Chapter XVI: “Coincidence Poker”

“We’ll go to Silver Bar and tell ’em they’re short one sheriff,” said Goober. “And when we go back to Keno City, we can leave word for the Star A to have a look at them horses. I know I’m not goin’ to take a chance on goin’ down in that cañon to turn ’em loose. Life is too sweet to me to go monkeyin’ with them kind of killers--and us with six-guns.”

“Nolan must have been trailin’ ’em,” said Johnny.

“Mm-m-m? Do yuh know, Johnny, sometimes I’m disappointed in you.”

“What do yuh mean?”

“Do a little thinkin’. Them 7 Bar 7 fellers down at the corral must have been rustlers. Nolan bored straight for here, went down the hill. I figure he had a hunch that the other two hadn’t got here yet; so Nolan waited down there a while. After a wait he went on, not sneakin’, jist travellin’. When the shootin’ started he high-tails it out of here and meets one of the other gang at the top of the cañon.”

“Yuh figure Nolan a horse-thief, eh? All right, Goober; but who shot ’em?”

“Yore guess would be as good as mine.”

“Hijackers?”

“Not a bad theory, Johnny; but one I never thought about. Anyway, mebbe I can answer that one, after we get to Silver.”

They stopped again at the 7 Bar 7 and searched the house, stable and all the sheds, but found nothing of interest. About a hundred yards from the rear of the house was a scraggly old oak, on which had been nailed a rough wooden target, about three feet square. It had been pretty well shot to pieces, indicating that the men of the 7 Bar 7 were in the habit of doing considerable rifle practice.

Scattered around on the ground were dozens of empty cartridge shells of different calibres, and a great many empty revolver shells. Goober made a collection of the 30-30 shells and sat down in the shade to examine them. It is seldom that any two rifles leave the same firing pin marks, and half of those he had found on the cañon rim were very distinctive, as the pin had not struck the primer near the centre.

The shells found at the house were all discoloured, as though they had lain out in the weather a long time, and two of them matched the fresh shells exactly. Goober showed them to Johnny, who found another one, trampled into the dirt; one which had apparently been shot months previous to this time.

“That don’t prove anythin’,” said Johnny sceptically.

“Mebbe not, pardner; but smaller things than that have dislocated men’s necks,” replied Goober, pocketing the shells. “Big oaks from little acorns grow. Didn’t yuh learn that in school?”

“Nope,” grinned Johnny. “I was always at the foot of the class.”

“So was I,” seriously. “It used to bother me, until I discovered that they taught both ends the same thing. Let’s go over and see Silver Bar.”

It was noon when they rode into Silver Bar, without meeting anybody. They went straight to the courthouse and found Ed Chandler, the prosecuting attorney, and told him the story. Chandler did not get excited. He made a few notes on their story, asked a number of pointed questions as to the location of the bodies, and went out to find the coroner.

“I’ll want you at the inquest,” he told them. “Will you be here?”

“Here or in Keno City,” replied Goober, and Chandler thanked him.

Goober and Johnny walked back up the street and stopped at the bank, where Ed Cates, the banker, greeted them cordially. “I was just wonderin’ what became of you two,” smiled that ex-cowboy.

“Oh, we’ve been foolin’ around the country,” laughed Goober.

“Over around Keno City?” Cates asked.

“Yeah--there and Indian Wells.”

“How’s our old friend Austin, Goober? Remembered you yet?”

“Well, he ain’t took me to his bosom, Ed; and I don’t expect he will.”

Cates laughed softly. “No, I don’t expect he will. Sands, his foreman, was in here a while ago.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. He tells me he’s half owner of the Star A outfit now.”

“I heard he was. Do they do their bankin’ over here, Ed?”

“No, they don’t. Sands had a couple cheques to cash. He said the boys kinda cleaned up on Austin in a poker game the other night. The cheques were made out to--uh--Britton and Elkinson for two hundred and fifty apiece.”

“That’s a good clean-up for a couple of punchers,” grinned Goober.

“Six months’ wages.”

“Y’betcha. I suppose Sands told yuh what happened to Mrs. Austin and her daughter.”

“Why, no, he never told me anything about them. What happened?”

Goober related what he knew about it, and Cates gasped indignantly.

“Why, that’s a damnable thing to do, Goober, I tell you it’s time we had a clean-up around here. Things are getting worse all the time. Somebody tried to murder you, and they did murder Terrill. We need a new set of peace officers.”

“You’ll probably get ’em, Ed. Yuh see, Nolan was killed this mornin’.”

“Great Scott! Nolan dead?”

“Plenty dead,” and Goober related the shooting to Cates.

They left Cates wondering what it was all about, and sauntered down to the depot. Just below the depot, about three hundred yards, were the corrals and loading-chute, where a number of cattle cars were spotted on a side-track. Goober led the way up to the ticket window of the little depot, where a tired-looking agent was tilted against his desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up at them, but did not offer to come to the window.

“How many of them cars are for the 7 Bar 7?” asked Goober.

“All of ’em,” he replied peevishly. “And I wish they’d start loadin’. If they don’t load by to-night, they’ll have to pay demurrage.”

“Thank yuh,” said Goober.

“I reckon the railroad will have to cancel that demurrage,” grinned Goober. “Or send a collector with an asbestos bill to git the money.”

It required several hours to assemble the Silver Bar officials and make the trip out to the blind cañon, but they found things as represented by Goober and Johnny, except that there were no horses in the hidden corral, nor could they find any in the cañon. Both Shafer and Blewett were riddled with bullets, killed on the spot. One horse was dead, and the other near the corral, the reins tangled in the brush. They packed the bodies out to the 7 Bar 7 ranch, where they were loaded in a wagon and taken back to Silver Bar.

“I’ll betcha I know what happened. Some of them Flask River punchers knowed that the 7 Bar 7 was stealin’ horses and keepin’ ’em in the hidden corral in that blind cañon; so they hijacked the whole works, after they wiped out the 7 Bar 7.”

Thus Smoky Hill, deputy sheriff of Keno City, tilted against the wall in an office chair, hugging his knees, talking to Pete La Plante. The sheriff himself was humped in his desk chair, trying to dig a broken broom-straw from the stem of his old pipe. Finally Pete flung the pipe aside and reached for a cigarette paper.

“You dunno a damn thing about it,” the sheriff declared.

“Mebbe you do?” Smoky retorted.

“Yea-a-ah--and maybe I don’t. All we’re reasonably sure of is that the 7 Bar 7 was stealin’ horses, but we don’t know whose horses, because there wasn’t no horses in the corral nor cañon when them fellers went in to git the bodies.”

“Uh-huh.” Smoky scratched his neck thoughtfully, one eye squinted at the sheriff. “What about Nolan?”

“They got him cold--thasall.”

“Shore--that’s plenty true. But what I’d like to know is how in hell them fellers ever disposed of the horses, unless they relayed ’em out through the Flask River country. Still yuh can’t imagine that because there ain’t no market out thataway. Now, if Nolan----”

“I wish you’d quit worryin’ about what happened in another county, and do a little worryin’ about what has happened around here, Smoky. Every time I get set to do a little thinkin’ you allus bother me.”

“You--uh--say! Pete, do you mean to set there and tell me that you are goin’ to think? Why, I wouldn’t be more s’prised if I saw a burro tryin’ to lay an aig. But go ahead. All I ask is to set here and see what yuh look like in the face.”

The sheriff glared indignantly.

“You ain’t thinkin’,” charged Smoky.

“The hell I ain’t! If you knowed what I’m thinkin’, you’d git to hell out of here and never come back.”

“Thasso? If I thought for a minute that my ability wasn’t appreciated, I’d----”

“You’d what?” Pete demanded.

“I’d be s’prised at yore ignorance, that’s what I’d be.”

“Will you git out of here, Smoky? Will yuh? I don’t want yore blood on my head, but----”

“What do yuh figger on doin’--buttin’ me in the nose? That’s the only way you’ll ever git my blood on yore head. And while yo’re buttin’, I’ll---- Hello, Goober.”

“Howdy,” grinned Goober from the doorway. “How are yuh?”

“I’m all right,” replied Smoky. “Pete’s thinkin’.”

“Was tryin’ to think,” corrected the little sheriff dryly.

“Close enough,” Smoky agreed. “Now we’ll git some straight talk on this killin’ over in the Silver Bar country. The stage driver heard some of it and guessed at the rest. And he ain’t a awful good guesser, if yuh ask me for an opinion.”

“I’ve never knowed you to have to be asked,” muttered the sheriff.

“What news on the missin’ women?” asked Goober. The sheriff shook his head sadly.

“I seen Austin and Sands jist ride in,” offered Goober.

“Pretty tough on Austin,” said the sheriff.

Smoky started to say something, but stopped as Austin himself came in. He looked years older, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, unshaved.

“What’s new?” asked the sheriff.

“Not a thing--no word of any kind. Have you heard anything?” asked the Star A owner.

“Nothin’, except the trouble over at the 7 Bar 7,” Pete said.

“What was that?” Austin demanded.

The sheriff explained about the triple killing, and as he was talking, Cal Sands came in. He had heard about it at one of the stores.

“What do yuh know about the murder of Nolan?” Sands asked the sheriff.

“I was jist tellin’ Austin what we heard,” replied La Plante, and repeated the story. Sands turned to Goober.

“I understand you saw some of this, Glendon?”

“Yeah, we saw some of it--me and Johnny.”

“How did you happen to be over there at the blind cañon?” Sands snapped.

“Lookin’,” replied Goober shortly.

“Oh!”

“Did you see any of the men who did the shooting?” asked Austin.

“No, we didn’t.”

The sheriff reached in a desk drawer and took out the cheque he had found on Riecho’s body. Austin’s lips tightened for a moment as he looked at it.

“I--I lost in a poker game,” he said. “Paid in cheque, you know.”

It satisfied the sheriff.

“Queer kind of a game yuh play out there,” said Goober. Sands turned.

“What do yuh mean, Glendon?”

“Cow-punchers winnin’ two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Anythin’ queer about that?” Sands demanded.

“I’d call it coincidence poker.”

“Coincidence? I don’t foller yuh, Glendon.”

“No-o-o-o? Seven hundred and fifty dollars, split three ways.”

“I think we better be going along, Cal,” said Austin nervously. “There may be some news in Indian Wells.” Sands nodded. He, too, wanted an excuse to get out of that office.

“If I hear anythin’, I’ll let yuh know right away,” said the sheriff.

“Thank yuh, Pete,” replied Sands, and followed Austin out of the office.

“Now, what’s all this talk about coincidence poker?” demanded the sheriff.

Goober laughed softly. “I dunno, Pete. Didja see Austin flinch?”

“I did,” said Smoky.

“You would,” grunted the sheriff. “But what was it all about?”

“Search me,” grinned Goober. “When Riecho was killed, he had that cheque for two hundred and fifty on him. Yesterday Cal Sands cashed two cheques for the same amount at the Silver Bar Bank, drawn in favour of Elkinson and Britton.”

“Each one of ’em had a cheque for two hundred and fifty?” asked Smoky.

“That’s right. And Cal Sands told Ed Cates, the banker at Silver Bar, that they were gamblin’ cheques. Mebbe it’s all right--but I calls it coincidence poker.”

“What’s the answer?” queried the sheriff.

Goober shrugged his shoulders. “I wish I knew, Pete.”

“So do I. Glendon, this here kidnappin’ don’t look right to me. If I was a married man, and somethin’ like that happened to my wife, I’d shore--well, I wouldn’t take it the way Austin does.”

“I’ve knowed men who would almost pay to git their wife stole,” said Smoky.

“You never knowed any such a damn thing!” snorted Pete. “Why say things like that? Sometimes yuh make me mad--talkin’ foolish thataway.”

A slow smile overspread Goober’s face, and he got slowly to his feet. “Well, I reckon I’ll go and wrap m’ insides around a fried aig,” he told them. “See yuh later.”