CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE HUNCH
The time was an evening in the first week in May; the place was theArkansas Saloon in Willow Bend, Redstone County, the man was BillyWingo, wearing a sevenweeks' beard and an air of preoccupation. He wasdraped against the bar, making rings on the bar top with the wet bottomof his whisky glass.
The weather was unseasonably warm, and the big double-burner reflectorlamps in the saloon raised the bar-room temperature at least fifteendegrees. Billy felt the salty moisture running down into his eyes. Hepushed back his hat and with a fillip of his fingers slatted off theperspiration.
He did not see a man at the other end of the bar look up at his suddenmovement. Nor, when he departed after his second glass, did he knowthat the other man was following until he had passed out into thestreet. Then, with that sixth sense men who carry their lives in theirholsters so frequently develop, he knew it. Hence, quite naturally,instead of going directly to the hotel hitching-rail where his horsewas tied, he sauntered with apparent aimlessness round the corner ofthe saloon, along the blank side wall and round the next corner.
In the darkness behind this corner, gun in hand, he waited. The otherman slid round the corner in his wake and ran plump into the muzzle ofthe Wingo six-shooter.
"Were you looking for me?" Bill asked in a low tone.
The man, having shown that he was no shorthorn by promptly throwing uphis hands, laughed low. "I was looking for you," he said, stillchuckling, "but not the way you mean."
"Your voice sounds familiar," said the sceptical Billy. "Suppose youstep over here into the light from this window. Keep your hands up."
"Glad to--both ways," agreed the man, obeying instantly. "Satisfiednow?"
"You can put 'em down," said Billy sliding his gun back into theholster as soon as the light fell on the man's face. "I thought youwent up to Jacksboro to visit your uncle."
"I did," said John Dawson. "But I thought I'd drift back for the CrossT round-up. On my way south I stopped at Golden Bar."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I was looking for a gent name of Tuckleton. I saw where he wasburied."
"I guess you heard something while you were there, huh?"
"I heard something in Jacksboro, too. That's why I followed you.Let's go where we can talk private."
On a log, in the darkness, behind the dance hall, they sat down to talk"private."
"What did you hear in Jacksboro?" Billy asked.
"I heard a posse talk--six men. I met 'em over on Coldstream Creekthree-four times."
Billy uttered a light laugh. "I figured it would be that way."
"They seemed to think you'd oughta been camping on Coldstream."
"What kind of a warrant did they have?"
"All kinds. Two murders and a stage hold up."
"Was one of 'em on account of Tuckleton?"
"Yep. I didn't know whether to hold it against you or not."
"You needn't. It wasn't me."
Dawson grinned his appreciation. "I'm glad. If you had it would havealways been between us. I had figured on playing even-Steven withTuckleton myself."
"I'm looking for the man who killed him. If I don't find him I needn'tgo back to Golden Bar."
"I heard you'd been suspended from office," said Dawson bluntly.
"I hadn't heard it yet, but I expected it. Anybody else appointed?"
"Shotgun Shillman, pro tem."
"I almost wish it was somebody else," he said whimsically. "Shotgun isa friend of mine, and energetic as a bear with a bee tree. He'll maybedump me before I do what I want."
"If he's a friend of yours----" hinted Dawson.
"He'd arrest his own brother, if there was a warrant issued againsthim. He's that kind."
"A conscience is a heavy load to pack," said the cynical Dawson. "Me,I believe the end justifies the means. It don't matter much what trailyou follow, so you get there. Can I help you any?"
"How?"
"I dunno--any old way. You did me one good turn, and I'm notforgetting it. Anything I got you can have any time anywhere."
"Now, that's right clever of you," said Billy, somewhat embarrassed atthe other's gratitude. "But I don't guess you can help me any."
"Try me," urged Dawson.
"The man who killed Tuckleton is a man named Dan Slike, who broke outof jail just before he was going to be tried for another murder. Theonly way you can help me is by telling me where he is, and I expect youcan't do that."
"Not right off the reel," admitted Dawson. "Ain't you picked up anytrail of this sport?"
"I've cut his trail five different places, Bow Bells, Gunsight,Dragoon, Shadyside, and the Rafter L. I figured he'd come here afterleavin' the Rafter L--it's only thirty miles. But I guess he didn't.Leastwise nobody seems to have noticed anybody of his description."
"You haven't described him to me yet," pointed out Dawson.
Billy began. "--and maybe a black beard by now," he concluded.
"Bow Bells, Gunsight, Dragoon, Shadyside and the Rafter L," repeatedDawson, rasping a hand across his stubbly chin.
"South, y'understand, till he reached Shadyside, and then he headednortheast to the Rafter L. What I'd like to know is what made himchange direction thataway?"
"He ain't in any hurry to leave the territory, that's a cinch."
"Not after he left Shadyside, anyway."
"Something happened there to head him."
"Sure. But whatever it was it wasn't visible to the naked eye. RafterL, the same way. He stopped there for dinner and rode away withoutspending the night."
"He may have gone to Marquis."
Billy nodded. "He may. But Marquis is more north than east. That'swhy I came here first. Anyway, to-morrow morning I'm riding toMarquis, and if he ain't there I'll sift through the country betweenMarquis and Dorothy. There are several ranches in between those twotowns."
"I'll go with you," announced Dawson.
Billy surveyed his neighbor in surprise. "You. What for?"
"For him--exercise--any old thing you like, that is, if it ain't aprivate party."
"You can sit in if you want to," said Billy slowly, more glad to acceptan ally than he cared to admit. "But you've got a job."
"The job can wait. Round up's over, so it won't hurt the ranch to losemy valuable services for a spell. To-morrow we go to Marquis, huh?"
By mid-afternoon the following day Billy Wingo was riding into Marquisfrom one direction and Dawson was riding in from another. As apparentstrangers they believed they could do better work. Before six o'clockBilly had judiciously canvassed every saloon in the place and hadlearned absolutely nothing. Either Slike had not entered Marquis, orelse he was wearing a disguise. In the twilight, in the brush beyondthe far-flung skirmishline of empty tin cans and bottles that surroundsevery cow-country town, he met his friend Dawson. The latter hadworked the stores and the dance hall, but he had nothing to report.The following day Billy journeyed by the one road to Dorothy, whileDawson traveled by a more circuitous route that would take him past tworanch houses where there might be information to be picked up. BillyWingo, without pushing his horse, reached Dorothy too late for theregular dinner at the hotel. Adjoining the Carnation Saloon was atwo-by-four restaurant. He entered the place, sat down at theoilcloth-covered table and gave his order to the good-looking youngwoman who was evidently cook, hasher and washer combined.
In one corner of the restaurant an eight-year-old girl was squatting onthe floor and bathing two wooden dollies in a tin wash-basin. A smalldog waggled in from the street, sniffed respectfully at Billy's boots,then hunted along a crack in the floor with his nose till he camewithin reach of the eight-year-old, who promptly seized him by hisshort tail and dragged him, ki-yiing his protests, to her bosom.
"You need a bath," said the eight-year-old. "I'll wash you."
Gripping her victim firmly by one ear and his tail she plumped himsplash into the washbasin. To the dog's
eternal credit he made noattempt to bite her, but he wriggled and squirmed and threw his bodyabout, and ever he lamented loudly.
The good-looking young woman poked her head in from the kitchen."Winnie, you leave Towler be. You know he doesn't like to be teased.Why don't you go on giving Emmaline and Sally Jane their baths. There!Now, see what's happened--basin upset and water all over the floor.That's the third time to-day I've had to mop up after you."
Little Winnie was a damsel of parts. "I'm sorry, auntie. I'll mop up.Towler, you git."
Towler got. Winnie began to sop up the water with a floor rag whichshe wrung out in the washbasin.
"I'll finish giving you your bath, Sally Jane, soon as I get freshwater. Emmaline is nice and clean, but you're a dirty, dirty girl,Sally Jane."
Sally Jane! There it was again. Merely a coincidence, of course, butit was odd to run across this combination of proper names. Billy beganto take more than a passing interest in the eight-year-old.
The little girl resumed her animated monologue. "I tell you what,Sally Jane, if you don't keep yourself cleaner, I'm gonna go back tocalling you Maria again."
Then it was that the hunch came to Billy Wingo.
"Winnie," he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees andwearing his most engaging smile, "Winnie, that Sally Jane dolly is sureone fine-looking lady."
Winnie regarded him with an indulgent eye. "She's my favorite, SallyJane is."
"Sally Jane is a pretty name too."
"I like it."
"You haven't always called her Sally Jane, have you?"
"Not always. I used to call her Mariar. My auntie says Mariar soundslike a cat talking, but I liked it till I heard Sally Jane, then Iliked Sally Jane best."
"And when did you hear the name Sally Jane?"
"Long, long ago."
"Oh!" Disappointment on the part of Billy Wingo. Farewell, hunch.Nevertheless he essayed a forlorn hope. "How long?"
"Most a week."
Most a week! Billy had forgotten that child-time runs faster thangrown-up time. The hunch pricked up its little ears and began toreturn. "Where did you hear that name?"
"Man in the Carnation. He was drunk, and he went round talking to Godin the saloon. I heard him through the window. Lots of men do that.My Auntie says they'll frizzle when they die."
"They ought to," pronounced the righteously indignant Bill. "Did thisman say anything, about Sally Jane?"
"Lots."
"In the saloon?"
"At the woodpile out back. I was making a li'l doll-house behind it,and he came and lay down beside the woodpile to sleep it off."
Oh, the wisdom of the frontier child.
"Weren't you afraid?" probed Billy.
"Nah. Why, you needn't ever be afraid of a drunk man. They can't hurtyou if you keep out of their way. I've seen lots of drunk men, I have,in my time."
Billy was somewhat overwhelmed. "That's fine," he said lamely. "Didyou run away when the drunk man came out to the woodpile to sleep itoff?"
"Nah. Ain't I said I ain't scared of drunks? I didn't run away. Istayed right there on the other side of the woodpile listening to thedrunk man."
"I thought you said he went to sleep."
"He talked in his sleep," patiently explained the amazing Winnie.
"What did he say?"
"Lots."
"Did he say anything about Sally Jane?"
"He said he loved her."
"Anything else?"
"He said he was gonna marry Sally Jane, by Gawd, and nobody else wasgonna do it but him."
"Did he talk about any men?"
"He talked about Bill."
"Bill who?"
"Bill Wingo."
"Now, we're gettin' there. Did he say anything particular about BillWingo?"
"He said he was gonna shoot him."
"What for?"
"For being sheriff, or something. I don't remember that exactly."
"You've remembered enough. What kind of a looking man was this drunk?"
"Oh, he was an old, old man."
"Old, huh? How old?"
"Oh, about your age."
Billy began to feel like Methuselah. "What did he look like in theface?"
The winsome Winnie looked at him critically. "Something like you inthe face. Sort of scrubby-looking and dirty--except maybe his whiskerswasn't so long as yours."
"What color were the whiskers?"
"Oh, black."
"Was his hair black?"
"Yop, his hair was black."
"Was he a li'l, short, runty feller?"
"Nope, he was a big, tall feller, skinny sort of."
"Did you hear his name?"
"His friend called him Damn-your-soul sometimes and Jack sometimes."
So Jack Murray had gathered unto himself a friend. This wasinteresting, especially as Jack was apparently still cherishing plansfor revenge. If Jack and the anonymous friend were in the vicinity ofDorothy, it behooved a man in Billy's position to look to himself.
Billy had no illusions about Jack Murray. The man was perfectlycapable of making another try at him from ambush. He did not believethat Jack would "snitch." Such procedure would indubitably attract toomuch public attention to Jack. He couldn't afford that. Not withthree thousand dollars on his head.
"Is the drunk with the black hair and whiskers around town?" he asked.
"They ate dinner here yesterday."
"They--oh, he and his friend?"
"Yep, him and his friend."
Billy got up and went to the door of the kitchen. "Excuse me, ma'am,do you remember a tall, black-haired feller and a friend with him whoate in here yesterday noon?"
Oh, yes, the good-looking girl remembered perfectly both men. Billythought that it would be as well to have a description of the friend.Would she describe him. She would and did. The description was thatof Slike, Slike with a short beard. The man's eyes, she said, seemedto bore right through her. They gave her the creeps.
Billy believed he had heard enough for the time being.
After dinner Billy went up and down Main Street, scraping acquaintancewith storekeepers, saloon keepers, the hotel proprietor and the townmarshall. By five o'clock he had established the fact that two ranchesof the neighborhood, the TU and the Horseshoe were at loggerheads, andthat the Horseshoe was hiring gunfighters; that the black-haired mancalled Jack and his friend, whose name no one knew, had been engaged inconversation with the Horseshoe foreman; that the following day theyhad told a bartender that they had offers of good jobs at one hundred amonth apiece; and that finally, a wolfer had met them on the rangeriding in the direction of the Horseshoe ranch.
That night Billy and Dawson disappeared from Dorothy.
The Rider of Golden Bar Page 22