The Skyland Post

The
FEUD
at
SINGLE
SHOT
AUTOCASTER
By Luke Short

EIGHTEENTH INSTALLMENT

A voice from the circle of men addressed Laredo and he recognized it as that of Petersen, one of the nesters.

"Do you mean Rourke, over on the D Bar T, Laredo?"

"That's who I mean," Laredo said softly.

"Why, you—" Petersen began.

"Cut it, Petersen." Laredo said sharply. "He's mine."

The killer's eyes slid wildly over the line of hostile faces as he cringed alone on the sidewalk.

Then he streaked for his guns, terror written on his face.

Laredo whipped a Colt that had been wedged at his back around his side in a tight, swift arc that lanced out its five shots in one roaring pencil of orange.

The killer's knees buckled slowly and he pitched forward on his face.

Laredo spat noisily and looked around the crowd, his gun trailing a wisp of acrid smoke up into the night. "Any one else want to buy in on this fight?"

"Ain't nobody but me goin' to buy in on it." a flat, uncompromising voice announced. Through the circle the sheriff shoved his way. He looked at the figure sprawled in a pool on the sidewalk.

"Anybody know him?" he asked instead.

"Name's 'Chinch' somethin'." a man in the crowd said. "Rode for Sayres."

The sheriff nodded. "A coupla you men take him across to Murph's."

The hardware store was also the undertaking parlor. Two men volunteered. The sheriff turned to Laredo.

"Come on over to the office. I got to talk to you."

Petersen, the nester, and Chuck fell in behind Laredo and the sheriff. They went over to the sheriff's office.

Inside, they found the lamp lit. Rosy and Dave were seated watching the door.

"Well. I'll be damned!" the sheriff said ominously. "I got Crowell in jail and I ain't said why we really want him. Now you tell me."

Briefly and bluntly Rosy told them what he had overheard Crowell say to Winters at the D Bar T. Dave had heard it all on the way to town. Then Dave told them about his capture by Sayres and what he had heard Sayres say about the boss. He finished with the fight with the outlaws and his escape with Dorsey Hammond.

Laredo explained his killing of Chinch and the reasons.

"What I can't figure out in the whole thing," Rosy said, presently, "is what it's all about. Why do they want the ranch and the mine?"

"I reckon I can tell you," Laredo said.

"You tell 'em, Chuck."

"Gold." Chuck said. "Plenty."

And then Laredo told him of his discovery of Winters' working the gold, and how he had brought Chuck up to make positive.

"You mean," Dave said slowly, when Laredo had finished, "that Ted Winters was tryin' to get the place out from under his own wife?"

"It looks that way," Laredo said softly.

"There's just one thing left to do, now," Rosy announced quietly.

"We got to turn Crowell loose and let him lead us to the boss."

Rosy gave instructions. Laredo was to go get Hammond to act as if he were ignorant of the man behind his daughter's kidnaping when and if Crowell came to try and buy the mine. Then Laredo was to go back to the hotel, and keep a check on Crowell if he went there. Rosy gave Petersen a minute description of Crowell, then gave the nester some money with the injunction to watch the station and if Crowell boarded the night train to follow him and wire back for help.

The sheriff was to go let Crowell out of jail with apologies. Dave and Rosy were going to follow Crowell and not let him out of their sight.

The San Angel County Courthouse was a sorry affair of board and adobe brick.

Across from it on the top bar of a corral, Dave and Rosy lounged. In silence they were watching the dimly lighted rectangle which was the jail door.

When the sheriff's fat figure appeared in the doorway, followed by a small and slim one, they crossed the street and fell in behind the sheriff some thirty yards away. The night was inky.

"But man," they heard the sheriff say, "give us a chanst. You looked like Henry. The only way we could prove it was to wire El Paso and that's what we done. They said Henry was caught and already hung."

"If I ever see that little runt again that brought me over to your office, I'll break his neck for him." Crowell stormed.

"I wouldn't," the sheriff advised quietly.

Crowell crossed to the Mile High corner and disappeared.

Rosy and Dave saw him enter the hotel. In three minutes, he was on the street again, where he cut across and headed down the side street.

Rosy and Dave saw his shadowy figure turn into Fullerton's.

Crowell's visit to Hammond was short. When he came out of the doctor's house he walked swiftly toward the hotel.

He came out of the hotel, a piece of luggage in his hand.

Rosy whistled softly as they drew back in the shadows. "So that was his hurry? Only ten minutes to catch a train."

Rosy led the way around the rear of the short train. On the other side of the tracks, they kept in shadow again, and walked a few hundred feet past the panting engine until they came to the stock pens.

Rosy faded away in the shadow. When the engine bell started to clang, he was again squatting with Dave. Slowly the train lumbered out of the station, abreast of them and passed them.

Then Rosy chuckled and settled back on his heels. Something hit the cinders ahead of them and slid harshly a distance. It was a piece of luggage. Then the dark figure of a man could be seen as he swung down from the car.

They listened and soon heard the footsteps behind them to the rear of the pen. Rosy edged his head around the corner and saw it was Crowell.

Using piles of ties, tool sheds and a horse trough as shelter, Crowell swung wide of the station, walked beyond it a way, then crossed the tracks into the alley which ran behind the buildings of the main street.

In the alley, with the dim light of the town at the upper end, they followed him easily.

Suddenly Crowell swerved out of the alley, climbed over a small, neat hedge, moved around to the front of a house, mounted and knocked on the door. Evidently a voice bid him enter, for he disappeared.

Dave's amazed eyes sought Rosy's in the dark.

"Know it?" Rosy asked.

"God, yes!" Dave said huskily.

"That's Pearson's!"

"Here's the dehornin'," muttered. "Come on."

They vaulted the hedge and stepped on the porch cautiously. Testing the door, Rosy found it unlocked.

He drew a gun, as did Dave, and swung against the door. It opened readily, letting them into a low ceiled, half-darkened room.

Sprawled in an easy chair on the other side of the wide fireplace, at the far end of the room, sat Quinn. One of his guns pointed at the two men. Pearson and Crowell, seated together on a davenport. Both men were holding their hands over their heads.

"Quinn!" Rosy exploded.

"Howdy," Quinn drawled.

"Pearson seems to think I shouldn't have come here tonight."

Rosy was the first to find himself and he chuckled. "Reckon he'd like to tell Buck Hammond that?"

"I don't intend to tell Buck Hammond anything!" Pearson snapped. His face was stern and unyielding.

Quinn drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and handed them to Rosy.

Pearson and Crowell, protesting, were handcuffed together.

"Reckon you and Quinn can take them over to Doc Fullerton's?" Rosy asked Dave.

"I'm goin' to get the sheriff. We'll make this legal, anyhow."

It was a grim and silent group that collected on the sun-porch of Dr. Fullerton's at Rosy's behest. He had gone to the hotel to waken Mary, and had been told by the clerk that Winters was found dead in a hotel room.

The clerk had informed the sheriff, who immediately started a search for Quinn.

"Did you tell Mrs. Winters?" Rosy asked swiftly.

"Sure. He's her husband, ain't he?"

Rosy had no desire to face her now, so he had sent a note to her room with the clerk, asking her to come to Hammond's. Then he picked up Laredo, Chuck and the sheriff, and they went back to Hammond's.

Mary was there ahead of them. Dave's face was strangely calm.

Pearson and Crowell were sitting side by side on an empty bed.

Dorsey was sitting on the far side of Hammond's bed.

Quinn was seated in the corner near the door. Hank eyed him suspiciously and Quinn changed his seat, a smile of inner amusement on his face.

The sheriff started in without preliminaries. "Pearson, we've got all the goods on you," he announced.

"I haven't any idea what you're talking about," Pearson replied.

"Wait a minute." Rosy put in.

He lunged off one of the beds and sat on the foot of Hammond's across from Pearson and Crowell.

Rosy built a cigarette, lighted it, and inhaled deeply.

"Matter of fact, Pearson," he drawled at last, "we haven't got a thing on you."

"Then let me go," Pearson said coldly.

"What connection have you got with Crowell?" Rosy asked mildly.

"Banking business," Pearson said.

"The kind that would make Crowell get on a train in front of five or six men to make it look like he was leavin' town and then jump off as soon as he was out of the station?"

Pearson was unruffled. "What Mr. Crowell does is no business of mine. We had an engagement tonight. He kept it. That's all I know." His voice rose. "I'm insisting that you free me!"

Rosy laughed. "What makes you think we have to?"

"Because I'm innocent of any crime. The law requires it!"

Rosy leaned forward a little, his face unsmiling. "Forget you have any rights under the law, Pearson.

"You see," Rosy continued softly, "he knows you're behind this bushwhackin' and dynamitin' and stealin' the same as we do. Only he don't have what they call the 'judicial temperament'. Maybe you've wondered what's happened to Sayre."

Neither of them answered, but they looked at Rosy closely.

(Continued Next Week)