Clarence Edward Mulford

HUNTING WITH THE HOUNDS

Johnny entered the kitchen, looked at the stove and went into the dining-room, where George was playing solitaire. "That's a bad habit, George," he said, shaking his head. "It don't get you nothin'."

George made a play and looked up. "Aimin' to get me into a two-handed game of somethin'?" he queried.

"No; I ain't," answered Johnny. "I was just wonderin' how long you was goin' to play it."

"I'm goin' to play it till I have to start cookin'," said George, determinedly.

"Then you ain't goin' to stand over that hot stove for more'n an hour, are you?"

"No, sir; I ain't."

"You talk like it was somethin' to dodge!" snorted Johnny.

"I'd like to see you do it!" retorted George.

"Huh!" sniffed Johnny. "I got a good notion to do it."

George made another play. "Notions!" he sneered. "Notions ain't doin' it!"

"Then I will do it," said Johnny, going into the kitchen and throwing wood into the stove. He took down a lid made up of rings, substituted it for one of the stove lids, lifted out the middle section and put in its place an iron ladle.

A chair scraped out in the dining-room and George poked his head in. "What you think yo're doin'?" he demanded.

"Callin' yore bluff. Go on back to yore solitaire. I'm goin' to run some bullets."

"Why, cuss yore nerve!" said George. "Who told you to mess up my kitchen?"

"You said you'd like to see me stand over this stove," answered Johnny. "Run around an' get me two pounds of lead from Dailey."

"Get it yoreself!" snapped George. "You clean up when you get through," he warned.

"Shore," replied Johnny, and he went out to get the lead.

Dailey looked up. "Hello, Nelson!"

"Howd'y, Ben! Got two pounds of lead, an' some Kentucky powder?"

"Shore," answered Dailey. He slid a bar of lead onto the counter and took a can from a shelf. "This ain't Kaintuck—but it's as good. How much?"

Johnny put a few grains in the palm of his hand and rubbed them with a forefinger. "I don't want this at all," he said, showing the black smudge. "I want th' kind you use."

Dailey grumbled, but felt under the counter and produced another can. "Here's th' best made," he said.

Johnny tested it, and nodded. "Half a pound will do."

Returning to the kitchen he used George's axe to cut the lead into smaller pieces, and dumped them into the ladle, after which he paid a hurried visit to his room for tools.

Two-Spot shoved his head in at the door. "What you doin'? Runnin' slugs?"

"Shoein' a hoss," said Johnny.

Two-Spot grinned. "Where'd you get th' lead?"

"Dailey's," answered Johnny, punching out old primers.

"Buy primers, an powder, too?" demanded Two-Spot.

"Powder," grunted Johnny.

"Off'n th' shelf behind him?"

"Under th' counter."

"Yo're lucky; he must like you. Well, then some of 'em will go off," said Two-Spot "But if you'd bought his primers, none of 'em would." He looked around and started to resize some of the shells. "These here ain't shells. They're—they're kegs." He picked up the mold and opened it. "My G—d!" he snorted. "Yo're a bloody-minded cuss. Yore gun got wheels an' a limber?"

"It'll make th' other feller limber gettin' out of th' way."

Two-Spot hurt his finger and quit. "Reckon Dave wants me," he observed.

"I'm shore I don't," grunted Johnny, beginning to reprime the shells.

"Do it yoreself, then!" snapped Two-Spot, going out. He looked carefully around and, going into the narrow space between the kitchen and the rear of the saloon, disappeared from sight.

Around in front of the Palace four punchers were dismounting. They were disgruntled, but in one way they felt relief. After a morning's search for tracks on the Double X, along its eastern line, they had given up the job and had started to Gunsight to carry out a task which they felt would require a great amount of tact to keep it from becoming a shambles. But on the way they had stopped at the Doc's and found that it would not be necessary to cross-question Johnny. There remained one further duty to perform and they decided to slake their thirsts before attempting it. Big Tom wanted information from those whom he felt would be able to give it, since they were directly benefited by the kidnapping of the Doc. He felt sure that the committee he had appointed were qualified to get it for him, especially if they had a proper amount of liquor before they started after it. Hence he had supplied them with the funds and told them that it was his treat. Carson and Dahlgren had fat blanket rolls behind their saddles; "Smitty" and Fraser, nothing but their usual paraphernalia.

They stamped in to the bar and lined up. To Dave's inquiry, they replied that their morning's work had been in vain, but boasted that the afternoon would not be wasted.

"We're goin' where th' information is," said Carson, "an' we're goin' to get it. If it comes easy, all right—but we're goin' to get it, savvy?"

"An' when we do get it, it will be forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree for th' coyote that got rid of Squint an' kidnapped th' Doc," boasted Dahlgren.

"Nobody gives a whoop about th' kidnappin', 'cept th' Doc," said Fraser; "but this was a poke at th' Bar H, an' that's where we set in. If we finds out who got rid of Squint, we know who kidnapped th' Doc; an' if we learns who kidnapped th' Doc, we likewise finds th' coyote what got rid of Squint. An' I'm tellin' you that we're goin' to find out who he is. Doc said he done a good job on that busted laig, an' it would be a mean trick on him to undo it; but we're goin' to find out! Give us another round."

"I got to laugh about th' Doc," said Smitty, "a growed man, lettin' hisself be stole that way. An' what's he doin' now? Is he out a-huntin'? He ain't. He's settin' in that shack of his'n waitin' for us to get his kidnapper. Fill 'em again, Dave."

"Forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree," repeated Carson. "If he puts up a fight we'll give him this!" He yanked out his gun and fired at the floor.

Could they have seen the result of the shot they would have been greatly surprised. Two-Spot, under their feet, lying on his pile of stolen blankets and discarded clothing, and drinking in every word they said, had just shifted to a more comfortable position when the gun roared and the bullet, ripping through the flooring, cut a welt on his cheek. Panic stricken, he started to roll and crawl toward the hotel, and was too excited to notice the pair of legs at the wash bench, where Johnny was cooling bullets in the basin, but rolled out and against the bench, upsetting it and Johnny, too, as well as the basin, bullets, and the water bucket. There was a mad scramble for a few seconds and Two-Spot lost a tooth before Johnny saw who It was. Then both leaped to their feet, Two-Spot angrily spitting blood and dirt.

"What you think yo're doin'?" blazed Johnny, reaching for Two-Spot's collar. "Playin' earthquake?"

"Who you hittin'?" snarled Two-Spot. "Leggo my shirt; I got somethin' to tell you!"

George came running and stuck his head out of the door. "Go it, Ol' Timer!" he encouraged. "Serves him right for th' mess he's made!"

Two-Spot thanked him by kicking backward, guided by sound and instinct. George, receiving one whole foot just below his short ribs, doubled up forthwith and disappeared. There was a crash and the sound of falling stove wood, and George had interest in nothing outside of himself.

"They're goin' to th' SV, an' make 'em tell who's raisin' th' devil on th' range," said Two-Spot in Johnny's ear. "If they ain't told easy, then they'll take th' splints off'n th' ol' man's laig. G—d only knows where they'll stop, for they're gettin' full of liquor."

"Who are they?"

"Carson, Dal, Smitty, an' Fraser," answered Two-Spot. "'Forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree,' they says," he mimicked, "an' shot through th' floor. I got it in th' cheek, d—n 'em." A frightened look came to his face. "Don't tell 'em where I was," he begged, for the hiding-place was his only refuge and without it his life would be made miserable.

"I'll swap secrets," said Johnny. "Keep mum about tellin' me this. Take Pepper around front an' mix her in with their cayuses. Then pick up th' slugs an' keep 'em for me."

A piece of firewood whizzed past his ear, and then a stream of them. George, still throwing, emerged from the kitchen, blood in his eye. Johnny grabbed him.

"We was playin' a joke on you, George," he said, hurriedly. "Two-Spot kicked you accidental. Here's somethin' to square it," and George opened his hand to see a coin nestling therein.

"Joke!" he muttered, feeling around his belt "Accidental! You may think so, but I'm cussed if I do! My G—d, his relations must be mules!"

Dave and the committee looked up as the door flew back and slammed against the wall, to see Johnny enter, a little too erect, stepping a little too precisely and wide, his mind obviously concentrated on his legs. His face was owlishly serious and he nodded to each in turn with great gravity. Describing a wide curve he stepped carefully to the bar, where he stopped, sighed, and braced himself.

"Dave," he said, waving an arm, "th' best in th' house for us. Didn't know what to do with m'self; but now we can have some 'citement. Here's how. Here's to pore Ol' Squint."

"Here's to pore Ol' Squint," repeated Dave. "I allus liked Squint."

"Everybody liked Squint," responded Johnny. "Everybody, 'cept—'cept what's his name? Pore Squint, kidnapped; an' the Doc, kidnapped; nobody's safe no more. You might get kidnapped—you—an' you—an' you—an' Dave! No, not Dave!" he burst into laughter. "Not Dave! He! He! Less'n it was Ol' Buffalo an' his waggin!"

Smitty rocked to and fro: "He! He! He!" he roared. "Ol' Buffalo an' his four-hoss team! Freight for Juniper!"

Carson slapped Johnny on the shoulder. "Nobody's safe but Dave!" he shouted. "Ol' Buffalo would have to roll him in, like a bar'l."

"Don't you care, Dave," said Fraser. "I'm yore friend, an' nobody's goin' to kidnap you, waggin or no waggin. Not while Bill Fraser's around. No, sir. Give us another. Big Tom's blowin' his boys."

"Couldn't get along without Dave, not nohow," said Johnny. "Here's to Dave—everybody's fr'en'. Just th' same I ain't forgettin' pore Squint. I'd like to know who kidnapped him—just so I could get my rope on him. That's all. Jus' that. Got notion to go find him. Come on, le's all go!"

"Forty feet of rope an' a sycamore tree," burbled Smitty. "Forty feet of——"

"We're goin' to find him," boasted Dahlgren. "Goin' to righ' now. Le's have one more drink, Dave. Just one more, an' then we go git him."

"That's th' way!" cried Johnny, "Come on—one more, Dave, ol' kidnapper. Then forty feet of sycamore rope. Want to come, Dave? Come on! Come on with us!"

"I better stay here," said Dave, earnestly. "I better be right here when you bring him in. Somebody ought to be."

"That's Ol' Dave, all righ'," cried Smitty. "Good Ol' Dave."

"Give us a bottle, Dave," said Johnny. "Give us two bottles. Nothin's too good for my fren's."

"If pore Squint was only here," burbled Smitty, eyeing the bottles. "Pore Squint. We'll bring that coyote in for you, Dave. We'll drag him to town."

"Him an' Ol' Arnold," supplemented Carson. "Both of 'em!"

"That's it!" cried Johnny. "That's where we'll go—come on, fellers! Goo'-by, Dave; goo'-by!"

They surged toward the door, milled before the opening, and then shuffled to the street. Fraser threw an arm around Johnny's neck and slobbered about poor Squint. Johnny slipped the six-gun from Fraser's holster, dropped it on his own foot to deaden the fall, and then pushed it under the saloon. He staggered, with Fraser, out toward the horses and bumped into Dahlgren, who grabbed them both to save himself. Fraser's other arm went around his friend's neck and he protested his love for them both. Dahlgren's gun also struck Johnny's boot and was quickly scraped over with sand.

Under the saloon Two-Spot changed from all ears to mostly ears and some eyes, for his view was limited to below the hips of the maudlin gang. When Fraser's gun slid under the floor he became, for an instant, all eyes, and wriggled in greedy anticipation. Then he saw the second gun strike Johnny's boot and become covered over with sand, and he rocked from side to side with silent mirth, his boiled countenance acquiring spots of mottled purple, especially his nose. As soon as the crowd mounted, he crawled forward, wriggling desperately when the space became too small for hands and knees. He had to get those guns before the proprietor got them, for Dave would not allow him to own a weapon. When he had gone as far as he dared, he stopped and waited until the bunched group whirled away up the trail, and then wriggled more desperately than ever. Suddenly he stopped and writhed sideways behind a pile of dirt, for the heavy steps above his head ceased as a pair of enormous legs waddled into his field of view. Dave kicked around in the sand, found the weapon, and laboriously picked it up. The huge legs remained motionless for a moment as their owner watched the cloud of dust which rolled eastward on the trail.

"He's takin' chances," muttered Dave. "An' I can almost smell him from here. Six glasses of whiskey down his sleeve—great guns, but he must feel comfortable! Well, boys, I don't know where yo're goin', but nothin' would surprise me." He paused a moment in indecision, thoughtfully regarding the colt. "I reckon I ought to lose this gun down th' well—but I'll wait till he comes back."

The fat legs waddled out of sight and the floor creaked again. Two-Spot wriggled forward, snatched the Colt and backed to his nest, where he looked at his prize and gloated.

"Dave never saw you fall," he chuckled. "Oh, yo're a beauty; an' only two are gone. Cuss it! This is th' gun that shot me!" He considered a moment. "Now I got to get some .45's from th' store when Ol' Eagle-Eye ain't lookin'."

Meanwhile the exuberant committee tore over the trail until Fraser, wishing to let off some extra steam, felt for his gun. He reined in so quickly as almost to cause a catastrophe. Dahlgren now discovered his own loss and there was a wrangle about going back to look for the missing weapons. Their insistence won out and the committee wheeled, spread out, and cantered back almost to Gunsight, wrangling all the way. Yielding at last to the acrimonious suggestions of the other three, they gave up the search and set out again, beginning on the second bottle. When they finally arrived at the SV ranchhouse the afternoon was over half gone and they were so under the influence of liquor that it was all they could do to get to the door of the house. Staggering in, they went to Arnold's room and all began talking at once. There were no preliminaries—Margaret and Charley, caught in the room, were forced into a corner and had to hear the brutal threats. Johnny was the loudest of them all, but there was no profanity in his words; and he took the first chance that offered to wink at the helpless man on the bed. Arnold, ignorant of what he was supposed to know, pleaded in vain. Carson rolled up his sleeves and announced his intentions, staggering toward the bed. He collided with Johnny and they both fell. As Johnny scrambled to his feet he caught Margaret's eye and winked slowly. Then he let out a roar and blamed Carson for the fall. His eye caught sight of a calendar on the wall and he objected to the red numerals representing Sundays. Jerking out his guns he shot the numbers out, the bullets passing so close to Smitty that that valiant committee-man nearly broke his neck falling over a chair he backed against. A glass of water was shattered and then the guns became wobbly, covering everything in sight. Boasting that he could shoot out a fly's eye without touching the rest of the insect, he shot a spur off of Carson's boot and put a hole through Dahlgren's hat when he presumably aimed at the lamp on a shelf. Roaring and jumping, he accused Arnold of doing the kidnapping himself, and fired at a knot in the floor, missing it, and clipping a button from Fraser's vest. The committee was very drunk, but it was not so far gone that all instincts of self-preservation had fled, and it made haste to get out of the room. Smitty, finding the door blocked, and being in a hurry, went through the open window with remarkable directness for one in his condition.

"He ain't here!" shouted Johnny. "He's got away! Come on, fellers; we got to get him—pronto!"

"Where'd he go?" shouted Carson, stumbling over a chair. He kicked it across the room and sat down suddenly. Being assisted to his feet, he staggered out toward the horses, the rest stringing after him. "Where'd he go?" he demanded at the top of his voice.

"Don't know," answered Johnny, hanging onto Dahlgren. "But he'll come back. Let's ambush him!"

"A'right; I'm tired of ridin'," declared Smitty. "Got forty feet of rope an' sycamore tree. Where'll we go?"

"Up on th' Juniper trail," said Johnny. "We know he don't hide in th' south; we'd a' seen him long ago. I know a good place, come on!"

It was a wonder how they ever mounted, but they managed it, all but Smitty, who had to be assisted to the saddle. Once seated, they were fairly well at home and followed Johnny along the ranch trail. An hour later Johnny and three of them were lying in the bushes at the edge of the Juniper trail, Smitty having been lost on the way. The sun was still warm, and the liquor potent, which was in no way checked by their inactivity, and snores soon arose. Johnny, smiling cynically at the prostrate figures, made a soft bed out of Carson's and Dahlgren's blankets and lay down to see it through. The night passed quietly and the early morning light showed four soundly sleeping figures. Higher and higher climbed the sun and one by one the men awakened, consumed by raging thirsts. Johnny raised himself on one elbow and looked around.

"I want a drink," he announced. "Gimme a drink, Fraser!"

"Ain't got none; I'm dyin' of thirst!"

Staggering to their feet they looked around, got their bearings and made a rush for their horses; and soon a miserable, sick committee pounded along the trail at its best speed, bent only on one thing—to get to Dave's.

Dave heard them coming and knew what would be wanted. He met them at the door and passed out a bottle; consuming it eagerly, they strayed off toward their ranch, ugly and profane.

Johnny watched them go. "I was in desperate company, Dave," he said. "They was all primed to raise h—l out there, but I saw that nobody belongin' to that ranch knew anything about Squint, or th' Doc, that we didn't know, so I sort of coaxed 'em away. An' would you believe it, Dave, we was so petrified we got lost an' finally climbed down an' went to sleep right where th' idea struck us?"

"I allus was a great believer, Nelson," answered Dave. "That's mebby why I'm a pore man at my time of life. An' I admits that you has persuadin' ways. Now, I figgers it this way: Th' Doc up an' kills Squint; Squint gets even by kidnappin' th' Doc; after which th' Doc buries th' corpse an' throws away th' grave. But, I says, an' it's th' 'buts' that raise th' devil, how does Big Tom figger it? He ain't got my trustin' nature. An' how will Wolf figger it? An' all th' rest, after they get together an' wrestle things out? I'm glad you got a fast hoss, an' a clear trail. Where's Smitty?" he demanded.

"He was a weak brother," Johnny sorrowfully declared. "Th' last I saw of him he was fallin' off his cayuse about five miles northwest of th' ranch. First he fell back over a chair, backwards; then he fell out of a window, frontwards; an' when he fell off his cayuse he was goin' sideways. When it comes to fallin' I'll back him against anybody. What do I owe you for them two bottles of whiskey? They was amazin' medicine."

"Whiskey?" queried Dave. "Did you taste it?"

"I didn't," confessed Johnny. "I handed th' first bottle to Dahlgren, an' by th' time it got back to me there wasn't nothin' in it. Th' second bottle I gives to Smitty, an' I got left again. If I'd had a couple more I might a' got a drink. What makes you ask?"

"The first was brandy, an' th' second was gin," said Dave. "I reckoned mebby they'd like a change. Sorry you didn't get none of 'em."

Johnny looked at him reproachfully. "I ain't," he said. "Good Lord! Come, Pepper, there ain't no tellin' what this man'll do next. Mebby we won't see Smitty till next week—come, little hoss!"