CHAPTER TWO
A SAFE MAN
"We gotta be careful," cautioned Tom Driver, the local justice of thepeace.
"Careful is our middle name," Rafe Tuckleton said reassuringly.
"I know, I know," persisted Driver. "But you can't fool all the peopleall----"
"Abe Lincoln said it first," Felix Craft interrupted impatiently. "Buthe didn't live in Crocker County."
"Or he wouldn't have said it, huh?" flung in Tip O'Gorman. "Don't youfool yourself, Crafty. Tom's right. Human nature don't change any."
"I s'pose you mean give the people a square deal then," sneered Felix.
"If he does, he's crazy," said a lanky citizen named Shindle.
O'Gorman grinned a wide Irish smile. "No, I ain't crazy, but we'llgive 'em a square deal alla same."
"He is crazy," declared lank Shindle.
"A square deal," repeated O'Gorman. "A square deal--for us."
"I thought so," nodded plump Sam Larder, speaking for the first timesince the beginning of the discussion. "A square deal--for us. Let'shear it, Tip."
O'Gorman sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. "When a dog ishungry it ain't sensible to feed him a whole juicy steak. He'll gobbleit down an' come pesterin' round for more in five minutes. But givehim a bone and he'll gnaw and gnaw and be a satisfied dog for quite along while."
"What kind of a bone were you figuring on giving our dog?" inquired TomDriver.
"Sheriff." Thus Tip O'Gorman with finality.
Felix Craft shook a decided head.
"Guess again. Too much meat on that bone."
"Not if it's the right kind of meat," said O'Gorman blandly.
"Stop walking in the water," grunted the impatient Felix. "Say itright out."
"A sheriff with a ring in his nose," explained O'Gorman.
"A weak sister, huh?" put in Tom Driver.
"Or words to that effect," smiled O'Gorman. "Can't you see how it is,gents? To shove our ticket through we gotta give 'em one good man. Ifwe don't, the four legislators are a stand-off. We may elect them. Wemay elect our three justices, county clerk and coroner. You can't tellwhat will happen to them. Folks will scratch their heads this electionand they'll vote their own way. Take my word for it. And when itcomes to sheriff, folks are gonna do more than scratch their heads.They're gonna think--hard. That's why we gotta give 'em a good man."
"One of themselves, for instance?" said plump Sam Larder, locking hishands over his paunch.
"Sure," O'Gorman drawled. "Do that. Give 'em somebody they trust andlike for sheriff an' they'll be so busy thinkin' about electin' himthat the rest of the ticket will slide in like a greased pig through abusted fence."
"To tell the truth. I'd more than half-promised the job to JackMurray," remarked Rafe Tuckleton, incidentally wondering why Jack hadnot yet turned up at the meeting. "He should have been here an hourago."
"You half-promised it to Jack Murray, huh?" exclaimed the lank citizenShindle. "Lemme tell you that I was a damsight more than half-countingon that job myself."
"Neither of your totals is the right answer, Skinny," explainedO'Gorman pleasantly. "Nominatin' either you or Jack would gorm up thewhole ticket."
"Aw, the party is strong enough to elect anybody!" protested FelixCraft.
"Not this year," contradicted O'Gorman. "You ain't been round like Ihave, Felix. I tell you I know. Gents, if we go ahead and nominateeither Skinny Shindle or Jack Murray, we'll all have to go to work."
"Who you got in mind?" queried Rafe Tuckleton.
"Bill Wingo."
Dead silence for a space. Then Rafe Tuckleton looked at Sam Larder andwhistled lowly. Sam's eyes switched to Tip.
"I don't see the connection," said Sam Larder.
"Me either," concurred Rafe.
"I should say not," Shindle declared loudly.
"I'll tell you," said Tip O'Gorman, beaming impartially upon theassemblage. "Take Skinny Shindle. He----"
"Aw right, take me!" burst out the gentleman in question. "What aboutme! What----"
"Easy, easy," cautioned Tip O'Gorman, his smile a trifle fixed. "Iain't deaf in either ear, and besides ain't we all li'l friendstogether?"
"But you said----" Skinny tried again.
"I ain't said it yet," interrupted Tip, "but I'm going to--gimme achance. It won't hurt. It's only the truth. Take Skinny and look athim. He buys scrip at three times the discount anybody else does, andthere was a lot of talk about that beef contract the agent gave him."
"What of it? Folks don't have to bring scrip to me if they don'twanna, and suppose there was chatter about the contract. It's thegovernment's funeral."
"It came near being the agent's," slipped in Sam Larder, with areminiscent grin. "Some of them feather dusters like to chased him offthe reservation when they saw the kind of cattle he gave 'em. I saw'em. They were thinner than Skinny. No exaggeration. Absolutely."
"Well, that's all right, too," said Skinny. "A feller's got to makemoney somehow. Who ever heard of giving a Injun the best of it? Notin Crocker County, anyway."
"That's all right again, too," declared Tip. "But that last deal withthe agent was a li'l too raw. Taking that with your prices for scrip,Skinny, has made a heap of talk. You ain't a popular idol, Skinny, notby any means."
"Damn my popularity!" snarled the excellent Skinny. "I wanna besheriff."
"Like the baby wants the soap," said Tip. "Well, you'll never be happythen, because you'll never get it."
"Lookit here, Tip----"
"You lookit here, Skinny," swiftly interjected Rafe Tuckleton. "Isthis campaign your own private affair, or is it the party's?"
"The party's, I guess," Skinny reluctantly admitted. "But I want myshare of it."
"You can have your share without being sheriff," Rafe told him."You'll be taken care of, don't fret. This here's a case of united westand, divided we tumble. Suppose any li'l thing upsets our plans, andour ticket don't go through? What then? What happens? For one thingyou won't get the contract for furnishing the lumber for the new jailand town hall that's gonna be built next year. And for another, thatland deal you and I put through last month will be investigated. How'dwe like that, huh?"
"Rafe's right," said Tom Driver. "This is no time for taking anychances. It ain't a presidential year, and you can gamble there ain'tgonna be a thing to take folks' eyes off the county politics. We'veall gotta give up something for the sake of the party."
"I don't notice you givin' up anything," snapped the disgruntledSkinny. "I seem to be the only one that loses."
"And Jack Murray," supplemented Rafe Tuckleton. "Hell's bells, Skinny,why didn't you say something sooner? To-night's the first I ever heardyou even wanted an office. That's why I told Jack he could have it.He's a good man, but if I'd known----"
"What difference does that make?" interrupted Skinny, bitterly. "Youcouldn't give me the nomination anyway."
"You could have had another office--say county clerk."
"Wouldn't take it on a bet--not enough opportunity. Aw hell, it's adead horse! Let it go, Rafe. Tip, you've had a lot to say about me,now let's hear what you got against Jack Murray."
"Yep," said Rafe Tuckleton, "let's have it. I'll have to give Jacksome reason for going back on him, and I don't see exactly----" He didnot complete the sentence.
"Speaking personal," observed Tip, again on the broad grin, "I ain'tgot a thing against Jack. Him and me get along fine. But when Jackwas first deputy two years ago he managed to kill four men one time andanother."
"That was in the line of duty," said Rafe. "They all resisted arrest."
Tip O'Gorman nodded. "I ain't denying it. And we've got Jack's wordfor it besides; but the four men all had friends, and when, as youknow, each and every one of 'em turned out to be more or less innocent,why the friends got to talking round and saying Jack was too previous.Ain't you heard anything a-tall?"
"I've heard it said he was a _l
eetle_ quicker than he maybe needed tobe," conceded Rafe. "But folks always talk more or less about akilling. It didn't strike me there was enough in it to actually keepJack from being elected."
"There is. They're only talking now, but nominate Jack and they'llbegin to yell."
"You must have been mighty busy these last few weeks, Tip," sneeredSkinny.
"I have," declared Tip. "Seems like I've talked with every voter inthe county. I've gone over the whole field with a finetooth comb, andI tell you, gents, the bone for our dog is Bill Wingo. Most everybodylikes Bill. He's a damsight more popular than the oppositioncandidate. Bill will get a lot of the other feller's votes, but if weput up anybody else the other feller will get a lot of ours--and sowill the rest of his ticket."
Tip O'Gorman sat back in his chair and eyed his friends. It wasobvious that the friends were of two minds. Rafe Tuckleton, hisfingers drumming on the table, stared soberly at the floor.
"Are you sure, Tip," inquired Larder suddenly, "that Bill Wingo is thebreed of horse that will _always_ drink when you lead him to water?"
Tip O'Gorman nodded his guarantee of Mr. Wingo's pliability ofcharacter. "Bill is too easy-going and good-natured to do anythingelse."
"I'd always had an idea he was a good deal of a man," said Sam Larder.
"Oh, he'll stand the acid," Tip said. "He'll go after anybody hethinks he oughta go after; but if we can't manage to give him the rightkind of thoughts we're no good."
"You needn't start losing flesh, Sam," slipped in Tom Driver. "Billwould never go back on his friends. H's just a big overgrown kid,that's all."
Rafe Tuckleton leaned back in his chair and stared dubiously at TipO'Gorman. "All right for Bill, but how about Tom Walton?"
"I'll bite," Tip averred blandly. "How about him?"
"Nothing, oh, nothing a-tall. Only Tom Walton has been one too manyround here for a long time."
"He does talk too much," admitted Tom Driver, his bright little eyes,like those of an alert bird, fixed on Rafe Tuckleton.
"He's a very suspicious man," said the latter. "He like to broke SimonReelfoot's neck last week over a horse of his he said Simon rustled."
"Serve Simon right," said Tip promptly. "Simon's a polecat. Alwayswas. Felt like breaking his neck more than once myself. Good forWalton."
"But Simon's one of our crowd," Rafe reminded him, "and he's beenmighty useful. We gotta consider his feelings."
"Oh, damn his feelings. The old screw ain't got any right to feelings."
"Yes, but there wasn't any real actual proof about the horse--only sometracks in Simon's corral that Walton thought he recognized."
Tip quirked a quizzical mouth. "Between us, Rafe, what did Simon dowith the horse?"
"Sold him to a prospector who was leaving the country. So it couldn'tbe traced."
"Good horse was it?"
"It was that chestnut young Hazel rides."
"Hazel's own pony? Lord! Man alive, Simon is worse'n a polecat. He'sa whole family of them. Why couldn't he have rustled some other horse?"
"I ain't Simon, so I can't tell you," said Rafe dryly. "But if youdon't want anything done on Simon's account, how about this: yesterdayone of my boys was shot at while he happened to be doing a li'lbusiness on the Walton range."
"What did your boy happen to be doing?" smiled Tip.
Rafe attempted to excuse himself and his cowboy. "It was a long-ear."
"Branding it on the Walton range?"
"Yes."
"With its mammy?"
"Yes."
"Serve the boy right." Tip gave judgment. "You and your outfit aregetting too reckless for any use, Rafe. The territory is not aSunday-school. You can't pick a man's pocket openly any more. Itisn't safe. And you know it isn't safe. Who was the boy and what timeof day was it?"
"Ben Shanklin; and it was round noon."
"Worse and more of it. My Gawd, Rafe, you gimme a pain!"
Sam Larder shook a fat-cheeked head. "Dangerous, Rafe; dangerous.You've got to consider a man's feelings now more than you used to.Haven't you told your man to always work round sunrise and sunset, andnever to shoot a calf's mammy on her owner's territory?"
"Others do, and get away with it. Besides, he didn't shoot the cow."
"He might as well have shot her," declared Tom Driver. "He got caught,didn't he?"
"Ben didn't get caught. He made the riffle all right with two holes inhis saddle-horn and one in his cantle that tore his pants."
"What range? Did he say?"
"About fourteen hundred."
"Fourteen hundred, huh? Then he couldn't have been recognized."
"Luckily not."
"Luck is the word--for you--for us."
"Wonder who did the shooting?"
"I don't know. Ben dug out one of the bullets from his horn. It wasfifty caliber--a Sharps."
"That was Tom Walton himself," declared Tom Driver. "He's the only onein his outfit owning a Sharps, and he won't let any one else shoot it.'Twas Tom Walton. And don't be so positive Ben wasn't recognized,Rafe. I hear Walton carries field glasses now."
"He _is_ getting suspicious," smiled Tip O'Gorman.
The smile stung the amiable Rafe. "He's gotta be stopped."
"How?" Thus Tip.
"There are ways," snarled Rafe.
"Of course, but it doesn't pay to be too rough. Tom has a great manyfriends. We can't afford to stir up a whole kettleful of discontent.A little care, Rafe, is all that's necessary. I think I'd impress mymen, if I were you, with the absolute necessity of being careful."
"I did tell 'em," said Rafe sullenly.
"Your telling seems to have left them cold. At least it left BenShanklin. Damn his soul! I almost wish Tom Walton had got him, thecoyote! He deserves to be got, gorming up our plans thisaway."
"Well, everything turned out all right," Felix Craft tucked in hastily."So why worry? I'm sure Rafe's men will be more careful after this."
"I wish I was sure," grunted Tip O'Gorman. "They're a wild bunch,every last one of 'em. I believe they just try to stir up trouble.They're eternally getting drunk and shooting up saloons and otherplaces of business. People don't like it."
"Oh, boys will be boys," deprecated Rafe.
"Your boys will be dead boys if they don't watch out. Anyway, you putthe hobbles on that Ben boy, Rafe. We can't afford to have him spoilthings."
"How about having him spoil Walton?"
"And antagonize all of Walton's friends, huh? Bright, oh, very!"
"If the feller who spoiled Walton was a stranger, it would be allright. You couldn't connect an absolute stranger with us, could you?"
"Let's hear your li'l plan," said Tip O'Gorman.
Every man of them listened intently to the Tuckletonian plan.
As plans go it was a good plan. Procuring an assassin to do the dirtywork is always a good plan. Rafe knew a gunman, named Slike, in aneighboring territory. For two hundred and fifty dollars, according toRafe, Dan Slike would murder almost any one. For five hundred it wasany one, without the almost.
"Can he do it?" doubted Tom Driver.
"We all know how slow Tom Walton is on the draw," sneered Rafe. "Whichhe's slower than Sam Prescott. If Slike don't plug Walton three timesbefore he can draw, I'll eat my shirt."
"That sounds well," said Tip O'Gorman, eyeing Rafe with frank disgust."But, somehow, I don't like the idea of having Walton killed."
"Whatsa matter with you?" demanded the originator of the idea. "Losingyour nerve?"
Tip O'Gorman's expression did not alter in the slightest. He gazedupon his questioner as if the latter were a new and interestingspecimen of insect life.
"No," he said, "I don't think I'm losing my nerve. Do you think I'mlosing my nerve, Rafe?"
Rafe looked upon Tip. Tip looked upon Rafe. The others held theirrespective breaths. In the room was dead silence.
"Do you, Rafe?" persisted Tip, his voice velvety smooth.
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Rafe found his tongue. "No, I don't," he declared frankly. "But, Idon't see why you don't like my scheme."
"Don't you? I'll explain. Tom Walton's niece, Hazel, is the drawback.Rubbin' out Tom would most likely put a crimp in her, sort of. Shelost her ma and pa only five years ago."
"Aw, the devil!" exclaimed Rafe Tuckleton. "We can't stop to think ofall those li'l things. We're here to make money, no matter how. GoodGawd, Tip! We ain't----"
"Good Gawd, Rafe!" interrupted Tip. "We ain't hiring any gunman towipe out Tom Walton. I'm no he-angel--none of us are, I guess; butI've known Hazel since she was a li'l squaller, and I won't sit stilland see her hurt. And that _goes_!"
Tip nodded with finality at Rafe Tuckleton. Rafe sat back on themiddle of his spine and gnawed his lower lip. His eyes were sulky.
"I don't want to see Hazel hurt either," said Skinny Shindle with anindescribable leer, "but when it comes to a question of li'l Hazel orus, I'm for us every time."
"You look here, Skinny," said Tip O'Gorman in a low dispassionatevoice, "what I said to Rafe, I say to you: Hands off Tom Walton."
"Oh, all right," said Skinny Shindle, "but if anything happens out ofthis, don't say I didn't tell you."
"I won't say so, Skinny," Tip said good-naturedly. "I won't say aword."
"Gentlemen," Felix Craft put in hurriedly, "let's go slow about now.No use saying anything hasty, not a bit of use. Tip's right. None ofus want to hurt Hazel, and----"
"And we want to be damn sure we don't want to hurt Hazel," interruptedTip O'Gorman, his eyes fixed on Rafe Tuckleton's sullen face.
"'T'sall right, 't'sall right," said Rafe, forcing a smile. "Have ityour own way, Tip. Tom Walton's safe for all of me."
"Good enough," Tip said heartily, shooting at Rafe a glance that wasnot completely trustful.
Entered then Jack Murray, wearing a set smile across his scratchedface. He nodded to the assemblage, sat down jauntily on the edge ofthe table and brought out the makings.
"Well!" he said, his eyes on Rafe Tuckleton, rolling the while ameticulous cigarette. "Well, I suppose you've got the ticket all madeup."
"Just about," nodded Rafe.
"What prize did I draw?"
"A large, round goose-egg," Skinny Shindle answered for Rafe withmalice.
"Huh!" Thus Mr. Murray, the hand he had reached upward to his hatbandcoming down without the match. "You serious, Skinny?"
"I wish I thought I wasn't," was the reply.
Jack Murray turned a slow head back toward Rafe Tuckleton. "You toldme the sheriff's job was mine," he said bluntly.
"I thought it was," admitted Rafe, looking straight into his eyes."But we've heard some bad news, unexpected news. It seems you ain't aspopular with our citizens as you might be. We understand that you'reso little liked you wouldn't be elected in a million years."
"Who told you that?" Jack's tone was sharp.
"I did." Thus Tip O'Gorman in a tone no less sharp. "And I know whatI'm talking about, you can gamble on that."
"Tip's had his ear to the ground pretty steady," said Rafe Tuckleton."He knows what's on every voter's mind, and if we nominate you forsheriff it means the defeat of the party. Listen, and I'll explain thewhole thing."
Jack Murray listened in silence. When Rafe said his last word, JackMurray laid his unlighted cigarette across the end of his left indexfinger and teetered it slowly.
"Who you figurin' on running in my place," he drawled, his dark gaze onthe cigarette.
"Bill Wingo."
The teetering stopped. The cigarette slipped into the fork of twofingers. The man slid to his feet.
"Bill Wingo," he repeated. "Bill Wingo, huh? Well, this is asurprise."
Without another word he left the room, closing the door behind him verygently.
When he had gone Tip O'Gorman threw a whimsical glance at RafeTuckleton.
"I'd feel better if he'd slammed that door," said Tip O'Gorman.
The Rider of Golden Bar Page 2