by J. T. Edson
‘Just how’d you mean, proof?’ asked Red.
‘In view of the value of the property and the fact that I’ve heard nothing from you—’ Corlin began.
‘I wrote and told you that I’d be coming,’ Red interrupted.
‘But I never received any letter!’ Corlin protested. ‘That’s why I arranged the sale. However, under the circumstances I think we can put that aside. If you offer me satisfactory proof of your identity, I will accept your payment.’
‘I know Sandy McGraw pretty well,’ Dusty pointed out.
Corlin gulped and jerked his head in Dusty’s direction. Any man so fast with a gun possessed a mighty convincing argument in his favor. If he made an issue of having his word accepted, neither the sheriff nor the marshal could lick his draw in defense of the land agent.
‘Th-that’s hardly what I meant,’ Corlin finally croaked.
‘Maybe these’ll help,’ Red drawled, pulling four letters from his pocket and offering them to the agent.
Without taking it, Corlin recognized the top envelope. On accepting the offered evidence, he drew out his own letter telling Sandy of the back taxes and setting the date for payment, also warning of the forfeit should it not be made on time. The second letter had been sent by Moses Birnbaum, local lawyer currently on a visit to El Paso. It informed Sandy of his uncle’s death and now Seth left him the ranch. Drawing out the third letter, Corlin found it to be from Marshal Anse Dale of San Antonio and introduced its bearer as Rufus Hamish McGraw, known as Sandy. Lastly Corlin studied a similar letter of introduction signed by Dustine Edward Marsden Fog for General O. D. Hardin.
‘Satisfied?’ asked Red.
While the evidence certainly appeared satisfactory, Corlin could think of an unpleasant explanation of how they came into the redhead’s hands. However the land agent felt sure that any suggestion of the newcomers having come by the letters dishonestly would not be kindly received. An interruption came to save Corlin reaching a decision. Having moved up unnoticed and listened to the conversation, Cactus and Rache swung themselves on to the porch.
‘Well I swan!’ Cactus boomed. ‘If young Sandy ain’t done forgot his ole Uncle Cactus and Uncle Rache.’
‘Waal, he ain’t seed us since afore the war,’ Rache pointed out.
‘You recognize him then?’ asked Corlin.
‘He’s a mite older’n when we saw him last, afore the war,’ Cactus replied. ‘Looks like his pappy though. Why Sam ’n’ Bertha McGraw must’ve been real proud of you, boy, when they heard you was a sergeant in General Hood’s Texas Brigade.’
‘They sure would’ve been, only their names were Mavis-Belle and Hamish,’ Red corrected. ‘And I never even made corporal. Best I got was carrying the company guidon for Cap’n Dusty Fog.’
‘Cactus’s getting old, boy,’ Rache apologized. ‘Couldn’t even remember what Seth claimed he used to call you when you was a sprout; and neither could I.’
‘Then even if I tell you it was “Hoppy” on account of me hopping all ’round the place, you won’t know any difference,’ Red grinned.
‘Danged effen he’s not right, Rache,’ Cactus declared, slapping his thigh with the hand not holding the rifle. ‘Looks like we’ve done met up with our new boss. Allus figuring he wants a couple of ole no-accounts like us around.’
‘Like Uncle Seth always said,’ Red replied. ‘I may as well hire you pair, you don’t eat as much and come cheaper than one good hand.’
Despite the way in which the two old timers accepted Red, Dusty felt sure something was wrong. Before leaving San Antonio, the three cousins had learned as much as possible from Sandy’s past. They had collected many apparently unimportant details, little things that one would expect only the genuine person to know. At the back of Dusty’s mind, a half-recalled memory fought to gain recognition and failed.
‘You got a minute to spare, friends,’ asked the sheriff, coming to Dusty’s side while Red gave Corlin his attention.
‘Why sure,’ Dusty answered.
No matter how Dusty felt, it seemed that Corlin accepted Red’s bona fides. Taking the money Red offered, the land agent started the formalities to make Sandy McGraw legal owner of the Lazy M ranch. Dusty and the sheriff walked along the porch and, although watched by some of the crowd, halted where their voices would not reach other ears.
‘I’d say you’ve used a gun afore today,’ Washbourne remarked, nodding to where people gathered about Damon’s body. ‘Fact being, there’s not many around can handle one that good.’
‘Thanks,’ Dusty replied.
‘I’m being polite and hinting to learn your name,’ Washbourne stated.
‘And if I don’t feel like telling you it?’ asked Dusty.
‘I’m not fast enough to make you tell me,’ admitted the sheriff. ‘But I’ll just have to make a stab at it.’
‘The sheriff down to Rio Hondo County allowed you’re just about stubborn enough to try it.’
‘This sheriff down there. You know him real good?’
‘I should,’ Dusty said. ‘He’s my father. Only I’d as soon nobody knew about it just yet.’
‘It’s a sinful shame when a man’s ashamed of his own kin, not that I blame you in this case,’ grinned Washbourne, pleased that his guess at the small Texan’s identity turned out to be a meat-in-the-pot hit. ‘What’s it all about, Mr.—Smith?’
‘Make it “Jones”, Sheriff,’ Dusty said. ‘I’m a snob. What do you know about that jasper I killed?’
‘He’s a pistolero valiente, which you already know.’
‘Work around here?’
‘Not as I know about,’ Washbourne replied. ‘Mind you though, I don’t come up this way more than three-four times a year, but I get around to hearing most that happens.’
‘From that real smart-looking deputy there?’ asked Dusty, nodding to where Tenby made a lethargic way towards the body.
‘He’s cheap—and folks watch him instead of the feller who lets me know about things,’ the sheriff answered. ‘I figure it’s time you answered some of my questions now.’
‘That’s easy,’ Dusty said. ‘Sandy McGraw rode with my company in the war. Asked me down to San Antonio for his wedding. When somebody tried to kill both him and his wife the night before the wedding, I allowed he might need help.’
‘That sort of thing does make you feel thataways,’ Washbourne drawled. ‘You know who wanted to kill Sandy?’
‘A hired gun called Paco Murphy.’
‘Name means nothing to me,’ Washboume confessed. ‘Not that that counts for anything, way his sort change their names.’
Even when Dusty described Murphy, the sheriff still continued to disclaim all knowledge of the man. However Washbourne promised that he would make inquiries both from his local informant and at the county seat. Then he and Dusty turned back to see how Red was faring with the land agent.
Although some of the people came to greet and introduce themselves to the ‘McGraws’, both ranchers walked away without speaking. Seeing that there would be no further dramatic developments, the crowd started to disperse. Cordova and his men rode out of town, but the Rocking Rafter cowhands returned to the Golden Goose saloon while their boss went to attend to some business.
‘You folks coming right out to the ranch?’ Cactus asked as Dusty rejoined his cousins.
‘We’ve a few things to do around town first,’ Red replied.
‘Why not take your hosses into the livery barn while you’re waiting then?’ Rache suggested.
‘It’d be best,’ Dusty answered. ‘Let’s do just that.’
Glancing to where the sheriff had joined the town marshal, Dusty saw them look his way. It seemed that Washbourne satisfied Tenby’s curiosity, for the marshal did not bother to ask Dusty any questions. Instead he went off after four men who were carrying Damon’s body to the undertaker’s premises. Most of the crowd had gone and those who had stayed to speak with Betty and Red moved away. At the table Corlin looked down at a recei
pt Red had signed for the title deeds to the ranch. Then the land agent stared harder, opened his mouth as if to say something, thought better of it and remained silent. He stared hard at Red for a time before folding up the receipt and dropping it into his pocket.
Followed by the two old timers, Dusty, Betty and Red returned to the wagon. On reaching the livery stable, they found it deserted and prepared to care for their horses themselves. After unbuckling the double girths, Dusty gripped the horn and cantle of his saddle ready to remove it.
‘Just sorta keep your hands there, young feller,’ Cactus said.
Looking over his shoulder, without moving his hands, Dusty gazed into the .56 caliber bore of the Colt revolving rifle. More than that, Rache’s shotgun lingered negligently, casually, but directly on Red’s back as he too stood with hands on his saddle.
‘Something bothering you?’ Red asked.
‘Waal now, that’s a real good question,’ Cactus answered. ‘Thing bothering me is who you be.’
‘Sandy McGraw, most folks’d say,’ Red drawled.
‘Know plenty about him, too,’ admitted Rache. ‘Only you made one lil mistake in it.’
‘Mind how you met us here afore the war?’ asked Cactus mildly.
‘Sure,’ Red replied.
‘Only we warn’t here afore the war,’ Cactus stated. ‘We was—’
‘Running contraband down on the border,’ Dusty finished for him, the half-remembered fact leaping into focus.
For a moment the rifle wavered and Cactus came as near to showing surprise as ever in his life. ‘Now how’d you know that?’
‘I’ve heard the Ysabel Kid talk about you,’ Dusty explained.
‘Do you think I’m going to need this, Dusty?’ Betty put in, making a small gesture with the Remington Double Derringer she had drawn at the first sign of trouble.
‘How long you been pointing that thing at us, ma’am?’ Rache inquired, letting his shotgun’s muzzle sag a trifle.
‘Long enough to figure I won’t have to use it,’ Betty smiled.
‘Reckon you could hit us with that itty-bitty stingy gun, ma’am?’ Cactus went on returning the rifle to across the crook of his elbow.
‘You’d better believe it,’ Betty replied. ‘Or you could ask the Ysabel Kid.’
‘Is Cuchilo hereabouts then?’ asked Cactus, using the Kid’s Indian name.
‘Not right now,’ Dusty replied. ‘And I’m going to take this saddle off before my hoss kicks my feet from under me.’
‘Now lookee here,’ protested Rache. ‘We’s all sociable and getting on like the deacon to firewater. But I allows somebody should ought to tell us where young Sandy be.’
Swinging his saddle from the paint, Dusty carried it to the wooden rack at the side of the barn. Then he told the old-timers of the incidents which brought himself and his cousins to San Garcia instead of Sandy and Sarah McGraw. An angry growl rumbled in Cactus’ throat on hearing of Sandy’s accident and Rache cut loose with a curse, remembered Betty’s presence and apologized with another for his previous profanity.
‘Figure we owe you-all a forgiveness,’ Cactus said, silencing his companion by jerking his battered Stetson over his eyes. ‘We knowed you wasn’t young Sandy, mister, but you knew stuff he’d only tell a friend. So we didn’t let on in front of the folks.’
‘Why make with all the high drama then?’ asked Red, placing his saddle by Dusty’s. ‘Pointing those rusted-up ole relics and all.’
‘We’re jest a couple of wored-out, useless ole goats—’ Cactus began.
‘You said it,’ Red pointed out.
‘Like I was saying,’ sniffed the old timer. ‘We ain’t smart like you young sprouts’s has had book l’arning—’
‘But we’re long on low cunning,’ interrupted Rache. ‘And afore you says it, I just now said it.’
‘Like Horatio here done stated, we-all long on low cunning,’ confirmed Cactus. ‘So we figures that you not being Sandy, you mightn’t go for folks mentioning it to you.’
‘Which same we figures also that the time to start asking about it’s after you boys warn’t in no position to argify the point,’ Rache continued. ‘Only when we was young, a well-raised young lady didn’t go pointing no gun at folks old enough to be her grandpappy.’
‘Now you knowing the Kid so well raises a smart point,’ Cactus remarked. ‘I mind a name you hear spoke a lot along of the Kid’s. You wouldn’t be—’
‘This’s my cousin, Edward Marsden,’ Betty put in.
‘Right pleased to know you, Mr. Marsden,’ grinned Cactus. ‘Did anybody ever tell you how much you look like Cap’n Dusty Fog?’
‘He’s fatter and not so good looking as Cousin Ed,’ grinned Red. ‘Folks do say I feature that handsome, charming, witty, dashing young Red Blaze though.’
‘And you’d be Mrs. Blaze, ma’am?’ asked Rache.
‘Not for any price!’ Betty snorted.
‘Sandy having just got married, we figured I’d be accepted better if I had a wife along,’ Red explained. ‘My gal Sue’s back home so I offered to go out and find a right pretty lil gal to come along. Couldn’t find one, so I brought her instead.’
‘You wouldn’t want me to tell that story to Sue when we get home, now would you, cousin dear?’ Betty purred.
Friendly relations had been re-established and the cousins did not blame the old timers for taking precautions. Dusty brought the conversation to a more serious level and described Murphy, asking if either of the old men knew him.
‘I’d swear he’s not been around here,’ Cactus stated.
‘Who’d want the ranch bad enough to hire Murphy and send him after Sandy?’ asked Dusty.
‘Nobody I can think of,’ Cactus replied and Rache nodded agreement.
‘How about those two ranchers who were bidding to buy the spread?’
‘Cal Mobstell only wanted it to stop Cisco Cordova getting it, Cap’n,’ the bearded oldster answered. ‘And the same applies the other way about.’
‘Then where’s that gun-slick fit in?’ Red asked. ‘He for sure wanted to buy.’
‘Might’ve just been looking for some place to settle down and make a home,’ Rache suggested. ‘Figured on hanging up his guns and making a living ranching.’
‘Forcing the other bidders out’d be a swell way of doing that,’ Dusty said. ‘Nope. There’s another reason for him coming here and joining the bidding. There has to be.’
‘Could be he works for one of those big Yankee companies who’re buying into the cattle business now we’ve got it bringing in profit,’ Betty remarked. ‘Some of them aren’t choosy how they gain control.’
‘Would they want a small spread like the Lazy M?’ Red asked.
‘It’d be a start,’ Dusty answered. ‘What sort of a spread is it, Cactus? I mean does it control the water hereabouts?’
‘Nope. We got our share of water, but so’ve the Rocking Rafter and Whangdoodle. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t dry them out.’
‘How’d Seth die?’
‘Just took sick and went, Cap’n.’
‘At the ranch?’
‘Nope,’ replied Cactus. ‘Here in town.’
‘We’d come in to spend our pay and he took sick down at the Golden Goose,’ Rache went on. ‘He’d gone afore the doctor got to him.’
‘Did the doctor say what he thought caused him to die?’ Dusty inquired.
‘Allowed it war “appendi” something or such,’ answered Raohe, his tone showing that he placed little faith in the doctor’s ability. ‘Ole Seth got this pain in his guts—that’s Kiowa for stomach, ma’am—and doubled over like he’d been kicked by a knobhead. x We got him up to Miss Stevie’s room, but Towcester, him being the new boss at the Golden Goose, would have that fancy dude doctor come see him.’
‘I told them all Seth needed was a good dosing with croton oil,’ Cactus stated. ‘All them new-fangled medical notions are neither good for men nor beast.’
‘Has anybody show
ed any interest in buying the ranch, either before or after Seth died?’ Dusty asked, making a mental note to question the doctor at the first opportunity.
‘Anybody’s knowed Seth’d not waste his time. You couldn’t’ve bought the Lazy M with the whole damned First National Bank’s money, way he felt about the place.’
‘Rache’s never said a truer word,’ confirmed Cactus. ‘And nobody’s said anything to us since he died.’
‘Anybody been coming around like they were looking it over?’ Dusty said, deciding that an early visit to the lawyer who handled McGraw’s will was also called for.
Not that we’ve seen,’ admitted Cactus, but Rache disagreed.
‘Two or three times I’ve seen Towcester and Miss Stevie out there.’
‘What were they doing?’ asked Red.
‘And you a married man, for shame,’ Cactus sniffed. ‘I’d say he was doing the same as you used to do when you took your good lady buggy-riding, when you was sparking her.’
‘The dirty dog,’ grinned Red.
‘Danged if we ain’t getting old, Cactus,’ growled Rache, slapping a hand on his thigh. ‘How’s about that lard-gutted marshal?’
‘What about him?’ demanded Dusty.
‘We’ve come across him two-three times riding the range and allowing to be hunting for owlhoots.’
‘And was he?’
‘Tell you, Cap’n,’ Rache replied. ‘I’d sooner say “no” to that. He may’ve been a fair miner one time, but he’s no great shucks as a peace officer.’
‘A miner?’ Dusty repeated.
‘Waal, he’s never told us so,’ Rache admitted. ‘But he uses a slew of miner talk; you know, like a cowhand talks cattle. I’d say Tenby’s spent plenty time in mining camps.’
‘Could he be doing some prospecting hereabouts on the side?’ Red said.
‘He’s picked the wrong sort of country if he is,’ Rache replied. ‘I was out to Californy in ’49 and done my share of gold-hunting. First time I heard Tenby’d been seed owlhoot-hunting, I took out and searched the high country. Unless I’m plenty mistooked, there’s no gold in them there hills.’