W. C. Tuttle

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.” ”

“ The conductor cusses a little more, but swings on to the coach with us and we all pilgrims down the aisle, the conductor calling:
“M. J. Haley! M. J. Haley! M. J. Haley! Is M.J. Haley on board?”
We went through two cars before we gets a response. A tired-looking girl takes the conductor by the sleeve and stops him. He says to her:
“Excuse me, ma’am, but I haven’t time to talk to you now. M. J. Haley! M. J. Haley! Is M. J. Haley on board?”
“I am M. J. Haley,” says the lady. “Is—is somebody looking for me?”
“M. J. Haley?” grunts Windy. “Nun-not M. J. Huh—Haley of the Circle Dot?” ”

“ Bowers goes out, talking to himself, and Windy sets down in a chair.
“Mamma mine!” he chuckles. “Hashknife, you sure knows how to talk to folks. I wish I had eddication like that. All I can do is say something that is either plumb full of sugar, or else it’s fightin’ talk.
“You can say awful things to people and send ’em away talking to themselves, and they don’t know whether to get sore or shake hands with yuh. I’ll say you’re a wonder.”
For a couple of days we had perfect peace at the ranch. We don’t do a danged thing—much, except set around and wait for trouble. ”

“ Man, that must ’a’ been a hot place at one time. There ain’t a danged thing growing there. She’s just a humped-up mass of pillars, boulders and jagged rocks, kind of red and yaller and melted-like. The floor of it is solid rock, where the lava spewed over the side of the mountain. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Yuh ought to send him to a doctor.”
“Addy—what?” asks the sheriff.
“Noids. Shouldn’t be surprised if they’re doin’ the work that his brain ought to do. You’ve got a touch of ’em, too. How’s your tonsils?”
“My which?”
“Let’s play a game of pool, Windy,” suggests Hashknife. “It’s too hot to stand here in the sun. See yuh later, sheriff.”
“Baldy might not live,” says the sheriff, offhanded-like.
“Well,” says Windy, “ther’s enough of ’em at the Bar 20 to bury him decently, but tell ’em not to fire no salutes over his grave, ’cause they might accident’ly hurt each other. Adios.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ It ain’t no place to ride a horse on account of the sharp rocks. At the top is just one high cliff of the same rocks, sticking two or three hundred feet high into the air. The whole divide is one series of cliffs. We rides back to the foot of it and sits down to rest in the shade of a pillar.
“This place is sure well named,” opines Hashknife. “I reckon it was too hot for the devil, so he moved to his present location. This is where that Bar 20 puncher got shot, eh?”
“That’s what they say,” nods Windy. “It’s about five miles to the Bar 20 from here. ”

“ 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?” ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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. ”

“ I asks.
“Well,” says Windy, “he’s called ‘Snag.’ They don’t make ’em faster with a gun, but he’s got pe-culiar ideas. I don’t reckon Snag would shoot a man in the back nor quarrel with a drunk man and I ain’t never heard of him swearin’ at anybody, but he’s a chip off the old block, and Blazer Thorn was plumb pizen in a fight.”
“What did yuh mean by ‘three of us?’” I asks.
“You two and me. I’m givin’ yuh each a job.”
“Well,” says Hashknife after a while, “a feller’s got to get a job once in a while, I reckon, ain’t he, Sleepy? Sleepy’s looking for romance, Windy. Know what romance is?” ”

“ 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. ”

“ I reckon a gun has feelin’s and mebbe—well, I’ve took that kinda stuff myself, and I sure mixed her plentiful with lemon juice, and even at that—uh——”
“I thought that oil was oil,” says she.
“Oh sure,” nods Hashknife. “It sure is, but—uh—that old six-shooter ain’t sick. Sabe? I’ll get yuh some gun-oil.”
“Would yuh have shot at the sheriff?” asks Windy.
“It—it seems to be the thing around here,” says she, serious-like. Hashknife stares at her for a moment and then at us.
“Ma’am, I’m plumb glad you wasn’t a he. Some fellers are so danged timid.” ”

“ Yuh can mostly always sometimes tell about a feller, if yuh see him on a high-minded bronc, and we wanted M. J. Haley to measure right up to us.
Mary Jane never rode a horse before, but she was game. I knowed danged well that them overalls ached a heap by the time we hit the Circle Dot, but she don’t chirp a bit over discomfort.
Sing Lee has swamped out Mike’s bood-wah for her and we lets her move right in. She ain’t been in there long when Bowers comes poking up the main road. He naturally comes over to see us. ”

“ I asks politely. “Me and you ain’t found none of it, Hashknife. Since we shook loose from Willer Crick we ain’t done nothin’ more romantic than gettin’ bucked off or lettin’ a gun go off accidental. There ain’t a man left in the cow-country that would get ambition if somebody called him a liar, and the villains has gone plumb out of the female-stealin’ business.”
“Well, get off your bronc, Sleepy. Folks’ll think you’re a statoo on a horse. I’m too hungry to argue. ”

“ 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. ”

“ When a feller has been warned to keep off——”
“Let your voice fall, Blubber,” says Windy. “You’ve talked enough. Sabe? Me nor none of this outfit had anything to do with killin’ Baldy, and the next hombre what insinuates that we did is goin’ kihootin’ to his God or beat me on the draw. That goes for you, the sheriff or any of that —— cow-stealin’ Bar 20 outfit. Sabe?”
“Honest to —— I ain’t insinuatin’ nothin’” wails Bowers. “Whatcha ridin’ me fer? I’ve lost twenty-seven head of cows in the last week, and I ain’t——”
“Yo’re all packed, wired and billed for shipment—git off this ranch!” ”

“ I’ve always kinda figured that some day something is going to bust in the Sundown country. Bar 20 says that Circle Dot are rustlers, and——”
“We says that they are,” finishes Windy. “She’s a de-plorable fact, judge.”
“Bowers loses cows, too,” grins Hashknife. “Everybody loses some. I reckon there’s goin’ to be work for the legal lights before long.” ”

“ Somebody heezes more bullets in our direction, and I stands there with my mouth wide open until Hashknife kicks my feet from under me, drops a rifle in my lap and then does a dive across the sidewalk.
“Yuh might do a little somethin’ for yourself,” says he, as I sits there digging dirt out of my eyes from the last bullet. Then he yells:
“Sleepy, you —— fool, get under cover! Ain’tcha got no sense?”
I crawls under the sidewalk and sprawls beside him.
“Yuh ain’t got the sense that —— gave geese in Ireland,” says he. “Watcha settin’ over there for? You ain’t got no brains a-tall.” ”

“ I do know that I seen seven cows with young calves down by the old salt springs, and the next day I finds seven bawlin’ cows and nary a calf. It ain’t reasonable to reckon that them cows all deserted their offsprings.”
“The Bar 20 is boiling,” states the judge. “Snag Thorn is keeping cool, but he’s cool just like his father used to be. The sheriff wanted to arrest all of you, but Snag told him to keep out of it and let him attend to you. They had quite a quarrel. I met Bowers as I came out, and he told me he lost some more cows and a couple of young horses. ”

“ He sold a bunch of cows to a buyer from Chicago, and the man is in a hurry to get away; so Mike meets him in Sundown City—on Wednesday. You sabe the rest, I reckon. Mike and Blazer comes face to face in the saloon. Blooey! They ain’t met before for ten years, but they didn’t need no introduction. I reckon that’s all. My gosh, I ain’t talked that much for three years.”
“Is there anything in this rustlin’ stuff?” asks Hashknife.
“Everythin’,” nods Windy. “Everybody suspects everybody else, but she’s a cinch that the Bar 20 brands more than their share. ”

“ There’s everythin’ here except peaceable people. Let’s get poor old Mike and make some funeral arrangements.”
We buries old Mike the next day at Sundown City and there wasn’t much of a audience. The preacher hurried so he’d have time to say a few words over the remains of Blazer Thorn, and then we went to the Circle Dot.
“Hackamore” Allen, the sheriff, comes out to the ranch and kinda sets around a while. He’s a gloomy-looking jasper with a tired eye, and he radiates cheer like a undertaker.
“Whatcha goin’ to do with the ranch, Windy?” he asks. ”

“ They never bring nothin’ but their tails behind them.”
“I don’t know who shot Baldy,” says the sheriff, “but I do know that I’m plumb sick and tired of the way things is goin’. The Bar 20 is losin’ cows every day and Bowers is wailin’ all the time about his cows being missin’. I tell yuh, it’s got to stop.”
“You —— tootin’ she has!” snaps Windy. “The Circle Dot ain’t bothered yuh none about missin’ cows, but if anybody asks yuh—we’re loser, y’betcha. I reckon you’ve got plenty to do, dry-nursin’ Snag Thorn and ‘Blubber’ Bowers, so I won’t take up none of yore time. Sabe?” ”