The Rangeland Avenger

  18

  With a bang the screen door of Sheriff Kern's office had creaked openand shut four times at intervals, and each man, entering in turn with a"Howdy" to the sheriff, had stamped the dust out of the wrinkles of hisriding boots, hitched up his trousers carefully, and slumped into achair. Not until the last of his handpicked posse had taken his placedid the sheriff begin his speech.

  "Gents," he said, "how long have I been a sheriff?"

  "Eighteen to twenty years," said Bill Wood. "And it's been twenty yearsof bad times for the safecrackers and gunmen of these parts."

  "Thanks," said the sheriff hastily. "And how many that I've once put myhands on have got loose?"

  Again Bill Wood answered, being the senior member.

  "None. Your score is exactly one hundred percent, sheriff."

  Kern sighed. "Gents," he said, "the average is plumb spoiled."

  It caused a general lifting of heads and then a respectful silence. Tohave offered sympathy would have been insulting; to ask questions wasbeneath their dignity, but four pairs of eyes burned with curiosity.The least curious was Arizona. He was a fat, oily man from thesouthland, whose past was unknown in the vicinity of Woodville, andArizona happened to be by no means desirous of rescuing that past fromoblivion. He held the southlander's contempt for the men and ways ofthe north. His presence in the office was explained by the fact that hehad long before discovered it to be an excellent thing to stand in withthe sheriff. After this statement from Kern, therefore, he firstglanced at his three companions, and, observing their agitation, hebecame somewhat stirred himself and puckered his fat brows above hiseyes, as he glanced back at Kern.

  "You've heard of the killing of Quade?" asked the sheriff.

  "Yesterday," said Red Chalmers.

  "And that they got the killer?"

  "Nope."

  "It was a gent you'd never have suspected--that skinny littleschoolteacher, Gaspar."

  "I never liked the looks of him," said Red Chalmers gloomily. "I alwaysgot to have a second thought about a gent that's too smooth with theladies. And that was this here Jig. So he done the shooting?"

  "It was a fight over Sally Bent," explained the sheriff. "Sandersen andsome of the rest in Sour Creek fixed up a posse and went out andgrabbed Gaspar. They gave him a lynch trial and was about to string himup when a stranger named Sinclair, a man who had joined up with theposse, steps out and holds for keeping Gaspar and turning him over tome, to be hung all proper and legal. I heard about all this and wentout to the Bent house, first thing this morning, to get Gaspar, who wasleft there in charge of this Sinclair. Any of you ever heard abouthim?"

  A general bowing of heads followed, as the men began to consider, allsave Arizona, who never thought when he could avoid it, and positivelynever used his memory. He habitually allowed the dead past to bury itsdead.

  "It appears to me like I've heard of a Sinclair up to Colma," murmuredBill Wood. "That was four or five years back, and I b'lieve he wascalled a sure man in a fight."

  "That's him," muttered the sheriff. He was greatly relieved to knowthat his antagonist had already achieved so comfortable a reputation."A big, lean, hungry-eyed gent, with a restless pair of hands. He comealong with me while I was bringing Gaspar, but I didn't think nothingabout it, most nacheral. I leave it to you, boys!"

  Settling themselves they leaned forward in their chairs.

  "We was talking about hosses and suchlike, which Sinclair talkeduncommon slick. He seemed a knowing gent, and I opened up to him, butin the middle of things he paws out his Colt, as smooth as you eversee, and he shoves it under my nose."

  Sheriff Kern paused. He was wearing gloves in spite of the fact that hewas in his office. These gloves seem to have a peculiarly businesslikemeaning for the others, and now they watched, fascinated, while thesheriff tugged his fingers deeper into the gloves, as if he weregetting ready for action. He cleared his throat and managed to snap outthe rest of the shameful statement.

  "He stuck me up, boys, and he told Jig to beat it up the trail. Then hebacked off, keeping me covered all the time, until he was around thehill. The minute he was out of sight I follered him, but when it comeinto view, him and Gaspar was high-tailing through the hills. I didn'thave no rifle, and it was plumb foolish to chase two killers withnothing but a Colt. Which I leave it to you gents!"

  "Would have been crazy, sheriff," asserted Red Chalmers.

  "I dunno," sighed Arizona, patting his fat stomach reminiscently. "Idunno. I guess you was right, Kern."

  The others glared at him, and the sheriff became purple.

  "So I come back and figured that I'd best get together the handiestlittle bunch of fighting men I could lay hands on. That's why I sentfor you four."

  Clumsily they made their acknowledgements.

  "Because," said Kern, "it don't take no senator to see that somethinghas got to be done. Sour Creek is after Gaspar, and now it'll be afterSinclair, too. But they got clear of me, and I'm the sheriff ofWoodville. It's up to Woodville to get 'em back. Am I right?"

  Again they nodded, and the sheriff, growing warmer as he talked,snatched off a glove and mopped his forehead. As his arm fell, he notedthat Arizona had seen something which fascinated him. His eyes followedevery gesture of the sheriff's hand.

  "Is that the whole story?" asked Arizona.

  "The whole thing," declared Kern stoutly, and he glared at the man fromthe southland.

  "Because if it's anything worse," said Arizona innocently, "we'd oughtto know it. The honor of Woodville is at stake."

  "Oh, it's bad enough this way," grumbled Joe Stockton, and the sheriff,hastily restoring his glove, grunted assent.

  "Now, boys, let's hear some plans."

  "First thing," said Red Chalmers, rising, "is for each of us to pickout the best hoss in his string, and then we'll all ride over to theplace where they left and pick up the trail."

  "Not a bad idea," approved Kern.

  There was a general rising.

  "Sit down," said Arizona, who alone had not budged in his chair.

  Without obeying, they turned to him.

  "Was that the Morris trail, Kern?" asked Arizona.

  "Sure."

  "Well, you ain't got a chance of picking up the trail of two hosses outof two hundred."

  In silence they received the truth of this assertion. Then Joe Stocktonspoke. He was not exactly a troublemaker, but he took advantage ofevery disturbance that came his way and improved it to the lastscruple.

  "Sinclair comes from Colma, according to Bill, and Colma is north. Ridenorth, Kern, and the north trail will keep us tolerable close toSinclair. We can tend to Gaspar later on--unless he's a pile moredangerous'n he looks."

  "Yes, Sinclair is the main one," said the sheriff. "He's more'n ahundred Gaspars. Boys, the north trail looks good to me. We can pick upGaspar later on, as Joe Stockton says. Straight for Colma, that's wherewe'll strike."

  "Hold on," cut in Arizona.

  Patently they regarded him with disfavor. There was something blandlysuperior in Arizona's demeanor. He had a way of putting forth hisopinions as though it were not the slightest effort for him topenetrate truths which were securely veiled from the eyes of ordinarymen.

  Now he looked calmly, almost contemptuously upon the sheriff and therest of the posse.

  "Gents, has any of you ever seen this Jig you talk about ride a hoss?"

  "Me, of course," said the sheriff.

  "Anything about him strike you when he was in a saddle?"

  "Sure! Got a funny arm motion."

  "Like he was fanning his ribs with his elbows to keep cool?" went onArizona, grinning.

  The sheriff chuckled.

  "Would you pick him for a good hand on a long trail?"

  "Never in a million years," said the sheriff. "Is he?"

  Kern seemed to admit his inferiority by asking this question. He bithis lip and was about to go on and answer himself when Arizona cut inwith: "Never in a million years, sheriff. He couldn't do twenty
milesin a day without being laid up."

  "What's the point of all this, Arizona?"

  "I'll show you pronto. Let's go back to Sinclair. The other day he wasone of a bunch that pretty near got Gaspar hung, eh?"

  "Yep."

  "But at the last minute he saved Jig?"

  "Sure. I just been telling you that."

  Their inability to follow Arizona's train of thought irritated theothers. He literally held them in the palm of his hand as he developedhis argument.

  "Why did he save Jig?" he went on. "Because when Gaspar was about toswing, they was something about him that struck Sinclair. What was it?I dunno, except that Jig is tolerable young looking and prettyhelpless, even though you say he killed Quade."

  "Say he killed him?" burst out the sheriff. "It was plumb proved onhim."

  "I'd sure like to see that proof," said the man from the southland."The point is that Sinclair took pity on him and kept him from thenoose. Then he stays that night guarding him and gets more and moreinterested. This Jig has got a pile of education. I've heard him talk.Today you come over the hills. Sinclair sees Woodville, figures that'sthe place where Jig'll be hung, and he loses his nerve. He sticks youup and gets Jig free. All right! D'you think he'll stop at that? Don'the know that Jig's plumb helpless on the trail? And knowing that, d'youthink he'll split with Jig and leave the schoolteacher to be picked upthe first thing? No, sir, he'll stick with Jig and see him through."

  "Well, all the better," snapped the sheriff. "That's going to make ourtrail shorter--if what you say turns out true."

  "It's true, well enough. Sinclair right now is camping somewhere in thehills near Sour Creek, waiting for things to quiet down before he hitsthe out-trail with this Gaspar."

  "He wouldn't be fool enough for that," grumbled the sheriff.

  "Fool? Has any one of you professional man hunters figured yet onhunting for 'em near Sour Creek? Ain't you-all been talking longtrails--Colma, and what not?"

  They were crushed.

  "All you say is true, if Sinclair saddles himself with the tenderfoot.Might as well tie so much lead around his neck."

  "He'll do it, though," said Arizona carelessly. "I know him."

  It caused a new focusing of attention upon him, and this time Arizonaseemed to regret that he stood in the limelight.

  "You know him?" asked Joe Stockton softly.

  The bright black eyes of the fat man glittered and flickered from faceto face. He seemed to be gauging them and deciding how much he couldsay--or how little.

  "Sure, I drifted up to this country one season and rode there. I hearda pile about this Sinclair and seen him a couple of times."

  "How good a man d'you figure him to be with a gun?" asked the sheriffwithout apparent interest.

  "Good enough," sighed Arizona. "Good enough, partner!"

  Presently the sheriff showed that he was a man capable of taking goodadvice, even though he could not stamp it as his own original device.

  "Boys," he said, "I figure that what Arizona has said is tolerablesound. Arizona, what d'you advise next?"

  "That we go to Sour Creek pronto--and sit down and wait!"

  A chorus of exclamations arose.

  Arizona grew impatient with such stupidity. "Sinclair come to SourCreek to do something. I dunno what he wants, but what he wants heain't got yet, and he's the sort that'll stay till he does his work."

  "I've got in touch with the authorities higher up, boys," declaredKern. "Sinclair and Gaspar is both outlawed, with a price on theirheads. Won't that change Sinclair's mind and make him move on?"

  "You don't know Sinclair," persisted Arizona. "You don't know him atall, sheriff."

  "Grab your hosses, boys. I'm following Arizona's lead."

  Pouring out of the door in silence, the omniscience of Arizona layheavily upon their minds. Inside, the sheriff lingered with the wiseman from the southland.

  "If I was to get in touch with Colma, Fatty, what d'you think they'd beable to tell me about your record up there?"

  The olive skin of Arizona became a bleached drab.

  "I dunno," he said rather thickly, and all the while his little blackeyes were glittering and shifting. "Nothing much, Kern."

  His glance steadied. "By the way, when you had your glove off a whileago I seen something on your wrist that looked like a rope gall, Kern.If I was to tell the boys that, what d'you figure they'd think abouttheir sheriff?"

  It was Kern's turn to change color. For a moment he hesitated, and thenhe dropped a hand lightly on Arizona's shoulder.

  "Look here, Arizona," he muttered in the ear of the fat man, "what youbeen before you hit Woodville I dunno, and I don't care. I figure wecome to a place where we'd both best keep our mouths shut. Eh?"

  "Shake," said Arizona, and they went out the door, almost arm in arm.