The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1937-10-21
@ Alan lie May
wNU Service

Hell, no! Not by eight inches.
Little short wiry feller-put you in
mind of a grasshopper, or a flea"
Wheeler hauled out Magoon's sad
die. Billy measured the length Of
the stirrup leather with his arm
stirrup in armpit, fingers upon the
tree.
81 stand five-eleven," Wheeler
said. "Yet these stirrups are too
long for me to ride. Horse, the
man that rode this saddle was over
six feet tall"
Horse came across the room in
two strides and dropped to one knee
beside Billy. Damn it, I know
that's Magoon's HULL"
"You mean it was Magoon's hull.
You can see the short-rig bends
worn into the stirrup feathers. But
since then the feathers have been
let down long, and laced there with
rawhide whang."
Horse Dunn measured the stirrup
feathers against his own arm. Then
he forked the saddle where it lay,
jamming his feet into the stirrupS.
''Tall as me-" he breathed, unbe-
ieving. He stared at the saddle in
credulouSly for several moments.
'Do you reckon" he said at last,
'that Internal old lion hunter would
let down those stirrups, just to get
us balled up?"
Look at the wear on the stirrup
leather. The saddle has been rid
den since the stirrups were let
down."
Horse Dunn got up slowly and
went back to his seat on the box.
For long time he sat staring at
the floor. When at last he drew a
deep breath and got up, his move
ments were those of a man pre-
occupied.
He got out roll of adhesive tape,
pulled off a boot and wooden sock,
and began to tape up the outside of
his ankle bone, which appeared to
be skinned. ''I've got to take
hammer to those spurs," he said,
his mind on other things. Seems
like they"
"Horse-Coffee was right! The
man that died in this saddle was not
Lon Magoon."
Suddenly Dunn stood up, shay
gy towering figure, staring redly at
Billy Wheeler. ''Then, in Gods
name, who's dead?"
Wheeler regarded him without ex-
preston. Within the hour, a shad-
owy bunch had come over him. He
knew that he had no proof for the
thing that was in his mind; yet
somehow it stood clear and plain. He
went to the fireplace, and picked up
an old branding iron that had been
in use as fire poker. He squatted
on his heels, and with this sooty iron
began to make marks on Dunn's
clean-swept floor.
Saying that the "a is here" he
said, marking a cross, "and Short
Crick over here; then here lies that
broken badlands called the Red
Sleep. Seems to me there used to
be a trail across the Red Sleep,
leading over to Pahranagat."
Eyes, sure. But
Horse Dunn waited; Billy Wheeler
studied the floor. Where would
man be coming from, passing over
Short Crick toward the "a? Maybe
Pahranagat?"
Could" Horse admitted dubious
ly.
''That little railroad spur ends
there"
Sometimes" Horse Dunn made
sudden contribution, Lion Ma
COON has shipped few stolen beef
carcasses out of Pahranagat.
Wheeler nodded. From Pahran-
agat the spur runs down the Little
Mimic to Plumas, then-let me
see"
"Cheat Creek, Monitor, Skies
Crossing" Dunn supplied; "and so
to the main stem"
"And so to the main stem,"
Wheeler repeated. "And maybe an
old-timer, saddle man, working to-
ward the 81 by train, would figure
it was better to come by Pahrana-
gat-and there pick up horse?"
They were silent, and the back
ground of the outer night seemed
uncommonly still-perhaps because
Old Man Coffee's hounds were gone.
"a saddle-minded man." Wheeler
repeated, coming from say
Flagstaff. He threw the branding
iron into the fireplace; it sent up a
puff of white ash, against the black
opening. Horse, where was Bob
FIagg last heard from?"
Dunn's voice came out thickly.
Flagstaff" he said.