Chapter IX

51

STRANGE FISH

“I don't know the details of the Wall Street deal that got him into trouble. It was something about getting to be an official of a company and changing the par value of the stock on the strength of assets that didn't quite exist. Anyway, the government was going to get him, but he skipped the country first.”

“When,” Doc asked, “was that?”

“About five years ago. I haven't seen him since.”

“Know what happened to him?”

“He went to France, I understand. But I'm not sure. Naturally he didn't keep in touch with anyone, because he might have been arrested and brought back.”

“Then you don't know where he is?”

“No.”

Doc said, “You belong to an adventurous family.”

“Bill's the only crook!” she said instantly.

DOC was a little embarrassed. He had said the wrong thing without thinking. He hastily assured her that he hadn't meant that she came from a family of rascals or anything of that sort. He said that he just meant adventurous. Like Paris herself being in the WAC and on an active front and being wounded. He got the idea he wasn't helping things.

Blast it. I shouldn't be embarrassed, he thought. This girl must be having some kind of an effect on me.

He went back to questioning, and asked, “Does Bill Hazel have any brothers?”

“He does not,” Paris said briefly.

“Then the little sheep man couldn't be his brother?”

“He could not.”

“And you don't know the sheep?”

“I do not.”

“And you don't know anything about a fish?”

“I do not.”

The atmosphere was crisp, so Doc dropped matters for the time being.

The food was good. It was not elaborate, but it had the crisp taste which a good cook gets into her work. But it was not quite as wonderful, Doc reflected sourly, as Monk and Ham made it sound. Monk and Ham both brought forth the most flowery compliments about the cooking. Paris seemed to eat it up, Doc noticed. He Chapter IX

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became disgruntled. The darn girl, he reflected, was getting under his skin.

Monk and Ham split their buttons to wash the dishes.

An Indian arrived. A cowboy from the ranch. Johnny Toms went out to talk to him.

Johnny came back inside.

“Ranch okay,” he reported. “Can go back.”

Monk told him, “Well, well, you broke a record and used five words in one speech. Just what do you mean?”

Johnny Toms scowled at him. “Safe,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” Monk growled. “But let's have a full report.”

Johnny Toms evidently decided he didn't like Monk. He examined Monk intently.

“Nuts,” he said.

“My God!” Monk blurted.

They went outside. The cowboy was still there, and to questioning, he replied that the Sheriff had visited the S−slash−S ranch, and apparently had swallowed the story about Paris and Johnny having gone to New York or somewhere early that morning.

“What about the bloodhounds?” Doc asked.

The cowboy grinned. “We spoiled that.”

“How?”

“Oh, we scattered some pepper around over your trail. Then one of the boys drove off toward Tulsa in the car, and later came back and said he had taken you fellows to Tulsa. We backed that up by saying you had hired him to take you to Tulsa. So the Sheriff is in Tulsa now, hunting you, probably.”

“You'll get into trouble!” Paris gasped.

“We won't worry too much about that,” the cowboy said.

THE S−slash−S ranch was as peaceful−looking as it had been during the afternoon. It was now the cool of the evening. The cowhands had brought in a string of saddle horses and corralled them. Calves were bawling in another corral. There was, since the wind came from the hills, the slightest odor of crude oil.

Doc liked the ranch. The place was a judicious blending of the attractive and the practical. It was the kind of a ranch which was nice to look at, and obviously made money. The two did not often go together.

Doc had no intention of remaining on the ranch for long. There was too much chance of getting caught by the Sheriff, but that was not all of his reasons. He didn't like the idea of sitting around. It would get him nowhere.