Fladgate see that, will you? When Harry knew me I was a newspaper man.” He moved off across the room. “By the way, has Madden shown you his collection of firearms?”
Bob Eden rose, and followed. “Why no—he hasn’t.”
“It’s rather interesting. But dusty—say, I guess Louie was afraid to touch them. Nearly every one of these guns has a history. See—there’s a typewritten card above each one.’Presented to P.J. Madden by Til Taylor’—Taylor was one of the best sheriffs Oregon ever had. And here—look at this one—it’s a beauty. Given to Madden by Bill Tilghman. That gun, my boy, saw action on Front Street in the old Dodge City days.”
“What’s the one with all the notches?” Eden asked.
“Used to belong to Billy the Kid,” said Holley. “Ask them about Billy over in New Mexico. And here’s one Bat Masterson used to tote. But the star of the collection”—Holley’s eyes ran over the wall—“the beauty of the lot—” He turned to Eden. “It isn’t there,” he said.
“There’s a gun missing?” inquired Eden slowly.
“Seems to be. One of the first Colts made—a forty-five—it was presented to Madden by Bill Hart, who’s staged a lot of pictures round here.” He pointed to an open space on the wall. “There’s where it used to be,” he added, and was moving away.
Eden caught his coat sleeve. “Wait a minute,” he said in a low, tense voice. “Let me get this. A gun missing. And the card’s gone, too. You can see where the tacks held it in place.”
“Well, what’s all the excitement—” began Holley surprised.
Eden ran his finger over the wall. “There’s no dust where
