by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SWAN TRAILS A COYOTE
At daybreak Swan was striding toward the place where Frank Johnson hadbeen found. Lone, his face moody, his eyes clouded with thought, rodebeside him, while Jack trotted loose-jointedly at Swan's heels. Swan hadhis rifle, and Lone's six-shooter showed now and then under his coatwhen the wind flipped back a corner. Neither had spoken since they leftthe ranch, where Jim was wandering dismally here and there, trying to dothe chores when his heart was heavy with a sense of personal loss andgrim foreboding. None save Brit had slept during the night--and Brit hadslept only because Lorraine had prudently given him a full dose of thesedative left by the doctor for that very purpose. Sorry had gone toEcho to send a telegram to the coroner, and he was likely to return nowat any time. Wherefore Swan and Lone were going to look over the groundbefore others had trampled out what evidence there might be in theshape of footprints.
They reached the spot where the team had stopped of its own accord incrossing a little, green meadow, and had gone to feeding. Lone pulled upand half turned in the saddle, looking at Swan questioningly.
"Is that dog of yours any good at trailing?" he asked abruptly. "I'vegot a theory that somebody was in that wagon with Frank, and drove on aways before he jumped out. I believe if you'd put that dog on thetrail----"
"If I put that dog on the trail he stays on the trail all day, maybe,"Swan averred with some pride. "By golly, he follows a coyote till hedrops."
"Well, it's a coyote we're after now," said Lone. "A sheep-killer thathas made his last killin'. Right here's where I rode up and caught theteam, last night. We better take a look along here for tracks."
Swan stared at him curiously, but he did not speak, and the two went onmore slowly, their glances roving here and there along the trail edge,looking for footprints. Once the dog Jack swung off the trail into thebrush, and Swan followed him while Lone stopped and awaited the result.Swan came back presently, with Jack sulking at his heels.
"Yack, he take up the trail of a coyote," Swan explained, "but it's gotthe four legs, and Yack, he don't understand me when I don't follow. Hethinks I'm crazy this morning."
"I reckon the team came on toward home after the fellow jumped out,"Lone observed. "He'd plan that way, seems to me. I know I would."
"I guess that's right. I don't have experience in killing somebody,"Swan returned blandly, and Lone was too preoccupied to wonder at theunaccustomed sarcasm.
A little farther along Swan swooped down upon a blue dotted handkerchiefof the kind which men find so useful where laundries are but a name.Again Lone stopped and bent to examine it as Swan spread it out in hishands. A few tiny grains of sandstone rattled out, and in the center wasa small blood spot. Swan looked up straight into Lone's dark, broodingeyes.
"By golly, Lone, you would do that, too, if you kill somebody," he beganin a new tone,--the tone which Lorraine had heard indistinctly in thebunk-house when Swan was talking to the doctor. "Do you think I'm adamn fool, just because I'm a Swede? You are smart--you think out everylittle thing. But you make a big mistake if you don't think some oneelse may be using his brain, too. This handkerchief I have seen you pullfrom your pocket too many times. And it had a rock in it last night, andthe blood shows that it was used to hit Frank behind the ear. You thinkit all out--but maybe I've been thinking too. Now you're under arrest.Just stay on your horse--he can't run faster than a bullet, and I don'tmiss coyotes when I shoot them on the run."
"The hell you say!" Lone stared at him. "Where's your authority, Swan?"
Swan lifted the rifle to a comfortable, firing position, the muzzlepointing straight at Lone's chest. With his left hand he turned back hiscoat and disclosed a badge pinned to the lining.
"I'm a United States Marshal, that's all; a government hunter," hestated. "I'm hot on the trail of coyotes--all kinds. Throw thatsix-shooter over there in the brush, will you?"
"I hate to get the barrel all sanded up," Lone objected mildly. "You canpack it, can't you?" He grinned a little as he handed out the gun,muzzle toward himself. "You're playing safe, Swan, but if that dog ofyours is any good, you'll have a change of heart pretty quick. Isn'tthat a man's track, just beside that flat rock? Put the dog on, whydon't you?"
"Yack is on already," Swan pointed out. "Ride ahead of me, Lone."
With a shrug of his shoulders Lone obeyed, following the dog as ittrotted through the brush on the trail of a man's footprints which Swanhad shown it. A man might have had some trouble in keeping to the trail,but Jack trotted easily along and never once seemed at fault. In a veryfew minutes he stopped in a rocky depression where a horse had beentied, and waited for Swan, wagging his tail and showing his teeth in apanting smile. The man he had trailed had mounted and ridden toward theridge to the west. Swan examined the tracks, and Lone sat on his horsewatching him.
Jack picked up the trail where the horseman had walked away toward theroad, and Swan followed him, motioning Lone to ride ahead.
"You could tell me about this, I think, but I can find out for myself,"he observed, glancing at Lone briefly.
"Sure, you can find out, if you use your eyes and do a littlethinking," Lone replied. "I hope you do lay the evidence on the rightdoorstep."
"I will," Swan promised, looking ahead to where Jack was nosing his waythrough the sagebrush.
They brought up at the edge of the road nearly a quarter of a milenearer Echo than the place where Frank's body had been found. They sawwhere the man had climbed into the wagon, and followed to where they hadfound Frank beside the road, lying just as he had pitched forward fromthe wagon seat.
"I think," said Swan quietly, "we will go now and find out where thathorse went last night."
"A good idea," Lone agreed. "Do you see how it was done, Swan? When hesaw the team coming, away back toward Echo, he rode down into that washand tied his horse. He was walking when Frank overtook him, Ireckon--maybe claiming his horse had broke away from him. He had a rockin his handkerchief. Frank stopped and gave him a lift, and he used therock first chance he got. Then I reckon he stuck the whisky bottle inFrank's pocket and heaved him out. He dropped the handkerchief out ofhis hip pocket when he jumped out of the rig. It's right simple, and iffolks didn't get to wondering about it, it'd be safe as any killing canbe. As safe," he added meaningly, "as dragging Fred Thurman, orunhooking Brit's chain-lock before he started down the canyon with hisload of posts."
Swan did not answer, but turned back to where the horse had been lefttied and took up the trail from there. As before, the dog trotted along,Lone riding close behind him and Swan striding after. They did notreally need the dog, for the hoofprints were easily followed for thegreater part of the way.
They had gone perhaps four miles when Lone turned, resting a hand on thecantle of his saddle while he looked back at Swan. "You see where he washeaded for, don't yuh, Swan?" he asked, his tone as friendly as thoughhe was not under arrest as a murderer. "If he didn't go to Whisper, I'lleat my hat."
"You're the man to know," Swan retorted grimly. And then, because Lone'shorse had slowed in a long climb over a ridge, he came up even with astirrup. "Lone, I hate to do it. I'd like you, if you don't kill for aliving. But for that I could shoot you quick as a coyote. You'resmart--but not smart enough. You gave yourself away when I showed youFred's saddle. After that I knew who was the Sawtooth killer that I camehere to find."
"You thought you knew," Lone corrected calmly.
"You don't have to lie," Swan informed him bluntly. "You don't have totell anything. I find out for myself if I make mistake."
"Go to it," Lone advised him coldly. "It don't make a darn bit ofdifference to me whether I ride in front of you or behind. I'm so gladyou're here on the job, Swan, that I'm plumb willing to be tied hand andfoot if it'll help you any."
"When a man's too damn willing to be my prisoner," Swan observedseriously, "he gets tied, all right. Put out your hands, Lone. You lookgood to me with bracelets on, when you talk so willing to go to jail formurder."
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br /> He had slipped the rifle butt to the ground, and before Lone quiterealized what he was doing Swan had a short, wicked-looking automaticpistol in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other. Lone flushed,but there was nothing to do but hold out his hands.