Corkscrew and Other Stories by Dashiell Hammett Page B

up,” I told him. “I’ll ride out to the Circle H. A. R. If you don’t find anything, ride out that way.”
    I went back indoors, for further questioning. Of the seven men who had been in Bardell’s place at the time of the shooting, three seemed to be fairly trustworthy. The testimony of those three agreed with Bardell’s in every detail.
    â€œDidn’t you say you were going out to see Peery?” Bardell asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œChick, get horses! Me and you’ll ride out there with the deputy, and as many of you other men as want to go. He’ll need guns behind him!”
    â€œNothing doing!” I stopped Chick. “I’m going by myself. This posse stuff is out of my line.”
    Bardell scowled, but he nodded his head in agreement.
    â€œYou’re running it,” he said. “I’d like to go out there with you, but if you want to play it different, I’m gambling you’re right.”
    IX
    In the livery stable, where we had put our horses, I found Milk River saddling them, and we rode out of town together.
    Half a mile out, we split. He turned to the left, down a trail that led into the cañon, calling over his shoulder to me:
    â€œIf you get through out there sooner than you think, you can maybe pick me up by following the draw the ranch-house is in down to the cañon. Don’t be too hard on the boys!”
    I turned into the draw that led toward the Circle H. A. R., the long-legged, long-bodied horse Milk River had sold me carrying me along easily and swiftly. It was too soon after midday for riding to be pleasant. Heat waves boiled out of the draw-bottom, the sun hurt my eyes, dust caked my throat. That same dust rose behind me in a cloud that advertised me to half the state, notwithstanding that I was riding below the landscape.
    Crossing from this draw into the larger one the Circle H. A. R. occupied, I found Peery waiting for me.
    He didn’t say anything, didn’t move a hand. He just sat his horse and watched me approach. Two .45s were holstered on his legs.
    I came alongside and held out the lariat I had taken from the rear of the Border Palace. As I held it out I noticed that no rope decorated his saddle.
    â€œKnow anything about this?” I asked.
    He looked at the rope, but made no move to take it.
    â€œLooks like one of those things hombres use to drag steers around with.”
    â€œCan’t fool you, can I?” I grunted. “Ever see this particular one before?”
    He took a minute or more to think up an answer to that.
    â€œYeah,” finally. “Fact is, I lost that same rope somewheres between here and town this morning.”
    â€œKnow where I found it?”
    â€œDon’t hardly make no difference.” He reached for it. “The main thing is you found it.”
    â€œIt might make a difference,” I said, moving the rope out of his reach. “I found it strung down the cañon wall, behind Bardell’s, where you could slide down it after you potted Nisbet.”
    His hands went to his guns. I turned so he could see the shape of one of the pocketed automatics I was holding.
    â€œDon’t do anything you’ll be sorry for,” I advised him.
    â€œShall I gun this la-ad now?” Dunne’s brogue rolled from behind me, “or will we wa-ait a bit?”
    I looked around to see him standing behind a boulder, a .30-30 rifle held on me. Above other rocks, other heads and other weapons showed.
    I took my hand out of my pocket and put it on my saddle horn.
    Peery spoke past me to the others.
    â€œHe tells me Nisbet’s been shot.”
    â€œNow ain’t that provokin’?” Buck Small grieved. “I hope it didn’t hurt him none.”
    â€œDead,” I supplied.
    â€œWhoever could ’a’ done th’ like o’ that?” Dunne wanted to know.
    â€œIt wasn’t Santa Claus,” I gave my opinion.
    â€œGot anything else