There was another, higher and in his hair. He sponged that off, too, and then Armstrong began to stir and mutter. 'Hold still!' Finn commanded.
When Armstrong's eyes opened, they stared about in confusion. At this moment, without his dignity, he looked strangely young. Then he looked up and saw Mahone.
'Finn!' he said. 'Man, I'm glad to see you!'
'What happened?' Mahone demanded.
'Cobb pistol-whipped me. Came in here about six, just after the rain started. Started in half joking about what I'd said in the paper, then he hit me over the eye with a pistol barrel.'
'You mean that item about Sonntag?'
Dean shook his head, then gasped and caught it with both hands. 'No, the piece I had in today. I put out an extra edition.' He looked up. 'It's on the table there.'
APPOINTMENT OF SONNTAG A MISTAKE The appointment of Byrn Sonntag, notorious gunman, to investigate the cattle rustling was a mistake. If the election was to be held again tomorrow, the result would be against him. Since arriving in the Laird Valley country, Sonntag has killed at least three men, and his associates at Rawhide can scarcely be classed as good citizens. There are those on the range who declare it is more than a coincidence that certain brands belonging to Rawhide ranchers are very easily developed from brands already on this range. If Byrn Sonntag is to investigate rustling, it might be a good idea to begin in his own home town.
Finn Mahone looked up, grinning. 'Dean,' he said, 'it took guts to write that, but if I were you, I'd start packing a gun. Your paper gets around. Whoever is behind all this doesn't have a chance of making it work if the news gets outside of Laird Valley.'
'That's what I thought, and that's what I wrote!' Dean said firmly. He crawled to his feet and clutched the desk for support. 'What good is a newspaper unless it tells the truth and fights for the rights of the people?'
Mahone shrugged. 'A lot of them should ask that question of themselves,' he said dryly. 'I'd better get Doc for you,' he said. 'You'll need some stitches in that head!'
'He's at Ma Boyle's,' Dean said. 'Or was starting for there just before Cobb showed up.'
'What are you going to do now?' Mahone asked, curiously.
'Do?' Dean demanded. 'I'll tell you what I'm going to do! I'm going to print what just happened, call it the cowardly attack it was, and tell who did it and why!'
'Then you'd better pack a gun,' Finn advised. 'This business is turning bad and I don't like it. I've already killed one man today.'
'You have?' Armstrong stared at him. 'Who?'
'Fellow named Roberts. He tried to dry-gulch Texas Dowd.'
Finn pulled his slicker around him and walked outside. Rain was still pouring down, and the street was dark and empty. The blare of music came from the Long-* horn, and he heard shouts there, and once a yell. It sounded like Ringer Cobb.
He pushed open the door and stepped into Mother Boyle's in a gust of wind and water. When he had the door closed, he turned his back to it and stood there, looking at the room, a big, somber figure with his rain-soaked hat, his dark slicker, and his green eyes taking the room in with one measuring glance.
Ma Boyle was standing beside Doc Finerty with a pot of coffee, and Judge Collins had turned as he entered. Nick James was there, the first time Mahone had seen him since the day of the fight. James looked up, quickly and with interest. He had one of those young-old faces, merry and friendly at times, then grave and serious. He was scarcely more than a boy, but had been doing a man's work since he was eleven.
'Doc,' Finn said, 'better go have a look at Armstrong. Cobb pistol-whipped him.'
'I was afraid of that!' Doc said. He got up and reached for his slicker. 'Keep some coffee on, Ma!'
Finn sat down at the end of the table, between James and Collins. Collins was concerned. 'When Sonntag came in, I knew trouble was coming!'
Finn had hung his slicker and hat near the stove. He dished up some food and poured the coffee. Briefly, and quickly, he outlined the trouble at the Lazy K, and the outcome.
'Roberts is a paid killer.' Judge Collins was puzzled. 'Doesn't seem like Sonntag would hire any killing done.'
'He wouldn't,' Mahone said, speaking past half a slice of bread and butter. 'Not him.'
Nick James stirred his coffee and looked from one to the other. 'You ever think maybe something else was behind this?'
Judge Collins turned his head and looked at Nick. This man was shrewd, the Judge knew. James had ridden for him, and for Mclnnis. He was one of the best hands in the valley. 'What are you thinking, Nick?'
The young puncher shrugged, and gulped a swallow of coffee. 'Ain't made up my mind. Some things sure look funny, though.'
Finn Mahone put his coffee down carefully. Suddenly he was remembering the tall, powerfully built man who was standing behind Remy that day he fought Leibman. 'Any rustlin' out your way?' he asked, casually.
Nick nodded. 'A little, here and there. Never when anybody's around.' He stirred his coffee again. 'I think I'll quit,' he said suddenly.
'You can always have a job with me,' Collins said. 'You were the best hand I had, Nick.'
'Or with me,' Mahone suggested, looking up.
Their eyes met across the table. 'Didn't know you hired any hands,' Nick said. 'Heard you played it alone.'
'I have, but I've got some work ahead and could use help. I'd want a hand that would sling a gun if he had to ... but not unless he had to.'
'I'll get my stuff tomorrow,' James agreed. His face tightened. 'An' collect my time.' Then he glanced at Mahone again. 'How do I get there? They tell me a man can't go through the Notch unless he knows the, way.'
'That's right, and don't try it alone. You get your gear, an' if I don't see you, go up and camp in the Notch. There's good water, and plenty of grass. I'll be along.'
The door slammed open then, and wind and rain swept into the room. The newcomer struggled to get the door closed, then turned. It was Ringer Cobb.
Finn knew at once the man had been drinking and was in a killing mood. He was not the type who staggered and floundered when drunk. Liquor brought out all the innate cruelty in the man, and if anything, steadied him and made him colder.
His eyes fastened on Mahone's and a light danced in them, an ugly, dangerous light. 'You're Finn Mahone,' he said, standing just inside the door, his slicker hanging around him, his hands dangling.
Nick James pushed back gently, out of the way. Finn lifted the coffeepot and calmly filled his cup. 'That's right,' Mahone replied. 'An' you're Ringer Cobb. You're the man who walked into the newspaper office and slapped a defenseless man with a Colt. Makes you a pretty bad boy, doesn't it?' Cobb glared at Mahone, his teeth half bared. 'What's the matter?' Mahone said. 'Don't you like the sound of the truth?'
'You should be ashamed!' Ma Boyle glared at Cobb.
'I've heard about you.' Cobb took a step nearer and tried to change the subject back to the one he had in mind. 'Heard you're pretty fast with a gun. That right?'
'I do all right.' Finn lifted the cup and sipped a little coffee. 'Better sit down and have a cup of coffee. Do you good.'
'Huh?' Ringer was puzzled. Then his eyes sharpened. 'Scared, huh? Think yuh can talk me out of it.'
'No,' Mahone replied, and his voice hardened, 'I'm just trying to talk you out of Boot Hill, because if you reach for that gun ... I'll kill you!'
Ringer Cobb took a long breath through his nose, and his fingers widened. Finn sat perfectly still, just looking at him, and Cobb's eyes wavered. He looked at Finn, and started to speak, but Mahone seemed to have lost interest, and he remarked to Collins, 'Hand me that cup, Judge, and I'll pour this man some coffee.' He looked over at Cobb. 'If you're not going to shoot me you might as well have some coffee.'
He took the cup and filled it. 'Better have some of that cake Ma bakes, too, Ringer. She's plenty good.'
Ringer Cobb swayed a little, staring around uncertainly. Then he slumped on the bench, and he was trembling with tension. He took the cup, and started to lift it, but some of the coffee slopped over.
Mahone turned back to Nick. 'My place is some of the best range in the world,' he said, 'most of it sub
