Part 39 (1/2)

Totally unarmed, Hiram grinned and slowly elevated his hands.

Watching him closely, Drummond and Pete dismounted, and, still keeping their sixes trained on Hiram's stomach, approached him.

”Well, Hooker,” Drummond said sneeringly, ”we meet again, don't we?

You see, we've showed our hand at last--and it's a pretty good one, too. You're onto us, anyway, I guess, so from now on we'll fight in the open. Did you get the sheepskin?”

Hiram reverted to his provincial drawl, as was his habit in moments of great stress.

”No, she got plumb away from me,” he said. ”She got outa the whirlwind back there somewheres, or else she's gone on with what's left o' the twister.”

”I was afraid you wasn't going to say that, Hooker,” Drummond said.

”Well, let me show you something. Do you recognize this gat?”

Hiram looked uneasily at a third big six-shooter, which Drummond had produced as he spoke.

”I reckon she was mine a while back,” he said with a gulp.

”Exactly. And what you left it to hold down, Hooker, has gone up in smoke.”

”You got---- You burned----”

”Got and burned is right, Hooker. But I don't just like your tone. If you were on the stage, Brother Hiram, I think you'd get the hook.

'Hook Hooker!' the audience might yell. Don't you think I'm funny at times, Gentle Wild Cat? It's just my pleasant little way of informing you that I consider you a poor actor. 'You got--you burned' was pretty fair, Hi-ram, but not quite good enough. So we're going to search you and make sure you didn't get the sheepskin out of the whirlwind.”

”I didn't get it,” Hiram said sulkily. ”She's gone forever.”

”She is in any event, Hooker. But we have a copy at Ragtown--don't forget that. Now let go these reins and step over here. And be mighty careful, Hi-ram--mighty careful. My friend here is a nervous man with a six-gun.”

Obediently Hiram dropped the mare's reins and stepped away from her head. Drummond laid the two revolvers at some distance away from them on the ground, so that, while he was searching Hiram, the latter would have no opportunity to grab one from him and turn the tables.

”Keep 'em up,” he ordered; and, while Pete trained his gun on Hiram, Drummond searched his prisoner from head to foot.

”Guess you told the truth,” he said. ”Still, a fellow never can tell.

You're a pretty foxy guy at times. Strip, Hooker.

”I guess you did tell the truth,” Drummond said a few minutes later after a thorough search had been made. ”Still I'm not through yet.

You saw us coming and had time to hide it, if you found it.”

He stepped to the mare and went over her saddle, even turning the cheek straps of the bridle inside out, and pawing through her heavy mane and tail. He looked and felt in her ears. He held her nostrils with his fingers until she jerked up her head and snorted out a blast of held-in air.

”Guess that would have shot out any paper in her nostrils,” he remarked.

”They say this Jo's a hoss trainer,” suggested Pete. ”Maybe the mare's a trick hoss. Look in her mouth Drummond.”

Drummond did this, but found it empty. He studied a minute, his eyes closed thoughtfully, then threw off the saddle and examined the sheepskin lining, _tapaderos_, jockeys, skirts.

Now for fifteen minutes he walked about over the ground. It was hard and firm here--almost as smooth as the surface of a dry lake, with no loose sand in which the paper might be concealed and little desert growth.