Two Fares East by W. C. Tuttle - HTML preview

CHAPTER IX
 THE INQUEST

“Have you seen anythin’ of Slim Coleman, Len?” Curt Bellew leaned in through the doorway of the sheriff’s office and spoke to Kelsey, who was oiling a gun.

“Ain’t seen him,” said Kelsey shortly.

“That’s funny. He started for town yesterday. I’ve been all over this darned place and I can’t find him and nobody has seen him.”

Kelsey did not show much interest, so Curt snorted and walked away. He was a little worried about Slim. Honey Bee and the two girls drove into town and left their rig at the livery-stable. Uncle Hozie and Aunt Emma were in town, and the old lady immediately took charge of the girls, much to Honey’s relief, because he didn’t know what to do with them.

The Heavenly Triplets were in town but were keeping strictly sober. One reason was that they were not only broke but badly in debt. The morning train had brought the conductor, brakeman and fireman of the cattle-train to identify the dead brakeman, and to testify at the inquest.

Curt Bellew, still looking for the missing Slim, ran into Honey Bee. It seemed that everybody in town knew by this time that Slim was missing.

“Aw, he was at the HJ all night,” said Honey. “He was goin’ home, all right, Curt, but somebody bent a gun over his head. By golly, we had quite a shootin’ scrape out there! Somebody emptied a gun at Hashknife Hartley, but didn’t touch him.”

“Honey, you ain’t lyin’, are yuh?” asked Curt. There were several interested listeners.

“I shore ain’t, Curt,” declared Honey. “Slim needed a little patchin’ up, but he’s all right.”

“Where is he now?”

“I can’t tell yuh, Curt—because I don’t know m’self.”

Several questions were fired at Honey, but he had the same answer for each. In the meantime Curt went back to Kelsey’s office and asked him whether he had heard about the shooting at the HJ.

“What shootin’, Curt?”

Curt told him what Honey had said about it.

“Why would anybody hit Slim Coleman?” asked Kelsey.

“That’s the question without any answer.”

“Where are Hartley and Stevens?”

“I dunno. Mebbe they’re with Slim.”

Ed Merrick and Ben Collins rode in from the Circle M, and heard about Slim’s experience before they had their horses tied. Abe Liston of the 3W3 gave them the news.

“By ——, they can’t lay that on to Joe Rich,” declared Abe. “Slim and Joe were darned good friends.”

“Where’s Slim now?” asked Merrick. “Nobody knows, except that he’s with them other punchers at the HJ. Honey Bee and the two girls just came in a while ago, and Honey says he don’t know where they are.”

Merrick found Honey a little later and asked him about the incident. He told Merrick about the same story Abe had told, except that he elaborated on the shooting in the dark between Hashknife and the unknown gunman.

“Well, what do yuh make of it?” asked Merrick.

“I don’t know,” laughed Honey. “Looks like somebody had gone plumb crazy.”

“Does look like it, Honey. What did Hartley think?”

“That feller never says what he thinks, Ed. He bandaged Slim’s head and made him stay all night. Slim wanted to go home, but Hashknife told him it was a bad night for a tall cowpuncher to be ridin’ around.

“Him and Sleepy and Slim pulled out before daylight, but didn’t tell me where they were goin’. Yuh never can find out any-thin’ from Hashknife. He just grins at yore questions. It’s a wonder they didn’t accuse me of bustin’ Slim.”

Honey laughed and grimaced at the thought.

“Accuse you?” queried Merrick.

“Yeah. Yuh see, Slim ruined my supper. He told about findin’ a horse that had been skinned. Why in —— anybody would skin a horse is a mystery to me. But anyway, they got to talkin’ about that dead horse. Hashknife was interested, it seemed, and when Slim saw it was botherin me, they went strong.”

Merrick laughed shortly.

“Yeah, it’s a wonder they didn’t accuse yuh of hittin’ him. Mebbe they went to look at the dead horse.”

“I wouldn’t put it past ’em,” laughed Honey. “But they’ll be here for the inquest, Ed.”

Even with the range well represented in Pinnacle City there was not a great deal of interest in the inquest over the body of the brakeman. He was a stranger, and there was but one verdict to be brought in. It would be merely a matter of form. In fact, the rewards were already printed, charging Joe Rich with the murder and offering thirty-five hundred dollars for him dead or alive, or for information that would lead to his arrest. It did not mention conviction. As far as that goes, he was already convicted.

Old Doctor Curzon decided to hold the inquest in a court-room. The crowd was too large for his little home and the county would not pay him for trampled flowerbeds. The body had already been identified by the trainmen. Aunt Emma, Peggy and Laura had taken seats in the Flying H wagon. They were not going up to the court-room. Aunt Emma wanted to find Honey and make him take the girls back home.

“Why did he bring you?” demanded the old lady. “With all this talk goin’ on! I’ll sure tell him where to head in!”

“I think it was Hashknife’s idea, Auntie,” said Peggy wearily.

“It was, eh? And who’s he to tell you what to do? The sooner you quit cryin’ over Joe Rich the better you’ll be off. After all he’s done to you! Peggy, you ought to have sense.”

“There comes Hashknife now!” exclaimed Peggy.

It seemed like a cry of hope. Something seemed to tell her that this tall cowboy riding up the middle of the street, sitting very straight in his saddle, was bringing a ray of sunshine.

He did not seem interested in the crowd. Straight to the hitch-rack he came, dismounted slowly and tied the horse.

As he stepped away from the animal he saw the three women in the wagon and smiled at them as he touched the brim of his hat with his right hand. They watched him angle across the street, going toward the sheriff’s office. Kelsey and Angus McLaren were coming from the office and stopped to speak with Hashknife. After a few moments of conversation they saw Kelsey turn and go back to the office with Hashknife.

Peggy kept her eyes glued to the office-door, disregarding the advice of Aunt Emma, who was telling her what she should do. In a few minutes Hashknife came slowly outside and back up the street. It was two o’clock.

Near the entrance of the court-house Hashknife met the Heavenly Triplets, who were anxious to get a front seat. He said something to Lonnie Myers, and after a few moments the three men followed him farther up the street, where they held a short, earnest conversation. Following the conversation the three men went back to the court-house and went inside.

Hashknife leaned against the front of the general store and rolled a smoke. Jack Ralston and Buck West crossed the street from the Pinnacle saloon, and Hashknife called to Jack. The deputy came over to him and they held a short conversation, after which they headed for the sheriff’s office and went inside.

“There’s something goin on,” declared Peggy. “But where are Sleepy and Slim, do you suppose?”

“I can’t even suppose,” replied Aunt Emma. “I hope that inquest won’t take long. Hozie will stay until the last dog is hung, you may be sure of that. And us out here in this hot sun. But that’s a man for yuh!”

“You came in for the inquest, didn’t you, Aunt Emma?” asked Laura.

“I did not—Hozie did. I have no interest in things of that kind.”

“There is Hashknife now!” exclaimed Peggy.

The tall cowboy was standing at the door of the court-house, and none of them had seen him leave the sheriff’s office. After a few moments of deliberation, he went in and climbed the stairs.

The rather spacious court-room was not filled. There were possibly fifty people in the room. Lonnie Myers stood near the doorway at the top of the stairs; Dan Leach was at the opposite corner, at the rear; while Nebrasky Jones sat in a front seat, very erect and very dignified.

Doctor Curzon had already selected a jury when Hashknife came in; and the six men, Curt Bellew, Eph Harper, Jimmy Black of the 3W3, Buck West, Fred Thornton, a feed-store keeper, and Jud Albertson, a blacksmith, were occupying the jury-box.

Fred Coburn, the prosecuting attorney, was the only lawyer in the room. Hash-knife moved down to the front and took the only available seat. Across the aisle from him sat Ben Collins. Farther back and across the aisle sat Merrick and Angus McLaren, the Circle M owner on the outside seat.

Old Doctor Curzon conferred with the attorney for several moments before calling the inquest to order.

“I believe we will have the testimony of the sheriff first,” he said, looking around the room.

But neither the sheriff nor deputy were in evidence.

“Will some one call the sheriff?” asked Coburn.

Hashknife got slowly to his feet and half turned in the narrow aisle, while his glance swept the audience. His face seemed a little pale and his lips were shut tightly. Then—

“The sheriff won’t be here,” he said distinctly. “Neither will the deputy. Their evidence is locked up, and I’ve got the key in my pocket.”

For several moments the room was hushed.

“I don’t believe we quite understand you,” said Coburn.

“It was plain English,” replied Hash-knife.

“But—but—” spluttered the attorney. No one else spoke; all were too interested for words.

“So we’ll jist have to do without ’em,” said Hashknife. “Yuh see, I’m playin’ safe, folks.”

His lips twisted to a grin, but his eyes were cold, mirthless.

“This is an inquest over the body of a murdered man, a man who was shot down in the performance of his duty, and he was killed at a time when the lives of a lot of folks might have been at stake.

“You’ve merely met here as a matter of form to make it legal to hunt down and destroy Joe Rich. Ain’t I right?”

“Perfectly!” snapped the attorney.

“Uh-huh. Well, how would it be to git a little of that testimony from a real interested party?” Hashknife glanced toward the doorway.

“C’mon in,” he said loudly.

The crowd surged around in their seats, gasping in amazement. Joe Rich was limping down the aisle. He was clad in an old gray shirt and a pair of bib-overalls, old misfitting shoes; his unshaven face, dirty; hair matted. A gasp went up from the crowd as Joe halted beside Hashknife and turned to look at them. He appeared years older, weak. His eyes were bloodshot, and the wrists below the shirt-sleeves were scored from rope burns.

“The main witness,” said Hashknife. “Look him over, folks. Does he look like a man who had killed and robbed?”

Still the crowd did not move. They seemed content to sit still and gaze at the man. Then a man strangled, a chair rattled. It was Ed Merrick, the owner of the Circle M. He had whirled in his chair and started for the door, running like a drunken man, but his way was blocked by Sleepy, Slim Coleman and Lonnie Myers and three guns were shoved in his face.

He stopped, staggered sidewise and whirled around, his gun in his hand. But before he could use it, Sleepy and Lonnie landed on him with a rush and he went down, struggling wildly.

Ben Collins had not moved. He merely flinched when Hashknife leaned across him and took away his gun. He seemed in a daze.

“Got him!” panted Sleepy.

Hashknife looked toward the doorway. Peggy was coming in, her eyes wide, staring down at Joe who had not seen her. Slim touched her on the arm, but she did not stop.

Hashknife beckoned her and she ran down the aisle. Joe turned and saw her coming toward him and the next moment he had her in his arms, while Hashknife hastily sidestepped and took Ben Collins by the arm.

“C’mon, Collins,” he said. “You need exercise.”

“Lemme have him,” said Nebrasky. “Me and Dan can handle him real good. I’ve got a rope handy.”

“All right, Nebrasky.”

Hashknife turned to face the prosecuting attorney.

“What is this all about?” he demanded. “Don’t you realize what—”

“Better than anybody else,” smiled Hashknife. “Here,” he handed a key to Dan Leach. “There’s two more cells empty. Put Collins in one and Merrick in the other.”

“Well, I’ll be darned!” That was about as near as Fred Coburn ever came to using profanity.

Uncle Hozie was pawing at Hashknife, masticating violently and staring at Joe Rich and Peggy.

“Wh-what about him?” demanded Uncle Hozie, pointing at Joe.

“Oh, don’t bother ’em,” grinned Hash-knife. “Listen, you folks. I’ve got the whole story. Dutch Siebert is hog-tied at the Circle M and we found Joe Rich in a cellar under the house, where he’s been since the day he rode out of town.

“Joe Rich didn’t get drunk on his weddin’ night. He took two drinks of liquor with Len Kelsey in the Arapaho saloon, and Len slipped him some knockout drops. Joe knew he hadn’t been drunk, but there wasn’t any way to prove it. Merrick practically forced Joe to appoint Kelsey, and it was Merrick’s idea to discredit Joe in order to make Kelsey sheriff. Merrick wanted to own the law.

“Well, he done a —— good job of it.

In fact, he overdone his job. That bridge wasn’t hit by lightning; it was set on fire to let Merrick get off that express car after he had robbed the safe. Collins and Dutch Siebert were there with the horses, and they set the fire. The brakeman ran into ’em and they killed him. Anybody with any sense would have known it couldn’t be a one-man job. The man who robbed that safe couldn’t have killed the brakeman, because he was put out of the way before the train stopped.

“And Joe Rich did not rob Jim Wheeler. That was done by Siebert and Collins, after Merrick had given Wheeler just one thousand dollars. Merrick made out two notes, and Jim Wheeler thought one was a duplicate. He read his own—and signed Merrick’s which read ‘five thousand.’ But Jim Wheeler lost his note, and I found it under the sidewalk, over there by the Pinnacle Saloon. I don’t know how they found it out, but I reckon they did, because last night they mistook Slim Coleman for me and batted him over the head.

“But they overdone the evidence part at both the train and at the bank. I didn’t know Joe Rich, but from what I could learn he was intelligent—too danged intelligent to wear those leather cuffs, lose a knife with his initials on it and all that. Merrick and Jack Ralston caught Joe that first day. That is, they downed his horse, and took him to the Circle M. They had to skin that animal to keep anybody from seein’ it was Joe’s horse.

“And here’s the particularly devilish part of it all: They were tryin’ to pile up a big reward, soak Joe with a murder charge and make it dead or alive. Know what that means? It means that they were going to kill Joe and get that money, make heroes out of themselves and live happy for a long time on the money they’ve got in that cellar. That’s the story, folks.”

The room was in an uproar following the finish of the story. They wanted to get outside where there was more room to talk. But Hashknife knew they were going to do more than talk. They were clattering down the stairs when Hashknife touched Joe on the arm.

“Get down there,” he said softly. “Yo’re the sheriff yet, Joe—Kelsey’s disqualified. Stop ’em at the door. They’ll listen to yuh, kid.”

Joe ran from the room and they heard him going down the steps. Peggy was looking at Hashknife, her eyes filled with tears, as she held out her hands to him.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” she said. “But I knew you would do something wonderful; I knew it, Hashknife.”

“Yeah,” he said bashfully. “It worked out pretty good.”

“Oh, I don’t know how you did it, Hash-knife. Everybody was against Joe. Why did you think he was innocent? What made you think it was a plot against him?”

“I looked at you,” said Hashknife simply.

“And I figured that a man you’d love—well, I figured right, Peggy.”

They went down the stairs. A crowd had gathered in front of the sheriff’s office, and Joe was talking to them, backed against the door. He was flanked on one side by Slim Coleman, and on the other by Honey Bee. And then the crowd began to disperse. Aunt Emma and Peggy met them at the bottom of the stairs, and Laura kissed Hashknife before he was aware of her intentions.

Angus McLaren came up to Hashknife and held out his hand.

“Har-rtley, I’ve nothin’ to say. Ye take my breath away. If I’ve anythin’ to say about it—Joe’s still sheriff. He talked ’em out of usin’ ropes, and he’s suffered enough to entitle him to somethin’. And there’s a reward for ye, man—the money that was offered for Joe Rich. We’ve got him back, and he’s worth every cent we’re payin’ for him.”

Hashknife smiled and shook his head.

“We don’t want money, McLaren—only enough for two fares East. The rest will help Peggy start housekeepin’ with the man she kept on lovin’, in spite of —— and high water.”

“Two fares East?” queried McLaren.

“Yeah. Yuh see, we missed our train the night we came.”

“Oh, I see.”

“And Sleepy will like it, yuh know. I have to kinda humor him once in a while.”

“But you’re not going away for years and years,” declared Peggy. “Not after what you’ve done, Hashknife. Stay here in the Tumbling River with all of us.”

“Ye fit well in here,” said McLaren.

“And here comes Joe,” said Laura. “We’ll see what he has to say about you going away, Mister Man.”

“And you tell me some time,” smiled Hashknife. “It’ll keep.”

He hurried away to find Sleepy, who was regaling a crowd with a story of the lathered horse.

“It’s shore funny how things work out,” he said. “Here we were headin’ East for a little trip, and all this happens.”

“Are yuh goin’ to keep on headin’ East?” asked one of the crowd.

“Not us,” said Sleepy. “I’m all out of the notion.”

Hashknife turned and went across the street, where he intercepted McLaren.

“We’ve changed our minds about goin’ East,” he said. “We’ll take a couple of horses and saddles instead of them tickets, McLaren.”

“All right,” laughed McLaren. “Where are you goin’, lad?”

“Somewhere on the other side of the hill.”

“What hill, Hartley?”

“The next one,” smiled Hashknife.

END