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Page 34
Their transport presently arriving, they proceeded on their way to Cow
Run, Yorke and Redmond watching carefully for any tracks debouching from
the main trail. Occasionally they dismounted to verify the incriminating
hoof-prints which still continued eastward. In this fashion they finally
drew to the level of the river, where the trail forked; one arm of it
following more or less the winding course of the Bow River back westward.
At this junction they searched narrowly until they found unmistakable
indication of the blood-tinged tracks still heading in the direction of
Cow Run.
"What was that case of yours, Yorkey?" enquired Redmond. "You know--what
Slavin was talking about?"
"Mix-up over that horse," replied Yorke laconically, "disputed ownership.
A chap named Moran tried to run a bluff over Larry that he'd lost the
horse as a colt. They got to scrapping and I ran 'em both up before
Gully, the J. P. here. Moran got fined twenty dollars and costs for
assaulting Blake. Say! look at that sky! Isn't it great?"
They turned in their saddles and looked westward. Clean-cut against a
pale yellow-ochre background and enveloped in a deep purple bloom, the
mighty peaks of the distant "Rockies" upreared their eternal snow-capped
glory in a salute to departing day. Above, where the opaline-tinted
horizon shaded imperceptibly into the deep ultramarine of evening, lay
glowing streamers of vivid crimson cloud-bank edged with the gleaming
gold of the sunset's after-glow.
It was a soul-filling sight. Against it the sordid contrast of the
sinister business in hand smote them like a blow from an unseen hand, as
they resumed their monotonous scanning of the trail on its either side.
Yorke presently voiced the impression in both their hearts. "My God'" he
murmured "the bitter irony of it! 'Peace on Earth, goodwill towards
men' . . . and this!--what?"
CHAPTER VII
_Oh! Bad Bill Brough, a way-back tough
Raised hell when he struck town;
With gun-in-fist met Sergeant Twist--
It sure was some show-down_.
BALLAD OF SERGEANT TWIST
Cow Run was reached in the gathering dusk. Seen under winter conditions
the drab little town looked dreary and uninviting enough as the party
negotiated its main street. A frame-built hotel, a livery-stable, a
small church, a school-house, a line of false-fronted stores, and some
three-score dwellings failed to arouse in George an enthusiastic desire
to become a permanent resident of Cow Run.
The corpse they deposited temporarily in an empty shack situated in the
rear of the doctor's residence. From long usage this place had come to
be accepted as the common morgue of the district. After arranging
details with the coroner anent the morrow's inquest, and carefully
searching the dead man, the sergeant and his two subordinates repaired to
the livery-stable to put up their horses.
Nicholas Lee, the keeper of this establishment greeted them with wheezy
cordiality, apportioned to them stable-room and guaranteed especial care
of their horses. In appearance that worthy would have made a passable
understudy for the elder Weller, being red-faced, generous of girth and
short of breath. In addition to his regular calling he filled--or was
supposed to fill--the office of "town constable" and pound-keeper. A
sort of village "Dogberry." Incidentally it might be mentioned that he
also could have laid claim to be a "wictim of circumstances"; having but
recently contracted much the same sort of hymeneal bargain as did the
Dickensian character. The sympathy of Cow Run, individually and
collectively, was extended to him on this account.
From his somewhat garrulous recital of the day's events it was
satisfactorily evident to his hearers that wind of the murder had not
struck Cow Run as yet. For obvious reasons Slavin had enjoined strict
secrecy upon Lanky Jones, Lee's stable-hand.
"Ar!" wheezed Lee. "It's a good job yu' fellers is come. That ther
'Windy Moran's' bin raisin' hell over in the hotel th' las' two days. He
got to fightin' ag'in las' night with Larry Blake--over that hawss. Bob
Ingalls an' Chuck Reed an' th' bunch dragged 'em apart an' tol' Larry to
beat it back to his ranch--which he did. Windy--they got him to bed, an'
kep' him ther all night, as he swore he'd shoot Larry. He's still over
ther, nasty-drunk an' shootin' off what he's goin' t' do."
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