Shoe-Bar Stratton

by Joseph Bushnell Ames

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE MYSTERIOUS MOTOR-CAR

  Buck took to Jim Tenny at once. There was something about this long, lean,brown-faced foreman of the Rocking-R, with his clear gray eyes and thathalf-humorous twist to his thin lips, which inspired not only confidencebut liking as well. He listened without comment to Buck's story, whichincluded practically everything save the revelation of his own identity;but once or twice, especially at the brief mention of the fight in thebunk-house, his eyes gleamed with momentary approval. When Buck told aboutthe blackleg incident his face darkened and he spoke for the first time.

  "Seems like yuh had him there," he said briefly. "That job alone ought toland him in the pen."

  Buck nodded. "I know; but I'm afraid he couldn't be convicted on myevidence alone. Kreeger and Siegrist fixed up a pretty decent alibi, yousee, and it would only be my word against theirs. Even the carcass of thebeast wouldn't help much. They'd say it wandered through the pass byitself, and I suppose there's one chance in a thousand it could have."

  "Damned unlikely, though," shrugged Tenny.

  "Sure; but the law's that way. You've got to be dead certain. Besides, ifhe was pulled in for that we might never find out just what's at thebottom of it all. That's the important thing, and if I can only get a lineon what he's up to, we'll land him swift enough, believe me!"

  Warned by Bud's unexpected question the evening before that he must have amore plausible motive for following up the case, Buck had coolly appointedhimself one of Jim Hardenberg's deputies. He hinted that rumors of thecattle-stealing had reached the sheriff, who, debarred from taking up thematter openly by the absence of any complaint from the owner of theShoe-Bar, had dispatched Stratton on a secret investigation. The processof that investigation having disclosed evidences of rascality of which therustling was but a minor feature, Stratton's desire to probe the mysteryto the bottom seemed perfectly natural, and the need for secrecy was alsoaccounted for. The only risk Buck ran was of Tenny's mentioning the matterto Hardenberg himself, and that seemed slight enough. At the worst itwould merely mean anticipating a little; for if he did succeed in solvingthe problem of Tex Lynch's motives, the next and final step wouldnaturally be up to the sheriff.

  "I get yuh," said Tenny, nodding. "That's true enough. Well, what do youwant me to do?"

  Buck told him briefly, and the foreman's eyes twinkled.

  "That's some order," he commented.

  "I'd pay you for the stock and grub, of course," Stratton assured him;"and at least put up a deposit for the cayuses."

  "Oh, that part ain't frettin' me none. I reckon I can trust yuh. I wasthinkin' about how I could stall off Lynch in case he comes around askin'questions. Yuh want he should get the idea I hired yuh?"

  "I thought it would ease his mind and give him the notion I was safe for awhile," smiled Stratton. "Of course you could say I tried for a job butyou were full up."

  "That would be easier," agreed Tenny. "I could keep my mouth shut, but Icouldn't guarantee about the boys. They wouldn't say nothin' a-purpose,but like as not if they should meet up with one of that slick crowd at theShoe-Bar they'd let somethin' slip without thinkin'. On the other hand, itsure would make him a mite careless if he thought yuh was tied down hereon a reg'lar job."

  He paused reflectively; then suddenly his eyes brightened.

  "I got it," he chuckled. "I'll send you down to help Gabby Smith at RedButte camp. That's 'way to hell and gone down at the south end of theoutfit, where nobody goes from here more'n about once in six months.Gabby's one of these here solitary guys that's sorta soured on the worldin gen'al, an' don't hardly open his face except to take in grub, but yuhcan trust him. Jest tell him what yuh want and he'll do it, providin' yuhdon't hang around the camp too long. Gabby does hate company worse'n adose of poison."

  Tenny lost no time in carrying out his plans. He hunted out a few simplecooking-utensils and enough canned goods and other stores to last twoweeks, picked a pack-animal and a riding horse, and by dinner-time hadeverything ready for Buck to start immediately afterward.

  The six or seven cow-punchers who responded to the gong presented a markedand pleasant contrast to the Shoe-Bar outfit. They greeted Stratton withsome brevity, but after the first pangs of hunger had been assuaged andthey learned where he was bound for, they expanded, and Buck was theobject of much joking commiseration on the prospect before him.

  "You'll sure have one wild time," grinned a dark-haired, blue-eyedyoungster called Broncho. "Gabby's about as sociable as a rattler. Iwouldn't change places with yuh for no money."

  No one seemed to suspect any ulterior motive beneath the plan, and whenBuck rode off about one o'clock, leading his pack-horse, his spirits roseinsensibly at the ease with which things seemed to be working out.

  He reached Red Butte camp in a little more than three hours and found theadobe shack deserted. It was similar in size and construction to LasVegas, but there all likeness ceased, for the interior was surprisinglycomfortable and as spick-and-span as the Shoe-Bar line camp was clutteredand dirty. Everything was so immaculate, in fact, that Buck had a momentof hesitation about flicking his cigarette ashes on the floor, andbanished his scruples mainly because he had never heard of a cow-mandropping them anywhere else.

  Gabby appeared about an hour later, a tall, stooping man of uncertainmiddle age, with a cold eye and a perpetual, sour droop to his lids. Atthe sight of Buck the sourness became accentuated and increased still morewhen he observed the ashes on the floor. His only reply to Stratton'sintroduction of himself was a grunt and Buck lost no time in easing thefellow's mind of any fear of a prolonged spell of company.

  Even then Gabby's gloom scarcely lightened. He listened, however, toStratton's brief explanation and in a few gruff words agreed that in theunlikely event of any inquiry he would say that the new hand was offriding fence or something of the sort. Then he swept out the offendingashes and proceeded methodically to get supper, declining any assistancefrom his visitor.

  His manner was so dispiriting that Buck was thankful when the silent mealwas over, and even more so an hour later to spread his blankets in one ofthe spare bunks and turn in. His relief at getting away early the nextmorning was almost as great as Gabby's could be to see him go.

  It was late in the afternoon, after a careful circuit of the southern endof the Shoe-Bar, that Buck reached the foothills. Bud had told him of aspring to the northwest of Las Vegas camp, but the rough traveling decidedhim to camp that night on the further side of the creek. In the morning hewent on through a wilderness of arroyos, canyons, and gullies that twistedendlessly between the barren hills, and made him realize how simple itwould be for any number of men and cattle to evade pursuit in this wildcountry.

  Fortunately Jessup's directions had been explicit, and toward noon Buckfound the spring at the bottom of a small canyon and proceeded to unpackand settle down. Bud himself had discovered the place by accident, and asfar as Stratton could judge it was not a likely spot to be visited eitherby the Shoe-Bar hands or their Mexican confederates. A wide, overhangingledge provided shelter for himself, and there was plenty of forage insight for the two horses. Taken all in all, it was as snug a retreat asany one could wish, and Buck congratulated himself on having such safe andsecluded headquarters from which to carry on his investigations.

  These first took him southward, and for five days he rode through thehills, traversing gullies and canyons, and spying out the whole countrygenerally, in a systematic effort to find the route taken by the rustlersin driving off their booty.

  Once he found the spot where they had taken to the hills, the rest wascomparatively simple. There were a number of signs to guide him, includingthe bodies of two animals bearing the familiar brand, and he succeeded intracing the thieves to a point on the edge of a stretch of desert twentymiles or more below the Shoe-Bar land. About twelve miles beyond layanother range of hills, which would give them cover until they were withina short distance of the border.

  "A dozen good fellows
stationed here," thought Stratton, criticallysurveying the gully behind him, "would catch them without any trouble.There's no other way I've seen of getting out with a bunch of cattle."

  Having settled this point to his satisfaction, Buck's mind veeredswiftly--with an odd sense of relief that now at last he could investigatethe matter seriously--to the other problem which had stirred hiscuriosity so long.

  When his attention was first attracted to the north pasture by Bud'saccount of Andrew Thorne's tragic death, its connection with the mysteryof the ranch seemed trivial. But for some reason the thing stuck in hismind, returning again and again with a teasing persistence and gainingeach time in significance. From much thinking about it, Buck could almostreconstruct the scene, with its familiar, humdrum background of bawlingcalves, lowing mothers, dust, hot irons, swearing, sweating men, and allthe other accompaniments of the spring branding. That was the picture intowhich Thorne had suddenly ridden, his face stamped with an excitement inmarked contrast to his usual phlegmatic calm. In his mind's eye Strattoncould see him clutch Tex Lynch and draw him hastily to one side, couldimagine vividly the low-voiced conversation that followed, the hurriedsaddling of a fresh horse, and the swift departure of the twonorthward--to what?

  Buck had asked himself that question a hundred times. Three hours hadpassed before the return of Lynch alone, with the shocking news--timeenough to ride twice the distance to north pasture and back again. Wherehad the interval been passed, and how?

  Stratton realized that they might easily have changed their direction,once they were out of sight of the men. They might have gone eastwardtoward the ranch-house--which they had not--or westward into themountains. Once or twice Buck considered the possibility of the old man'shaving stumbled on a rich lode of precious metal. But as far as he knew notrace of gold had ever been found in these mountains. Moreover, thoughLynch was perfectly capable of murdering his employer for that knowledge,his next logical move would have been an immediate taking up of theclaims, instead of which he remained quietly on the ranch to carry on hisslow and secret plotting.

  Stratton long ago dismissed that possibility. There remained only thenorth pasture, and the longer he considered it the more he becameconvinced that Thorne had met his death there, and that the chances werestrong that somewhere in those wastes of worthless desert land lay the keyto the whole enthralling mystery.

  Buck was so eager to start his investigations that it irked him to have tospend the few remaining hours of the afternoon in idleness. But as he knewthat the undertaking would take a full day or even longer, he possessedhis soul with patience and made arrangements for an early start nextmorning.

  The dawn was just breaking when he left camp mounted on Pete, theRocking-R horse that he had found so reliable in the rough country. Thesimplest and most direct way would have been to descend to level groundand ride along the edge of the Shoe-Bar land. But he dared not take anychances of being observed by Lynch or his gang, and was forced to make along detour through the hills.

  The way was difficult and roundabout. Frequently he was turned back byblind canyons or gullies which had no outlet, and there were few placeswhere the horse could go faster than a walk. To Buck's impatient spirit itwas all tiresome and exasperating, and he had moments of wondering whetherhe was ever going to get anywhere.

  Finally, about the middle of the afternoon, he was cheered for the firsttime by an unexpected glimpse of his goal. For several miles he had beenfollowing a rough trail which wound around the side of a steep, irregularhill. Coming out abruptly on a little plateau, with the tumbled rocksrising at his back, there spread out suddenly before him to the east awide, extended sweep of level country.

  At first he could scarcely believe that the sandy stretch below him wasthe north pasture he was seeking. But swiftly he realized that thethreadlike line a little to the south must be the fence dividing thedesert from the fertile portions of the Shoe-Bar, and he even thought herecognized the corner where the infected steer had been driven through.With an exclamation of satisfaction he was reaching for his field-glasseswhen of a sudden a strange, slowly-moving shape out in the desert caughthis attention and riveted it instantly.

  For a few seconds Buck thought his eyes were playing tricks. Amazed,incredulous, forgetting for an instant the field-glasses in his hand, hestared blankly from under squinting lids at the incredible object thatcrawled lurchingly through the shimmering, glittering desert atmosphere.

  "I'm dotty!" he muttered at length. "It can't be!"

  Then, remembering the glasses, he raised them hastily to his eyes andfocused them with a twist or two of practised fingers.

  He was neither crazy nor mistaken. Drawn suddenly out of its blurredobscurity by the powerful lenses, there sprang up before Buck's eyes,sharp and clear in every detail, a big gray motor-car that moved slowlybut steadily, with many a bump and sidewise lurch, diagonally across thecactus-sprinkled desert below him.