Smoke of the .45. Harry Sinclair Drago

This man came here intendin’ to kill himself. It ain’t accidental-like for a man to go round without some mark of identification on him. He cut off every sign by which he might be traced. He’s got his watch and his money; so it wa’n’t robbery. And you all see where the powder burned his forehead. The gun’s there on the floor, just where he dropped it, too. Guess that makes the answer plain. Best you bring in the usual verdict; death by his own hand, this day and date. That agreed?”

      A muttered chorus of assenting grunts greeted him as he began making out the death certificate.

      “Say, Aaron,” Johnny interrupted. “There’s somethin’ under the bed. The man’s hat, I reckon.”

      Aaron glanced at him over the rims of his glasses.

      “Why don’t you wait a little longer? You ain’t tongue-tied, be yuh?”

      “You told me to shut up.”

      “Little good comes from tellin’ you.”

      The old man grunted as he crawled beneath the bed to recover the hat.

      “It’s a hat, all right,” he grumbled. “His hat, no doubt. Ain’t a mark on it, though.” He held it up for his jury to gaze at it. “Jest about proves what I contend. The man wanted to die unidentified.”

      Tony Madeiras’s eyes bulged as he saw the hat Gallup held aloft. Pushing his way forward he took the hat in his hand. Gallup watched him closely.

      “Son of a gun!” Madeiras exclaimed slowly and turned to face his friends. “I change my min’ about those daid man. I know thees hat!”

      “What?” exclaimed Johnny.

      “Sí. I know thees hat. Only t’ree, four days ago I see eet.”

      “Yeh!” There was open doubt of the Basque puncher’s word in the coroner’s voice. “You remember a hat without a band or mark on it that you saw three or four days ago? It ain’t even a grown-up hat. It’s just a little runt of a thing. But you remember it, Madeiras?”

      Tony’s eyes narrowed as he answered the old man. “I said I remember theese hat.”

      “Well, you’ve got some memory, bosco.”

      Big Hobe put his hand upon Gallup’s shoulder as the coroner gave tongue to the western term of contempt for the Basque.

      “Listen here, Aaron. You won’t make no friends for yoreself with that kind of talk. This Diamond-Bar bunch don’t exactly like to hear Tony called a bosco. It ain’t good for the health to say it more than once. You git that? Now if Tony allows he remembers that hat it ain’t up to you to call him a liar.”

      “That’s all right, Hobe,” Tony smiled. “Maybe some time he find out my people have pretty damn good memory. What he thinks, I don’t care. But for you, Hobe: last Monday I was on the North Fork. Evening time I come down to the river. Theese man be there. He have plenty hair on hees face then. Big whiskers. He spik Spanish. Ask lots of question. Me, I ask some, too. He come long ways theese man.”

      “You find out his name?”

      “Tony Madeiras don’ ask man hees name.”

      “Good for you, Tony,” Johnny called. “It ain’t bein’ done.”

      Gallup turned on Johnny with face flaming.

      “If I hear any more talk from you, out you go. This is your crowd, but the law is the law, and I ain’t goin’ to stand no impudence from you.”

      Doc Ritter and Jackson Kent came in as Gallup admonished Johnny. The coroner nodded to Kent.

      “Maybe you can put some sense into him,” he said, pointing to Johnny Dice.

      “What’s the matter, Johnny?” asked Kent. “We just heard a man had killed himself up here.”

      “Nothin’ the matter with me. Gallup’s runnin’ things here. And he ain’t makin’ no hit with it, either. Hobe had to call him a minute ago.”

      “Mr. Gallup’s a good man, boys. Don’t rear and tear too much. Jest what is wrong, Aaron?”

      When Gallup had finished explaining; the Diamond-Bar owner did his best to restore harmony.

      “Now you go on, Tony, and tell the coroner what you know,” he said, pleadingly. “We don’t want no run-in with the law.”

      “That’s sense,” Gallup seconded. “If you saw this man, and talked with him, tell us what he said.”

      “Well, he say—er—he say——” Johnny Dice was coughing so violently that Tony could not go on. The Basque turned on his pal questioningly. Johnny was bent nearly double; but Tony caught the wink and the slight shake of the head which were meant for him. He started to speak again:

      “Well, he say how ees the cattle? How ees the water? How ees the sheep? How ees——”

      “I don’t care about that,” Gallup growled. “Did he say anythin’ that has any bearin’ on this case? We ain’t interested in anythin’ else.”

      “No—I guess not. All he say ees how ees these, how ees that?”

      “Then all this talk’s been for nothin’. What do you say, men? Are you satisfied it’s suicide or not? Raise your hands if you are.”

      Tony saw that Johnny was telling him to say yes. When the Basque’s hand went up, Gallup turned to Doc Ritter.

      “Here’s your papers, doc. Take the body any time you want to.”

      Aaron scrawled his signature and handed the certificate to the town’s doctor and undertaker.

      Gallup read aloud:

      “Party unknown. Died this 4th of October by his own hand; no reason given. The foregoing being the sworn verdict of the jury convened by me on this day and date.

      “(Signed) Aaron Gallup,

      “Coroner of Shoshone County, State of Nevada.”

      Aaron paused to glance at his listeners. “There it is, gentlemen; in my own hand.” He smiled superiorly. “Somebody count the man’s money and we’ll adjourn.”

      He glanced at Kent, but the old man was staring at the body.

      “You oblige me, Jackson?” Gallup asked.

      “No,” he muttered; “let Doc do it. I don’t fancy counting a dead man’s money.”

      Old Aaron smiled. “All right,” he drawled patiently. “Guess Doc ain’t so finicky. He knows that dead men don’t hurt no one.”

CHAPTER IV

      FOOT-LOOSE

      The crowd began trooping downstairs as Doc put the body back on the bed and covered it. Johnny Dice shook his head as he turned to follow his friends. There was something wrong about this affair. He felt it long before he was able to put his fingers on anything definitely suspicious. His tilt with Gallup was of no consequence. The old man disliked him because he refused to take the coroner seriously. And then, too, Johnny and Tony had been stringing along for some years. Aaron had foreclosed a small mortgage on one of Tony’s relatives. That made bad blood between them.

      Johnny’s suspicions crystallized as Doc lifted the body. He saw a bit of evidence that no man on earth could contradict. His nerves began to tingle. This man had not killed himself!

      Gallup caught the grim smile on Johnny’s face.

      “What you waitin’ for?” he asked.

      Johnny continued to smile provokingly. “Ain’t no one sittin’ up for you at home, is there, Aaron?”

      The old man’s face went scarlet at this continued heckling.

      “By