Sawtooth Ranch Page 15

  CHAPTER XV

  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. Swanhad his rifle, and Lone's six-shooter showed now and then under hiscoat when the wind flipped back a corner. Neither had spoken sincethey left the ranch, where Jim was wandering dismally here and there,trying to do the chores when his heart was heavy with a sense ofpersonal loss and grim foreboding. None save Brit had slept during thenight--and Brit had slept only because Lorraine had prudently given hima full dose of the sedative left by the doctor for that very purpose.Sorry had gone to Echo to send a telegram to the coroner, and he waslikely to return now at any time. Wherefore Swan and Lone were goingto look over the ground before others had trampled out what evidencethere might be in the shape 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 pulledup and 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.He thinks 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 dottedhandkerchief of the kind which men find so useful where laundries arebut a name. Again Lone stopped and bent to examine it as Swan spreadit out in his hands. A few tiny grains of sandstone rattled out, andin the centre was a small blood spot. Swan looked up straight intoLone's dark, brooding eyes.

  "By golly, Lone, you would do that, too, if you kill somebody," hebegan in a new tone,--the tone which Lorraine had heard indistinctly inthe bunkhouse 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 outevery little thing. But you make a big mistake if you don't think someone else may be using his brain, too. This handkerchief I have seenyou pull from your pocket too many times. And it had a rock in it lastnight, and the blood shows that it was used to hit Frank behind theear. You think it all out--but maybe I've been thinking too. Nowyou're under arrest. Just stay on your horse--he can't run faster thana bullet, and I don't miss 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 backhis coat 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. "Youcan pack 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 thetrail, but Jack trotted easily along and never once seemed at fault.In a very few minutes he stopped in a rocky depression where a horsehad been tied, and waited for Swan, wagging his tail and showing histeeth in a panting smile. The man he had trailed had mounted andridden toward the ridge to the west. Swan examined the tracks, andLone sat on his horse watching 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 theyhad found Frank beside the road, lying just as he had pitched forwardfrom the 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? Whenhe saw the team coming, away back toward Echo, he rode down into thatwash and tied his horse. He was walking when Frank overtook him, Ireckon--maybe claiming his horse had broke away from him. He had arock in his handkerchief. Frank stopped and gave him a lift, and heused the rock first chance he got. Then I reckon he stuck the whiskybottle in Frank's pocket and heaved him out. He dropped thehandkerchief out of his hip pocket when he jumped out of the rig. It'sright simple, and if folks didn't get to wondering about it, it'd besafe as any killing can be. As safe," he added meaningly, "as draggingFred Thurman, or unhooking Brit's chain-lock before he started down thecanyon with his load 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 trottedalong, Lone riding close behind him and Swan striding after. They didnot really need the dog, for the hoofprints were easily followed forthe greater part of the way.

  They had gone perhaps four miles when Lone turned, resting a hand onthe cantle of his saddle while he looked back at Swan. "You see wherehe was headed for, don't yuh, Swan?" he asked, his tone as friendly asthough he was not under arrest as a murderer. "If he didn't go toWhisper, I'll eat my hat."

  "You're the man to know," Swan retorted grimly. And then, becauseLone's horse had slowed in a long climb over a ridge, he came up evenwith a stirrup. "Lone, I hate to do it. I'd like you, if you don'tkill for a living. But for that I could shoot you quick as a coyote.You're smart--but not smart enough. You gave yourself away when Ishowed you Fred's saddle. After that I knew who was the Sawtoothkiller that I came here to find."

  "You thought you knew," Lone corrected calmly.

  "You don't have to lie," Swan informed mm 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 handand foot 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. Youlook good to me with bracelets o
n, when you talk so willing to go tojail for murder."

  He had slipped the rifle butt to the ground, and before Lone quiterealised 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.