Chapter VII: Bill Follows His Nose

It was after dark when Hashknife and Sleepy rode back to Cinnabar. They dismounted near the stable, from which their horses had been taken, and found the door locked. Hashknife secured a length of two-by-four and pried loose the staple, letting the door swing open. Cautiously they scratched matches and looked around. Ghost was in the first stall, and in the two rear stalls were Sleepy’s and Bill’s animals, contentedly chewing hay.

They led them outside and tied them to an old fence, with the horses they had ridden.

“Now for the dirty work,” laughed Hashknife, as they headed back for the street. “I reckon I’ve read the signs pretty plain, this far.”

“You shore have,” chuckled Sleepy.

The proprietor of the hotel was sitting on a bench in front of the building, smoking a pipe, when Hashknife and Sleepy found him. He got one look at their faces in the light from his window, and started to his feet.

“Go ahead!” said Hashknife softly. “We’ll talk to you in the house.”

The man went in. He was a poor actor, showing his indignation before any one had accused him of doing wrong. There was a big six-shooter on a little shelf behind the desk, but he was unarmed. Sleepy immediately appropriated the gun, much to the man’s chagrin.

“You owe us four hundred and fifty dollars,” said Hashknife calmly.

“You—I owe you? What for?”

“We brought your horses back. Didn’t like ’em.”

“Oh! You didn’t like ’em, eh? Well, mebbe I’ve got three better—”

“Out in your stable, eh? Oh, yeah, we know all about it. Give me that money right now, or we’re all fixed to treat you like we usually treat horsethieves. I knew you had ’em. Happens to be your business, eh? Steal a guest’s horse and sell him another for ten times what it’s worth. Well, you’re all through. You’ve given me a bill of sale for three stolen horses—enough to send you up for a lot of years. Give me that money, you danged crook!”

The man groaned but produced the money, and Hashknife counted it carefully before pocketing it.

“As I said before,” continued Hashknife, “you’re all through. We’ll be seein’ the sheriff in a short time and give him this bill of sale, along with a story about this last deal. If he don’t run you out or in, we’ll be along in a week or so and do the job up right. As long as we don’t know the morals of this town, you better go and see us pull out.”

The man realized that he was getting off cheaply, so made no objections. Hashknife replaced the staple in the door and they locked the proprietor in his own stable before they rode away to join Bill.

“I’ve never seen such a damn’ country,” declared Sleepy. “Have you got to sleep with your horse to keep him?”

“Looks thataway. I’ve heard of this game bein’ played, but this is the first time I ever had it played on me. You see, the man wasn’t concerned enough about our loss, and was too anxious to sell us horses. When he asked such a price, I could _sabe_ his game. He didn’t seem to have anybody workin’ for him, so I figured he was holdin’ them broncs out in the brush, and wouldn’t bring ’em in before dark.”

“You shore can figure,” said Sleepy. “I was blamin’ that jigger from High Grade.”

“Nope. If it had been him, the hotel man would have been surprised. We better hightail out of here and pick up Bill. He’s probably scared to death by this time, all alone out there in the dark.”

“Are we goin’ over to Willow Wells, Hashknife?”

“Well, why not? We’ve got to see this kid safe, ain’t we? He’s the first person that ever let me walk away with his money, and I’m kinda strong for him. We don’t think he knows much and he probably thinks we’re about the most ignorant people he ever met. Let’s stop and take the ropes off them valuable horses.”

“He’ll probably pick ’em up again.”

“That jigger,” said Hashknife, “is goin’ away from here. He may rent out his horse stealin’ concession on a royalty basis, but I’ll betcha ten to one that he won’t be here longer than it takes to pack up and get out.”

“What’ll we do in Willow Valley?”

“I dunno, pardner. Let’s wait and see what Willow Valley does to us.”

They released the extra horses at the point where they struck the old road to Willow Valley, and from there they kept a sharp outlook for Bill McGill. They did not expect him to go more than a mile or so along the old road, which was little more than a pair of ancient ruts.

But after a couple of miles, during which time they made enough noise to attract Bill’s attention, in case he was along that part of the road, they began to wonder what had become of him.

Hashknife dismounted and examined the road by the light of a match. There was one set of horse tracks heading east along the road.

“He passed here,” Hashknife decided as they rode on. “Probably ain’t got no idea of distance, or wanted to get plumb away from Cinnabar before he tied up.”

They rode along steadily for another hour, stopping at times to look at the tracks.

“That,” said Hashknife, “has got me fightin’ my hat. What’s the idea of that kid runnin’ away from us?”

“Search me,” said Sleepy. “His horse was the only one over that road, back where we started, and the tracks are still goin’ ahead. Do you reckon he kinda got buck fever and was scared to stop? Or mebbe when it got a little dark he was afraid we might have been doublecrossin’ him and wasn’t goin’ to meet him? You never can tell what a feller like him is goin’ to think next.”

“Yeah, that’s true. I suppose the only thing to do is to foller him. If it wasn’t that I had his money, we’d go on back and let him sail his own ship; but I don’t want his money.”

Hashknife examined the tracks again.

“Travelin’ slow,” he said. “We might catch up with him, if he didn’t start until dark; but we don’t know when he started. Well, it don’t matter; we’ll find him tomorrow.”

“He deserves a poke in the nose,” said Sleepy. “If he’d kept out of this country we’d be on our way north.”

“Yeah, that’s true; but what’s the difference? What’s a few days, more or less? And we’ve never seen Willow Valley.”

* * * * *

Uncle Hoddy stood at the bar in the War Paint and tried to get a good view of himself in the back bar mirror. But the image was just a trifle blurred, except when he closed one eye. Uncle Hoddy was drunk, but he could not even admit it to himself. He looked curiously at Hank Blue and Jerry Dole, two of the SP cowboys, who had helped put him in this condition.

Uncle Hoddy was drunk, which in itself was a disgraceful condition; but the worst of the matter was that Aunt Ida was down at the church, where several of the women were conferring on the business of the Ladies’ Aid Society, of which Aunt Ida was an active member.

And Uncle Hoddy might expect her at any time. He had not imbibed such an awful lot, but he remembered that he had forgotten to eat at noon. His empty stomach had given the liquor a good chance to get in its evil work.

“You look,” said Hank thickly, “as though you had sheen a ghos’.”

“I have. Wha’s in that liquor, anyway?”

“Nothin’. You’re drunk, Hoddy.”

“Lizzen,” Hoddy said owlishly. “Hank, ’ll you do me fav’r? Look across street at my buckboard. ’F my wife’s in it, I’m shunk like the _Mer’mac_.”

“She ain’t there,” declared Hank, who was a little better off than Hoddy, although Hank and Jerry had been drinking long before Hoddy had arrived.

“Good. You’re a nice feller, Hank. What’ll you have?”

“I’m almos’ to capacity. You see, me and Jerry came to town to git some flour. T’day is the day One Hop cooks bread, and he was shy on flour. Tha’s why me and Jerry’s ridin’ a buckboard.”

“Was that t’day?” asked Jerry.

“This mornin’.”

“My, my, my! Hank, we better go home. I’m broke, anyway.”

“Well, let’s have one more,” suggested Hank. “Uncle Hoddy buys the las’ one and then we go home—all of us.”

They drank to each other. Uncle Hoddy blinked foolishly, wiped the back of his right hand across his lips, while he clung to the bar with his other. Hank took another look through the window.

“She’s there,” he announced.

“Eh?” Uncle Hoddy stared at him.

“Aunt Ida’s in your buckboard, Hoddy.”

“My Gawd! And me in thish position. Well—” he tried to shrug his thin shoulders and almost fell down—“I’m jis’ right to abshorb a lecture on my failin’ morals. It’ll hit me and bounce right off. Is she lookin’ thish way?”

“She wasn’t when I looked.”

“Good! Gen’lemen, I am shorry I have but one life to give— Well, tha’s all right. I’ll shay good af’ernoon to you all.”

Uncle Hoddy adjusted the tie he did not have on and went out to the street, where he got his bearings all lined up, then proceeded to miss the buckboard by twenty feet. Aunt Ida did not see him until he passed the rig, and then her backbone stiffened visibly. Hoddy managed to stop at the edge of the wooden sidewalk, where he grinned foolishly at her; foolishly and fearfully. For more years than she would ever admit, she had preached temperance to him to no avail. Two more of her sisters of the Aid were coming out of the store, and the disgrace was almost too much.

She sprang down, untied the team quickly, got back into the buckboard and drove toward home alone; while Uncle Hoddy, shocked beyond words, stood there and watched her drive away. It was the first time she had ever done such a thing. He sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and held his head in his hands.

Hank and Jerry had watched the drama from the safe confines of the War Paint, but now they came over to offer their sympathy.

“I’m shorry, but I’m glad,” said Uncle Hoddy. “Shorry she left me on foot, but glad she didn’t preach. I suppose I’ve got that part comin’.”

“She don’t ’preciate you,” said Jerry, who was a bit wobbly.

“Never did. That is, she never did ’preciate my thirst. I guess the res’ of me is all right.”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” suggested Hank. “She’ll be comin’ back after you, Hoddy. You re’lize that, don’tcha? Well, you won’t be here.”

“Where’ll I be?”

“Out to the SP ranch. Ride out with me and Jerry and the flour.”

“Tha’s good idea. By grab, I’ll learn her to leave me. C’mon.”

It was only after much earnest labor that they managed to get on the buckboard seat. There were three sacks of flour in the back, and two sacks under their feet. The old springs sagged dangerously under the weight, and the half-broken team wanted to run.

Hank managed to curb their desire until they were a mile out of town, when Jerry complained about their snail-like pace, grabbed the lines away from Hank and dropped one of them. The sudden movement behind them was enough to startle the team. Away they went, with Jerry hanging to the one line, and all three men hanging to each other to keep upright. The road was crooked but flat, and the brush grew close to the sides. Jerry did not try to guide them. They were cold-jawed brutes, anyway, and they wanted to run. The road was sandy and the runaways made little sound above the squeal of the dry axles.

The two horses were running as fast as they could, the wheels of the buckboard showering the brush with sand at every curve, when suddenly both animals shied to the right, and three men, with three sacks of flour, went high into the air and came down in a heap.

One sack caught on a mesquite snag, ripped half open, and its contents descended like an avalanche. The team kept right on going. When the cloud of dust and flour blew aside there stood Bill McGill in the middle of the road, in the same position as when the team shied away from him.

* * * * *

Bill had lost his hat, his pants were torn, shirt ripped, and he was carrying one boot in his hand. His face and hands were burned a bright red and his nose looked like a pickled beet. Taken altogether, Bill McGill did not greatly resemble the William Allen McGill of San Francisco.

Hank was the first to recover. He came up like a snowman. His face was white and his collar was full of flour. He blew disgustedly and the blast left a dark streak up his face. Then he sneezed. Bill McGill jerked slightly. Up came Hoddy. He was also white, until he drew a sleeve across his face, leaving part of his features exposed. Then came Jerry. The only reason why his face was not white was that Jerry had landed face down. The three of them gazed at Bill, and Bill gazed at them.

“There’s the devil,” grunted Jerry. “I reckon we all got killed.”

“I’m William Allen McGill,” said Bill, slowly and distinctly.

The three men looked at one another.

“T’ meetcha,” said Jerry, bobbing his head.

“What’re you doin’ out there?” asked Hoddy. “Was it you that scared our team off the road?”

“They went off that way,” said Bill, pointing. “I suppose that is the team to which you refer.”

“Have you scared other teams today?” asked Hank curiously.

“No, sir. I—I just found this road.”

“Was it lost?” asked Jerry.

“I was lost, I suppose.”

“Mm-m-m. Too damn’ bad you didn’t stay lost—until we got past you. Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“I haven’t any idea.”

The three men, nearly sobered by their fall, came out through the brush and looked at Bill.

“In a couple days you’re goin’ to peel off,” said Hank, looking at Bill’s red face and hands. “Where’s your hat?”

“I lost it.”

“Uh-huh. Foot sore?”

“Very. In fact, I am afraid it is one mass of blisters. That is why I am not wearing my boot.”

“I’d judge that’s why. Belong around here?”

Bill shook his head slowly.

“I don’t believe I do.”

“Maverick,” pronounced Jerry.

“McGill,” corrected Bill quickly.

“Well, hell!” snorted Hoddy. “Let’s stop gassin’ and find that team.”

“We’ll find ’em at the ranch-house gate,” said Hank. “Steve will be there and fire me and Jerry. He said he’d tie a can on us if we ever got drunk again durin’ the month.”

“Is this durin’ the month?” asked Jerry.

“It’s the fifteenth.”

“Goodby job. Well, I been meanin’ to move on, anyway. I ain’t wed to no job.”

“I’m still lost,” said Bill helplessly.

Hank got a sudden idea.

“Let’s take him back to the ranch. Mebbe Steve will git to laughin’ and forget to fire us.”

“Shore,” agreed Jerry quickly. “C’mon, redskin. We’ll paint you up with vaseline and you won’t pain yourself so much.”

“I should be very grateful. You see, I have been walking since early last evening. Luckily I found two places where water oozed from the ground, and was able to get a drink. But at one place some cows chased me and I was obliged to seek safety in a tree.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” asked Hank.

“I believe the town was Cinnabar.”

“You walked from Cinnabar?”

“Well, I ran a little, you see.”

“Didn’t you have no horse?”

“Well, I did have. You see, I loaned two men four hundred and fifty dollars to purchase three horses. One of these horses was given to me and I was instructed to wait for them along an old road. It was after dark, when a man came along. I made myself known to him, and he—he knocked me down, robbed me of my remaining money and took my horse. So, I walked.”

The three men looked at one another seriously and then looked at Bill. Bill was not lying and they knew it.

“That’s why I’ve allus wanted to git away from here and into a place like Cinnabar, where there’s opportunities,” said Jerry sadly.

“And so you walked, eh?” mused Hank.

“Yes. I didn’t want to go back. You see, they tried to arrest me for stealing horses in High Grade.”

“Didja?”

“No. I merely purchased a stolen horse.”

“Feller,” grinned Jerry, “you’ve been livin’ a fast pace.”

“But I was innocent.”

“Anybody could look at you and see that. What didja say your name was?”

“Is,” corrected Bill. “My name is—I am known as William Allen McGill.”

“Well, Bill, I’d like you to meet Hank Blue, Uncle Hoddy Noon and Jerry Dole. I’m Dole.”

“I’m certainly pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen.”

“Do you drink?” asked Uncle Hoddy.

“Why, I—I never have—not intoxicating liquors.”

Hoddy shook his head sadly.

“Gotta keep him away from my wife. All she needs is a howlin’ example to point out what I might be like if I didn’t drink. Let’s go. I’ll borrow a horse from Steve to ride home.”

* * * * *

They plodded along the hot road, with Bill bringing up the rear. He was hardly able to navigate, but he did not complain. He had been alone so long that his aches and pains were forgotten in the pleasurable knowledge that he was again among human beings.

The team had gone home, and Sid Brayton had unhitched them. The front axle had been badly sprung and several spokes knocked from the wheels, but otherwise the equipage was intact. The harness was broken in a few places, but that could be easily repaired. Steve Pelliser was not at home, but Mary was there.

They walked up to the porch, where she was standing. Mary knew what had happened; knew that Hank and Jerry had got drunk and let the team run away. And it was not difficult for her to imagine that Uncle Hoddy had been drinking with them. They were still covered with flour.

Bill McGill stopped at the bottom step and stared at Mary. He was still carrying one boot in his hand, and most of the sock on that foot was gone.

“Miss Pelliser,” said Hank gravely, “lemme make you used to Bill McGill. He’s somethin’ we found in the road jist after the smash. Bill, this is Miss Pelliser.”

“I am certainly pleased to meet you, Miss Pelliser,” said Bill.

Mary checked a smile. It was easy to see that Bill McGill was not a product of the cattle country. His nose was swelling from sunburn, and there was a suspicion that Bill’s entire face might change contour from the scorching it had received.

“He walked all the way from Cinnabar,” offered Jerry.

“Said he run part of the way,” said Uncle Hoddy seriously. “How are you, Mary?”

“Fine, Uncle Hoddy. How is Aunt Ida?”

“Full of aches.”

“She isn’t sick, is she?”

“Mentally. I took a couple drinks, and she drove home without me.”

Mary smiled with complete understanding; she turned to Bill.

“You better come in and let me dope up your face, Mr. McGill. You are not accustomed to an Arizona sun, I am afraid.”

Bill grinned foolishly.

“I lost my hat last night. But I—I do not wish to bother any one with my troubles.”

“No trouble,” said Mary. “I’ll get some olive oil from One Hop. It will stop the burning very quickly.”

She went back into the house and Bill sank down on the steps. He was about at the end of his endurance.

“I reckon I better borrow a bronc and head for home,” said Uncle Hoddy. “Might as well get it over with. I’ve got jist so much comin’ to me, and the sooner it’s over the better I’ll be feelin’. A man is a fool to drink.”

“Why do you drink?” asked Bill indifferently.

“You and my wife would make a damn’ good team! That question was old when them hills out there was holes in the ground, and no man has ever been wise enough to answer it correctly. And is it any of your business?”

“None,” replied Bill dully.

“Then you won’t team with my wife worth a dang. Gimme a horse, Hank.”

The three of them wandered down to the stable. Mary came out with the olive oil bottle. Bill was really a pitiful sight. His ears were one mass of blisters, and his eyes were beginning to puff badly. Mary looked him over thoughtfully.

“Young man,” she said, as though she were old enough to be his mother, “you are a fit subject for a hospital. Come in the house.”

He stumbled in after her, and she led him to a cool bedroom at the rear of the old ranch-house. Then she called to One Hop, the Chinese cook, who came shuffling in, grinning widely. She handed him the bottle and pointed at Bill.

“As soon as he is undressed you sop this oil all over his burns. Give him plenty. And you better fix up his foot, too. That’s all blistered.”

“Yes’m.” One Hop bobbed his head. “Plenty oil on head. Velly bad. Fix up foot, yes’m.”

“How long since you ate a meal, Mr. McGill?”

“Yesterday morning, Miss Pelliser,” Bill answered weakly.

“I fix meal,” said One Hop. “Fix head and foot, fix meal. Yessa.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother,” said Bill wearily.

“Where do you think you are—in a city?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. Mighty nice of you.”

“Rats!” said Mary inelegantly. “We even doctor sick calves. You let One Hop fix you up. He’s good at such things. You better eat something and then take a good sleep. No one will bother you here.”

“I don’t suppose I can ever repay you. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met those men. I’m really going blind.”

“Plenty swell,” grinned One Hop. “All lite tomalla, mebbe.”

Mary walked out and closed the door. She was sitting on the porch when her father came up from the stable, still wearing his chaps and gun. He had been told about the tenderfoot. Mary explained his condition and what she had done with him.

“That’s fine,” said her father. “Poor devil needs attention, I reckon. Well, Hank and Jerry have quit the job.”

“Quit?”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes. The last time they got drunk and smashed up a rig, I told ’em that if they ever done it again I’d fire the pair of ’em. Well, they smashed another rig today—and quit. I wouldn’t have fired ’em, but I suppose it’s just as well.”

“Leaves us rather short-handed, Daddy.”

“Yeah, that’s true; but we’ll get along. They’ve been wantin’ to go up into Wyomin’ for quite awhile. Hank’s got a brother up in the Wind River country.”

“Did you see Uncle Hoddy?”

“No. He got away just ahead of me.” Steve Pelliser laughed. “I’d like to be a mouse in the wall when Hoddy meets Aunt Ida. But she’s to blame for a lot of it. A man don’t like to be preached to all the time. She talks liquor to him so often that he gets thirsty. What’s the name of this young bunch of sunburn you’ve adopted?”

“I never adopted him. His name is McGill—Bill McGill.”

“Yea-a-ah? Bill McGill, eh? Where’s he from?”

“I didn’t ask him.”

“What business is he in?”

“Would it have been polite for me to ask him those questions?”

“No, I reckon not. Bill McGill. Don’t sound like a tenderfoot.”

“Sounds are deceiving—he is.”

“Evidently. Good lookin’?” Steve smiled teasingly.

“Can’t tell until the swelling goes down.”

“M-m-m. One Hop doctorin’ him, I suppose. Prob’ly file up some cowhorn and give it to him for his liver. Well, I’ve got to dig up some money for them rig-bustin’ punchers. Where’s your derelict, Mary?”

“In the back bedroom—and you keep out of there. He couldn’t see you anyway, because his eyes are swelled shut. Let One Hop take care of him.”

“Pshaw, I wasn’t goin’ to bother him. He’s your find, my dear.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Hm-m-m! I’ll betcha the boy’s got possibilities.”