Slim Evans and His Horse Lightning

  Chapter Ten

  Dirty Water

  Breakfast next morning was finished in quick time and they set aboutbreaking camp. Slim cached his own saddle and under it Chuck placed hisextra clothing.

  They brought their mounts up to the camp and saddled them. Slim pattedLightning affectionately, talking to her as he drew the cinches tight.

  "We're going on another adventure, old girl," he said softly, "and I'mcounting on you to help me win. If we get in any tight spots, it may beup to you and your speed. How about it?"

  If Lightning didn't understand the exact words, she sensed that hermaster was praising her, and she tossed her head proudly.

  Slim looked carefully at the places where Old Bill had applied the dye.There was no trace of the pigment and to all intents and purposesLightning was simply another sorrel. True, she was a little larger andlonger of leg than the average range horse, but not uncommon enough toattract unusual attention.

  Chuck's new mount was just a plain calico cayuse, a good sturdy horsewith plenty of endurance and a good trail gait.

  "Fixed on cash?" asked Old Bill.

  "We're supposed to be broke," said Chuck.

  "Sure enough, but I thought you might need a bit for emergencies."

  "I've got enough for that," said the Circle Four cowboy and Slim addedthat he had sufficient cash to carry him along.

  The sun was just topping the Cajons when they swung into their saddlesand splashed across the noisy mountain stream. They reached Sky Hightrail and took the turn to the left, heading down for the valley. For anhour they rode steadily with Old Bill in the lead. Then they came to afork in the trail and the cattleman halted.

  "Here's where we part. I'm going left and out beyond the Cajons by theold trail. You boys take the way to the right. It's a good day's ride toDirty Water and unless I miss my guess, that's where you'll find therustlers. I'm counting on you boys to turn them up for us. When you needme you can send a telegram from the railroad station at Mopstick. That'soutside the valley, but it's the nearest telegraph office. Good luck."

  Old Bill gave each of them a firm, warm handclasp that conveyed morethan words, swung his horse around sharply, and moved briskly down theleft fork of the trail.

  Chuck and Slim watched him until a clump of aspen hid him from view.Then they spoke to their own horses and turned onto the trail that ledto the Creeping Shadows.

  The cowboy detectives rode at a steady pace that ate up miles on thelong down trail into the valley.

  Through midday the sun burned down on them unmercifully, but they pausedat noon only long enough to water their horses.

  Slim rode in the lead, little spurts of dust leaping up aroundLightning's hoofs. The Flying Arrow rider kept his head bowed to shieldhis face from the burning rays of the sun.

  They left the foothills and entered the Creeping Shadows country, abroad, rolling land that was sheltered between the Cajons on the eastand south and the mighty Three Soldiers range which reared its peaks inthe west.

  Streams tumbling down the sides of the ranges converged in the valleyand assured the cattlemen there of plenty of water. There was ampletimber and the grass was lush and long, though now burned badly by thelong drought. It was a cattleman's paradise and Slim, as he appraisedthe worth of the valley, could realize why rustlers would make a boldbid to steal the possessions of Adam Marks and take the valley for theirown.

  Lightning seemed to sense her rider's thoughts for she paused at thecrest of a knoll as though to give Slim a better chance to view thecountry which unfolded before him.

  Chuck, his clothes heavy with dust, reined in beside Slim.

  "Better ease up a little," said the Circle Four rider. "This pace is alittle more than my cayuse can stand on a day as hot as this.

  "We've been hitting it pretty hard," conceded Slim, "but I wanted to getto Dirty Water before sundown. Unless I miss my guess the village isonly a couple of miles further." Slim pointed toward the left, where acluster of frame buildings could be seen strewn along the banks of astream.

  "It may be the Box B," said Chuck.

  "I don't think so. The Box B is closer to the Three Soldiers. Whateverit is, we'll know in a few minutes."

  Slim spoke to Lightning and the magnificent sorrel started down theslight grade, apparently as fresh and tireless as when they had takenthe trail early in the day.

  As they neared the buildings, Slim was convinced that they wereapproaching Dirty Water and he wondered just what kind of a receptionwas in store for them. Old Bill Needham had said the village was theheadquarters of the rustlers.

  Dirty Water was anything but impressive. It was a typical cow town. Mostof the buildings were unpainted, their cracked boards burned a dead grayby the heat of summer and the chill blasts of winter.

  Slim and Chuck pulled up on their side of the creek and surveyed thetown with critical eyes. There was only one street, the buildingsfronting along the creek and set back about fifty yards from the edge ofthe stream. Many of the frame structures had false fronts, giving themthe appearance of two story buildings. There were not more than fifteenor sixteen buildings in Dirty Water.

  "Wonder where the town got its name?" mused Chuck, looking down at thestream which flowed in front of them. It was clear and blue--the blue ofwaters from the high peaks of the Three Soldiers. "It couldn't have beenfrom this creek."

  "I'll leave that information for you to dig out," grinned Slim. "Comeon. I'm hungry, tired and dirty. There's one place over there thatclaims to be a hotel."

  They forded the stream and their horses mounted the sloping bank to themain street. Half way down the row of buildings a two-story structurereared its head. A faded sign proclaimed "Palace Hotel" and to the rearwas a rambling stable and large corral.

  In spite of their own weariness from the long, hot day in the saddle,their horses came first.

  A hostler appeared from the shadows of the stable as they dismounted andSlim turned Lightning over to his care.

  "How much for the horses?" asked Chuck.

  "Going to stay at the hotel?" asked the stableman.

  "Yes," Chuck nodded.

  "Half a dollar for each horse then."

  The price was fair enough and Slim and Chuck unfastened their saddlesand rifle scabbards. They were taking no risks on the honesty of anyoneat Dirty Water. The hostler looked at Lightning with open admiration.

  "Fine looking horse," he said. "Must be mighty fast."

  "Fair," agreed Slim, "but getting a little old to keep up a hard trailgait very long. See that she's given the best of care."

  The cowboys picked up their duffel and headed toward the hotel.

  "What was the idea telling the hostler Lightning was old and losing herspeed?" asked Chuck.

  "There's just a chance we may find our lives depending on Lightning'sspeed and there's no use in tipping off anyone how fast she really canrun when I give her a chance."

  "In other words, we'll sit tight and let the other fellows do thetalking while we're here," grinned Chuck.

  "Exactly. I'm hungry. Let's hope the hotel doesn't live up to the nameof the town."

  They clumped across the narrow stoop in front of the hotel and enteredthe small room which served as a lobby. A fat, bald-headed man who hadbeen swatting flies looked around from behind the counter.

  "Bed and board?" he asked.

  "Providing there's no bugs in either one," said Chuck.

  The fat man's face turned red and he sputtered furiously.

  "Tha--, tha--, that's an insult to the Palace Hotel," he finally managedto say. "I never yet been accused of harboring a bed bug in my place."

  "No offense meant," grinned Chuck. "I was just being cautious."

  The hotel man shoved a well thumbed ledger across the counter. A rustypen and half empty bottle of ink followed.

  "Sign your monickers here," he said, indicating several blank spacesnear the bottom of the page.

  Slim picked up th
e pen and looked at the names which had been signedbefore him. According to the register, the last guest, Maxie Denkman,had visited the hotel three months before. Slim looked again at the nameon the register. "Maxie," the name clicked. It was the one the riders onthe Sky High trail had mentioned as the man he had shot in the fightnear the summit when Chuck had been ambushed. Here indeed was a clue tothe mystery of the rustling in the Creeping Shadows. It might be worthonly a little, but Slim carefully cataloged it in his mind for futurereference.

  "Not much travel through here," he said, pointing to the name which hadbeen placed on the book three months before.

  "Not enough," grunted the hotel keeper. "Still, with the riders comingin off the range, I manage to get along."

  "Country seems right healthy," said Chuck, glancing through thedust-fogged windows toward the broad expanse of the valley.

  "Some inquisitive people have been known to have a touch of leadpoisoning," said the hotel man sharply.

  Slim signed his name and handed the pen to Chuck. The Flying Arrow riderscratched his name with gusto and felt sure that no one would be able toread the scrawl.

  "You fellers didn't put down your addresses," said their host.

  Slim looked at him calmly, yet when he spoke his voice was low.

  "That," he said, "is none of your business." The hotel keeper decidedthat as far as he was concerned the newcomers could be only one jumpahead of a sheriff.

  He handed a key over the counter. "Your room's No. 3 on the left side asyou go down the hall."

  Slim and Chuck picked up their saddles and ascended the stairs. Thehallway was narrow, hot, and poorly lighted, but they found the door oftheir own room.

  The room was furnished in the usual fashion of a cow country hotel. Thebed was of cast iron, the other furnishings being two straight-backedchairs and a wash stand that stood at a crazy angle. The mirror aboveit, like the windows, had not been cleaned in months and there was asmell of mustiness about the room.

  Slim threw open the one window and a light breeze from the east riffledthe remnants of what had once been a curtain.

  Chuck tested the bed.

  "Not bad," he said, "and the sheets are clean."

  There was no water in the pitcher on the washstand but the portly keeperof the hostelry appeared with a bucketful.

  "Wasn't looking for any business today," he said as he filled the waterpitcher. "Here's a towel, too. Supper will be ready in about fifteenminutes."

  He paused at the door.

  "Anything you need?" he asked.

  "Solitude," said Chuck.

  The door slammed hard behind the retreating figure.

  Slim laughed and then sobered as he turned to Chuck.

  "You're deliberately stirring that old chap up," he said. "What's theidea?"

  "Nothing special. I just don't like his looks. Maybe I can worry alittle of the excess fat off him."

  "If you keep up at the rate you started, he'll be a skeleton by tomorrowmorning."

  They washed the grime of the day's ride off and Slim surveyed thewashbowl with distaste.

  "It's easy to see where they got the name 'Dirty Water' for this town."

  The clang of a bell sounded below and shortly after footsteps thuddedheavily on the stoop.

  "We'd better get down there ahead of the army," said Chuck, throwingopen the door of their own room and starting down the stairs. Slimfollowed, but at a more leisurely pace. He had heard someone movingabout in the next room and he was curious to know what their neighborlooked like. The door opened and a man, dressed in typical cowboyattire, stepped into the hall. His right arm was in a sling. There wasscarcely enough light to see his features clearly in the dusk of thehall, but Slim felt certain that the man was Maxie Denkman, who hadregistered three months before. He was also the Maxie he had wounded onthe Sky High trail.

  "Pretty hot today," said Slim as the other man approached.

  "Yeh, a little warm. I guess I saw you riding in a while ago."

  They were at the head of the stairs where the light was better and Slimsaw that the other man was watching him keenly. His eyes shifted down tothe gun, which swung at Slim's right hip. Then they jerked back again.

  "Going to stay in this country long?" Slim thought there was just atinge too much anxiety in the tone.

  "Hard to say. My pardner and I are just drifting, trying to find a goodoutfit to tie up with."

  "Then you won't hang around here long. Cattle business in the valley isin a bad way. I hear lots of talk about rustlers, but I guess it's poormanagement more than anything."

  "We're willing to work cheap if the outfit looks like it will comethrough," said Slim.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the dining room.Half a dozen men were already seated at the one table and the food wasdisappearing at a rapid rate.

  Chuck had his own plate heaped high and Slim soon had his filled withfood. There was little conversation. That would come later whenappetites were satisfied and they sat back and waited for the pie to bebrought on.

  The man Slim had met in the hall was making slow work of his supper, forhe was greatly handicapped with the use of only his left hand. He pausedand looked at Slim.

  "Don't believe I know your name or did I miss it coming downstairs?"

  "I didn't mention it. Name's Evans, Slim Evans. My pardner's ChuckMeade."

  "Glad to know you. I'm Maxie Denkman. Meet the rest of the outfit here."

  He turned to his left and introduced the group at the table. There wasPike Carberry, who ran the general store, and his clerk, Jim Ferris, whoalso did the barbering for the whole valley. Next was Leo Kovec, whosestar on his vest proclaimed him to be the marshal and beyond him satNewt Bemis, whom Denkman introduced as an assistant cattle buyer. Theman at the end of the table drew Slim's attention. He was well groomedin spite in the heat of the day, immaculately shaved, and his linen wasfresh and white. His dark hair was slightly curly and he had a pleasantsmile.

  "I'll introduce myself," he said. "I'm Hal Titzell, cattle buyer."

  "Glad to know you," said Slim, and Chuck echoed the words. Just then thepie was placed on the table and conversation died.

  Between mouthfuls of pie, Slim mentally gauged the group at the table.

  Pike Carberry, genial, white-haired and sixty, was just what he appearedto be--the town storekeeper. Jim Ferris, slightly bald and aboutthirty-five, was talkative.

  Leo Kovec, the marshal, was about forty, heavy of face and figure andSlim put him down as mentally slow, although he might be the local agentof the rustlers.

  Newt Bemis looked plain bad. His features were heavily lined and a lividscar disfigured the right cheek. The brand, "Gunman," was written allover him and for that reason Slim put him down as both interesting anddangerous. He was also the Newt who had tried to bushwhack Chuck on thetrail.

  Maxie Denkman, in introducing the others, had failed to mention his ownbusiness, but Slim knew he was allied with the rustlers.

  The last man and the hardest of them all to catalog was Hal Titzell. Hemight be thirty-five and again he might be almost fifty. His skin was aclear tan, and his hands and fingernails much better kept than theaverage. He might be a cattle buyer, but Slim also put him down as agambler, a man of rare courage and ability, which also meant anexceedingly dangerous man.

  The pie finished, the group pushed their chairs away from the table andwent to the stoop, where a dozen chairs were ranged along the wall ofthe hotel.

  The sun had dropped behind the Three Soldiers and shadows werethickening. Titzell sat down beside Slim and pointed across the valley.

  "Watch the shadows and you'll see why this country is known as theCreeping Shadows."

  The shadows from the foothills of the Three Soldiers were extendingfurther into the valley in a steady, visible movement. They were alive,creeping out and out until the entire basin was folded in theirsoftness. Hard behind them came the deeper cloak of the night. Down thestreet a light flared in the window of Pike Carb
erry's general store andfurther along raucous voices sounded in the Elite Pool Hall. Severalhorses splashed across the creek and their riders disappeared inside theportals of the pool hall.

  "Quiet night," said Titzell. "Things liven up Saturdays when the boyscome in off the range."

  "You must get around the country quite a bit. Maybe you know wherethey're needing help."

  "Most of the outfits are cutting down instead of adding men on thepayroll," said Titzell smoothly. "The Box B, Adam Marks' outfit, claimsto be having trouble with rustlers, so you might get on with him but itwould be a chance I wouldn't want to take if what Adam says is true."

  Slim wondered if Titzell was giving him a friendly warning or trying toscare him.

  "I didn't figure there was much rustling being done these days," saidSlim.

  "All I know is the talk that's current in the valley. Adam claims he'sbeing stolen blind and of course that makes all of the other rancherstouchy. They think he's accusing them of being cattle thieves becauseAdam has the biggest outfit."

  "It looks like good cattle country."

  "There's none better in the world," said Titzell softly. "It would be aprize worth risking your life to get. Adam Marks once had the chance tocontrol the whole valley, but he's getting older and losing his grip.The man who succeeds the Box B can run this little cattle empire aboutas he desires."

  "Unless," thought Slim to himself, "he happens to be an ambitiousrustler and runs up against the law."

  Chuck, who had been making a tour of the town, returned and dropped intoa chair beside Slim. It was quiet and peaceful, a far cry from thebitter cattle war which Old Bill Needham had told them was raging in thevalley. They talked for another half hour with Titzell and were about togo up to their room when the sound of wildly drumming hoofs came fromacross the creek.

  "Someone's coming mighty fast," said Titzell, half rising from his chairand shielding his eyes in an attempt to peer into the darkness beyondthe creek.

  "Two horses," said Chuck, adding quickly, "they're pulling a wagon ofsome kind."

  "Must be from one of the ranches, then," put in Titzell. The cattlebuyer stood up and hurried down toward the creek. Slim and Chuckfollowed.

  Out of the night lurched a lather-covered team, a spring wagon careeningbehind them. The horses fairly leaped the stream and started a mad dashup the bank.

  Chuck without waiting to learn who was in the wagon or what washappening, hurled himself at the team, grasping the bit of the horse onthe left. The Circle Four cowboy was lifted from his feet by the wildcharge of the horses, but he came down with his legs in motion anddragging hard on the bit. It was 195 pounds of bone and muscle against atired team, and Chuck soon won, the horses slowing down to a walk. Theycame to a halt in front of the hotel where the feeble light from thelamp in the main room cast its rays over the wagon, where a man washuddled on the seat.

  Hal Titzell vaulted into the wagon and lifted the man's face.

  "It's Adam Marks," he cried. "He's been shot."

  The words drummed into Slim's brain. Adam Marks, owner of the Box B andthe man they had come to help, had been shot! The rustlers were strikingout boldly, bidding for a quick finish in their fight to ruin therancher and win control of his rich grazing lands.