Tredway’s eyes flickered a little at that name. “So you know him, do you?”
“The whole town knows who he is,” Evenas replied shortly, “but I’m the only one who knows who Pike Towne is.”
“Pike Towne?” The name was unfamiliar, and his puzzle-ment was plain in his face. It increased Evenas’s certainty. If this man did not even know who worked for him—
“Pike Towne is the fellow who’s been helping Cassidy work your cattle out of the brush. He and Rig Taylor.”
“You say you know who he is? What of it? He means nothing to me.” Tredway was talking and watching to get Evenas off guard. He had known for several minutes that he was going to kill him, but not at once. He wanted Evenas to see the folly of his actions, he wanted him to regret his temerity in coming here. And then he could die.
“That’s what you think!” Evenas sneered. “Pike Towne is Ben Hardy!”
“What?” Tredway’s eyes bulged. “You’re crazy! Ben Hardy was killed in—” Then he realized what a complete giveaway his action had been, and he sagged back in the chair, taking the precaution of letting his hand fall to the gun that rested in a holster fastened to the underside of the desk.
“No, he isn’t dead.” Evenas leaned forward across the desk. “He isn’t dead. That’s Ben Hardy out there, and he knows who you are. What do you think he’ll have to say to you?”
Tredway’s face was impassive, but behind it his brain was working desperately, not upon the situation that faced him, but upon the threat implied by the presence of Hardy. Suddenly he no longer doubted that it was Ben, and he remembered that while he had always held the other man in contempt, he had always been a little afraid of him. There was no fooling about Ben, and if he was back here, it must be for a reason. And working with Cassidy! What did that mean?
“Come on, Colonel,” Evenas urged, “I want my money. I’ve got evidence hid out that will be all Cassidy or Marshal Lewis would need, to say nothing of Hardy.”
Sure of his success now, Evenas was wondering why he had ever been afraid of this man. That was the way of it; they looked tough and sounded tough, but they were soft enough when you faced them.
“All right,” Tredway said, “but I’ve not anything like five thousand out here. Didn’t you ever think of that?”
To tell the truth, Evenas had never considered it, and suddenly he was cursing himself for a fool. Out here he had been sure he could talk without being disturbed, but if Tredway had no money here, why—
“I’ll have to go to town to get that much,” Tredway said quietly. “Five thousand is a lot of money, and I never keep over five hundred on the place.”
Now, a ride through the darkness and wind to Kachina was the last thing Evenas wanted to undertake, not with this man at his side or even ahead of him. There was too much chance of losing him in the darkness, and after that there was no telling what Tredway might do. Despite his growing contempt, an underlying sense of reason prevented Evenas from making a complete fool of himself.
Regretfully he made his choice. “Give me the five hundred you say you have here,” he said, “and a check for the remainder. You can tell them at the bank I’m doing some buying for you, and you can write me an authorization to ensure my getting the money.” He smiled. “That will do it.”
“All right.” Tredway started to move, his hands resting on the table to push himself erect. As he reached his feet his right hand swiftly scooped up the coal-oil lamp and smashed it at Evenas. The lamp chimney shattered and the bowl of the lamp, catching the corner of the bookcase, broke. Oil splashed over Evenas’s hands and coat, and some of it struck his face and eyes. Blinded, he sprang back, dropping the derringer wrapped in the paper and pawing at his eyes. Fire flashed in the oil and his coat blazed up. Screaming, he sprang back, and Tredway calmly stepped behind him and smashed the barrel of a gun over his skull. As the clerk dropped, Tredway scooped up an Indian rug from a chair and threw it over the clerk’s body, smothering the flames.
He walked into the next room and lit a lamp. He brought it back and placed it on the desk. Pocketing the derringer, he went through the unconscious man’s pockets, then grabbed his coat collar and dragged him outside.
Saddling his own horse, Tredway walked back to the clerk, who was just beginning to stir. Brutally he kicked him in the ribs. “You weak-kneed fool!” he said contemptuously. “Whatever made you think you could get away with this?”
Moaning in pain from his burned hands and face, Evenas struggled to get up. Tredway kicked him again, then helped him erect. “Get on your horse!” he said violently. “Hurry it up!”
“I can’t!” Evenas cried. “I’m burned! Get me a doctor!”
Tredway shoved him. “Get up in that saddle or I’ll kill you!” he said. “I want those papers and I want them now! Understand me?” His lips thinned down. “You don’t get a doctor until I get those papers! Now get started!”
Blindly Evenas crawled into the saddle. Pain seared his face and his hands were raw. All thought of money was gone. All he wanted was to escape the pain, the awful pain.
CHAPTER 9
BLACKMAILER’S CACHE
Hopalong Cassidy rode through the woods toward their old camp on the Picket Fork. For some distance he had been aware of the utter silence around him, and yet it was not until he came within sight of the corral that he understood why. The cattle were gone!
Riding forward at a lope, he swung down and studied the ground. Near the gate and close to the corral fence he found a boot print. Mounting up, he swung into the trail of the cattle and soon realized that the herd had been driven off by at least four riders. They were headed straight across country toward the Box T.
Tredway had wasted no time in claiming the cattle. Had he by some chance discovered the larger herd hidden in the chaparral? From the size of this herd, Cassidy doubted it. There was no time now to look and see. He would follow this herd until he was sure it was proceeding toward the Box T, and then he would ride to Kachina. It was time for a showdown.
Topper was in fine fettle. The white gelding had always been a horse that loved to travel, and all he needed to recoup his strength was a few hours of rest, water, and a little feed. He was tugging impatiently at the bit, wanting to go.
Hopalong removed his bone-handled guns from their black holsters and wiped them carefully, checking the loads as he always did. Then, returning the guns to their holsters, he pushed on, squinting his eyes toward the far-off smoke of Kachina and then back toward the parched range. There was no dust column and everything indicated the cattle had been moved on the previous day. Yet there was little chance they would be taken beyond the Box T itself. There had been something more than three hundred head in that corral by final count, while in the inner corral there were many more.
Turning off the Box T trail, Hopalong started toward Kachina. He was under no illusions about what faced him. Tredway had not gotten where he was, outlaw or not, without being a man of ability. He would not be defeated by any simple means, or without a fight.
He was turning from the trees near the trail and no more than a mile from town when a sorrel horse raced across the road and headed him off. It was Cindy Blair. “Don’t go into town, Hoppy! They are going to arrest you!”
“What do you mean?” Hopalong demanded, catching her bridle. “For the stagecoach robbery?”
“And murder! They already have Rig and Pike! They arrested Pike for possession of stolen money, and they arrested Rig for the killing of Evenas!”
For an instant the name Evenas meant nothing to him, and then he recalled the sign on the hotel desk. “The hotel clerk?”
“Nobody knows what happened. They found him on the trail this morning, his face, hands, and coat burned, and he had been shot three times in the back.”
“Evenas?” Hopalong scowled. “Where did he fit in?”
“I don’t know. Rig was scouting around town. He’d heard they were moving our cattle, and he was seen near where the body was found.”<
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“Did he see anybody?”
“I haven’t talked with him. He’s in jail and I just found out about it. Pike got word to me through Sarah, and I was to stop you before you were arrested, too. It looks,” she added bitterly, “like Tredway is trying to get rid of all of us!”
Briefly she recounted all that had taken place, including the finding of the money and the trouble at the store. “We told Tom Burnside,” she concluded, “or, rather, I did.”
“You couldn’t have done a better thing.” Hopalong considered the situation. Tredway had the cattle and there was no way they could protest without being picked up by the law, and if they were picked up, Tredway was sure to see there was evidence enough to get convictions. He was cunning, and he knew this country. Above all, many of the people in Kachina were dependent on him for their livelihood.
Whatever was to be done would have to be done fast. Burnside might discover something, but they could not afford to wait on that.
“Go back into town,” he said, “and file a claim against those cattle that Tredway drove off. Get Buck Lewis to block any sale of them until this matter is settled.”
“I can do that, I think,” she agreed, “but what then? Rig and Pike are in jail.”
“I’ve a hunch,” he said, “but I’d better get busy on it.” He had suddenly recalled the details of his conversation with Evenas. The comment that he had made—that he had wealth at hand. And he had just been talking of Tredway. It might mean nothing at all, but it was curious the way the man had turned and dropped to his knees on the floor as Hopalong left. Suppose there was something concealed there that in some way affected Tredway?
Suppose—and he realized he had nothing on which to rely as evidence—that Evenas had discovered something about Tredway and had attempted blackmail? Had Tredway managed to get the hiding place from Evenas? If there was any evidence and if there was a hiding place.
Circling the town, Hopalong dismounted and picketed Topper well back in a nest of trees. There were other horses close by and the grass was good, so there was no chance that he would be hungry or restless. Watching from the edge of town, Hopalong took a chance and moved into an abandoned building. From within it he studied the street.
Buck Lewis came out of the Elk Horn and walked up to the Mansion House, then on to his office. He had paused briefly before the Mansion House, talking with someone on the porch. A moment later Hopalong saw Tredway come down the steps and walk toward the Elk Horn.
Then Cindy Blair appeared, riding her sorrel. She rode up to the marshal’s office and entered. After a bit they came out together and met Tredway almost in front of Hopalong’s hideaway. Listening, he could hear every word of their conversation.
“Colonel,” Lewis began, “Miss Blair has asked me to stop you from makin’ any sale of those cows you got from the Picket Fork until this case is settled.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Tredway replied tartly. “They are my cattle. Anyway, you have no such authority.”
“Reckon I do,” Lewis drawled composedly. “I can impound ’em as evidence. You’re not to sell the herd or any cow in it.”
“What?” Tredway was furious. He needed money badly. “Don’t be a preposterous fool! Of course I’ll sell them!”
“Sorry, Colonel.” Lewis’s voice grew stern. “But you won’t. If you do, I’ll have to arrest you.”
Tredway glared at Cindy, then he looked back at Lewis. “Just who are you supporting here? This passel of crooks or the townspeople?”
“I’m supportin’ the law,” Lewis replied easily, “like I was appointed to do. I aim to keep on supportin’ it. You know, Tredway, there ain’t but durned little evidence against these here folks. Mighty little. I’m holdin’ ’em, but I’m huntin’ more clues. It may be they ain’t the right parties.”
“There’s no evidence that’s worth paying attention to!” Cindy said. “I believe you stole my ranch, Colonel Tredway, and I think you were involved in the holdup of the stage.”
“You accusing me?” He stared at her, his eyes malignant.
“Yes,” she replied, “and when the case comes to court, we’re going to have some evidence of our own to present. One of the best sources of evidence—an eyewitness to the thieves meeting someone just after the robbery. I think he will identify both you and Bill Saxx!”
Tredway’s face flushed, then turned pale. Buck Lewis was staring at him, then looking at Cindy. “That’s a serious charge, miss,” he warned. “Can you prove it?”
“The witness,” she said coolly, “was one of the Brothers from Babylon Mesa.”
Tredway stiffened and he turned white as death. He stared at Cindy, only his eyes alive in the dead white of his face. “Woman, you are making wild accusations, and I’ve had about enough of it. Marshal Lewis would be very foolish to base any charges against me on the testimony of any one of that group of madmen.”
Buck Lewis interrupted. “The order stands, Colonel. You sell none of those cattle until this thing is settled.”
“But Cameron, Cassidy, whoever he is, failed to get the five hundred head before quitting. The cattle are mine according to the terms of the contract.”
“We have the cattle,” Cindy said calmly. “You owe Hopalong that money. He hid several hundred head in another corral—and you will live up to your contract!”
“To a lot of thieves?” Tredway demanded furiously.
“They might have got you there, Colonel,” Lewis replied amiably. “The question of whether they are thieves ain’t settled, but that don’t make any difference, anyway. If they’ve got the cattle, they can collect—even if they are proved to be thieves.”
Tredway relaxed slowly. If they did have more cattle and they could produce them, they could demand payment—and he did not have the money. But if they didn’t have the cattle—
Suddenly he felt better. He smiled confidently. “Well, perhaps I overreacted. I’ll admit I don’t like the way these men have conducted themselves. If they have the cattle, naturally they will be paid. Sorry, Marshal, and you, too, Miss Blair, for my outburst.”
They watched him walk away, and Lewis shook his head. “Now, what d’you think of that?” he demanded. “One minute he’s mad enough to bite a cougar an’ the next thing he’s smooth as oil.”
After they had departed, Hopalong sat very still in the abandoned building and considered what he had overheard. The answer was no puzzle to him, for the logical way to avoid payment was to send his riders out to move the cattle to some hideout that would not be known to Cassidy or his friends. Then, even if freed, they would fail to deliver and lose all claim to any money from Tredway.
By the way in which Tredway left, he was about to get things rolling to do just that, and Hopalong dared not leave. He could hear someone working behind the adjoining building, so escape that way was impossible. And the front opened on the street, where there were at least a dozen people within a hundred yards.
There was only one solution. He would wait and carry on as he had started. He would gain access to the hotel, and once inside, he would have a look for the hidden evidence. If he found it, then he would move against Tredway’s men. There was nothing to do but sit and await darkness.
The hours dragged by, but finally dusk began to gather in the street. Anxiously he tried to calculate the time required to ride to the hidden corral in the pear forest. There was every chance they did not know where it was despite Tredway’s previous knowledge of the vicinity, and they would lose time searching. Yet there were enough tracks if they could find them—but they could not see them at night! That was his best chance.
He dozed, and finally slept. He awakened with a start to find it completely dark. There were no lights in the hotel, none down the street except in one distant cabin and the lantern kept burning over the livery-stable door. Stiff from sleeping in his awkward position, Hopalong got to his feet and eased the bone-handled guns to an easier position on his hips. He moved to the door. A hinge creaked slightly, and
then he was in the deep shadow of the doorway.
The street was empty. Down in front of the Elk Horn was a black spot that might be a sleeping dog. There was nothing else. For several minutes Hopalong studied the building fronts, their deepest shadows, their windows and doors. He detected no movement. It would do nothing but harm to be seen now and arrested. In jail he would be helpless. Thankful for his dark clothing, he moved from the shadows and crossed the street.
He did not run, knowing how a moving and especially a swiftly moving object draws the eye. When he was under the awning in front of the hotel, he paused again. The lobby was dark and empty. A light burned over the desk on which there was a bell to ring for the night clerk. He eased open the door and stepped in.
Swiftly Hopalong moved behind the desk and squatted on his haunches, studying the floor. The space was no more than six by six and framed by the counter behind him, the desk, safe, and pigeonholes for keys. On the floor there was nothing loose but the wastebasket. With a struck match he studied that floor with care, and found nothing.
The boards were even and smooth and dust filled all the cracks. Had he found one with less dust, he would have suspected it, but there was nothing here that offered a clue. He felt beneath the desk, under the safe, hoping the papers or whatever they were might be pasted to the bottom of one or the other, but he found nothing. He was about to give up when he saw something else. It was a break in the strip of molding that covered the crack where the floor and wall joined.
Kneeling, Hopalong inserted the point of his knife, and the piece lifted out easily. Below and behind it the crack had been widened with a sharp knife, and hanging to a nail was a string. Lifting it, Hopalong found at the end several long manila envelopes. Hastily he stuffed them inside his shirt and behind his belt. Then he straightened to his feet and stepped from behind the counter. As he did so he came face-to-face with Bill Saxx.
The big blond man stared from Hopalong to the counter, his eyes suspicious. “What’re you doin’ back there?”
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