Along a sandy road, which leads northward from Cañonville, came two cowboys that afternoon. They were not traveling fast, because of the fact that both horses were footsore and weary. The fact of the matter was, they were cowboy ‘tourists,’ heading south for the winter.
The one on the tall, gray horse whistled unmusically between his teeth and surveyed the landscape through a pair of level, gray eyes. He was also tall, thin, with a long, rather serious face, generous nose and a wide mouth. His well-worn Stetson was tilted forward over his eyes, shading his face from the western sun. He wore a pale blue shirt, a nondescript vest, which was little more than a drape on each side of his chest, and a pair of bat-wing chaps. Around his waist was a weathered, hand-made cartridge belt, supporting an old holster, from which protruded the black handle of a big Colt gun. His boots were extra high of heel, and his spurs had been dulled until there was little left except a circle of steel.
The other man was shorter, broader of shoulder, with a deep-lined, grin-wrinkled face, out of which looked a pair of innocent blue eyes. Their raiment was about the same, their riding rigs much alike. The shorter man rode a chunky sorrel, which was forced to singlefoot in order to keep up with the swinging walk of the tall gray.
‘Ain’t seen a cow for forty miles, Hashknife,’ said ‘Sleepy’ Stevens, the short one of the duo, breaking a long silence.
‘Hashknife’ Hartley turned in his saddle and smiled at Sleepy.
‘Mebby it’s a lucky thing for the cows, cowboy. Any cow that could live in the country we’ve gone through would have to imagine a lot. But we didn’t come lookin’ for cows—we came for the climate.’
‘Shore,’ admitted Sleepy.
‘And this is climate.’
‘In the daytime,’ admitted Sleepy. ‘Last night I dang near froze. When we hit a town, I’m goin’ to have at a reg’lar bed. Didn’t that shepherd tell us it was only twenty miles to Cañonville?’
‘Sheep-herder’s miles, Sleepy.’
‘I reckon that’s right.’
They rode in over the crest of a hill and saw the town of Cañonville ahead of them.
‘That’s her,’ proclaimed Hashknife. ‘The first thing on my programme is to wrap m’self around about four eggs and a couple o’ slices of a hawg’s hind leg.’
‘Yea, brother. And set on somethin’ besides a saddle or a cactus. Man, I’m plumb rode out. When we talked about comin’ to Arizona for the winter, I took a look at a map, and I seen a couple of two-inch squares, pink and orange, which represented what we has to cover in order to reach this here destination.[’]
‘It looked easy, Hashknife. There wasn’t a danged thing difficult-lookin’ about it; no hills, no cactus, no sand; jist pink and orange. And only two inches of it. I’d like to meet the jigger that drew the map I looked at.’
Hashknife smiled and shook his head.
‘We shore earned a rest in a sunny land, Sleepy. I’ll bet these broncs will be glad to lean up ag’in’ a load of oats. They wasn’t raised to browse off a Spanish dagger.’
Cañonville looked exactly like several of the Arizona towns they had passed through; a typical Arizona cow-town on a railroad. Many of the buildings were of adobe, the rest weathered frame, with false fronts.
They rode straight to the livery-stable, where they put up their horses, and then went hunting a restaurant. It was there that they met Noah Evans, the deputy sheriff, humped in a chair as he waited for his meal to be served.
He gave Hashknife and Sleepy a sharp glance, noted their general appearance, and nodded a welcome. Noah needed some one to talk with, and a stranger would be a boon. Hashknife and Sleepy slid into chairs across the table from Noah and gave their order to the waiter.
‘Jist got in, didn’t yuh?’ asked Noah.
‘Not fifteen minutes ago,’ said Hashknife. ‘How’s everythin’ down here?’
‘Kind of a broad question, stranger.’
‘Crime, for instance.’
Hashknife had noticed the badge of office on Noah’s shirt-bosom.
‘Crime? Huh! Ain’t none,’ gloomily. ‘Ain’t been none since me and Lem Sheeley’s been runnin’ the office.’
‘Lem’s the sheriff, eh?’
‘Y’betcha. And he’s a dinger, too. Was a dinger,’ he corrected himself sadly.
‘Somebody plant him?’
‘Na-a-aw! Yuh see,’ Noah rested his skinny elbows on the table and considered the sugar-bowl thoughtfully, ‘I figure a sheriff ort to be heartwhole and fancy-free. Otherwise he ain’t capable.’
‘Fell in love, eh?’ smiled Hashknife.
‘Accordin’ to all signs of the Zodiac—he has. I’m here in town, runnin’ the damned office, while he lallygags. By Gad, I hope t’ be my own boss some day.’
‘And if yuh was, you’d be out to see the same girl, eh?’
Noah looked up quickly, and his ears grew red.
‘How do yuh make that out, stranger?’
‘Observation. If it wasn’t true, you wouldn’t give a damn where he was.’
‘Uh-huh.’
The waiter deposited Noah’s food in front of him, and the conversation lagged for a few minutes. Their orders came along, and the three men busied themselves with the meal.
‘Goin’ to stay around here?’ asked Noah.
‘Dunno yet,’ replied Hashknife. ‘We’re down here to spend the winter, but we’ve got to hit a cow country, where we can get work.’
‘Uh-huh. From up north, eh? I used to punch cows up in the Milk River country. Used to be around Pendleton, Umatilla, and then I was over in Idaho.’
‘We’ve been up in that country,’ nodded Hashknife. ‘I was born over on the Milk River.’
‘Thasso? What’s the name?’
‘Hartley.’
‘Hartley, eh? Any relation to Jim Hartley, of the Bar 77 outfit?’
‘I guess so; he’s my brother.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned! Why, me and old Jim—say! Yore dad was a preacher up in that country. Rode an old white horse and packed the gospel. No, I didn’t know him, but I heard a lot about him. They said he was the only preacher they ever had that didn’t try to convert somebody. Wasn’t tryin’ to show folks how to die; he showed ’em how to live straight. And you’re Jim’s brother! You’re Hennery, ain’t yuh? I’ve heard him tell about you. My name’s Evans—Noah Evans.’
They shook hands solemnly, and Hashknife introduced him to Sleepy.
‘Well, well!’ marveled Noah explosively. ‘She’s a small world, gents. I ain’t seen Jim Hartley for three or four years. Spent a winter up there, and I ain’t thawed out yet. Wish it was jist before dinner, I’d shore like to buy yuh both a drink.’
‘We’ll be here just before supper,’ grinned Sleepy.
‘You betcha.’
They finished their meal, and Noah invited them to come down to the office, where he talked with Hashknife about the Milk River country, naming over people whom Hashknife remembered, although it had been many years since he had been home.
While they were talking, Lem Sheeley rode in. Noah lost no time in introducing the two cowboys to the sheriff.
‘Hear anythin’ of young Lane?’ asked Noah.
Lem shook his head wearily. ‘Nothin’, Noah. Probably out in the hills. Didn’t see anythin’ of the old man, so I reckon he’s out there, too.’
‘How about the girl?’
‘She’s home.’
Lem tried to act indifferent.
‘Alone?’ asked Noah.
‘No-o-o.’
‘Well, who in hell is with her?’
Lem slowly rolled a cigarette, as he told about Rex Morgan and his experiences. Hashknife leaned forward on his chair and absorbed every word of it, while Sleepy scowled over his cigarette, sighing wearily.
Lem told them of old man Lane discovering Spike Cahill and Bert Roddy, fighting in the dark, and Noah seemed greatly amused over that incident. Knowing that Hashknife did not know of the incidents which led up to this, Noah explained about the coming of the nester family, the persecutions of the 6X6, and the killing of Ben Leach.
‘And this young feller says his name is Morgan, eh?’ queried Noah. ‘I wonder if he’s any relation to Pete or Dave.’
‘I dunno.’ Lem shook his head. ‘Bunty Smith says he’s loco, but I don’t see anythin’ wrong with him, except that he talks like a dictionary and ain’t never been out in the sun very much. Didja ever see this?’
He took the Colt from inside his shirt and placed it on the table in front of Noah, who examined it quickly.
‘That’s Pete Morgan’s gun, Lem. I’d know it by them handles. Spike Cahill shaped ’em for him. Said he’d make me a pair like ’em as soon as he got time. That was a year ago, which leads me to believe Spike has been pretty dang busy. Where’d yuh get it, Lem?’
‘I picked it up in Lane’s corral this mornin’.’
‘Oh-ho-o-o-o! So old Pete went over to clean-up on old man Lane and lost his gun. I’d keep it, if I was you, Lem. Serves him right.’
‘Pete Morgan and old man Lane had a fight in Mesa City yesterday, and Pete knocked him down. They tell me that the old man drawed a deadline against the 6X6. He tried to draw a gun on Pete, but Joe Cave blocked him. I reckon he’d have killed Pete.’
‘By golly, they’ll monkey with that old buzz-saw until he does kill some of ’em. You ort to go and have a talk with that 6X6, Lem.’
‘That would do a hell of a lot of good.’
‘Tough outfit?’ asked Hashknife.
‘No tougher than the rest, I don’t suppose. But Peter Morgan has kinda bossed things around the Mesa City country until his punchers think they can do just as they please. This nester shore slipped one over on old Pete when he homesteaded that place.[’]
‘I dunno yet why Pete didn’t have somebody homestead it for him. I reckon it was because Pete thought he could keep anybody off, anyway. He’s shore scared a lot of nesters off that side of the road. But Lane was jist as tough as Pete; so he’s still there.’
‘With his son hidin’ out,’ added Noah sadly.
‘And the rest of the country givin’ us hell because we don’t smoke him out,’ sighed Lem.
‘What kind of a feller was this Leach?’ asked Hashknife.
‘Tough hombre,’ replied Noah. ‘We figure he got what he went lookin’ for.’
‘The only bad move Lane made was to take Ben’s gun and horse,’ said the sheriff. ‘I reckon he was just drunk enough to take ’em. Kind of an Injun idea; kill ’em and take everythin’.’
Sleepy was humped up in a chair, looking sadly at Hashknife. Sleepy knew what this would mean. Hashknife was leaning forward, an eager expression in his gray eyes, his long, lean fingers caressing the knees of his worn chaps. Gone were all the signs of weariness from their long journey.
Fate had again thrown them into a troubled range; Hashknife Hartley was in his element. But Hashknife was not a man-hunter. He had no interest in the outlaw, on whose head was a price.
‘This young Lane ain’t got Injun blood, has he?’ asked Hashknife.
‘No-o-o,’ drawled Lem. ‘But he was drunk enough to be a fool that day. He probably knew we’d be on his trail; so he heeled himself with Ben’s gun and horse. Me and Noah was at his ranch when he came home, and he said he had fixed one of the 6X6 gang.’
‘And when the 6X6 gang came after him, he wasn’t in the house,’ added Noah. ‘Must ’a’ went straight through the house, cut out through the hills, and picked up Ben’s horse, ’cause he left his own bronc at the corral.’
‘If it was self-defense, why didn’t he give himself up to the law?’ asked Hashknife.
‘Because he’s a nester,’ said Lem quickly. ‘He had an idea that the law wouldn’t give him an even break.’
‘I can understand that,’ agreed Hashknife. ‘And since the killin’, the 6X6 has been hangin’ around the nester’s place at night, eh?’
‘Y’betcha. They want young Lane. And Peter Morgan backs their play, Hartley. Some day him and old man Lane will meet for a show-down.’
‘And what kind of a girl is this nester’s daughter?’
‘She’s all right,’ said Lem slowly. ‘Square as a dollar.’
‘And no shrinkin’ vi’let,’ added Noah.
‘Is Peter Morgan a married man?’
‘No.’
‘What did Ben Leach and young Lane fight about?’
‘I dunno. I heard that Ben called him a damn nester. Mebby it was mostly liquor. But Ben had no right to follow him unless he was prepared to shoot. The 6X6 contend that Lane saw him comin’ and bushwhacked him. Can’t prove it. Ben got a bullet through his head. I dunno what Lane’s story would be, but he’s got a good chance to prove self-defense.’
‘Looks thataway,’ admitted Hashknife. ‘I reckon we better get us a room at the hotel, Sleepy.’
‘I’ll go along,’ declared Noah. ‘I know the jigger who runs the hotel and I’ll see that he gives yuh a good room. Some of ’em has got cracked pitchers in, yuh see.’
They secured the room and spent an hour or two looking over the little town, after which they drifted back to the sheriff’s office. Lem stretched out on a cot and snored audibly, while Noah talked Milk River with Hashknife.