The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland

by George Pattullo

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  HE ARRESTS A SUSPECT

  Johnson caught his most dependable horse and rode out from the Anvilheadquarters. Strapped to his hip was a .45 Colt and he had a 30-30Winchester in his saddle holster. Florence Steel, on foot, overtook himat the gate of the home pasture.

  "What's this I hear? Where're you going, Mr. Johnson?"

  Lafe told her glibly that he had been sent by Mr. Horne to recovercertain cattle which had been run off by hostile nesters during thefestivities. It was true that some cattle had been stolen.

  "Sure," said Florence, gazing intently into his face. "If you meet upwith him, better watch out. A man who'll stab in the back will do mostanything."

  "What do you know about this?"

  "When you catch him," the girl added, "just give him this. Ask if thisdoesn't belong to him." She thrust into Johnson's hand a large claspknife. There were blood stains on the blades and handle. Lafe nodded andput it in his pocket. He did not even inquire how the girl had come byit.

  About dusk, on the following day, Johnson sighted Bass moving quietlyup a ravine on the west side of The Hatter. Some cottonwoods intervenedto spoil a shot. Lafe made a detour and quickened his pace, hoping tohead him off. As he emerged from the ravine on to a mesa, Bass perceivedhim. Instead of fleeing, he turned his horse and threw up an arm as acaution to Lafe to halt.

  "What do you want?" he cried.

  "I want you. Better come along quiet. It'll save trouble."

  "I wouldn't choose to, thanks. No. I reckon I won't."

  Johnson was not one to take chances with an assassin. He began to pumphis Winchester. At the second shot Bass's horse lurched forward on tohis knees with a scream and stretched out, its legs stiff. His riderscrambled clear and shot Johnson through the fleshy part of his rightforearm before he could pull again.

  The boss had drawn his six-shooter and was coming on. He coolly changedthe weapon to his left hand and threw down on him at twenty yards.

  It had often been asserted in Badger that the sheriff could not miss atany distance under two hundred feet. This was scarcely an exaggeration.He had pulled only once when Bass held up empty hands in token ofsurrender. His gun lay on the ground and two fingers of his right handwere gone.

  "I reckon I ought to have killed you, Mordecai," said Lafe, "but Icouldn't forget that me and you had slept under the same blankets. Doyou remember that roundup on the Lazy L? What'd you do this for?"

  "I knew you'd think I did it," was all Bass said, and he began to make aligature out of his handkerchief.

  "Well, get up here in front and come along. We've got twenty-one milesahead of us. Let's go."

  "I know what you want me for," Bass said, "but you're wrong, Lafe. Ididn't do it."

  "How do you know it was done, then?" said Lafe. "Only three of us knewwhen I left the ranch. That was five minutes after we done found him."

  His prisoner did not explain, but climbed obediently into the saddle infront of Johnson. Riding thus balanced, the horse could carry both, butit was punishing work, and not until eleven hours later did they makethe county town. Lafe turned his prisoner over to the sheriff and sawhim safely in jail under lock and key. As he was leaving, he said:"Here's your knife."

  "Where did you find it?"

  "Where you threw it."

  "I done lost it at the dance," said Bass.

  On this Johnson placed the knife in the sheriff's keeping, to be used asExhibit A. When his arm had been dressed, he returned to the Anvilheadquarters.

  All the guests had departed and, though Mrs. Horne was prostrated andthe cowman much perturbed, the cowboys of the outfit had started ontheir roundup. A trifle like a murder must not interfere with business.When he had driven Hetty and the boy home, Lafe joined the chuckwagon atthe camp on Bull Creek and took charge of operations.

  After supper on the first night Johnson took part in a game of pitch. Itwas not his habit to play with his men, as being subversive ofdiscipline, but he was worried and needed distraction. Baptismo, thehalf-breed, was in the game. He was working through the roundup asstrayman for the Gourd. Although Lafe lost, the play excited him tocheeriness and he began to drone, as he riffled the cards--

  Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me--

  "What's the matter, Baptismo?" he asked suddenly.

  "Nothing's the matter. Go on and deal," said the strayman. He smiled atLafe, but his hands were unsteady. The boss played wretchedly and lostmore than he could afford.

  "Whatever are you thinking about, Lafe?" exclaimed his partner, inexasperation. "I swear I never done saw a raw beginner overbid his handworse'n you done."

  "I'm right sorry. I was studying over something."

  On the round next morning the boss made it a point to ride withBaptismo. The outfit was dispersed in a wide semi-circle covering anarea five miles in diameter, and moved slowly forward within sight ofone another, converging upon a cuplike valley. In this manner they droveahead of them all the cattle within the limits of their sweep. Usuallythe half-breed was sent with the first bunch dispersed, for he was acapable hand, but instead of posting Baptismo this morning as he did theothers, Lafe kept him at his side. Side by side they trotted slowlythrough the sage-brush, with the cattle careering in front, pausingoften to look back at them. Several times Lafe raised his voice merrily.

  "Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee," he sang.

  The half-breed glanced at him obliquely and remarked: "You seem rightfond of that song, Mr. Johnson."

  "Yes? Did I sing that before? I hadn't noticed it," the boss answered,and went on with the verse.

  All through the day Johnson kept close to Baptismo. It was quite evidentthat the half-breed had difficulty holding himself in check under thisclose espionage, but the only emotion he betrayed was a quickenedalertness. And all through the day Lafe sang or hummed the ballad of"The Dying Cowboy."

  On the next afternoon, as they were picking their way through a tangleof ocatilla among the foothills, Johnson burst into full-throatedsong--

  Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me-- Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free--

  "For the love of God!" said Baptismo. "Stop that song!"