The Heart of the Range

by William Patterson White

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE SHOOTING

  Racey Dawson, riding back to Moccasin Spring, was in a warm andpleasant frame of mind. With him rode Old Salt, and with Old Salt rodeOld Salt's check book. Racey had, after much argument and persuasion,made excellent arrangements with Mr. Saltoun. The latter, anxiousthough he was to own the Dale place himself, had agreed to pay off themortgage bought by Lanpher and Tweezy and take in return a 6 per cent.mortgage for ten years. No wonder Racey was pleased with himself. Hehad a right to be.

  As they crossed the Marysville and Farewell trail Racey's horse pickedup a fortuitous stone. Racey dismounted. Mr. Saltoun, slouchingcomfortably back against his cantle, looked doubtfully down at Raceywhere he stood humped over, the horse's hoof between his knees,tapping with a knife handle at the lodged stone.

  "A ten-year mortgage is a long one, kind of," he said, slowly.

  "I thought we'd settled all that." Racey lifted a quick head.

  "Shore we've done settled it," Mr. Saltoun acquiesced, promptly."That's all right. I'm going through with my part of it. Gotta do it.Nothing else to do. I was just a-thinking, that's all."

  Racey merely grunted. He resumed his tapping.

  "Alla same," Mr. Saltoun said, suddenly, "I don't believe this JackHarpe feller had anything to do with this mortgage deal, Racey."

  "Don't you?"

  "No, I don't. You can't make me believe they's any coon in _that_tree. If they was why ain't Jack Harpe done something before this?Tell me that. Why ain't he?"

  "Damfino."

  "Shore you don't. You was mistaken, Racey. Badly mistaken. Yorejudgment was out by a mile. She's all just Luke Tweezy and that lousyskunk of a Lanpher trying to act spotty. No more than that."

  "Well, ain't that enough?"

  "Shore, but--"

  "But nothing. Where'd you be if I hadn't found out about it, huh?Wouldn't you look nice feedin' other folks' cows on yore grass?"

  "Alla same, they wouldn't 'a' been Jack Harpe's cows."

  "Which is all you know about it. You never would take warning, and youknow it. How about the time when Blakely was the 88 manager, and theywere rustling yore cattle so fast it made a quarter-hoss racing fullsplit look slow?"

  "Well, but--" interrupted Mr. Saltoun, beginning to fidget with hisreins.

  "And the time Cutnose Canter tried to run off a whole herd of hosseson you?" Racey breezed on, warming to his subject. "You wouldn't letChuck warn you. Oh, no, not you. He didn't know what he was talkingabout. No, he didn't. And how did it turn out, huh? What did that li'lparty cost you? Yeah, I would begin frizzling round if I was you.You'll generally notice the feller who's the last to laugh enjoys itthe most. I'm that feller--me and Swing both."

  "Aw, say--"

  "Yeah, me and Swing will be thanking you for a healthy big checkapiece when our time-limit is up. Yes, indeedy, that's us."

  "Is _that_ so? _Is_ that so? You got another guess, Racey, and it's methat will get the most out of that laugh. If it's like I say, even ifLanpher and Tweezy are trying a game you don't get paid a nickel ifJack Harpe and his cattle ain't in on the deal. You done put in theJack Harpe end of it yoreself. I heard you. So did Tom Loudon, andSwing, too. Jack Harpe. Yeah. He is the tune you was playing allatime. And up to now I can't see that Jack Harpe has made a move, not amove."

  "But--"

  "Lanpher and Tweezy wasn't in the bet," insisted Mr. Saltoun. "It wasJack Harpe, and you know it. 'If Jack Harpe don't start trying to getDale's ranch away from him and run cattle in on you inside of sixmonths you don't have to pay us.' Them was yore very words, Racey. Igot 'em wrote down all so careful. I know 'em by heart."

  "I'll bet you do," Racey told him, heartily. "I'll gamble you beenstudying those words in all yore spare time."

  "It pays to be careful," smiled Mr. Saltoun. "Always bear that inmind. I ain't wanting to rub anything in, Racey, but if you'd been amite more careful, just a mite more careful, you wouldn't be out somuch at the finish. Drinks are on you, cowboy. And when you stop tothink that I'd 'a' made the bet just the same if you'd wanted Lanpherand Tweezy in on it. Only you didn't."

  "Guess I must 'a' overlooked 'em, huh?" grinned Racey. "Feller can'tthink of everything, can he?"

  "I'm glad to see yo're taking it thisaway," approved Mr. Saltoun."Working for six months for nothing don't seem to bother you a-tall."

  "I ain't worked six months for nothing--yet," pointed out Racey. "Thesix months ain't up--yet. You wanna remember, Salt, that a race ain'tover till the horses cross the line."

  "You gotta prove Jack Harpe's connection," began Mr. Saltoun.

  Racey topped his mount, but as the horse started he held him up.

  "Lessee who's coming," he suggested, jerking his thumb over hisshoulder.

  He and Mr. Saltoun both turned their heads. Someone was riding towardthem along the trail from the direction of the Lazy River ford--Raceyhad caught the clatter of the horse's hoofs on the rocks of a washwherein the trail lay concealed.

  "Siftin' right along," said Mr. Saltoun.

  Racey nodded. Horse and rider slid into sight above the side of thewash and trotted toward them.

  "Looks like Punch-the-breeze Thompson," said Mr. Saltoun.

  "It is Thompson," confirmed Racey. "Didn't it strike you he sort ofhesitated a li'l bit when he first seen us--like a man would whosebreakfast didn't rest easy on his stomach, as you might say."

  Mr. Saltoun nodded. "He did sway back on them lines at the top."

  "And he ain't boiling along quite as fast now as he was in the wash,"elaborated Racey.

  "I noticed that, too," admitted Mr. Saltoun.

  They waited, barring the trail. Punch-the-breeze Thompson did notattempt to ride around them. He pulled up and nodded easily to the twomen.

  "They's been a fraycas down at McFluke's," Thompson said.

  "Fraycas?" Racey cocked an eyebrow.

  "Yeah--old Dale and a stranger."

  Racey nodded. He knew with a great certainty what was coming next."Anybody hurt?" he asked.

  "Old Dale."

  "Bad?"

  "Killed."

  Racey nodded again. "Even break?"

  "We don't think so," Thompson stated, frankly.

  "Who's we?" queried Racey.

  "Oh, Austin, Honey Hoke, Doc Coffin, McFluke, Jack Harpe, Lanpher, andLuke Tweezy. We all just didn't like the way the stranger went at it,so I'm going to Farewell after the sheriff."

  "Yo're holdin' the stranger then, I take it?" put in Mr. Saltoun.

  "Well, no, not exactly," replied Thompson. "He got away, that strangerdid."

  "And didn't none of you make any try at stopping him a-tall?" demandedRacey.

  "Plenty," Thompson replied with a stony face. "I took a shot at himmyself just as he was hopping through the window. I missed."

  "Yet they say yo're a good snap shot, Thompson," threw in Racey.

  "I am--most usual," admitted Thompson. "But this time my hand must 'a'shook or something."

  "Yep," concurred Racey, "I shore guess it must 'a' shookor--something."

  Thompson faced Racey. "'Or something,'" he repeated, hardily."Meaning?"

  "What I said," replied Racey, calmly. "I never mean more'n Isay--ever."

  Thompson continued to regard Racey fixedly. Mr. Saltoun was glad thathe himself was two yards to the right, and he would not have objectedto double the distance.

  Racey's hands were folded on the horn of his saddle. Thompson's righthand hung at his side. Racey had told the truth when he spoke ofThompson as a good snap shot. He was all of that. And he wasfairly quick on the draw as well. It would seem that, taking intoconsideration the position of Thompson's right hand, that Thompsonhad a shade the better of it. Racey thought so. But he hoped,nevertheless, by shooting through the bottom of his holster, to plantat least one bullet in Thompson before the latter killed him.

  The decision lay with Thompson. Would he elect to fight? Racey couldalmost see the thoughts at conflict behind Thompson's frontal bon
e.Mr. Saltoun, hoping against hope, sat tensely silent. Racey's eyesheld Thompson's steadily.

  Slowly, inch by inch, Thompson's right hand moved upward--and awayfrom the gun butt. He gathered his reins in his left hand and with hishitherto menacing right he tilted his hat forward and began to scratchthe back of his head.

  "If you don't mean more'n you say," offered Thompson, "you don't meanmuch."

  "Which is all the way you look at it," said Racey.

  "And a damn good way, too," nipped in Mr. Saltoun, hurriedly, inwardlycursing Racey for not letting well enough alone. "What was the fightabout, Thompson?"

  "Cards," said Thompson, laconically, switching his eyes briefly to Mr.Saltoun's face.

  "And the stranger cold-decked him?" inquired Racey.

  "Something like that, but I can't say for shore. I wasn't playing withhim. Doc Coffin was, and so was Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin. Peachessaid he kind of had an idea the stranger dealt himself a card from thebottom just before old Dale started to crawl his hump. But Peachesain't shore about it. Seemin'ly old Dale is the only one was shore,and he's dead."

  "And yo're going for the coroner, huh?" asked Racey.

  "I said so."

  "But you didn't say if anybody was chasing the stranger now. Arethey?"

  "Shore," was the prompt reply. "They all took out after him--allexcept McFluke, that is."

  Racey nodded. "I expect McFluke would want to stay with Dale," hesaid, gently, "just as you'd want to go to Farewell after the coroner.Yo're shore it is the coroner, Thompson?"

  "Say, how many times do you want me to tell you?" demanded thebadgered Thompson. "Of course it's the coroner. In a case like thisthe coroner's gotta be notified."

  "I expect," assented Racey. "I expect. But if yo're really goin' forthe coroner, Thompson, what made you tell us when you first met us youwere going for the sheriff?"

  "Why," said Thompson without a quiver, "I'm a-goin' for him, too. Imust 'a' forgot to say so at first."

  "Yeah, I guess you did." Thus Racey, annoyed that Thompson hadcontrived to crawl through the fence. He had hoped that Thompson mightbe tempted to a demonstration, for which potentiality he, Racey, hadprepared by removing his right hand from the saddle horn.

  "It don't always pay to forget, Thompson," suggested Mr. Saltoun,coldly.

  "It don't," Thompson assented readily. "And I don't--most always."

  "Don't stay here any longer on our account, Thompson," said Racey."You've told us about enough."

  "Try and remember it," Thompson bade him, and lifted his reins.

  "We will, and, on the other hand, don't you forget yore sheriff andyore coroner."

  "I won't," grinned Thompson and rode past and away.

  "He ain't goin' for the sheriff and the coroner any more'n I am,"declared Mr. Saltoun, disgustedly, turning in the saddle to gaze afterthe vanishing horseman.

  "Of course he ain't!" almost barked Racey. "In this country fellerslike Thompson don't ride hellbent just to tell the sheriff and thecoroner a feller has been killed. Murder ain't any such e-vent as allthat. Unless," he added, thoughtfully, "Thompson is the stranger."

  "You mean Thompson might 'a' killed him?"

  "I don't think it would spoil his appetite any. You remember how fasthe was pelting along down in the wash, and how he slowed up afterseeing us? A murderer would act just thataway."

  Mr. Saltoun nodded. "A gent can't do anything on guesswork," he said,bromidically. "Facts are what count."

  "You'll find before we get to the bottom of this business," observedRacey, sagely, "that guesswork is gonna lead us to a whole heap offacts."

  "I hope so," Mr. Saltoun said, uncomfortably conscious that the deathof Dale might seriously complicate the lifting of the mortgage.

  Racey was no less uncomfortable, and for the same reason. He felt surethat the killing of Dale had been inspired in order to settle once forall the future of the Dale ranch. No wonder Luke Tweezy had been sopositive in his assertion that Old Man Saltoun would not lend anymoney to Dale. The latter had been marked for death at the time.

  Despite the fact that Tweezy and Harpe were at last being seentogether in public, thus indicating that the "deal," to quote Pooley'sletter to Tweezy, had been "sprung," Racey doubted that the murderformed part of Jacob Pooley's "absolutely safe" plan for forcing outDale. While in some ways the murder might be considered sufficientlysafe, the method of it and the act itself did not smack of Pooley'shandiwork. It was much more probable that the killing was the climaxof Luke Tweezy's original plan adhered to by the attorney and hisfriends against the advice and wishes of Jacob Pooley.

  "Guess we'd better go on to McFluke's," was Racey's suggestion.

  They went.

  "Looks like they got back mighty soon from chasing the stranger,"said Racey, when they came in sight of the place, eying the number ofhorses tied to the hitching-rail.

  "Maybe they got him quick," Mr. Saltoun offered, sardonically.

  They rode on and added their horses to the tail-switching string infront of the saloon. Racey did not fail to note that none of the otherhorses gave any evidence of having been ridden either hard or lately.Which, in the face of Thompson's assertion that the men he left behindhad ridden in pursuit of the murderer, seemed rather odd. Or perhapsit was not so odd, looking upon it from another angle.

  The saloon, when they had ridden up, had been quiet as the well-knowngrave. It remained equally silent when they entered.

  McFluke, behind the bar, wearing a black eye and a puffed nose, noddedto them civilly. In chairs ranged round the walls sat an assortment ofmen--Peaches Austin, Luke Tweezy, Jack Harpe, Doc Coffin, Honey Hoke,and Lanpher. The latter was nursing a slung right arm. They were allthere, the men mentioned by name by Thompson as having been in theplace when Dale was killed.

  "What is this, a graveyard meetin'?" asked Racey of McFluke, glancingfrom the assembled multitude to McFluke and smiling slightly. Itwas no part of wisdom, thought Racey, to let these men know of hisencounter with Thompson. He had Thompson's story. He was anxious tohear theirs.

  '"A graveyard meeting,'" repeated the saloon-keeper. "Well, and that'swhat it is in a manner of speaking."

  Racey stared. "I bite. What's the answer?"

  The saloon-keeper cleared his throat. "Old Dale's been killed."

  "Has, huh? Who killed him?" Racey allowed his eyes casually to skimthe expressionless faces of the men backed against the walls.

  "A stranger killed him," replied McFluke, heavily.

  Racey removed his eyes from the slack-chinned countenance of thesaloon-keeper to thin-faced, foxy-nosed Luke Tweezy. Luke's littleeyes met his.

  "You saw this stranger, Luke?" he asked.

  Luke Tweezy nodded. "We all saw him."

  "He was playing draw with Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin and me," DocCoffin offered, oilily.

  "And the stranger?" amended Racey.

  "And the stranger," Doc Coffin accepted the amendment.

  "What was the trouble?" pursued Racey.

  "Well, we kind of thought"--Doc Coffin's eyes slid round to cross aninstant the shifty gaze of Peaches Austin--"we thought maybe thisstranger dealt a card from the bottom. We ain't none shore."

  "Dale said he did, anyhow," said Peaches Austin.

  "He said so twice," put in Lanpher.

  Racey turned deliberately. "You here," said he, softly. "I didn't seeyou at first. I must be getting nearsighted. You saw the whole thing,did you, Lanpher?"

  "Yeah," replied Lanpher.

  "Who pulled first?"

  "The stranger." The answer came patly from at least five differentmen.

  Racey looked grimly upon those present. "Most everybody seems shorethe stranger's to blame," he observed. "Besides saying the strangerwas dealing from the bottom did Dale use any other fighting words?"

  "He called him a--tinhorn," burst simultaneously from the lips ofMcFluke and Peaches Austin.

  "Only two this time," said Racey, shooting a swift glance at JackHarpe and overjoyed t
o find the latter dividing a glare of disgustbetween McFluke and Austin. "But you'll have to do better than that."

  Mr. Saltoun shivered inwardly. He was a man of courage, but notof foolhardy courage, the species of courage that dares deathunnecessarily. He was getting on in years, and hoped, when it came histime to die, to pass out peacefully in his nightshirt. And here wasthat fool of a Racey practically telling Harpe and the other rascalsthat he was on to their game. No wonder Mr. Saltoun shivered. Heexpected matters to come to push of pike in a split second. So, beingwhat he was, a fairly brave man in a tight corner, he put on a hard,confident expression and hooked his thumbs in his belt.

  Racey Dawson spread his legs wide and laughed a reckless laugh. Hefelt reckless. He likewise felt for these men ranged before him themost venomous hate of which he was capable. These men had killed thefather of Molly Dale. It did not matter whether any one or all ofthem had or had not committed the actual murder, they were whollyresponsible for it. They had brought it about. He knew it. He knew itjust as sure as he was a foot high. And as he looked upon them sittingthere in flinty silence he purposed to make them pay, and pay to theuttermost. That the old man had been a gambler and a drunkard, and theworld was undoubtedly a better world for his leaving it, were facts ofno moment in Racey's mind. He, Racey, was not one to condone eithermurder or injustice. And this murder and the injustice of it wouldcruelly hurt three women.

  He laughed again, without mirth. His blue eyes, glittering throughthe slits of the drawn-down eyelids, were pin-points of wrath. Hishard-bitten stare challenged his enemies. Damn them! let them shootif they wanted to. He was ready. He, Racey Dawson, would show thema fight that would stack up as well as any of which a hard-fightingterritory could boast. So, feeling as he did, Racey stared upon hisenemies with a frosty, slit-eyed stare and mentally dared them to cometo the scratch.

  But in moments like these there is always one to say "Let's go," orgive its equivalent, a sign. And that one is invariably the leader ofone side or the other. Racey Dawson saw Luke Tweezy turn a slow headand look toward Jack Harpe. He saw Doc Coffin, Honey, and Austin, oneafter the other, do the same. But Jack Harpe sat immobile. He neitherspoke nor gave a sign. Perhaps he did not consider the present asufficiently propitious moment. No one knew what he thought. Had heknown what the future held in store he might have gone after his gun.

  Tense, nerves wire-drawn, Racey and Mr. Saltoun awaited the decision.

  It came, and like many decisions, its form was totally unexpected.Jack Harpe looked at Racey and said smilelessly:

  "Wanna view the remains?"