Hidden Blood

“If I had rheumatism like you’ve got, I’d sure head for the hot springs. Yuh can boil it out easier’n any other way.”

The owner of Piute leaned back, braced his bony elbows on the bar, spat wisely, and squinted at the two cowboys, who were draped against the bar beside him.

“Hashknife” Hartley, a tall, thin, serious-faced cowboy, was standing on one leg, much in the attitude of a stork, except that his knee naturally bent the other way.

“Sleepy” Stevens, Hashknife’s partner, was of medium height, with a grin-wrinkled face and serious eyes. There was nothing colorful nor romantic about their raiment or physical appearance. They were clad in well-worn overalls, nondescript shirts, high-heeled boots, and sombreros.

Their cartridge belts were scarred, weathered, as were their holsters, from which protruded the plain wood butts of single-action Colt sixshooters. They wore no coats. Hashknife’s vest was little more than a wrinkled piece of cloth, suspended stringlike from his shoulders, affording him pocket room for his tobacco and cigarette papers.

“Which way do yuh head for hot springs, pardner?” asked Sleepy, making cabalistic marks on the scarred bar top with the bottom of his wet glass. “I’m goin’ to put this lean pardner of mine on to boil.”

“Aw, I’ll be all right,” protested Hashknife, flexing his aching leg.

“You won’t be until yuh are,” flared Sleepy. “Yuh can’t ride a horse thataway. I’ve done used up a bottle of horse liniment on yuh, and all it’s done is to make yuh smell.”

“Rheumatism ain’t no fun.” Thus the proprietor. “I sure had it ache hell out of me a few years ago.”

“Didja go to a hot spring?” asked Sleepy.

“Shore did. I went up into Hawk Hole and b’iled out up there. That sulphur water smells like all the bad aigs of the world had been busted; but it knocked my rheumatism.”

“Where’s this here Hawk Hole?” asked Hashknife, interested.

“South of here, about thirty mile. I dunno whether yuh can use the springs now or not. Belongs to ‘Big Medicine’ Hawkworth, and he ain’t so friendly as he might be.”

“We’d take a chance on him, if Hashknife was able to ride that far,” said Sleepy.

“Yuh might go by stage. She comes through here about midnight and changes horses here. On ’count of the heat they make the drive from Caliente at night. They go to Pinnacle; but in yore case they might swing around by Hawkworth’s place and let yuh off. If they don’t, it’s only two miles from Pinnacle.”

“That sounds good t’ me,” declared Sleepy. “How does she listen to you, pardner?”

“Well, all right, Sleepy. I’d go any place to get rid of this ache that’s twistin’ my muscles. I ain’t slept for three nights and days hand-runnin’. If this Hawkworth person tries to deny me a chance to boil the pain out of my carcass, I’ll try and make him see the error of his ways.”

“He prob’ly will deny yuh,” said the proprietor. “C’mon and let’s see if supper is ready.”