CHAPTER TWENTY
A DISCOVERY
"I tell you I ain't satisfied," nagged the district attorney.
"Say something new," growled that amiable person, Felix Craft.
"If you fellers weren't blinded by a pretty face, you'd see it like Ido."
"The girl said those cartridges were for her own personal use," pointedout Sam Larder, scratching a plump ear. "I believe that girl."
"You can't believe any girl most of the time," denied the districtattorney.
"And where a girl's feller is concerned, you can't believe her any ofthe time. Sam, can't you understand a girl will lie just for the funof it, if she hasn't any other reason. It's female nature to act thatway. You've got to take it into consideration and make allowancesaccordingly, when dealing with a woman. You can't trust 'em, damn 'em,one li'l short inch."
Sam grinned at Felix. "Ain't he got a pleasant nature."
"Milk of human kindness has curdled in him complete," declared Felix.
"Never you mind about any milk of human kindness. I ain't got asmidgin of it with a girl like Hazel Walton, the lying hussy."
"Do you know, Arthur," said Sam solemnly, "I don't believe you likethat lady."
"I don't," admitted the district attorney, and wondered why both menlaughed.
"Be a Scotchman," advised Sam Larder, "and give her the benefit of thedoubt."
"I'd like to give her a good swift week or two in jail," snarled thedistrict attorney. "That would bring her to her senses. That wouldmake her talk."
"Well, you can't do it," said Felix, weary of the argument. "So whywaste your breath?"
"Tell you what I can do," said the district attorney, brightening withhope. "I can go out to Walton's and question her some more."
"Good Gawd, ain't you had enough ridin' for one day?" said Sam.
"I'm good for a li'l bit more."
Felix laughed. "I had to laugh to-day. First time you ever went outwith a posse, I guess. Guess they must have thought you were crazy."
"I know damwell Shotgun and Riley Tyler thought so," declared Sam."They kept a-looking at you almighty hard."
The district attorney nodded. "They're a suspicious pair, those two.I'll give you fellers credit. If it hadn't been for you, I'd neverhave been able to bluff it through! I don't think anybody suspectsanything out of the way."
"Only that you're a damfool, Arthur. And they don't suspect that.They're absolutely sure of it."
"Alla same," said Felix, "it's a good thing Sam Prescott wasn't along.It would have been just like him to make out those tracks we followedwere a day old instead of one hour."
"I was worried some," admitted the district attorney, "when ShotgunShillman said they were too old to be the marks of Dan Slike's horse."
"That didn't bother me," declared Felix. "I knew it would be all rightif we could contradict him fast enough and loud enough before anybodyelse could agree with him. Folks are like sheep thataway. They'llmost always believe the boys makin' the most noise. No, Shotgun didn'tbother me any. What made me feel like scratching my head was where thetracks crossed the stage trail. There were the hoof-marks andwheeltracks of the stage overlying the horse-tracks we were following.I drew a long breath when I had 'em blotted out, you can gamble onthat."
"Was that why you rode ahead and twisted your horse round and round onthe trail so funny?"
"Sure that was why. Why else do you suppose?"
"I never thought of the stage passing," said the district attorney.
"No, you wouldn't, of course not. I don't see, Arthur, when you madethose tracks so careful in the first place you couldn't have kept offthe stage trail. It wasn't necessary, and it mighty near put thekibosh on the whole deal."
"I wanted to end the trail in the west fork of the Wagonjack," defendedthe district attorney. "It seemed like a good place."
"It was--only for the stage trail being in the way," said Felix warmly."If that infernal Wildcat Simms had come up half-a-minute earlier he'dseen how those horse tracks lay, same as I did. Oh, lovely! Wouldn'tit have been a joke?"
"Well, it ended all right, anyway," offered the district attorneypacifically.
"I didn't like to have that Slike jigger get off that-away," grumbledSam Larder. "I'd like to see him hung, the lousy murderer! I wish wecould have worked it some other way."
"There wasn't any other way," the district attorney hastened to assurehim. "We couldn't risk having Slike tried. He'd have snitched on RafeTuckleton, sure as fate. It was the only thing for us to do, and youknow it."
Sam nodded. "I know, but----" He left the sentence unfinished.
"Now that we've got Dan out of the way," the district attorney patteredon, "we've got to glom onto Bill Wingo, and the sooner the quicker.Me, I'm going out to Walton's to-night and question Hazel some more.You boys don't have to go, you know. I can get hold of somebody, Iguess."
"We'll go," said Sam Larder decidedly. "I ain't a heap attracted byyour methods with the ladies, and I intend to see the girl gets asquare deal."
"Me too," chimed in Felix Craft.
The district attorney was none too well pleased and showed it. "I'llget two other jiggers then," he grumbled.
"Why not another posse?" suggested the sarcastic Mr. Larder. "Us threemight not be able to handle her by ourselves."
"Suppose Bill Wingo is there, then what? We took a big bunch beforeand----"
"And got damwell laughed at by the whole town for our trouble," snappedSam. "Serves us right. Wild goose chase, anyway, and to-night will beanother. C'mon, if you're goin'."
The moon was high in the heavens when the three men came to the mouthof the draw leading to the Walton ranch. A quarter-mile up this drawthey came upon a man standing beside a horse. This man they surroundedimmediately. He proved to be the town marshal, Red Herring, engaged inthe prosaic business of tightening a slipped cinch.
"What are you doing here," demanded the district attorney.
"Same thing you're doing," the marshal returned sulkily.
"It ain't necessary for you to be watching the Walton ranch," said thecrotchety district attorney.
"I got as much right to the reward as the next one, I guess," flaredthe marshal. "If I wanna watch the ranch, I guess I got a right to dothat too. You don't want to cherish any idea that you own the earthand me too, Artie Rale!"
"Well, you can ride along with us if you want to," condescended thedistrict attorney.
"Thanks," said the marshal, with sarcasm, "I kind of thought I would,anyway."
Two hundred yards short of the bend in the draw that concealed theranchhouse from view the district attorney's horse which was leading,snorted at something that lay across his path, and shied with greatvigor, coming within a red hair of throwing the district attorney offon his ear.
The district attorney swore and jerked the animal back. Then hedismounted hurriedly and ran forward to view at close range the objectthat had startled the horse.
The three others pulled up and followed his example.
"My Gawd!" shrilled the district attorney. "It's Rafe Tuckleton!"
It was indeed Rafe Tuckleton. There he lay on his back, his legs andarms spread-eagled abroad, his body displaying the flattened appearancea corpse assumes for the first few hours after death. Rafe's throathad been slit from ear to ear. His head was cut open and lay in a poolof blood. His face was scored with scratches. There was blood on hiscoat and vest and shirt, they found on examination. The districtattorney ripped open the shirt and found four distinct stab wounds inthe region of Rafe's heart. From one of these wounds protruded thebroken end of a broad-bladed knife.
"Pull it out," urged Sam Larder, with a slight shudder, his fat face sowhite that it showed green in the moonlight.
"I can't," said the district attorney. "Jammed in between his ribs, Iguess. That's what busted her. See if you can find the handle, Red."
"There it is," pointed out the marshal. "Right by his elbow."
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"Oh, yeah," said the district attorney, picking up the knife handle.From force of habit he fitted the broken part of the knife remainingattached to the handle to the part protruding from the wound. Ofcourse they fitted perfectly.
The marshal ran his hand along Rafe's naked waist. Then he lifted oneof Rafe's arms and let it go. The arm snapped stiffly back intoposition.
"Been dead about two hours," proffered the marshal.
"About that," agreed Felix. "What you lookin' at, Arthur?"
"This," replied the district attorney, holding up the handle of thebutcher knife.
With his fingers he traced two initials on the wood. The initials wereT.W.
"You can't tell me," said the district attorney belligerently, "thatthis butcher knife didn't come from the Walton ranch."
Sam Larder stated his belief at once. "She couldn't have done it,Arthur. Why Rafe's carved up like an issue steer. She----"
"She's a woman," interrupted the district attorney. "And a woman willdo anything when her dander is up. And we know what this particularwoman will do when she's mad. Didn't she try to split open NateSamson's head when he was hardly more than joking with her? Didn't shethrow down on us with a rifle without any excuse a-tall? I tell youthis Hazel Walton is a murderess, and I'm going to see her hung."
"Are you?" said Felix Craft. "Seems to me you've overlooked a bet.Didn't we run across Red Herring at the end of the draw?"
"Now look here, Craft," cried the marshal. "You can't hook thiskilling up with me! I can prove I was in Golden Bar an hour ago. Ican get people to swear I was."
The district attorney nodded. "Red's innocent of this, all right. Hecouldn't have done it. It wouldn't be reasonable. He always wasfriendly with Rafe, and this was a grudge killing. It couldn't havebeen robbery, because nothing of Rafe's was stolen; watch, money, it'sall here. It's Hazel Walton, and you can stick a pin in that. C'mon,let's go."