Sun Dog loot

Author of “Just For a Laugh,” “Rustler’s Roost,” etc.

“Brick” Davidson hooked his spurred heels over the edge of his desk, shifted his position slightly and began rolling a cigaret, his eyes half-shut, as if deep in thought.

Brick was of medium height, with a thin, freckled face and red hair. It was red hair—not auburn at all; red hair, the color of a new brick. His mouth was wide, his eyes blue and ears rather prominent. Just now his faded blue shirt hiked up around his ears and his overalls threatened to withdraw from his short-topped high-heeled boots.

Over the wetting of his cigaret he squinted at the wall across from him, where a collection of reward notices covered the rough boards. There were many notices in this collection, with rewards ranging from fifty dollars to a hundred times that amount. Some bore photographs of those wanted, but the majority were mere descriptions, which might fit any one.

There were three other men in the office with Brick, seated in chairs near the desk; three serious-faced men who waited for Brick to speak. One of them was Bill Grant, a tall, sour-faced, middle-aged man, with a wispy mustache and a nervous manner. Another was Al Hendricks, heavy-set, dark-complexioned, slow of speech; while the third was Sam Leach, slight of physique, bat-eared and inclined to be sarcastic. Grant and Hendricks were ranchers, while Leach was a cattle-buyer. And the three of them composed the Board of Commissioners of Sun Dog County, of which Brick Davidson was the sheriff.

Brick lighted his cigaret and shifted his eyes to the three men.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I reckon yuh think that comin’ to see me will change things a lot, don’tcha?”

Grant cleared his throat, causing the wispy mustache to vibrate, and Brick grinned openly. The mustache amused him. He had remarked anent that futile effort of Grant’s, assuring him that he was too stingy to fill his soul with enough fertilizing to grow hair. And Grant was sensitive.

“We just came,” said Grant coldly, “to kinda talk to yuh about it, Davidson.”

“Sure, sure,” interposed Hendricks quickly. “We’ve been talkin’ among ourselves, Brick.”

Brick squinted at Leach, as if expecting some statement from him, but Leach’s sarcastic smile was his only response.

“There was that Red Hill hold-up,” said Hendricks suggestively.

“And the bank robbery at Silverton,” added Brick.

Leach laughed, but his laugh ended in a yawn, when Brick jerked his heels off the desk and turned in his chair.

“What in —— do yuh find to laugh at in that, Sam?” he demanded.

“Nothin’.” Leach was almost apologetic.

“’Course it ain’t nothin’ to laugh about,” said Grant. “It’s pretty —— serious, I’d say. In fact, it’s so serious that we’ve sent for a professional range detective to try and hang the crime onto the guilty parties.”

“Ye-e-eah?” Brick’s red mane of hair lifted slightly, as he inhaled deeply to control his temper.

“Yeah,” nodded Grant. “Of course he won’t interfere with yore office in any way, Brick. You jist go along like you’ve been goin’, and let him work it out in his own way. Them detectives sabe criminals.”

Brick grinned in spite of his anger. A wave of crime had swept across the Sun Dog country in the past few weeks, causing the sheriff’s office to ride the hoofs off their horses, but without results.

It began with the hold-up of the Red Hill stage, when the bandits had stolen the treasure-box, which held several bars of gold, from the Red Hill mine. A few days later the Redrock stage was robbed, netting the robbers several hundred dollars. Then, to cap the climax, two masked men entered the bank at Silverton and forced the cashier to hand them over five thousand dollars.

And they had left no clues. Descriptions varied until Brick was of the opinion that the jobs had been done by three different outfits. The driver of the Red Hill stage swore that there were only two men. One was a big man and the other rather below medium height. The tall man was the spokesman.

In the Redrock robbery, the driver declared that there were two men, one rather tall and slender, the other medium-sized. The medium-sized man was the spokesman. And the cashier of the bank, frightened almost into a panic, could not be positive that there were two or three men, but he did know that the slim one did the talking.

The peculiar feature of the bank robbery was the fact that a fire had started in a shack down at the other end of the town, and that while every one was down there, trying to put out the fire, the robbery had taken place. No one had seen the robbers enter or leave, except the cashier, who admitted that he was so frightened that he did not know which way they went after leaving the bank, nor whether they were on foot or mounted.

And now the county commissioners were employing a professional thief-catcher. Brick reshaped his cigaret and smiled.

“He’ll prob’ly catch ’em,” Brick mused aloud.

“Y’betcha!” Sam Leach got to his feet, indicating that as far as he was concerned the meeting was over.

The others got to their feet as a man entered the doorway and halted just inside.

It was “Harp” Harris, the deputy sheriff. Harp was about two inches over six feet in height, but so thin that he looked much taller. His face was set in lines which combined both hope and despair—with despair predominating. His mouth was wide, his nose thin and almost transparent, while his ears grew at right angles to his face, giving him a perpetual listening expression.

Harp squinted at the three commissioners and shifted his eyes to Brick.

“Havin’ a li’l party, Brick?” he asked softly.

Harp was not any too popular with the commissioners.

“Democrat,” replied Brick, grinning.

Grant and Hendricks forced a smile, as they walked past Harp, but Leach gave Harp a sarcastic squint, bestowed upon him a look of disgust and walked past, with his nose in the air. Harp turned and pursed his lips as he watched Leach disappear. Brick grinned, as Harp turned and snorted softly.

“Some day I’m goin’ t’ just about squirsh that jasper,” said Harp slowly. “Jist squirsh him absolute and final. What did them three fried aigs want, Brick?”

“Their main object was to see if I’ve forgotten that there’s crime among us,” replied Brick.

“Oh!”

Harp’s nose twitched slightly and he sat down against the wall, ignoring the three vacant chairs. From his pocket he took a jew’s-harp, fitting it carefully between his teeth. Brick squinted at him thoughtfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” said Brick pleadingly. “My ——, ain’t there enough misery in the world without you addin’ to it, Harp?”

Harp removed the offending instrument and dangled it across his knee, clutched in a bony hand. He nodded understandingly, his serious eyes considering the troubled sheriff. It was not often that Harp would quit playing until he was ready. He was not musical, but seemed to derive much enjoyment from his own efforts.