CHAPTER XIX—PART OF THE TRUTH
Hashknife stood up from his examination and grinned at Slim, who didn’t know yet what it was all about.
“Where does Butch figure in this?” he asked. “Was he tryin’ to protect Glover?”
They turned at a sound and saw Sleepy at the doorway, gun in hand.
“I heard some shootin’,” he said simply, and came in to look at Butch and the Kid.
“I crowned the Kid with a chair,” said Hashknife. “He got me first. Knocked me down and tied me up, but he don’t know much about ropes. Then him and Butch decided to throw in together, put me out of my misery and clear out; but I got loose and smashed a chair on the Kid’s head. I think Butch decided to get back in the house and recover his gun, and the Kid shot him in the dark, not knowin’ who he was.”
The Kid blinked his eyes and sat up, rubbing his head. He squinted painfully at Hashknife, shifted his eyes to Slim and Sleepy, and then looked at Butch. The Kid was not shamming—he was very sick.
“You shot Butch,” said Hashknife.
The Kid grimaced painfully at Hashknife.
“I guess I didn’t tie yuh very tight,” he said.
“Not tight enough, Glover. Butch ain’t hurt much, and as soon as he recovers I think he’ll tell where the plunder is cached.”
“What plunder?”
“The stuff you came back to get. You tried to play crooked with Reimer and DuMond, didn’t yuh? But they shifted the cache and left a dummy package for you to skip away with. Oh, I’ve got you cinched, Glover. By this time the Wells Fargo have arrested Paulsen. You was a brakeman on the same train that Paulsen worked on in Montana.
“You framed it with Paulsen, you and Butch and DuMond. It was a cinch. Paulsen opened the door and let Reimer in. You broke the train in two at Curlew Spur, Reimer pulled the job lone-handed, while DuMond handled the horses. Oh, we’ve got yuh where the hair is short.”
“Prove it,” snarled the Kid. “You can’t, damn yuh!”
Butch was beginning to make funny noises and trying to sit up. Hashknife nudged Sleepy and whispered:
“Take Glover into the kitchen, Sleepy. Watch the little snake. Slim will light a lamp for yuh.”
They went away with Glover, while Hashknife squatted on his heels, watching Butch fight his way back to consciousness. Butch had lost considerable blood, and the shock of the heavy bullet had dazed him badly. But he finally opened his eyes, and gradually a look of understanding overspread his face. His right hand, hanging limp at his side, twisted over against his empty holster.
Slim came back to the front room and Butch scowled at him.
“The Kid shot yuh, Butch,” said Hashknife.
Butch started to speak, but changed his mind.
“Oh, we’ve got him,” assured Hashknife. “He hasn’t done anything but talk since we tied him up. He seemed to think we’d turn him loose if he spilled the whole plot, but he’s such a liar that we don’t believe him.”
“What’s he say?” groaned Butch.
“He said it was you and DuMond that framed the scheme with Paulsen. I think he lied, myself, because him and this crooked messenger used to work together. He said he merely introduced Paulsen to you, and that——”
“He’s a dirty liar!” snarled Butch.
“We thought so,” said Hashknife seriously.
“And then he told us that you killed DuMond, in order to increase yore size of the pot.”
Butch raised himself up on one elbow.
“Where is that dirty liar?” he demanded hoarsely. “By God, he killed Billy himself. He came back here to kill me, too. He’s a sneakin’ little crook. He raided the cache and tried to get away with it all, I tell yuh. We knowed he’d do it; so we made up a dummy bundle. That’s how he happened to cripple his horse, gettin’ away fast—and that’s why he traded horses with yuh.”
“I felt that for a long time, Butch. And he killed Corby, didn’t he?”
“Sure as hell, he did! He thought he could kill me and find the cache. None of the rest of my boys know anythin’ about it. Bring in that dirty little sidewinder and I’ll make him eat every word he said about me.”
“That was his hat we found on the bridge, Butch.”
“I knew it. I was scared you’d work somethin’ out of it.”
“It sure helped,” grinned Hashknife. “And another thing, Reimer. The night of that holdup, which one of yuh knocked old Rance McCoy down and robbed him?”
“DuMond,” said Butch readily. “He hated the old man. Billy saw a chance to get him right. He wanted to kill McCoy, and thought he did, but I reckon it was a glancin’ blow.”
“And was it DuMond’s idea to take McCoy’s horse down there where yuh held up the train and shoot it?”
“Yeah—his and Glover’s. Glover mentioned it, and the Kid carried it out. He shot the horse before we went to Curlew Springs.”
“Whose idea was it to skin out the brand?” asked Slim.
“I dunno. The Kid and Billy saw you and yore two men ride out there that mornin’, and then they trailed yuh over to the Circle Spade, to see if yuh arrested Rance. After yuh left there and headed back for town, Billy said they got the idea of skinnin’ out the brand and stealin’ the saddle—tryin’ to make it look worse for Rance.”
“I thought that was the way of it.”
“But how did you know it wasn’t a bullet from the car that killed the horse?”
“That was a cinch. The cut is pretty deep there, Reimer, and any bullet fired from the car door at a horse outside the right-of-way fence would naturally range upward. The bullet that killed the horse was fired from slightly above the animal, ranging downward. And what holdup man would ever leave his horse in full view of the train?”
Butch rubbed his sore head and groaned a few times.
“That’s the hell of makin’ it too strong,” he said.
Hashknife walked to the kitchen door, opened it, and said to Sleepy:
“Bring in yore company.”
The Kid and Butch glared at each other.
“Butch says you’re a liar,” grinned Hashknife.
“The hell I am! What about?”
“He says it was you that framed the deal with Paulsen.”
The Kid started toward Butch, but Sleepy yanked him back.
“And you know damn well it’s the truth!” rasped Butch.
“You fool!” screamed the Kid, trying to tear loose from Sleepy. “What have you told?”
“Told?” queried Butch blankly. “Why, you told ’em——”
“Oh, you poor fool! I never told anythin’!”
Butch slumped back on the floor, glaring his hate at Hashknife, who grinned over his cigarette.
“Try and find the money!” snarled Butch.
“By God, you’ll never find it.”
“No?” Hashknife looked pityingly at Butch. “Listen to me, pardner. You’re close to fifty, ain’t yuh? They’ll give yuh close to twenty-five years for this job. Twenty-five years in the penitentiary is a long time. You’ll be an awful old man when yuh come out. The money won’t help yuh none. Mebby we can find it ourselves. But if yuh give it all up and tell the prosecutor the truth about the whole deal, yuh might cut that sentence down to where you’ll still be worth killin’ when yuh get out.”
Butch laughed harshly, shaking his head.
“What would I get off?” asked Glover.
“They’d only hang you once.”
“That’s a hell of a lot.”
“You ought to be hung once a week,” growled Butch. Then he sobered suddenly and looked at Slim.
“I’ve got to have more than the word of that Hashknife bloodhound, Slim.”
“I can’t promise anythin’,” said Slim. “You’ll have to make yore deal with Merkle.”
Slim went after the horses, and came back leading three. The tall gray horse nuzzled Hashknife violently, and acted as if he’d found a long-lost friend.
“Damn that horse!” snorted Kid Glover. “If I’d left it alone, everythin’ would have been all right.”
“If you hadn’t been born a horse-thief, we’d have been all right, yuh mean,” retorted Butch.
They roped the two prisoners to their horses and started back to Red Arrow. There were three aching heads, a jubilant sheriff, and one sour cowboy—the latter being Sleepy, who had shared in none of the action.
“You’ll get into it,” assured Hashknife.
“Yea-a-ah—next time! Next time, you watch yore own back trail. I spend a week or so watchin’ you build up to a big climax, and then don’t even shoot off a roamin’—candle.”
“I swear, I can’t hardly realize it yet,” declared Slim. “I heard yuh tell it all, Hashknife. Oh, I don’t get any of the credit. I didn’t know what was goin’ on half the time.”
“Yuh never will—around him,” complained Sleepy.
“Well, he’ll get that five thousand,” said Slim.
“And give it to some orphin’ asylum, prob’ly.”
“Five thousand!” snorted Glover. “Why didn’t yuh throw in with us, Hartley?”
“You made me mad when yuh stole my horse.”