W. C. Tuttle

“ But Charley Prentice is your dad now.”
“How do you figure that out? How many dads can a feller have, anyway?”
Baggs took great pains to explain to Larry just how it happened that his name was Prentice. The boy listened.
“Aw right,” he said defiantly. “Then my name ain’t Prentice, it’s Ayres. Len Ayres is my father.”
“Yes, that’s true, Larry. After he was sent to prison, your mother married Charley Prentice. You were two years old at that time. But wouldn’t you rather have a father who is cashier of a bank than to have one just out of prison?” ”

“ Whispering studied Nan’s face closely. “Yeah, I can see old Harmony in yuh, ma’am. Yore eyes are kinda like hisn, except his was brown. Yore uncle was a man. One of the whitest men on earth, I tell yuh. His word was as good as a gold bond. He played the game according to rules.”
Nan blinked quickly. These two men seemed to be measuring her to see if she came up to the standard of Harmony Singer.
“Well, I—I hope I can make good,” she said. But she looked at Len Ayres, and his greenish-gray eyes seemed to accuse her of a lie.
“You’ll make good,” he said softly. ”

“ Len smiled crookedly.
“Most folks talk about me to somebody else,” he said.
“I’ve talked about yuh to other folks,” said Hashknife seriously. “The whole danged trouble is the fact that they all feel too much alike about yuh, Ayres. Even those who say they like yuh a lot, admit that you got away to a mighty bad start in this country.”
“Even if that’s fact,” said Len grimly, “I don’t see where it’s any of yore damn business, Hartley. What do you care what people say about me? I can run my business.” ”

“ Baggs had been drinking, and his face was close to her.
“You say I’m going back to Frisco?” she asked.
“That’s none of your damn business,” Baggs said coldly. “You were an impostor. I’m merely saving you from jail. You’re not entitled to that much consideration, but I’m giving it to you. You sign Madge Singer’s name on that line, write a note to Len Ayres, telling him that you are suddenly called away, and we’ll all get out of here. You’ll either do this or stay in jail to-night.”
“Does Ayres know your handwriting?” asked Pollock.
“I don’t think he does,” said Nan weakly. ”

“ They were obliged to cross the railroad tracks near the little sun-baked depot, and as a train was approaching, Whispering drew up the team some distance away. The train did not tarry long at Lobo Wells, and as it drew away Whispering whipped up the team.
They jolted across the tracks and headed down the main street. A man dressed in black, one arm in a sling, was going down the wooden sidewalk from the depot, carrying a valise in his free hand, and as they came abreast of him, he turned his head sufficiently for Nan to see his face. ”

“ The old banker sat down at his desk and lit a cigar with trembling fingers. Lester Johnson, the bookkeeper, came over to him and shook hands.
“I’m sorry, too, Mr. Grant,” he said. “It was rather hard for me to send you those reports.”
“I understand. Is Len Ayres back here in Lobo Wells?”
“I hear he is, Mr. Grant. I don’t know him, of course.”
“Charley Prentice married his wife after Len was sent to the penitentiary for robbing this bank.”
“I have heard the story.”
“Ayres is a bad man, Johnson—a gunman.” ”

“ And would they commit murder merely to get Len out of the way? That was hardly reasonable, Hashknife decided. Did they want to close Prentice’s mouth, and at the same time dispose of Len? That sounded reasonable. Drunken men might talk.
For at least two hours the tall cowboy sprawled on the bed, his gray eyes blinking at the bare ceiling, until Sleepy came up and demanded to know whether Hashknife was playing a joke on his stomach or had he forgotten that it was past supper time. ”

“ It was Jack Pollock, the San Francisco gambler! Madge’s friend! He was the last man she had ever expected to see again, and the last one she wished to see. Her mind was in a whirl, as the team drew up in front of the store. Whispering looked at her and put his hand on her arm.
“What’s the matter—too much sun?” he asked.
“I—I’m all right,” she said jerkily.
“Yo’re mighty white, ma’am. I’ll help yuh down and git yuh in the shade. A derned old wagon is the hottest place on earth, anyway. We’ll git some water for yuh.” ”

“ Larry humped in a chair, resting his chin on his two hands. “I guess we’ll git along,” he decided. “Mebby I can git a job, Minnie.”
The fat, stoical face of the squaw did not change expression, as she said: “Sure.”
Suddenly there came a sharp knock on the front door; a rat, tat, tat, as though some one struck the door with a hard object. They heard Prentice growl angrily and the couch creaked protestingly, as he heaved himself upright. Larry stepped to the doorway and watched Prentice pick up a gun from the table and go lurching toward the door. ”

“ Slowly she walked past Larry and went out to the porch. Larry didn’t follow her, but his wide eyes were glued on the front door, until she came back, softly closing the door behind her.
“Plenty dead,” she said slowly.
“Dead?” whispered Larry, almost choking over the word.
“Shot twice,” she said, nodding. “Die quick.”
“We—we ought to get the doctor,” faltered Larry.
“Doctor no good now; better get sheriff.” ”

“ There was still an aroma of cooked foods when the landlady knocked softly on the door.
“I have a letter here for Madge Allan,” she said, when Nan cautiously opened the door a few inches. “She said something about getting money from home, and this letter might just be the one she’ll be looking for.”
The last was rather sarcastic as she handed the letter to Nan, sniffing at the hamburger-tainted atmosphere.
“That’s queer,” she said. “I’d almost swear that ain’t no odour from my kitchen.”
“I really can’t smell anything,” said Nan. ”

“ You look innocent. I don’t mean any disrespect to either party, but you’re not the kind of a girl that I’d expect Jack Pollock to take up with. That’s a fact. I’ll introduce you to Harry Cole as soon as convenient. Just for your own sake, I’d advise you to keep away from the cowboys around here. They’re a wild lot.”
Nan’s face was rather red, but it might have been from the heat. She disliked Baggs, and she couldn’t see why he should promise to introduce her to Harry Cole. But she realised that, as Madge Allan, she must understand what it was all about, and she wondered how it would turn out. ”

“ After supper Len decided to ride to Lobo Wells with them. They were out of tobacco at the ranch and there were a few other small purchases to be made. Nan shook hands with them and asked them to come back soon. After they had ridden away with Len, Nan said to Whispering:
“I like those two men, Whispering. I think the tall one has the cleverest eyes I have ever seen.”
“Don’t get fooled on no cowpuncher,” advised Sailor. “Clear eyes ain’t no bay-rom-eter on his conscience. Most honest man I ever knowed was plumb cross-eyed and had a sty on one of ’em.” ”

“ After Baggs had left the office, the sheriff declared: “I don’t like that feller.”
“I guess he knows it,” grinned Hashknife. “Wasn’t he the prosecutor who sent Ayres to the pen?”
“Yeah, and he shore piled it on a-plenty. I thought Len would kill him when he came back, but I guess the pen takes all the killin’ ideas out of a man. Nobody ever wants to go back.”
“Do you think Ayres really cached a lot of that money he stole?”
The sheriff laughed shortly.
“I suppose every man in this county has asked himself that same question, Hartley. Nobody but Len could prove it. ”

“ Overalls tucked in the tops of high-heeled boots, thin, faded shirts, stringy vests, well-worn silk neckerchiefs and Stetson hats, more or less weathered. Both men wore holstered guns, sagging heavily from their belts, which had seen so much service that they fitted perfectly to the curve of hip and thigh.
There was nothing ornamental about their garments. Neither man was inclined to ornaments, and even their heavy Colt guns bore handmade plain wood handles.
As the three men and the boy were talking, Amos Baggs, driving a livery rig, turned his horse in through the open doorway. ”

“ When Len let him loose, Baggs slid weakly to the floor, holding his face in both hands. Len looked at him disgustedly.
“Gee, what a slappin’ he got!” exclaimed Larry.
Len turned to Nan, who had got to her feet.
“I suppose we might as well go home, Nan; that feller ain’t in no shape to talk business.”
Nan nodded, and they walked out together. Whispering was coming across to the buckboard, and they walked over there.
“Larry can ride with you folks,” said Len. “Larry, this is Miss Singer, the boss of the Box S, and this man is Whisperin’ Taylor, the man who makes the pies and cookies.” ”

“ As he led a pair of horses past the stall where Hashknife kept his gray he said to Hashknife:
“I think you lost yore pocket-book last night. I picked one up near yore stall this mornin’. It’s back there on the grain box.”
“All right,” grunted Hashknife, wondering what the man meant. Hashknife never carried a pocket-book in his life.
He hung up his currycomb and walked back to the grain-box, where he found a leather billfold. Inside it were twenty dollars in currency, some personal cards of people he did not know—mostly San Francisco people—and two tickets from Lobo Wells to San Francisco. ”

“ Sometimes I wonder too. Lack of brains, mebbe. No sane man would ever come back here, after what happened to me. But I paid the penalty, didn’t I? And my kid is here,” he added softly. “My kid, Johnny. Oughtn’t that bring a man back?”
“Shore,” said Johnny thoughtfully. He thought he knew why Len Ayres came back. Perhaps the kid had something to do with it, but it was the money that had brought him back.
Nothing had been proved, except that Len had robbed the Lobo Wells bank and half-killed the cashier. They found Len’s hat there on the floor, where it fell off in his getaway. ”

“ Hashknife did not smile now. He looked at the sheriff with his level gray eyes, as he said softly: “I can’t tell yuh now, sheriff. Too many cooks always spoil the broth.”
“Yeah?” thoughtfully. “Well, you got a nerve, Hartley. Oh, it’s O.K. with me if all this is on the square.”
“It’s all right, I give you my word.”
Baggs had talked to the sheriff, telling him that he was firing the crew at the Box S, and saying that he might have some trouble over it.
“Kinda tough,” agreed Breezy, digging away at a tough steak with a dull knife. “Len’s got the kid to look after, too. ”

“ Yuh can’t do it. When a shot is fired in the dark, and all yuh see is the flash, how are yuh goin’ to deduct who pulled the trigger? Can’t be done. Who would bushwhack Amos Baggs? Why not kill him openly and get a medal? Who shot Charley Prentice? You answer it, I can’t. I’ve lost all faith in detective stories. I tell yuh, it’s all luck, when yuh catch a criminal. Instead of votin’ a man into this office, they ought to check up and find out who is the luckiest man in the county.”
“I guess there’s a lot of luck connected with it,” agreed Hashknife. ”

“ Hashknife didn’t tell Ayres what he had read in the letter from Baggs to Nan, but he knew that Nan lost no time in coming in to see Baggs.
“There’s somethin’ wrong in that end of the deal,” he told himself. “Nice girl and a crooked lawyer. He’s got her scared, I think. I wish I had her scared enough to talk. I’ll just about fool around here until somebody blows my head off.”
Sleepy had the same idea.
“It ain’t worth it,” he declared. “Wire Wells Fargo that we’re off the job, Hashknife. It was a foolish idea, in the first place. They can’t expect us to do anythin’. ”

“ Shortly after Hashknife and Sleepy rode away, Nan came out to the kitchen and asked Whispering to hitch the team to the buckboard and take her to town.
In the meantime Len had talked with Knight at the OK ranch. Knight happened to have been in Lobo Wells when the shot had smashed through the sheriff’s window.
“I suppose they’ll blame me for that,” said Len.
“They probably will,” smiled Knight. “Some of them will blame yuh for not shootin’ straighter.”
“I guess Baggs isn’t very popular.”
“It’s his own fault, Len. He can’t keep his nose out of things that don’t concern him.” ”

“ Nobody told me to ride herd on her.”
“Well, boys, it couldn’t be helped,” sighed Len. “There’s no blame comin’ to anybody. Mebby everythin’ is all right. I guess I’ll go to town and have a talk with Baggs,” and then savagely: “And he’ll talk to me, or I’ll saw off his damn ears.”
“That would be my idea of a holiday,” grinned Whispering as Len hurried down to the stable to get his horse.
“Why does everybody hate Baggs?” asked Hashknife.
“I dunno,” confessed Whispering. “I hate him for the things he said about Len at the trial. Old Harmony Singer hated him a-plenty. ”

“ Brains don’t do yuh any good, unless yuh carry a horseshoe and a rabbit’s foot.”
Nan Whitlock was doing a lot of thinking about her luck, as the buckboard lurched over the rough road to the Box S. There was no question in her mind that she must get out of the Lobo Wells country before the following noon or go to jail. But how to get away without explaining? That was the rub.
Whispering and Larry kept up a spirited conversation, but Nan’s mind was too busy to allow her to join them. The boy seemed filled with joy over the prospect of living at the ranch, and boasted of his prowess with an axe. ”

“ I dunno whether he’s got a gun or not, but a man in his condition ain’t safe—not after what he tried to do to Len the other night.”
“Fit to be locked up,” agreed Hashknife. “Is he home now?”
“I think he is. I was up past his house a while ago, but everything was quiet. I kinda worry about that kid.”
And the kid, as Breezy termed him, was also worried. He and Minnie, the squaw, stayed close to the kitchen, while Prentice sprawled on a couch in the little living-room, talking to himself at intervals.
“We go ’way pretty soon,” decided Minnie. “No good stay here. Worse all time.” ”

“ He clung to this, trying to pump air into his tortured lungs, while a heavy weight seemed to press down on his head. As yet he did not remember anything. His past, present and future were all a blank, but still he fought for life. After a few moments he began to get back a glimmering of intelligence. ”

“ That was the second time that Len had chastised Baggs. It was no wonder that Baggs was not in a gentle frame of mind.
After Johnny Harris left him, Hashknife sat on the sidewalk and tried to reason out the situation. Finally he gave up and went back to the sheriff’s office, where he tried to get the sheriff’s reactions on a few things. But Ben Dillon was not reacting just at present.
“Anyway,” he told Hashknife, “I don’t see why you’re so danged concerned. Yuh act as though you was sheriff, instead of me. If somebody wants to shoot Amos Baggs, that’s their business.” ”

“ OWNER OF THE BOX S
“Nossir! Not now nor never! Why, listen, Len—aw, that’s onreasonable. No danged female could run a cow ranch. I tell yuh, I won’t stand for it. Me and Sailor has talked it over among us, and he feels the same as I do. Of course, his opinion ain’t worth nothin’, as far as that is concerned, but we’re ready to step right out when she comes.”
Whispering Taylor waved his arms a few times, kicked a stick of wood under the stove, and glared at Len Ayres, who was tilted back in a chair against the kitchen wall, hands locked around his knees.
“Step out where, Whisperin’?” ”

“ If you boys are lookin’ for jobs, I’ll see Silver Prescott for yuh. He owns the JP outfit, and he’s a good man.
“And there’s Oscar Knight’s OK outfit. He don’t use so many men as Silver Jim does, but he’s plumb white man. Of course, the Box S is out of the question, unless Baggs manages to git them two old men fired, which I hope he don’t. It wouldn’t be the Box S without them two old terriers. Whisperin’ Taylor does the cookin’, while Sailor Jones cuts the wood, does the horse wranglin’, and helps with the ridin’. And there ain’t a minute when they’re together that they don’t quarrel. ”