The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1937-08-19
KINGDOM

on account of me. I'n-get out of
here, if you want me to-"
He looked straight at her-and
lied. Nothing farther from my
mind" he assured her. ''No call
to even think of such a thing"
He paused, listening to the stam-
pede of hoofs beyond a big barn
which obscured the riders as they
swung into the layout.
And now rescue came, as Horse
Dunn Numbered around the corner
of the barn and slid his pony to a
stop before them in a great up
jump of dust.
To old-timers John Dunn was
known as RED Horse Jack"-or
more commonly, just Horse"
Dunn-partly because he was big
as horse, and partly because of
the coarse sorrel name he had had
in his youth. Nobody knew how old
Horse Dunn was; they thought he
must be sixty-eight at least, and
his mustache and curly beard were
at last roaned with gray. But he
seemed to have an Indian medicine
on him which cheated time, for he
was powerful and barrel-chested
yet, and straight as a lodgepole
pine.
Half an hour after his return
Dunn was to be seen leaning
against a post of the open gallery
which ran along the front of the
cook-shack; he was chewing blade
of burro grass. Said he, "We all
grant man is dead. Any of you
still doubling that?" He watched
the cowboys, who lounged along the
open edge of the gallery floor, but
none of them answered.
Breakfast had been set out by a
little withered old woman known as
Tia Cara. She had fed them prompt
ly-and they ate the same way.
Look here" Dunn went on.
''Look here! I'm going to ask you
once more-and this is the last
time. If any of you is good enough
man to have blasted a cow thief,
say so now! I'll back any boy of
mine that shot in defense of the
brand. You know that!"
He paused, and waited. Val Doug
las, Dunn's thirty-year-old range
boss, let mild eyes dream on a dis
tant peak, and Tulare Callahan spat
over his shoulder through his teeth.
"All right" the Old Man said.
81 amt doubling you, any of you.
Now I'm telling you what I want
you to do. You've seen the killers
trail at Short Crick-the trail of a
cup-hoofed pony, long in the toe;
been shod, and the shoes pulled off.
We've missed out on locating that
trail where it left Short Crick. Now
I want you to start in and comb this
range. Somewhere, somehow, we
got to cut that trail. And especially
we've got to find the man that s
dead"
Anybody checking back on the
dead mans horse?"
Don't you worry about the dead
mans horse. There'n be plenty
checking done on that horse! Tu-
lare, you take the fiat country to
the SOUTH
"Okay." .--.-...-.
"Gil, you sweep northwest be-
tween Short Crick and the Spotted
Range" Dunn went on. oval, you
take wider swing than Gil, and to
the east. Scout the edge of the bare
rock below Red Sleep Ridge"
The cowboys waited. SIS there
any guess yet" Tulare asked after
a moment, "as to who it is we're
looking for?'
Unexpectedly the Old Man fared
up. How the hell do I know!" he
roared. Sand what do you care?
You'll know him when you find him
because he's dead! Amt that
enough for you? What you waiting
for now? Get on with it,"
They moved off.
Horse Dunn turned to Billy
Wheeler. "Get your war bag. You
got to get into horse pants and
boots. You and I got some riding
| of our own to do, no later than
| now!"
Billy Wheeler jerked suitcase and
saddle from his roadster and fol-
lowed Horse Dunn to a room in the
rambling weathered house-the only
room the Old Man used when he
was alone.
Here, while Wheeler changed to
cow country work clothes, Horse
Dunn stood looking out across the
range He turned to Billy Wheeler,
his big crinkly- bearded face unread
able.
''Look out the window. Look over
at Lost Whiskey Buttes. You see a
signal there?"
Wheeler obeyed. Four miles off,
on high place, he made out a thin
vertical line against the brassy sky.
"That's Steve Hurley's smoke, T"
Horse Dunn told him. Last night
Steve was in Inspiration, checking
up. This morning-he's been on
that butte since before daybreak."
whats the m o k e mean,
Horse?"
ITO BE CONTINUED)