A scheme there was
Date: 2026-06-11T00:00:00+00:00

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Title: A scheme there was

A story of the whittling sheriff of Mohave Wells

Author: W. C. Tuttle

Release date: June 11, 2026 [eBook #78842]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: The Butterick Publishing Company, 1930

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78842

Credits: Prepared by volunteers at BookCove (bookcove.net)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SCHEME THERE WAS ***

A Scheme There Was
by W. C. Tuttle

A Story of the Whittling Sheriff of Mohave Wells

Buck Brady stopped whittling long enough to brush aside the damp lock of roan colored hair from his forehead and consider the two passengers on the Mohave Wells-Lone Mule stage. The girl did not look over eighteen; she had hair the color of spun gold, and a delicate oval face. Buck could not tell the color of her eyes at that distance, but he knew they were blue. She was wearing a blue dress.

The man was possibly less than twenty-five, rather delicate looking, and his hair was of nearly the same color as the girl’s.

Buck looked them over thoughtfully, a rather sad expression in his faded blue eyes. Buck was tall and lean, with a long face, high cheekbones and a mop of roan colored hair, one lock of which seemed always to hang down below the edge of his sombrero.

Buck was the sheriff of that county. He was slow moving, slow of speech. He was barely thirty-five and looked forty-five. He never seemed in a hurry, always deliberate, yet there were men in the Mohave who swore Buck could draw a six-shooter and shoot it straight faster than a rattler could strike. But Buck’s obsession was whittling. Hour after hour he would sit in the shade of his little office, peeling off dainty spirals from soft pine. Whittling and meditating.

As he considered the couple on the stage Larry Lebec, the driver, came from a store farther down the street, ready to start for Lone Mule City.

“Hyah, Buck,” he drawled, stopping.

“H’lo, Larry. Got a couple passengers, eh?”

Larry spat thoughtfully, squinting against the sun.

“Brother ’n’ sister—goin’ t’ Lone Mule, Buck. Ort t’ be a law agin it.”

“Ort to be,” Buck said slowly. “Skinner?”

“Yeah. I found out that much. Advertisin’ payin’ jobs for girls. Words it sweet and pretty. Brother expects to git a good job, too. Ain’t very well, he ain’t. Name’s Nestor. His name’s Harry and hers is Gladys. From the East. Gawd, why do them kind head for the desert—and Lone Mule? They’ll be helpless in Lone Mule. Skinner ’n’ Eley boss the damn’ place. I know Skinner.”

“I know him,” slowly. “I know Eley, too. Pretty girl.”

“Uh-huh. I done tried to tell ’em a few facts, but they don’t seem to sabe my lingo. Mebbe I don’t hablar English.”

Buck sighed and wiped the blade of his knife along the top of his boot.

“Skinner and Eley kinda boss Lone Mule, eh? Sheriff don’t do nothin’?”

“That Gila Monster? Hell’s delight, Buck! All he does is git drunk. That’s why Skinner had him voted into office. Well, I’ve gotta be goin’.”

Buck watched the stage pass the office, a strained expression about his eyes. It hurt Buck to see that girl going to Lone Mule City. He knew Lone Mule—a boom mining town, a regular hell town out there on the edge of the desert, bossed by Dave Skinner and Charley Eley, who owned all the liquor and honky-tonk privileges, owned a big interest in the Lone Mule mine, and ran the town to suit themselves.

Buck knew that Skinner’s trouble was in getting girls for his honky-tonks and saloons. The regulars shied away. Living conditions were too crude, the remuneration too small. And Buck knew that Skinner had advertised in a clever way, mentioning the need of waitresses in his big café, as well as singers, and musicians—no previous experience necessary; and a good salary.

That night at supper Buck told his wife about this girl. Buck seldom said anything against any man, but Skinner’s ethics had rubbed Buck the wrong way.

“It ain’t none of my business,” he told his wife, “but it kinda gits me. I ain’t never willin’ly shot any man, and I hope I never will, but I wish Dave Skinner was triplets and I jist had three shells in my gun.”

“Kind of a rattler, ain’t he, honey?” asked Mrs. Brady.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Buck, attacking his meal, “’cause as far as I can figger out, a rattler is clean minded and strikes in self-defense.”

“I’ve heard that them Lone Mule folks don’t like you, honey.”

“Oh, they ain’t so dumb,” drawled Buck. “No, ma’am, I don’t reckon any of ’em would yell for help if they seen me fall in a well. They’d dump in a couple big rocks and call it a rescue.”

Buck was right. Skinner and Eley and their cohorts had little use for the sheriff of Mohave Wells. Skinner was a man of slight physique, with a putty colored skin—an unhealthy looking individual, lean, hungry looking, with small greenish eyes and a thin lipped mouth.

Eley was a big man, swarthy as an Indian, powerful and overbearing. Eley was a fighter with his hands; Skinner with a gun. Skinner was the keen minded gambler, Eley the bouncer. Together they had worked as a combine to rule Lone Mule City.

Clyde Mellon was their sheriff. His office was at Jewel City, and he spent little time in Lone Mule. An occasional killing or a robbery would bring him to the mines, where Skinner would tip him off as to whether it was to the interests of Skinner and Eley to make an arrest or not. They were adept at railroading an enemy.

Little news of Lone Mule City came to Mohave Wells, except from the stage driver, or a disgruntled miner or gambler. Stage passengers usually went by way of Jewel City, as it was nearer to Lone Mule and Skinner and Eley owned that stage line.

Day after day Buck Brady questioned Larry Lebec about the girl and her brother, but Larry had little news. The girl was working in a restaurant; the brother had a job as a mucker in the Lone Mule mine. Larry finally made it a point to seek the girl and find out how things were; but she had been let out and was no longer employed there. Larry asked the proprietor why she had been fired, but the man merely shrugged his shoulders. Larry went to the timekeeper’s office at the mine and inquired about Harry Nestor. The timekeeper discovered that Nestor had been discharged. No, he did not know why.

But Larry knew either Skinner or Eley had engineered the deal. Larry told Buck Brady about it and promised to investigate further. A few days later Larry talked with a half drunken gambler, who had been fired from Skinner’s place, and he told Larry that Skinner had been trying to induce the girl to work for him. The gambler called Skinner a lot of unprintable names, packed up his things and came out to Mohave Wells, where Buck talked with him.

He told Buck that Eley had seen the girl and was crazy about her. It was Eley who had forced the restaurant man to fire her, and a word from Eley had settled Harry Nestor, as far as mine work was concerned. Buck decided that Skinner and Eley knew the Nestors were broke, and they were forcing them either to work for Skinner and Eley or not work in Lone Mule.

A few days later Larry sat down in front of Buck’s office and watched Buck cut keen shavings from a soft pine board.

“You like to whittle, don’tcha, Buck?” he asked.

“Yea-a-ah,” drawled Buck, a lazy smile in his eyes. “My idea of heaven is a shady spot, nothin’ to do, and a big pile of soft pine. Anythin’ new, Larry?”

“Nothin’ much. I seen Harry Nestor today. Shore looks bad. I seen him buy a can of salmon and a nickel’s worth of crackers. Gawd, I reckon things are breakin’ bad for them two. He went upstairs in an old shack. I was in Skinner and Eley’s place, but the Nestor girl wasn’t there. I reckon they’re holdin’ on. Folks up there are awful close mouthed, Buck. Scared, that’s it.”

“I ort t’ go up there,” mused Buck. “Might git ’em out. Prob’ly ain’t got the price of a ticket. Prob’ly mean shootin’ somebody.”

“Mean trouble,” nodded Larry. “They don’t like you.”

Buck put away his knife and drew a ten-dollar bill from his pocket.

“Give ’em that bill, Larry. If they want to git away, bring ’em out, and I’ll pay their freight. The girl could work for the wife awhile. She’ll be needin’ help pretty soon. Mebbe I could find the kid a job. I dunno.”

“They’ll appreciate this,” said Larry heartily.

“Mebbe. I dunno either of ’em. But whether they do or not, it’ll save the girl from them two carrion crows.”

“I’ll see ’em tomorrow,” promised Larry. “They’re all right, them two. No earthly business in this country. You got to have more than eddication in this country. You gotta have sense.”

Buck watched for the stage next day. He had talked it over with his wife, and she was willing to take the girl in until she could save up a little money. If Buck’s wife had not been endowed with something more than education, she might have suspected that Gladys Nestor’s pretty face had turned his head. But Buck was not interested in pretty girls, except that he did not want to see them going to Lone Mule City, innocently looking for an honest job.

The stage was due in Mohave Wells at about four o’clock in the afternoon, but on this day it came in about three-thirty, all four horses lathering from a weary run. Larry skidded the stage to a stop in front of the stage office, threw open the stage door; and out came Gladys and Harry Nestor. The girl was bareheaded, her dress torn; Harry was without hat or coat and one sleeve of his shirt was missing. His face was bruised.

Larry asked the office man to hold the team, and came down to Buck’s office, where Buck stood in the doorway, wondering what it was all about. He nodded to the half hysterical girl, glanced at the young man, and turned to Larry.

“You got to take care of ’em, Buck,” he said, breathing hard. “I had one hell of a time gettin’ ’em out of Lone Mule. I shore fanned that team, but they ain’t far behind.”

“They?” queried Buck.

“Skinner and some of his tough gang. Eley is dead, and Skinner swears that Harry Nestor shot and killed him.”

Buck’s nose twitched a little as he looked at Harry Nestor. The boy’s face was the color of ashes.

“How about it, son?” asked Buck kindly.

The boy swallowed painfully, shook his head, seemingly bereft of speech.

“What do you know, ma’am?” asked Buck.

“Oh, Harry did not shoot him! I know he didn’t do it.”

“Didja see who shot him?”

Gladys shook her head wearily.

“No, I—I don’t know.”

“They ain’t far behind us,” said Larry nervously. “I reckon they aim to tie off on the kid.”

“Take the girl down to my place, Larry,” said Buck. “She’ll be safe. They only want this kid, but if they monkey around down there, Ma Brady shore knows how to handle my sawed off Winchester shotgun. Git goin’.”

Larry took the girl down a narrow alley past the office, and Buck took the boy into the jail.

“I dunno the facts of the matter,” he told Harry, “but that can wait. I’m goin’ to protect your life by lockin’ you up, son. Nobody can take you out of that cell without a key—and I have the only key. You jist set down and take it easy. Nobody in this here desert country ever took a man away from me yet; so don’t worry. We’ll talk later.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brady.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Nestor.”

Buck went back to the little porch, took out his knife and began whittling, his sombrero low over his eyes. He saw Skinner and four of his men ride in and tie their horses in front of Mohave Wells’ one saloon. They went in to get a drink.

Larry Lebec came back and noted the sweaty horses at the hitchrack across the street.

“Got here, eh?” he said.

“Yea-a-a-ah. Go ahead and put up your team. They won’t do much.”

About fifteen minutes later Skinner came alone from the saloon. Buck quit whittling and put away his knife. Skinner stopped at the edge of the sidewalk and considered the sheriff intently for several moments.

“We came down here to take a murderer back with us, Brady.”

“Yea-a-a-ah? What murderer?”

“That young Nestor you’ve got inside there.”

“Oh, that kid?”

“He murdered Eley.”

“That so?”

“I’m tellin’ you, Brady. Do you want Mellon to have to come after him?”

“No-o, I don’t want Clyde Mellon monkeyin’ around here, Skinner.”

“Then turn him over to me. We’ll take him back and give him a fair trial.”

“Yea-a-a-ah? I suppose you want the girl, too.”

“She’ll have to come back as a witness.”

Buck grinned slowly, and his right hand slid back a little. He scratched his thumb on the edge of the holster, his pale eyes on Skinner’s right hand.

“Skinner—” slowly—“I’ve been waitin’ for a chance to tell you what a dirty specimen you are. I’ve shore got a lot to tell you.”

“I’m not here for that purpose, Brady.”

“This is jist sort of a by-product, Skinner. No trouble a-tall. Fingers itch? Scratch ’em, you carrion coyote! Not interested? Keep your hand away from that gun. Now, this is business. You’ll not take that kid, and you’ll not take that girl. Go back and get your sheriff. By the time he gets here, none of you will ever find them two. Leave one of your men here to watch where they go, and that man might as well drink some of your own cyanide. I’m runnin’ this end of the deal, and you’ll find that I rate as high in Mohave Wells as you do in Lone Mule. Skinner, I’ve got you whipped. I don’t believe that kid ever killed Eley, but if he did he shore deserves a lot more of a chance than you and your hired killers would ever give him.”

Skinner’s lips tightened and his eyes narrowed, but he was obliged to swallow this.

“I’ll put you out of this county,” he threatened. “You’re defendin’ a murderer. You’re as guilty as he is in the eyes of the law.”

“That law is cockeyed, Skinner; and I’m not goin’ accordin’ to written laws. When I see a coyote chasin’ a rabbit, I’m for the rabbit. That’s my law. Go home and forget it.”

“Some day this country is goin’ to be too hot for you, Brady.”

“Yeah, and when it does, you won’t gloat a hell of a lot, ’cause where you’ll be, this’ll be the Arctic, beside what you’ll be sufferin’.”

“All right. But I’ll tell you this much—I’m comin’ back here with the law behind me, and you better have that damn’ murderer where we can get him.”

“When you come back here you and your law better wear iron overcoats, ’cause I’ll be lookin’ for you.”

Skinner turned and went back to the saloon, but he and his men made no move to leave Mohave Wells. Buck went in and bolted the back door, unlocked the cell door and asked Harry Nestor to come out into the front office, where they might watch the saloon. Buck took a Winchester rifle from the gun rack and sat with it across his knees, while the white faced kid sat near him on the edge of a chair.

“I never killed him, Mr. Brady,” protested Harry. “Why, I never had a gun. My sister had work at a restaurant and I was working in the big mine. We were getting along all right. Mr. Skinner tried to get Glad to work in his dance hall. She can play a piano. But she wouldn’t go into a place like that.

“Those women in there were terrible, and drunken men—Glad wouldn’t go into that place. Then Glad got let out at the restaurant, and somebody stole what money she had. And that same day I got fired. I—I don’t believe they paid me what I had coming. I protested, but the man said I could take it or leave it.

“We just had a little room upstairs in an old shack. I had to sleep on the floor with just one blanket. Mr. Skinner kept coming up to see Glad, and sometimes Mr. Eley would come up. Mr. Skinner threatened me, and I—I didn’t know what to do. Everybody up there is his friend.

“One day Mr. Eley came up and argued with Glad. He tried to get me to drink some whisky, but I couldn’t do it. And Mr. Skinner came up that same day, and he swore at Eley, who swore back at him. They really talked nasty in front of Glad. Oh, we wanted to get away from there, but we didn’t have money to pay stage fare. It was awful, Mr. Brady.”

“Yeah, I reckon it wasn’t pleasant, son.”

“It was terrible. And—today—”

“That’s the main thing,” said Buck slowly. “Tell it.”

“Mr. Eley came up there and he had been drinking. He’s such a big man. He shut the door. Glad and me were having a bite of lunch. He told me to—to get the hell out of there. I tried to remonstrate with him, but he swore at me and said he was through fooling around with me.

“I thought he was going to kill me. Perhaps that was his intentions. Glad tried to reason with him, but it was no use. He started for me—” Harry rubbed the back of his right hand across his eyes.

“I was afraid, Mr. Brady. There was a small chair, which I picked up and threw at him. I—I guess he was unprepared, and it struck him in the face, knocking him down on his knees. He had a gun. His face was bleeding. I—I don’t know why I did it, but I sprang on him, trying to hit him with my fists. He threw me aside, but I—I guess I came back and we fell down again.

“Oh, I don’t remember—much. Glad was screaming. And then there was the noise of a gun. I was confused—hurt a little, I suppose. I remember the door was open. Glad had her hands over her face, and there was Eley on his back, blood running from one side of his head. It was awful. Men were coming in, and I saw Skinner. He told me I had killed a man. And then there was the stage driver. He shoved Glad through the door. He didn’t seem to mind the other men, but he had a gun pointed at Skinner, and he said to me, ‘Get downstairs as fast as you can and put your sister on my stage.’

“I don’t remember getting down there. Glad was almost fainting, but I put her in the stage, which was across the street. We were hardly in, when we saw the driver running toward us, and I heard him spring up on the stage. He cried out something to some men in front of the station—and I—think he ran those horses all the way down here, while Glad and I clung to each other and tried to keep from injuring ourselves.”

“You didn’t shoot Eley with his own gun, didja?” asked Buck.

“No, I did not.”

“You say the door was open, but it was shut when the fight started. Didja fall against it?”

“No, we were never near it, Mr. Brady.”

“Who didja see first—after Eley was shot?”

“Mr. Skinner.”

“Uh-huh. Do you reckon Skinner was mad at Eley over your sister?”

“He was one day. He told Mr. Eley to keep his paws off her.”

“What did Eley say?”

“I should hate to repeat it.”

“Don’t. I know. You go on back in that cell and shut the door. It locks on a spring.”

“They can’t arrest me for murder, can they? I never killed him.”

“Not in Mohave Wells, son, not while I’m sheriff. And there ain’t another civilized county in this here State where they’d arrest a man for killin’ a predatory animal. You run along. I’ve got a little whittlin’ to do.”

Skinner was mad, but he did not talk openly in the saloon. He knew how Buck Brady stood with the people of Mohave Wells. He and his men lingered in the saloon, drinking a little. Finally they started a poker game to kill time. Skinner’s men asked no questions. They were content to stay there and wait for Skinner to tell them what to do. They were Skinner’s hired killers and their time belonged to him.

They ate supper at the little Chinese restaurant. Buck Brady knew there was some reason for their staying in Mohave Wells, and as he whittled and whittled he wondered what that reason might be. Larry Lebec came down after supper, wondering why Skinner and his men stayed.

“Go down to my house,” said Buck. “They might be aimin’ to get that girl, but I don’t think so. The kid told me the story about you gettin’ ’em out of that town. Where’d you first see Skinner—about the time of the fight?”

“I was on the stage, Buck. The station is almost across the street from where they had the fight. I heard that shot, but I didn’t know where it was. Then I seen Skinner. He was at the entrance to them stairs, and I don’t know whether he was comin’ out or goin’ in.

“He yelled at somebody and pointed up them stairs. I had a hunch; so over I went and up the stairs. It shore was a mess. There was Eley, shot through the head, and everythin’ upset. Skinner was accusin’ the kid of shootin’ Eley; so I th’owed my gun down on Skinner and took them kids away. We shore fanned the breeze out of there.”

“That’s fine, pardner. Trot down to the house, will you?”

“I shore will. See you later.”

Darkness came, but Buck stayed there. The lights of the saloon were bright enough for him to see the horses at the hitchrack. Buck drew down his window shade and lighted a lamp. He had a peephole in that old shade; a misguided cowboy had sent a .45 slug through the shade one night.

It was about eight o’clock when the five men came from the saloon, mounted their horses and came down the street past the office. Buck watched them closely, and he saw one man turn back as the others galloped on. He rode up to the office and dismounted. A few moments later he knocked, and Buck asked him to come in.

It was Skinner, but a rather apologetic Skinner. Buck stood up and faced him.

“I’ve been thinkin’ this thing over, Brady,” he said humbly. “We don’t want to go off half cocked. I realize we’ve been a little hasty and I know how you feel toward me.”

It was so unlike Skinner that Buck was instantly alert, suspicious.

“Yeah?” he queried.

Skinner came in a little closer. They were within arm’s reach of each other now.

“The girl saw the whole thing,” said Skinner. “I never had a chance to question her about what she saw. Naturally she wouldn’t incriminate her own brother, but I’d like to hear what she’d have to say.”

“Meanin’ what?” asked Buck. His right hand was itching for that gun.

“Take me where she is. You’ve got the best of it, Brady. We’ll question her together, eh? That’s the stuff. I’d even give you my gun—”

His right hand jerked back. Perhaps Skinner was really going to give Buck that gun, but his action was altogether too sudden to suit Buck, whose gun came up like a flash. With a short arm jerk Buck snapped the heavy barrel against the side of Skinner’s head.

Skinner went down like a pole-axed beef, shaking the office, his right hand convulsively gripping the gun he had drawn. Buck kicked it aside.

“Must ’a’ thought he was pretty fast,” muttered Buck. “Fool!”

He grasped Skinner by the nape of the neck and dragged him back to the cell, where he unlocked the door.

“Mr. Brady?” asked Harry Nestor nervously.

“And companion,” grunted Buck, as he unlocked the door and dragged Skinner inside and stretched him out on the bunk.

“C’mon, son,” said Buck, and they went out to the office.

“Stay here,” ordered Buck, and went outside, where he tied the reins up on Skinner’s horse, swung the animal around and slapped it with his hat.

Buck came back, blew out the light and told Harry to follow him. They went through the back door, and in a few minutes they were down at Buck’s house. Larry was there, the shotgun across his lap. Gladys was overjoyed at sight of Harry.

“I was tellin’ her that Buck would protect her brother,” said Mrs. Brady.

“How about a little somethin’ to eat, Ma?” asked Buck. “Me and the kid ain’t nourished yet.”

“Oh, I don’t believe I shall ever have an appetite again,” said Harry.

“You will here,” said Buck.

“Skinner and his gang pull out?” asked Larry.

“Little while ago.”

“Why did they stay around here?” Buck shook his head slowly.

“I wish I knew, Larry. There was a scheme.”

“Was a scheme?”

Came a heavy footfall on the porch, a sharp knock at the door. Buck stepped over against the wall and flung the door open. It was the man from the stage office, hatless, out of breath.

“Brady!” he blurted. “Some men broke into your office a few minutes ago, and they must have fired a dozen shots in there. I was across the street and I heard the shots. It was like a Fourth of July in there. Then the men came running out to their horses, and I heard one of them say:

“‘By Gawd, if we can’t get ’em one way, we’ll get ’em another!’”

The lines of Buck Brady’s face seemed to deepen a little as they looked at him. He sighed softly and turned to look at the serious face of Lebec.

“Was a scheme, Larry,” he said softly.

Transcriber’s Note

This story appeared in Adventure Magazine, March 1, 1930. It is believed to be in the public domain in the United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.

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