Chapter II: Part 2

Me and Windy went down to the bunk-house and argued over the rules of two-handed poker for about an hour, when the door opens and there stands Sing Lee, with his hands wrapped up in his apron.

“Missie gone fo’ lide,” says he, offhanded-like.

“Ride?” says Windy, foolish-like, and Sing nods.

“Yessum. Yo’ _sabe_ glay hoss, Tinker name?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She lide glay hoss day she come. Yo’ _sabe?_ I t’ink she lide allesame glay hoss today. Blimeby I see glay hoss Tinker name. She no like, yo’ _sabe?_ She allesame like glay hoss like Tinker. Me seeum.”

Windy sets there, staring at Sing, and then he gets slow-like to his feet.

“Wait a minute, Sing. She rode a gray horse, but didn’t ride Tinker?”

“Yessum. Tinker down by collal. She rideum glay hoss. Yo’ _sabe_?”

Windy beats it for the door and I went behind him. Down by the corral stands the gray horse she rode the day she came here. We went into the stable, but the saddle ain’t on the peg.

“What’s all the fuss about?” I asks.

“My ----!” wails Windy. “She hooked a hull on to Cheater!”

“Meaning what?”

“Cheater!” wails Windy. “That sun-fishin’ man-eater from Wyoming. Looks like Tinker. Oh, ---- it! Sleepy, that hawse is plumb loco! He might go good for a mile and then dump her off and walk on her. He’s a ---- tiger!”

“Glay hoss,” says Sing, stony-faced, coming up to us; “look like Tinker, yo’ _sabe_? Me t’ink ---- bad hoss, when me see Tinker. Mebbyso she get dump. Me no see her go. Where Lashknife? Mebbyso he go too.”

“I suppose that ---- fool rode a gentle bronc,” wails Windy. “Where did she go-o-o-o?”

“You must ’a’ herded sheep,” says I. “I knowed a shepherd who used to say, _‘Ya-a-a-a-a-s_ and _no-o-o-o-o_,’ just like you do.”

“Funny, ain’tcha?” he howls. “Lady in peril, and you gets comical.”

“What do yuh want me to do--turn a handspring or climb a tree? We don’t know where she went, do we?”

“My ----, you can ask useless questions, Sleepy! Don’t know where she went, do we? I ask yuh to answer it yourself. You makes me tired, I tell yuh. Just stand around and ask fool questions, when a-a----”

“Lady is in peril. Now, just what had we ought to do. Windy? Can yuh track that pet man-eater? Got any idea what direction said horse favors to go? If you----”

“Look!” yelps Windy. “----’s bells, look what’s comin’!”

* * * * *

Up the road comes a cloud of dust and in and out of that cloud goes a dust-colored horse, bucking like a crazy animal. Sunfish, worm fence, swapping ends and spinning like a top. Straight for the gate it comes, bucking straight for us. We climbs the corral fence just as the animal pitches straight into it, and goes down in a splinter of cottonwood poles and a cloud of dust.

I fell off the fence and got up just in time to see Hashknife untangle himself and step away from the horse. He looks down at it, trying to get up, and then at Windy.

“That’s a ---- vigorous animal, Windy,” says he foolish-like, and then he takes a deep breath and says----

“Get your Winchester and saddle--quick!”

“Why--uh--why--” grunts Windy.

“----!” he explodes. “Get into action, will yuh! I’ll tell yuh later.”

Well, it didn’t take us long to saddle up, get our rifles and breeze off down the road, Hashknife in the lead.

“Mary Jane,” he grunts, as we swing in close to him. “She saddled that gray bronc. Wanted to ride, asked me to go with her. I didn’t like the looks of that gray, so I traded with her. We went halfway to town. I saw that the gray wasn’t bridlewise, but he didn’t act bad until we met the sheriff, and then he got restless. _Sabe?_”

“Me and the sheriff had words. That gray started to pitchin’, and I busted a rein and couldn’t pull his head, and--and the jug-head bucked all the way back home. First runnin’ bucker I ever seen. My ----, but that bronc can hop, skip and jump somethin’ awful.”

“Mary Jane?” asks Windy. “Where is she?”

“They took her with ’em,” says Hashknife, kinda whispering. “The sheriff and Bowers and a couple of them Bar 20 _hombres_.”

“Took her!” explodes Windy. “What for, Hashknife?”

“Said she owned the Circle Dot and they wanted her. Seems that that last feller that was shot died. I called the sheriff and he drawed, but I shaded him a little.

“What in ---- do yuh keep a bronc like that around for?”

“I thought it was the same gray that Mary Jane rode, honest I did. I never looked at it close but I seen it kinda hump under the saddle, and I thinks maybe it feels cocky and I was goin’ to shake it up a little but I was the one that got shook. Couple of bullets fanned past me, but they’d ’a’ had to have a shotgun to hit me on the wing thataway.”

“What are we goin’ to do?” I asks.

“Do? Sleepy, we’re goin’ to get our hoss back or they’ll have to build a new town. I’m goin’ through that town like quicksilver through a sieve.”

“And land in the penitentiary,” says I. “Cool off a little, Hashknife, and do a little thinking. There’s only three of us, yuh understand.”

“They’ll be lookin’ for us,” opines Windy, and then he asks--

“Was Snag Thorn with ’em?”

“Nope. One feller had a broken nose and a cock-eye, and the other had bat-ears and a yellow mustache.”

“‘Blondy’ McClure and ‘Peeler’ Malloy,” says Windy. “As fine a pair of horse-thieves as ever wore guns. Them two sure do show lack of Sunday schoolin’, and I reckon this is the time that we teaches ’em a few morals. Lemme get my old 40-82 lined up on either one--just lemme, tha’sall.”

“You too,” says I, complaining-like. “Want to kill somebody? You two _hombres_ hankers for gore regardless, don’t yuh? Regular killers, eh? It’s a danged good thing you has a cool brain among yuh.”

“Cool ----!” snorts Hashknife. “Froze since the Winter of the big wind.”

“Course, this stealin’ of our lady boss don’t mean nothin’ to you,” says Windy, sarcastic-like, easing himself in the saddle when his bronc kinda loosens up. “You better go back and chop wood.”

“We won’t need any heat,” says I and everybody shuts up. We swung into town and rode straight to a crowd in front of the saloon. On the sidewalk lays a feller who looks a heap like he had met the enemy. We jerks up in front of ’em and looks the bunch over. Hashknife and Windy cocked their rifles and I’m expectin’ things to start whooping. This bat-eared, yellow-mustached _hombre_ steps out of the crowd, and Windy spurs in close to him and says:

“Talk out loud, Blondy. Where’s the lady?”

“Aw-w-w-w_, I dunno!” wails Blondy.

“She went, ---- it!”

“Anybody around here got any intelligence?” asks Hashknife, looking around, and then he sees the bartender.

“What happened?” asks Hashknife.

“I didn’t see it all,” says the bartender. “I heard somebody yell that here comes the sheriff and some feller with a lady, and I just got to the door when I hears a gun pop, and I seen Peeler’s horse buckin’ across the street, draggin’ Peeler. Then I sees Snag Thorn running for his horse and I seen a female on a horse runnin’ down the street. The sheriff took a shot at somebody--I think it was Snag, but he didn’t hit him.”

“The lady shot Peeler,” says a skinny puncher.

“She did not!” declares a little bow-legged puncher. “That first shot hit the casing of the store door right beside me. Snag Thorn killed Peeler.”

“Just the same, she shot at somebody.”

“Mebbe it was me then,” grins bow-legs.

“Where’d the sheriff go?” asks Windy.

“To his office, I reckon,” says the bartender. “Him and Bowers was together.”

“Do yuh reckon Mary Jane went home?” asks Windy.

“She didn’t pass us,” says I.

“The female took a shot at Peeler,” insists the skinny puncher. “I seen it. Peeler yanked his gun to--well, just then Snag shot from over there on the sidewalk, and I seen Peeler fall off. I dunno which shot hit him.”

“I tell yuh that first shot hit.”

We whirled and rode for the sheriff’s office and didn’t wait to hear the finish of the argument. Their two horses are outside the door. We hops right off and went inside. The sheriff and Bowers are in there. Bowers is setting on the table, working some shells into a Winchester, while the sheriff is washing his wrist where Hashknife’s bullet creased it. Bowers drops the rifle and puts his hands up, but the sheriff keeps right on bathing his wrist. He just looks at us and then back to his wash-basin. Hashknife says:

“Sheriff, for a dobie cent I’d fill you full of lead. Where is Miss Haley?”

“I dunno. Mebbe she’s at the Bar 20 by this time. I reckon Snag Thorn will know what to do with her when he catches her.”

“What in ---- does he want her for?” asks Hashknife.

“Snag’s lost two men and a lot of cows and maybe he’s seein’ a chance to get even.”

_Bang!_

The wash-basin hops right out from under the sheriff’s hands and a splash of soapy water hits him right in the face.

“Say it this way-- ‘He thinks he’s lost cows,’” advises Hashknife, rubbing his thumb softly over the hammer of his cocked Winchester.

“Th-thinks he’s lost cows,” mumbles the sheriff, shaking the soap out of his eyes.

“I lost fifteen head and--” began Bowers, but Windy jabs him in the ribs with his rifle-barrel.

“Who in ---- cares what you lost? You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Did Snag Thorn follow Miss Haley out of town?” I asks.

“Yeah! She shot one of his men, didn’t she? Maybe he rode to the ranch to get the rest of his men. Said he was going to clean out the Circle Dot while he had men enough left to help him.”

“Said that, did he?” asks Windy.

“He did. Whatcha mean by comin’ down here and actin’ like this? I’m the sheriff of this county and I won’t stand----”

“I sure apologizes to the wash-basin,” says Hashknife, “but that’s as far as I’ll go, Allen. You didn’t have no right to bring her here.”

“Didn’t I? Two men killed on her ranch, and cows stolen and----”

“Whope!” snaps Hashknife. “You never seen any of them on the Circle Dot. You don’t know that they’ve lost cows.”

“Snag said----”

“Sure. Stick to what you heard, sheriff--not to what you think you know.”

“She shot Peeler Malloy,” states Bowers.

“You’re a liar!” snaps Windy.

“Well,” sniffles Bowers. “Maybe I am mistaken, but I thought Blondy said----”

“There’s too danged much talk about what somebody else said,” says Hashknife. “Come on, boys; let’s get travelin’.”

“Where yuh goin’?” asks the sheriff.

“Goin’ to find out who has been doin’ all this dirty work. _Sabe?_”

“Zasso? Lemme tell yuh I’m the sheriff around here and I----”

The sheriff took hold of Hashknife’s left arm, like he was goin’ to stop him, and I said a short prayer for Mister Allen. Hashknife had that Winchester in his left hand, and it looked like the sheriff was goin’ to try to take hold of it, but Hashknife’s right fist hooked him under the chin and he lit on the back of his neck in the corner of his office and stayed there.

“He-he’s goin’ to be sore as ----,” states Bowers, awed-like.

“Little liniment will fix him,” says Hashknife. “Come on, boys.”

* * * * *

We went out of that town like bats out of ---- and we never broke a running lope until we hit the ranch. Mary Jane ain’t there. Sing Lee says he ain’t seen her.

“What will we do now?” asks Windy, but Hashknife whirls his bronc around and we follers him. We sailed out of the gate and hit straight for the hills.

“You aimin’ to hit the Bar 20?” yells Windy.

“Just like a ton of lead,” says Hashknife. We tore across the dead-line, and never slowed up until the Bar 20 ranch-house is in sight.

“Don’t shoot until yuh has to,” advises Hashknife.

We ripped right into their front yards, and set up our horses. Just then Snag Thorn limps out of the front door and looks us over. I’ll say this much for him; he didn’t act a danged bit nervous.

“Where’s our boss?” asks Hashknife.

“Your boss?” he says, foolish-like.

“The lady you followed out of town.”

“Oh!”

He looks us over for a moment and then says, kinda soft-like--

“That lady your boss?”

“Uh-huh. Where is she?”

“I don’t know. My horse fell with me and strained its shoulder. When I got up she was gone.”

“You tellin’ the truth?” asks Hashknife.

Snag Thorn’s eyes got real narrow and he studies Hashknife. Then he says-- “You don’t know me very well, do yuh?”

“He ain’t no liar,” says Windy; “Snag Thorn ain’t.”

“Much obliged, Woods,” says Snag Thorn.

“Excuse me,” says Hashknife. “That was a danged fool thing to say, Thorn. Yuh see I was kinda excited. The sheriff arrested her and then things happened in town and we didn’t find her at the ranch.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Snag, kinda weary-like. “I didn’t know she was your boss, and I didn’t know she had a gun, but I saw Peeler reach for his gun, so I cut down on him. The sheriff started after her but I cut him back to the main herd, and then I seen that her horse was running away with her. Peeler must ’a’ had hold of the bridle-reins and when her horse yanked back the head-stall busted.”

“My ----!” gasps Windy. “She’s ridin’ without a bridle? Which way did she go?”

“North,” says Snag. “The last I seen of her she was goin’ toward Devil’s Dooryard, and then my bronc turned a somersault. When I got straightened out she had disappeared.”

“It’ll be dark before we can get there,” says Hashknife. “That bronc she is ridin’ will go hawg-wild without a bridle, ---- him! Mebbe he won’t buck, but he--aw, shucks!”

Just then Blondy, Bowers and the sheriff comes in sight. They rides slow-like up to us, looking like they was expectin’ trouble. Snag Thorn leans against the doorway and looks at them. Then he says to the sheriff--

“Come to get me for shootin’ Peeler?” The sheriff looks us all over and then back at Snag.

“Didn’t know you shot him, Snag; thought it was the female.”

“I shot him,” states Snag coolly. “I’ll ask yuh--what did yuh arrest the lady for, sheriff?”

Hack Allen wets his lips, rubs his sore jaw and rests his hands on his saddle-horn.

“She’s the boss of the Circle Dot, ain’t she? Two of your men have been shot on the Circle Dot Range, ain’t they? They been stealin’ your----”

“Period!” snaps Hashknife. “You’re goin’ to hold your breath too long some of these days, Allen, and you’ll never get it again.”

“I’ll ask yuh for help when I need yuh, Allen,” says Snag.

“Yeah? Your dead-line didn’t seem to stop the Circle Dot.”

“Hack,” says Snag, “you better go back to your office and let my business alone. Yuh might lock your door, too--if yuh want to play safe.”

“I’ll run my office, _sabe?_ Neither you nor this bunch of gun-packers from the Circle Dot can tell me where to head in at. You try takin’ the law into your own hands and see how quick yuh get tripped up.”

Snag shrugs his shoulders and turns to Hashknife.

“What do yuh aim to do, Hartley?”

“Clean up this rotten range,” says Hashknife.

“Would yuh mind tellin’ me what this Baldy person was doin’ in the Devil’s Dooryard the day he got shot?”

“Lookin’ for Bar 20 stock.”

“---- of a place to look for stock!” says Bowers.

“A cow don’t make tracks in there,” says Hashknife, thoughtful-like.

“Feller’d have to see the cow, I reckon.”

“What do yuh mean?” asks Snag.

“Baldy raved about seein’ cows in that place, but he was out of his head.”

“The Circle Dot has lost a lot of cows, and there ain’t no ---- speakin’ of dead-lines, Thorn; you’ve got yours pretty well organized. I started over here the other day, and as I crossed the Cow Crick I got two bullets in my saddle. Yuh sure do protect your rights.”

“Did, eh?” Snag looks off across the hills, like he was thinking real fast.

“I’ve lost a lot of cows,” complains Bowers. “Jist vanished.”

“This range needs cleanin’ up,” opines Hashknife, “and it’s time to get busy. I ain’t accusin’ the Bar 20, Thorn. I think that Baldy was lookin’ for somethin’ in the right place. The Bar 20 is welcome to ride the Circle Dot from now on. _Sabe?_ If the answer is on the Circle Dot Range--find it.”

“Where yuh goin’ now?” asked the sheriff.

“Goin’ to find the lady first,” says Hashknife, “and after that I’m goin’ to give you a few prisoners to feed, or a job for the coroner.”

“I’ll run my office!” snaps the sheriff, but Hashknife looks weary-like at him and then turns away.

* * * * *

We went out of there and headed for the home ranch. Bowers rides with us as far as his place and then swings into his own gate. We didn’t do any talkin’ and he, for once in his life, didn’t harp about losing cows. It’s dark when we reach the ranch, but Mary Jane hasn’t showed up yet. Sing gives us a bite to eat and then we changed horses and hit into the hills toward Devil’s Dooryard. There’s a big moon coming over the hills. Not one of them flat-looking moons, but one what is round, like a big yaller ball hanging up there.

Sudden-like, Hashknife stops his horse and points toward the moon. Along ’a jagged ridge above us, sharp-cut against the moon, appears a figure on a horse. It’s there for several seconds, and then passes on.

“Mary Jane!” gasps Windy.

“Not unless she’s twins,” grunts Hashknife, as another mounted figure passes between us and the moon.

“The danged fools!” grunts Hashknife.

“Well who do yuh reckon it is?” asks Windy, but Hashknife don’t reply. He swings his horse and we rides up the hill, angling to try and cut the trail of the two horsemen. It’s plumb dark and going is tough. We has to angle all over that hill to get to the top, and when we get there we ain’t no better off, as far as I can see.

Hashknife swings off his horse and ties it to a scrub-pine. Me and Windy follers suit and then we all slips our Winchesters loose.

“Now that we’re all assembled, Hashknife, yuh might tell us whyfor and which,” states Windy, peering off into that jumble of fantastic-looking rocks.

“I dunno,” admits Hashknife. “I’ve just got a hunch.”

“He’s just got a hunch, Windy,” says I. “Hashknife’s like a lot of other jaspers what ain’t got no brains--he has hunches. What does your pet hunch say to yuh, Mister Hartley?”

“Hook on to your rifle and try to keep your big feet from rollin’ rocks,” grunts Hashknife, and we goes sneaking off across the Devil’s Dooryard in the dark.

“I’d like to know where I’m goin’,” says I. “This here business of packin’ a rifle and hobblin’ over----”

Just then I got my toe caught between two rocks and I sprawled flat on my face. I throwed my rifle about ten feet away and the danged thing went off. We can hear that old .45-70 echo from all points of the compass. There ain’t a word said for a while, and then Windy says:

“Yuh hadn’t ought to have a gun, Sleepy. Honest to gosh, yuh hadn’t. Next time we’ll give yuh a fish-pole.”

“No,” says Hashknife, sad-like; “no fish-pole, Windy. Give him a toy balloon.”

“He’d likely pinch it and then she’d bust,” objects Windy.

“I couldn’t help it,” says I. “I fell. The gun must ’a’ struck on the hammer. I can’t get my toe loose.”

“Can’t get loose?” grunts Hashknife. “Stuck fast, Sleepy?”

“Tighter ’n a wedge.”

“Fine! Come on, Windy. We’ll leave him where he’ll stay put.”

Know what them two wallopers done? Well, they went away and left me, that’s what they done. After twisting my toe half-off, I discovers that I can lift my foot out of my boot without no trouble, the same of which gives me both hands to unfasten that trapped boot. Then I got my rifle and blunders ahead in the dark about ten minutes behind Hashknife and Windy. I don’t know where they went. I know I must ’a’ been Injuning along pretty skookum, ’cause I almost stumbled over a cougar. Mister Cougar gives one despairing yelp, and fades away among the rocks, while old man Stevens’ son climbed up on a pinnacle of rocks and perspired freely.

Just in below me is a deep cañon, winding around among the rocks. Every danged thing looks kinda blue and silver-like. The moon ain’t climbed up high enough to light up things much, and I lays there in the edge of that pinnacle, trying to assemble enough tobacco to make a cigaret.

All to once I hears the squeak of saddle-leather and I spills the tobacco. I listens some more and hears it again. Then I lays down and peers into the cañon and I sees something. Ghosts! Honest to grandma, I got a bird’s-eye view of two riders, passing along without a sound, and all to once they fades out. They can’t be more than fifty feet below me, and their horses don’t make a sound on that rocky floor.

“Sleepy,” says I. “You’ve plumb seen a ghost!” And then I says to myself, “You’re a liar, ’cause ghost-saddles don’t squeak.”

Then I stand up and looks around, and across from me, against the sky-line I sees a man. There’s only one way to find out whether he’s friend or foe, and that is to kill him.

I lifts my rifle against the light of the sky and tries to notch my sights. Then I took my rifle down, lays her on a rock and goes on without it. I reckon it must ’a’ hit a rock when I fell, ’cause the front sight has been knocked plumb off, and I ain’t like some fellers that can shoot a rifle by the sense of smell. I sneaks along, using every sense I’ve got, and all to once something tells me to stop.

I stands there for about two minutes, still as possible, and then I hears Windy’s voice whisper:

“I dunno, ---- it! If it moves again I’ll take a chance.”

“It ain’t goin’ to,” says I.

“Got loose, did yuh?” asks Hashknife.

“No,” says I; “I dragged the whole ---- mountain over with me. Did yuh see the ghosts? I knocked the sight off my rifle.”

“What ghosts?” asks Windy, and then I told ’em about the two riders I seen in the cañon.

“Think he’s lying, Hashknife?” asks Windy.

“No-o-o-o. Ridin’ barefooted horses, with gunny-sacks mufflin’ their hoofs. Went up the cañon, Sleepy?”

“I think so. I shook hands with a cougar about a minute before and maybe my compass was out of order.”

“But where in ---- is Mary Jane?” says Windy, complaining-like. “All this time we ain’t findin’ her a-tall.”

“Yuh might do like they do in hotels,” says Hashknife; “start off up the Devil’s Dooryard, yellin’ ‘Mary Jane! Mary Jane Haley! Windy Woods wants Mary Jane Haley!’”

“_Sh-h-h-h!_” hisses Windy.

We listens. Pretty soon we hear somebody walkin’ soft-like. Then silence.

“My ----!” whispers Windy. “What do yuh reckon that was--ghosts?”

From ’way up the hill comes the rattle of a couple of shots. They must be a quarter of a mile away. Then we hears somebody grunt; comes the rattle of gravel, and then we hears somebody running.

“Come on,” says Hashknife, “but for ---- sake, go easy. There’s too danged much shooting going on to suit me. Look out--here comes a horse!”

Over the top of a saw-tooth ridge jerks a horse. For a second or two it’s outlined against the light of the sky and then it goes rattling off across the rocks.

“That’s my horse!” exploded Hashknife. “Mary Jane is a-foot! Come on!”

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Three distinct shots split the night and rattle among the rocks.

“Six-shooter,” gasps Hashknife, stumbling. “I wish the devil would clean up his yard!”

We staggers along, cutting our feet on the sharp rocks and praying that it will be light enough to shoot when we meet somebody to shoot at. All to once we hits the edge of that deep cañon. There ain’t no warning. I feels my feet slip into some loose stuff, so I grabs hold of Windy.

I hears Hashknife speak an unlovely word, and then me and Windy starts doing a toboggan to the bottom. It wasn’t straight down, but I’d just as soon fall as to set down in that loose stuff and get all heated up doing a slide for life.

* * * * *

We landed in the bottom with about a ton of loose stuff, composed mostly of glassy gravel and other sharp-pointed particles. I got the dust out of my mouth, and I orates openly that we’ve lost Hashknife.

That operation caused a bullet to _flup_ into our private landslide.

“Mebbe you’ll keep your mouth shut,” says Hashknife’s voice.

“How’d yuh get there?” I asks.

“Sittin’ down, yuh ---- fool!”

“Oh,” says Windy, taking a few deep breaths, “I’m all worn off from my belt to my knees. Who is shootin’ at us, I’d love to ask?”

Then we seen the flash of the next shot and the bullet threw dust into my face. I reckon our six-shooters cracked at the same time and then we fell all over each other trying to change positions. I bumped into Hashknife and we both fell over Windy.

“Don’t get excited,” begs Hashknife.

“That ---- fool up there couldn’t hit us with a shotgun--unless it was a mistake.”

“Mistakes has killed a lot of good men,” wails Windy. “I don’t want to be no accidental corpse. Let’s go and find Mary Jane Haley. We’re wastin’ a lot of good time, don’t yuh know it? Come on.”

“Well, who is shooting at us?” I asks. “Hashknife Hartley, if yuh know, tell us, will yuh?”

“Merely a surmise, Sleepy, but I think I’m right. Felt all along that I had the answer, but I wasn’t sure until tonight.”

“Fine!” grunts Windy. “Go ahead and tell us.”

“Let’s get under cover and wait for daylight.”

“While our li’l boss wanders around this God-forsaken place in the dark?” asks Windy. “I’m goin’ out and find her.”

“All right,” says Hashknife, “go ahead. I’ve got a hunch that somebody’ll lead yuh up a heap if yuh climb any farther, but it’s your business, Windy.”

“Who’d lead me up?”

“Tell yuh tomorrow--or, I reckon I’d better say, today. Must be gettin’ toward mornin’.”

A deer came along after while, and if Hashknife hadn’t grabbed my arm I’d a took a shot at it. I thought it was a man with a white pack on his back. It sure was sneaking along mysterious-like. My nerves had got to a frazzled state. I ain’t brave. Nope--not when it’s so danged dark that I can’t see which way to run.

After while it begins to get lighter and the old moon begins to lose a lot of his yaller. Down the hill a cougar rises his voice in sorrow and wo, and far away we hears the nicker of a horse.

“I can see to notch my sights,” announces Hashknife, after while, “and I reckon I can recognize a friend as far as I can hit anything. Let’s go.”

“Who do we shoot at?” I asks. “Any preference, Hashknife?”

“I reckon they’ll show their hand, Sleepy. Keep your danged head down.”

“Whose danged head is this? Yuh won’t tell anything, and yuh crabs when a feller wants to see something for himself. What for kind of a way is that to act? Are we with yuh, or just one of your party?”

“I wants to find Mary Jane first of all,” says Windy, sad-like. “I’m gettin’ worried.”

“Yeah, and get wrinkled like a Siwash squaw,” grunts Hashknife. “Whoa, Blaze!”

Hashknife points at a jumble of rocks farther up on the hill. We sees the figure of a man, humped over, crawling along like a big lizard. Comes the _whang_ of a gun, and the man collapses in the rocks. But he ain’t dead. We sees him shoot twice, and then he drops lower and begins crawling.

“Shall I wing him?” asks Windy.

“Nope,” grunts Hashknife. “Dunno who he is yet. Got a idea, but ain’t sure.”

“This is a lot of fun for us, Sleepy,” says Windy. “The general won’t let us privates shoot until he sees the whites of their eyes.”

We sneaked along behind boulders, working up higher all the time. I ain’t got no knees left in my pants, the same of which makes ’em match in front and rear. We rounds the corner of a pinnacle, and Hashknife stops.

“I’m foreman of the Circle Dot,” says Windy, peevish-like, “and I do admire to know why they comes up here and shoots up my nice li’l rocks. Goin’ to put up signs today, warnin’ folks to keep off my grass, y’betcha.”

I sticks my head over the top. _Zowie!_ A bullet _spings_ off the rock beside my ear and goes buzzing off down among the cliffs.

“Next time I go out with you, Sleepy, I’m goin’ t’ pack a spade,” says Hashknife. “You sure does invite interment.”

We hugs the rocks for a while, and then peers out again. _Splat!_ A bullet flattens right beside my ear and I slides back.

Then I scratches my ear, looks at the lead spatter on the rock and cusses some more.

“We-e-e-ell,” drawls Hashknife, grinning, “I reckon you’ll get sensible now. That only misses by six inches. Huh!”

Hashknife rolls over, pokes into a rock crevice, and begins to climb. It’s only about seven feet to the top of the rock, and me and Windy stays there looking up at the soles of his boots. He stops. We sees him kinda anchor his knee against the side of the rock and then his rifle sings its little song. A empty shell rattles down at us and we hears him chuckle. Then he slides down to us and huddles down.

“Ketchum bad-man,” he grunts, stuffing another shell into the magazine of his rifle.

“Didja hit him?” asks Windy.

“If I didn’t, he must be a danged fool to upset the way he did.”

_Spo-o-o-w!_ A bullet burned across my shoulder and whizzed into the air off the rock behind me. I dropped flat and remembered every cuss word I ever heard.

“And I raised him, Windy,” says Hashknife when I runs out of breath.

“I’ve learned his meek and mildness, but the minute the ---- fool gets mad he backslides. Didja ever hear such language? Awful! I hates to see anybody kill him, ’cause his soul won’t be welcome nowheres.”

“He ain’t got none,” declares Windy. “No soul a-tall, Hashknife, but, man, man, he sure has a memory for words.”

“Burnt me right across the shoulder,” says I. “Stay here and get killed if you must, but I’m goin’ to smoke that _hombre_ out. _Sabe_?”

“We’ve got to find Mary Jane,” says Windy. “All this time----”

“We’ll find her,” says Hashknife. “I figure she ain’t far away.”

* * * * *

We crawls over the top of them rocks, out through the fissure and glides down the other side. Then we crawls on our hands, knees and belly until our shirts are on a par with our knees and seats. We reaches the other side of the hill and angles through the rocks, until we’re working around behind a sort of cliff. Then a danged rattlesnake has to plant himself right in our trail. Ornery son of a gun wouldn’t budge and we didn’t want to shoot him for fear of letting folks know where we were.

There wasn’t a loose rock in reach, so Hashknife takes off his belt, slips his holster off and then he slams Mr. Snake with the buckle-end. It sure was effective. Windy collects the rattles as we go past. We gets almost around the cliff and then gets to our feet and peers around.

“Got to get up higher,” whispers Hashknife. “I reckon we can climb this end of the cliff.”

We crawls to the top and finds that it’s still lower than the main part of the cliff, but between us and the high part is about fifty feet of open country. We thought it was cliff all the way, and here we are up on kind of a table-rock. We peers around.

“Look!” croaks Windy.

There’s a man crawling along the base of the higher cliff. Windy lifts his rifle and lines his sights, but Hashknife pushes the gun aside.

“That’s Snag Thorn!” grits Windy.

“Lemme nail him, Hashknife. Dirty rustler.”

“Betcha the whole gang are scattered around here,” says I.

“Wait a minute,” cautions Hashknife. “Plenty of time to kill him.”

“My ----! Look!” wails Windy. “There’s Mary Jane!”

We gets a glimpse of her on the side of that cliff, beyond the angle of where Snag Thorn is crawling, and she’s coming down. We can see her plain for a moment and then she goes down behind the angle of the rocks.

“Snag’s sneaking up on her!” gasps Windy. “The dirty pup!”

“----!” grunts Hashknife. “He likely don’t know she’s anywhere near here. Watch up the hill. Keep looking up toward where Snag is going.”

The three of us searches every sign on the side of the hill and all to once Windy says: “I see a man. See that V-shaped pinnacle, with the point stickin’ out the side? Look right in below that. See him? Look--he’s movin’ around!”

Hashknife’s rifle jerks to his shoulder and shoots twice.

“My ----!” yelps Windy. “You’ve hit him! Some shootin’!”

“Come on,” snaps Hashknife.

We went down off that rock like three squirrels and went ducking and dodging straight for where we seen Snag, but there ain’t a bullet coming our way. We’re halfway across to the rock when we hears a gun, but Hashknife don’t stop.

The three of us went around the corner of that cliff, and there stands Snag Thorn with his back to us, and he’s nursing his right hand. Against the side of the cliff stands Mary Jane, her hair hanging down, her hat gone and her dress is all torn and dirty. Her face is as white as chalk, and I thought she might ’a’ got hit. Neither of them sees us, although Snag ain’t twenty feet away.

Then Snag says:

“I thought it was you. I seen yuh in town--just a glimpse, but I remembered yuh, and when your horse ran away with yuh----”

“Oh!” says Mary Jane, “I w-wish I hadn’t shot you--I--I----”

“I tried to find yuh in Frisco,” says Snag. “I lost the address and I-- But it don’t matter, I reckon.”

Snag looks down at his hand.

“Yuh see the Circle Dot says I’m a rustler and my dad and your uncle killed each other, and--I’ll help yuh get home safe, Miss Haley--if your men won’t fill me full of lead on my way out.”

“Have they been shooting at you?” she asks and he nods.

“Did you or your men shoot at me?”

“I came alone--and I didn’t shoot at you.”

“I thought it was your men,” says she. “I--I--that horse ran away with me and brought me up here. I was afraid to get off but after a while it stopped and I got off, and--and I didn’t have any bridle and I couldn’t catch it again.

“It got dark and I climbed up on top of the cliff and in the night I saw two men on horses ride past. I was afraid to call to them, but as I followed them--or rather went the way they did and heard them talking--I almost ran into them. There’s a cave up there, and they were talking something about somebody getting suspicious and about cow-tracks, and one of them said the best thing they could do was to either bluff it out or fight it out.

“I heard my name mentioned and Mr. Hartley’s, and--and I thought it was some of your men, and then one of them said: ‘Let’s bunch it. Nobody will ever know where we went, and they’ll never find this place in a thousand years.’”

“A cave?” asks Snag. “Up here?”

“Yes. It’s big enough to ride a horse into. One of the men said: ‘This sure has been easy pickings for us, but I made a big mistake when I missed that Hashknife person. He’s got too much _sabe_.’ And then the other one said: ‘Yes, you went too strong, I guess, and didn’t shoot straight enough.’

“I don’t know just what happened then, but I must have touched a loose rock, because it fell and made a lot of noise. I ran behind the rock and they went past me. Then I crept to the side of the hill, but they saw me and shot at me. I just remembered that I still had a gun and I shot. I don’t think I hit anybody and then I managed to get here and climb up on that rock. I--I think they shot several times at me, but it all seemed like nightmare, and then I--I shot at you.”

“So did they,” said Snag, foolish-like.

* * * * *

Mary Jane leans back against the rock and begins to weep. I starts to go over to her but Hashknife yanks me back. Snag walks over to her and pats her on the shoulder, kinda bashful-like, and says:

“Gosh, don’t do that! I’m all right and you found the place where they drifted all those cows, and we’ll find the rustlers.”

“Bub-but I shot you,” wails Mary Jane. “I--I don’t know how I happened to hit you. You saved my life that n-night in San Francisco, and I wanted to th-thank you, but I shot----”

“Aw, that’s all right,” says Snag, foolish-like. “You can shoot me any old time yuh feel like it.”

Wasn’t that a ---- of a thing for a growed-up man to say?

“Duck!” says Hashknife, and the three of us went down like prairie-dogs when a hawk shows up.

“What was it?” whispers Windy, cocking his gun.

“Arrows,” says Hashknife, and then he takes me by the arm and leads me away, with Windy sneaking along behind.

Hashknife takes us ’way down among the rocks and then stops.

“Arrows?” asks Windy. “Whatcha mean?”

Just then we sees Mary Jane and Snag come down around the side of the cliff. They stops and looks off across the country, and then they starts off down among the rocks, and Snag and Mary Jane are hanging on to each other’s hand.

“Arrows?” asks Windy again.

“Cupid,” explains Hashknife. “Little feller, who don’t wear no pants. Shoots a bow and arrow.”

“You’re loco,” grunts Windy, and then we follers Hashknife up to where we saw the man spill into the rocks. Windy looks at Hashknife, but don’t say a word, and then we went down and helped Hashknife find the other one.

“My ----” says Windy. “Did yuh know who they was, Hashknife?”

“Sure. I had a good idea right off the reel, but I wasn’t sure until I got shot at down on Cow Crick, after I told Bowers I was goin’ over to the Bar 20. Did you ever hear of that cave?”

“Nope,” replies Windy. “I don’t reckon anybody ever cared to pesticate around up there, ’cause I never heard there was any caves.”

“There had to be a way out,” states Hashknife. “I reckon that old crater must run plumb through into Bluff Lake Valley, and they runs a few head of steers through at a time. Likely run in a few at a time and held them up in the rocks until they has enough to make a drive. I knowed the answer was up here, ’cause Baldy got shot here, and somebody bawled him out for bein’ on Circle Dot Range. They kept the two ranches fightin’ each other, while they stole from both.”

“I wonder,” says Windy, sad-like. “I wonder if Snag and Mary Jane----”

“Kinda looks thataway,” nods Hashknife. “And the sheriff’s office ain’t got no keeper and Blubber won’t ever have to get his adenoids cut out,” says I.

“Well,” says Windy, “I reckon it’s all right for Snag to get Mary Jane. I like her fine, yuh understand. Yeah, I like her better than any girl I ever seen, but she’s too danged good for me. I--I never said anythin’ to her--never intended to, yuh understand? Why, if she was to ask me to marry her I’d have to refuse. Yessir, I’d have to. What would you do in a case like that, Hashknife?”

“Just like you would, you ---- liar,” says Hashknife, and we went down through the Devil’s Dooryard without further comment.