. It will save a lot of trouble. Come in and eat breakfast.”
“That’s right,” grinned Sleepy. “We didn’t take time to eat in town.”
Big Medicine explained things to Lucy and Wanna, and the old squaw grinned delightedly, as she examined Hashknife’s wound of the night before.
“All gone,” she declared.
“Yo’re some doctor,” smiled Hashknife, patting her on the shoulder.
He turned to Big Medicine, who was sitting down at the table.
“Hawkworth, I had a talk with the doctor last night about that young feller who got shot the night we came in. The doctor can’t get anybody to nurse this feller, to look after him while the doctor is out on his cases.
“He’s kinda up against it, don’tcha know it. I suggested that he get yore wife to nurse this sick man. She sure could do a good job of it, and I feel sorry for the doc.”
Big Medicine stared at Hashknife and looked at Lucy.
“No,” he said gruffly. “Lucy don’t need a job.”
“It ain’t that,” assured Hashknife. “The doc knows that she don’t need the money.”
But Big Medicine shook his head.
“No, I need her here, Hartley.”
“Well, all right,” said Hashknife. “I just mentioned it.”
Big Medicine said little during the meal. He seemed doubly thoughtful, and his eyes were often turned toward Hashknife, as if wondering why Hashknife should concern himself with this stranger.
From the living-room came the squeaky strains of “The Holy City.” Musical Matthews, the last to arise, was having his “morning’s morning,” as usual. No one commented on it, as they were all used to it by this time.
Sleepy looked up from his breakfast and caught Wanna’s eye. She smiled at him and he dropped an egg off his knife onto his lap. Hashknife saw the egg fall and gave Sleepy a reproachful look. Wanna giggled and turned back to the stove.
“Mrs. Hawkworth, if you’ve got a rough knife, I wish you’d give it to Sleepy,” said Hashknife. “The one he’s got is too slick.”
“I look,” said Lucy seriously, and Ike went into a paroxysm of mirth.
He had seen Sleepy trying to rescue the egg, which managed to elude him. Wanna entered into the spirit of the thing and presented Sleepy with a pancake-turner.
Sleepy thanked her, upset his coffee with a careless elbow, and withdrew from the room, thankful to escape. Big Medicine looked reprovingly at Wanna, but did not know exactly what it was about, while Lucy still searched for a rough-bladed knife.
After breakfast Big Medicine drew Hashknife aside. They walked down by the corral and stopped in the shade of the stable.
“I heard last night that there was a package valued at five hundred dollars and consigned to you on that stage the other night,” said Hashknife. “It was among the stolen stuff, according to the manager of the stage office at Pinnacle.”
If Hashknife expected Big Medicine to show surprise, he was disappointed. The big man seemed not at all interested in the news.
“I was just wondering,” he said slowly, “why you suggested that my wife act as nurse for Doctor Henry.”
“Well, I dunno,” said Hashknife. “Mebbe it was ’cause she was the only woman I knew in this country, and because she knows how to take care of folks.”
“I see.” Big Medicine nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, but such a thing is impossible, Hartley. I couldn’t get along without her.”
“How about bringin’ the sick man out here?”
“No, I couldn’t think of such a thing.”
Hashknife squatted on his heels and began rolling a cigarette. Ike and Cleve came down past them, going to the stable, and Big Medicine told them to take things easy until he decided what he wanted them to do today.
“Hawkworth,” said Hashknife, after the boys had gone, “there’s somethin’ wrong around this country.”
Big Medicine looked at Hashknife, but did not reply.
“You lost five hundred dollars in that holdup,” continued Hashknife, “and a man was shot without visible cause. Last night someone tried to kill me with a knife. Sleepy killed a man who was lookin’ me over, and his own friends didn’t ask many questions. What’s it all about?”
Big Medicine leaned back against the barn and looked off across the hills.
“I don’t know,” he said softly. “Maybe there is something wrong.” He turned to Hashknife. “Are you a detective?”
Hashknife smiled and shook his head.
“Not guilty, Hawkworth.”
“Then why are you interested?’
“Curiosity, I reckon. And you’ve got to figure that I was in that holdup, and that I got hit last night. Ain’t that enough to make me interested?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“All right. Will yuh do me a big favor, Hawkworth?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have ’em bring that stranger out here to the ranch. It’ll only be a matter of two weeks at the most.”
Big Medicine frowned heavily.
“Just why do you want him here, Hartley?”
“I just want to play my hunch. Do you know what a hunch is?”
“Yes. But where does he come in?”
“They shot him, Hawkworth. He had his hands in the air when they shot him.”
“M-m-m. You think he knows——”
“Holdup men don’t make a practice of shootin’ strangers.”
“No, I suppose not. But will you be able to find out anything from him?”
“I’m not goin’ to ask him questions. As far as he’s concerned, he’ll be just a sick man. What do yuh say?”
Big Medicine thought it over for a full minute. Then:
“I’ll have Ike and Cleve hitch up the wagon team, Hartley. I think Lucy can fix up a room for him.”
Big Medicine went striding over to the house, while Hashknife grinned and rolled a cigarette.
Musical Matthews was busy at the phonograph, so Sleepy left him and went to the kitchen door, where Wanna and Lucy were washing the breakfast dishes. Big Medicine came in and stopped near the middle of the room.
“I’m goin’ to send Ike and Cleve to Pinnacle with the wagon,” he told Lucy. “They’ll bring that young feller out here to stay awhile, the one that got shot. Can you take care of him?”
Lucy thought it over for a moment.
“I fix room,” she said simply, and turned back to her work.
Big Medicine walked past Sleepy and went into the living-room. Wanna went outside, carrying some chicken feed, and Sleepy stepped into the kitchen.
“I just wanted to ask yuh a question,” he told Lucy softly. “What does ‘kiwa teahwit’ mean?”
“Kiwa teahwit?” repeated Lucy thoughtfully. “I forget some word. Mm-m-m.” She looked up and smiled. “That mean crooked leg. Jus’ like bow leg, I think.”
Sleepy flushed slightly and his lips compressed a trifle.
“Does Wanna sabe that language?” he asked.
Lucy shook her head. “Wanna never hear. Long times I no hear.”
“Thank yuh,” nodded Sleepy, and went outside.
Ike and Cleve were hitching a team to the wagon. Big Medicine and Musical came out of the front door and walked down where Hashknife squatted in the shade of the stable.
Ike and Cleve drove away, and Sleepy went down to join those at the stable.
“What do yuh know about Lee Yung the Chinaman?” asked Hashknife.
“Not much,” replied Musical. “He’s a plunger, I sabe that much. Yuh can’t tell anythin’ about a Chink, but I’d bet my last cent that Lee Yung is a smuggler. I tell yuh there’s Chinks bein’ run through this country, and drugs. Lee Yung ain’t the kind that would waste his time over what he can win in Pinnacle.”
“He went out on the stage last night,” offered Sleepy.
“Thasso? Well, if I was a officer I’d watch that Chink.”
“Talks good English,” said Hashknife.
“And thinks like an Oriental, I suppose,” smiled Big Medicine. “It is a dangerous combination. I have never met Lee Yung. I feel morally responsible for Hawk Hole, and I hope that Musical is wrong about the drug-smuggling. As far as the smuggling of Chinese is concerned, I have nothing to say.
“They are not a menace as far as I can understand. Our Government admits many emigrants less desirable than Chinese. Except in rare cases, the Chinese are a peaceable race, and their troubles are only their own people. Unlike the whites, they are a bit particular whom they kill.”
“That’s right,” grinned Hashknife. “They seem to draw the color line. I’ve never seen one that would lie. They either tell yuh the truth, or tell yuh nothin’.”
“I wish more white men were thataway,” said Sleepy, looking seriously at Hashknife. “A lot of fellers’ brains and tongues are kiwa teahwit.”
Hashknife squinted closely at Sleepy, and his face broke into a wide grin. Big Medicine was not looking at either of them.
“Lucy got a lot of pleasure out of exchanging a few words in the trade language with you,” he said. “She said it was like seeing some of her own people again. None of the rest of us ever understood the language.”
“That’s what I understand,” said Sleepy, and Hashknife smothered a laugh in the sleeve of his shirt.
The joke had gone over better than he had anticipated, much better.