CHAPTER XI: ATTEMPTED MURDER
As quick as a flash Hashknife swung his billiard cue in a short arc, struck Prentice’s right wrist a sharp blow, knocking the gun out of his hand. But the force of the blow also caused Prentice to jerk back on the trigger, and the gun went off before it clattered to the floor. The bullet drove into the floor just short of the poker table.
Len Ayres whirled at the report of the gun, and Hashknife saw as swift a piece of gun play as he ever saw in his life. Len had whirled, drawn his gun and was backing away, swinging the muzzle of his gun menacingly, almost before the thud of the shot had died away in the room.
But all he saw was Charley Prentice, clinging to his right wrist with his left hand, the gun on the floor at his feet, and Hashknife dangling a billiard cue in his two hands.
The room was in an uproar in a moment. Harry Cole stepped close to Prentice, grasping him by the arm, while Prentice mumbled plaintively and tried to draw away, but the big gambler yanked him back, his eyes snapping.
“Yuh can put up yore gun, Len,” said Breezy nervously. “I seen it all. Prentice tried to shoot yuh in the back, but Hartley here smashed him across the wrist with a pool cue. Mebbe I better put the danged fool in jail.”
“Not on my account,” said Len.
“But he tried to murder yuh, Len. If Hartley⸺”
“If Len ain’t kickin’, where do you come in?” interrupted Harry Cole. “Too much liquor. Bed is the place for him—bed and a doctor.”
“Oh, all right,” grunted Breezy. “Might handcuff him at the same time.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said Cole, and led Prentice out of the saloon.
Len holstered his gun and came slowly over to Hashknife.
“Len, I want yuh to meet Hartley,” said Breezy.
“I want to meet him, Breezy,” Len said soberly, as they shook hands. “And I want to thank Hartley for what he done.”
“Yo’re welcome, Ayres.”
“That’s fine. I reckon he kinda had me foul. I didn’t see him there, Breezy. Mebbe I wouldn’t have noticed him, anyway. He ain’t the same man he was when I left here.”
“He’s older, Len; and he’s been drinkin’ heavy. Lost his job.”
“No!”
“Fact. Old man Grant fired him.”
“Gosh, that’s kinda hard luck.”
Hashknife looked closely at Len Ayres, who seemed genuinely sorry to hear that Prentice had lost his position. Ayres might be a bad man, but Hashknife decided that there was nothing petty about the man. Breezy introduced him to Sleepy.
“I reckon I’m lucky you boys came to Lobo Wells,” he said. “I’m shore indebted to yuh, Hartley. Any time I can do anythin’ for yuh, just yell loud enough for me to hear.”
“Yuh ain’t indebted to me,” grinned Hashknife. “I’ve been watchin’ that feller for quite a while, expectin’ any minute that he’d start trompin’ on snakes. I don’t think he’s responsible for what he done.”
“I reckon he knew what he was doin’,” said Breezy.
“I reckon he did,” nodded Len. “But it’s all past now. I wouldn’t get any satisfaction out of jailin’ him, Breezy. Yuh see,” he shifted his eyes to Hashknife. “I know what it means to be behind the bars.”
“I’ve got friends on both sides of ’em,” said Hashknife. “I dunno which ones I prefer; possibly the insiders.”
“I’ve seen some pretty good men on both sides,” agreed Len.
“Speakin’ of people yuh don’t like, Len,” said Breezy, “we saw Amos Baggs to-day, after he was out to the Box S. He shore was fit to be tied. Said that Whisperin’ and Sailor ran him off the ranch. Gee, he shore was boilin’.”
Len smiled thoughtfully.
“I guess he would be. I didn’t know they ran him off.”
“Well, that’s the way he’d put it, Len. Said he was goin’ to have the lady boss fire both of ’em.”
“He did, eh?” The greenish-gray eyes hardened for a moment. “Mebbe the lady will have somethin’ to say about it, Breezy.”
“I was thinkin’ that myself. How do yuh like her, Len?”
“Well, she’s all right, I reckon. Don’t know anythin’ about the business, of course.” He smiled suddenly. “Gives Whisperin’ and Sailor somethin’ to quarrel about. Sailor swears he don’t like her and that he’ll quit the job the first time he gets a chance. But I’d hate to be the person to say a word against her where he could hear it.”
Harry Cole came back and walked up to Len.
“I took him home and had one of the boys get a doctor,” he told Len. “Charley is in bad shape.”
“That’s too bad, Harry; I hope he gets along all right.”
Cole looked sharply at him, but walked away without further conversation. Len held out his hand to Hashknife, as he said:
“I’ve got to be goin’ back, but I want yuh to know I appreciate what you did for me, Hartley. Come out to the Box S.”
“Thanks,” grinned Hashknife. “We’ll see yuh later,” and then he turned back to the table and picked up his cue.