The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 58

Pete slowly wrote his name, thinking of The Spider and Pop Annersley as he did so. Hodges took the draft, pressed a b.u.t.ton, and a clerk appeared, took the draft, and presently returned with the money in gold and bank-notes of large denomination.

When he had gone out, Hodges turned to Pete. "What are you going to do with it? It's none of my business--now. But Jim and I were friends--and if I can do anything--"

"I reckon I'll put it back in--to my name," said Pete. "I sure ain't scared to leave it with you--for The Spider he weren't."

Hodges smiled grimly, and pressed a b.u.t.ton on his desk. "New account,"

he told the clerk.

Pete sighed heavily when the matter had been adjusted, the identification signature slips signed, and the bank-book made out in his name.

Hodges himself introduced Pete at the teller's window, thanked Pete officially for patronizing the bank, and shook hands with him. "Any time you need funds, just come in--or write to me," said Hodges.

"Good-bye, and good luck."

Pete stumbled out of the bank and down the steps to the sidewalk. He was rich--worth twenty-four thousand dollars! But why had The Spider left this money to him? Surely The Spider had had some other friend--or some relative . . . ?

"Step right in," said Sheriff Owen. "You look kind of white. Feeling shaky?"

"Some."

"We want to go to the General Hospital," said the sheriff.

Pete listened to the deliberate plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk of the white mare's large and capable feet as the cab whirred softly along the pavement. "I suppose you'll be takin' me over to Sanborn right soon,"

he said finally.

"Well, I expect I ought to get back to my family," said the sheriff.

"I didn't kill Sam Brent," a.s.serted Pete.

"I never thought you did," said the sheriff, much to Pete's surprise.

"Then what's the idee of d.o.g.g.i.n' me around like I was a blame coyote?"

"Because you have been traveling in bad company, son. And some one in that said company killed Sam Brent."

"And I got to stand for it?"

"Looks that way. I been all kinds of a fool at different times, but I'm not fool enough to ask you who killed Sam Brent. But I advise you to tell the judge and jury when the time comes."

"That the only way I kin square myself?"

"I don't say that. But it will help."

"Then I don't say."

"Thought you wouldn't. It's a case of circ.u.mstantial evidence. Brent was found in that cactus forest near the station. The same night two men rode into Sanborn and left their horses at the livery-stable.

These men took the train for El Paso, but jumped it at the crossing.

Later they were trailed to a rooming-house on Aliso Street. One of them--and this is the queer part of it--got away after shooting his pardner. The rubber heels in this town say these two men quarreled about money--"

"That's about all they know. Ed and me never--"

"You don't mean Ed Brevoort, do you?"

"There's more 'n one Ed in this country."

"There sure is. Old E.H. Hodges--he's Ed; and there's Ed Smally on the force here, and Ed c.u.mmings, the preacher over to Sanborn. Lots of Eds. See here, son. If you want to get out of a bad hole, the quickest way is for you to tell a straight story. Save us both time.

Been visiting with you quite a spell."

"Reckon we're here," said Pete as the cab stopped.

"And I reckon you're glad of it. As I was saying, we been having quite a visit--getting acquainted. Now if you haven't done anything the law can hold you for, the more I know about what you have done the better it will be for you. Think that over. If you can prove you didn't kill Brent, then it's up to me to find out who did. Get a good sleep. I'll drift round sometime to-morrow."

Back in his room Pete lay trying to grasp the full significance of the little bank-book in his pocket. He wondered who would stop him if he were to walk out of the hospital that evening or the next morning, and leave town. He got up and strode nervously back and forth, fighting a recurrent temptation to make his escape.

He happened to glance in the mirror above the washstand. "That's the only fella that kin stop me," he told himself. And he thought of Ed Brevoort and wondered where Brevoort was, and if he were in need of money.

Dr. Andover, making his afternoon rounds, stepped in briskly, glanced at Pete's flushed face, and sitting beside him on the cot, took his pulse and temperature with that professional celerity that makes the busy physician. "A little temperature. Been out today?"

"For a couple of hours."

Andover nodded. "Well, young man, you get right into bed."

The surgeon closed the door. Pete undressed grumblingly.

"Now turn over. I want to look at your back. M-mm! Thought so. A little feverish. Did you walk much?"

"Nope! We took a rig. I was with the sheriff."

"I see! Excitement was a little too much for you. You'll have to go slow for a few days."

"I'm feelin' all right," a.s.serted Pete.

"You think you are. How's your appet.i.te?"

"I ain't hungry."

Andover nodded. "You'd better keep off your feet to-morrow."

"Shucks, Doc! I'm sick of this here place!"

Andover smiled. "Well, just between ourselves, so am I. I've been here eight years. By the way, how would you like to take a ride with me, next Thursday? I expect to motor out to Sanborn."

"In that machine I seen you in the other day?"

"Yes. New car. I'd like to try her out on a good straightaway--and there's a pretty fair road up on this end of the mesa."

"I'd sure like to go! Say, Doc, how much does one of them automobiles cost?"

"Oh, about three thousand, without extras."