Essential Western Novels - Volume 4. Max Brand
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yet."
"There don't nobody know who they be," said the sheriff.
"I see by the papers," said the old man, "that they think they got a line on 'em."
"They aint got nuthin' on 'em," snapped the sheriff. "They don't even know that it's the same gang."
"No, that's right," assented the old man, "but it sure does look suspicious. Robbin' and murderin' and rustlin' breakin' out all of a sudden in towns here where we aint had none o' it for years. Why say, in the last year there's been more Hell goin' on around in this neck of the woods and over into Arizony than I've saw all put together for ten year before."
At this juncture the telephone bell rang and the sheriff rose and walked to the instrument, where it hung against the wall.
"Hello," he said as he put the receiver to his ear, and then, "The hell you say!" He listened for a moment longer. "Don't touch nuthin' leave everything as it is. I'll notify the Coroner and then I'll be out as soon as I can."
He hung up the receiver and as he turned away from the instrument Buck Mason entered the office. "Mornin', sheriff!" he said.
"Good morning, Buck!" returned the sheriff.
"Who's killed now?" demanded old man Cage, who, having heard half the conversation and scenting excitement, had abandoned his post in the doorway and entered the room.
Buck Mason looked inquiringly at the sheriff. "Somebody killed?" he asked.
The sheriff nodded. "Tom Kidder just called me up from the Circle G home ranch. He says they found old man Gunderstrom shot to death in his shack over on Spring Creek."
"Gunderstrom?" he exclaimed. "Why I see—," he hesitated. "Do they know who done it?" The sheriff shook his head. "Perhaps I better get right over there," continued Mason.
"I wish you would, Buck," said the sheriff. "Got your horse?"
"Yes."
"I got to pick up Doc Bellows; and you can be there, if you cut across the hills, long before I can shag Lizzie around by the roads."
"I'll be gettin' along then," said Mason, and as he left the office and mounted his horse the sheriff strapped on his gun and prepared to go after the coroner.
"Looks to me like that hit Buck pretty hard," said old man Cage. "Warnt he kinda soft on that Gunderstrom heifer?"
Bull's Eye carried his master at an easy lope across the flat toward the hills, where there was a stiff and rocky climb to the summit and an equally precipitous drop into Spring Valley, where Gunderstrom's shack lay a scant five miles from town by trail.
Uncle Billy Cage had resumed his position in the doorway of the office as the sheriff departed to look for the coroner. Half way to his car, the officer stopped and turned back. "If you aint got nuthin' else to do, sorta hang around the office until I get back, Uncle Billy. Will you?" he asked.
"I'll stay here as long as I can, sheriff," replied the old man. "May be I better go and fetch my bed."
"Shucks. I won't be gone long," the sheriff assured him.
"I don't know about that," replied Cage. "It's twenty mile of rough road from here to Gunderstrom's shack, and Lizzie aint what she used to be."
"Shucks. I could take her over the horse trail, Uncle Billy, if I wasn't afraid of scaring Doc Bellows," replied the sheriff with a grin.
As Buck Mason rode up to the Gunderstrom shack he was greeted by Tom Kidder, foreman of the Circle G outfit, and two of the cowhands. The three men were squatting on their heels in the shade of a tree near the shack; and as Mason approached, Kidder rose. "Hello, Buck!" he said.
"Hello, Tom!" replied Mason. "How's everything?"
"Oh, so so," replied the foreman. "I reckon the sheriff told you."
"Yeah, that's why I'm here. You fellers aint been messin' around here none, have you?"
"No," replied Kidder. "When the old man didn't show up at the home ranch this morning, I rode over. I went in the shack, and when I seen there wasn't nuthin' to be done for him I rode back to the ranch and called up the sheriff. There aint been nobody in the shack since."
"Got any idea who done it?" asked Mason.
"No," replied the foreman. "There's been horses in and out from the highway recently. You could see that plain in the dirt; and there were horses tied up to his hitchin' rail last night, but I didn't mess around here any after what the sheriff told me. So everything's about like it was after the old man croaked."
"I'll take a look around," said Mason, who had dismounted.
Dropping his reins to the ground, he approached the shack. He moved slowly and deliberately, his keen eyes searching for any sign that the soft earth might give back to him. For several minutes he scrutinized the ground about the hitching rail, and then he entered the shack.
Inside he disturbed nothing, but examined everything minutely. For a brief moment he paused at the side of the cot, looking down into the upturned face of the dead man, the ghastliness of which was accentuated by the wound in the center of the pallid forehead.
Whatever thoughts the sight engendered in the mind of Buck Mason were not reflected in his calm, inscrutable gaze.
At Mason's feet lay the boot upon which the murderer had stepped and stumbled; and to it the eyes of the deputy dropped, casually at first and then with aroused interest. He stooped down then and examined it closely, but he did not touch it. After a moment he straightened up and left the shack, pausing again to make another examination of the ground about the hitching rail.
As he joined the men beneath the tree they looked at him inquiringly. "Well," asked Kidder, "what do you make of it?"
Mason squatted down upon his heels, his eyes upon the ground. "Well," he said, "there were five of them. At least there were five horses tied to the hitching rail last night, and that's about all we have to go on."
"About all? What do you mean?"
"There aint much more except that it don't look like a case of robbery. As far as I can see there wasn't nuthin' touched in the shack."
"A lot of folks thought the old man kept money hidden here," said Kidder.
"Yes, I know that," replied Mason, "and I expected to find the shack all torn to pieces where they searched for it."
"Mebbe he give it to 'em," suggested one of the cowhands.
"I reckon you didn't know old man Gunderstrom very well then," said the foreman. "In the first place he never kept no money here, and in the second place he wouldn't have told them where it was if he had."
"I think he had started to reach for his gun," said Mason.
"Mebbe that's why they bored him," suggested the cowhand.
"Maybe," assented Mason.
"This'll be tough on the girl," said Kidder.
Mason made no comment. His eyes were searching the ground all about the three men, though they did not know it.
"I reckon she'll live through it," said the cowhand, "especially after she gets a slant at her bank balance. She'll be the richest gal in a dozen counties."
"There'll be plenty hombres campin' on her trail now," said the foreman, shooting a quick, shrewd glance at Mason.
"Did the old man have any squabbles with anybody lately?" asked the deputy sheriff.
"He was a hard man to do business with," replied Kidder; "and there's lots of folks around here that didn't have much use for him, but there aint no one that I know of that had any call to kill him."
"Did he have any new business deals on with anyone that you know of?"
"I didn't know nuthin' about his business," replied Kidder; "he kept that to himself.