“Won’t be that gent’s fault if he’s late,” remarked Big Boy, as he watched the oncoming rider. “He’s shore hittin’ her up a few.”
“Why, it’s Gentle Annie!” cried Bones. “Must be a man after her.”
The burst of laughter this sally produced had but died away when Linley dashed up and pulled his pony to a sliding stop, the dug-in hoofs sending up clouds of dust.
“Anyone chasin’ yu, Gentle?” queried Larry, and when the boy shook his head, he added : “Well, yu needn’t to have hurried, supper ain’t ready yet.”
“Yo’re a nice lot, ain’t yu?” Linley retorted, surveying the grinning faces around him. “Yu don’t deserve to know.” He leaned forward in his saddle and scanned them carefully. “Wonder which of ‘em was in it?” he speculated aloud.
Severn saw that the boy had news.
“Better spill it, Gentle, ‘fore they shake it out o’ yu,” he suggested.
Linley grinned at his foreman and delivered his tidings with dramatic suddenness. “The bank at Hope has been cleaned out an’ Rapson perforated,” he stated.
A chorus of exclamations and questions followed the announcement, and in the midst of in came the clangour of a beaten tin pan which was Jonah’s intimation that supper was awaiting their attention.
“Come on, boys, Linley will give us the straight of it while we eat,” Severn said, and led the way to the bunkhouse.
The story, shorn of extraneous matter in the shape of comment and surmise, was as follows : Not long after noon—colloquially known as “third drink-time”—three strangers rode into Hope and pulled up at the bank, which was situated at the eastern end of the street not far from the bridge over the creek. They were dressed in cowboy rig, with hat-brims slouched down to conceal the eyes, and each wore a kind of white muffler which hid the lower part of the face. They were well armed and mounted. The two who had entered the building wasted no time. The moment they were inside they pulled their white chokers above their noses a levelled their guns on the startled manager, who was alone, ‘s assistant having gone to lunch.
“What do you want?’ he stammered.
“All yu got,” retorted one of the bandits. “An’ pronto.”
The savage tone and the menacing weapon told the manager that there was nothing for it but to obey, and he opened the safe. The other robber had found a leathern satchel and this was soon stuffed with all the currency in the bank. Rapson, white and trembling, had to look on while his ruin was accomplished. The thought drove him to desperation. In a drawer beneath the cashier’s counter he knew there was a loaded pistol: if he could contrive to fire that someone might hear.
The thieves, doubtless out of contempt, were not watching him very closely. Still holding his hands above his head he backed cautiously towards the counter. One of the ruffians was making a final search of the safe and the other, having apparently heard a sound outside, was listening and looking away. This was his chance, and with a sudden snatch he had the drawer open, clutched the pistol and pulled the trigger. He did not attempt to aim, his only thought being to give the alarm. The man whose attention had been distracted whirled upon him.
“Damn yu for a sneakin’ hound,” he cried, and fired pointblank.
With a hollow groan Rapson slipped to the floor, and the bandits jumped for the exit. At the sound of the shots the man outside had promptly drawn his rifle, and when an inquisitive citizen stuck his head out of a window some fifty yards up the street, a bullet which burned his cheek effectually checked his curiosity. The succession of shots roused the town, but men reached the open only in time to see two men emerge from the bank on the run, one carrying a bulging satchel. They jumped into their saddles, wheeled their horses and spurred across the bridge on the eastern trail before the spectators had grasped what was happening.
“An’ yu can bet yore Sunday shirt that Hope is ‘bout the maddest town this side o’ the Rockies,” Linley concluded. “No, Rapson ain’t cashed but he’s hurt oad—how bad they dunno till the doc comes from Desert Edge.”
“Was Bartholomew in town?” asked Severn.
“He rode in ‘bout half an hour later, an’ he went on the prod immediate—bawled Tyler out for not roundin’ up the White Masks till Hen almost blubbered. Bart claims they got five thousand o’ his money, paid in yestiddy. He was organisin’ a posse when I left an’ threatenin’ to flay them bandits alive when he catches ‘em.”
Amid the chatter and excitement the foreman sat silent, seeking some clue as to the identity of his mysterious correspondent. Clearly the unknown was aware that the robbery was to take place. Who could it be? He went to his own quarters, and was wrestling with the problem when Barton entered.
“The boys have bin indulgin’ in a chin-wag,” he began, “an’ I’m here to say that if the loss o’ the herd-money cramps yu any they all are willin’ to wait for their wages till yu can pay ‘em.”
The foreman smiled, but his expression showed that he was touched. “They are shore white,” he said. “But I drew that mazuma out this mornin’.”
“Yu drew it out?” repeated Larry in amaze. “Well, of all the lucky old—”
“No, it warn’t luck,” Severn chipped in. “Look at these.”
He produced the two warnings he had received, and explained how they had come to him. Larry gave vent to a whistle.
“Odd number, ain’t it?” he queried. “Yu must have a guardian angel somewheres, Jim, an’ Gawd knows, yu need one. Any idea who it may be?”
The foreman mentioned his suspicions of Darby, but his friend did not agree.
“S’pose he is pryin’ for Bart, that don’t connect him up with the White Masks,” he pointed out. “An’ it was Darby first suggested the boys should wait for their pay.”
“Well, I shore owe him somethin’, whoever it is,” Severn admitted. “An’ I like to pay my debts.”
“Mebbe yu’ll get a chance,” said the other. “Meantime, don’t push yore luck too hard—this guardian angel may be human an’ want a nap now an’ again.”
“I gotta play the hands what’s dealt me—win or lose,” the foreman told him. “Yu can say to the boys that I’m shore obliged an’ that I ain’t forgettin’ it.”
Chapter IX
ON the following morning Bartholomew, riding a weary horse, made his appearance at the Lazy M. The posse, of which he was the virtual leader, had gone back to town. As Darby had surmised, they had lost the trail on the Stony River bed, and after hours of search, had failed to pick it up again. The big man looked tired, untidy and sullen. As he walked towards the ranch-house he met Darby and stopped.
“Ain’t seen yu at the Bar B lately,” he said. “There’s some dollars due yu.”
“I don’t aim to collect ‘em, Bart,” was the reply.
The Bar B owner raised his eyebrows. “How come?” he asked sharply.”I ain’t proposin’ to earn ‘em,” Darby explained.
“Goin’ to renig, huh? Roundin’ on me, are yu?” sneered the rancher.
“No, that was never my way—what I know I’ll keep under my hat,” the cowboy said quietly. “I’m just droppin’ a job I never liked, an’ from now on I’m playin’ square with the man who pays me.”
“Meanin’ Severn?”
Darby nodded. His face was pale and his lips set. He knew perfectly well that he was risking his life in thus defying his late employer, but he had no hesitation, and Black Bart, though he did not want to lose the man, realised that he could not persuade him. His face settled into a savage sneer.
“All right, Darby,” he said. “It’s a free country, but freeze on to this—fellas as ain’t for me are agin me, an’ take their chances.”
“Anythin’ yu put over lets me out an’ I talk, Bart,” the man retorted.
With a laugh at the threat the rancher went on to the house. Phil met him on the veranda and her big eyes softened when she saw how jaded he looked. With a grunt of satisfaction he dropped into one of the roomy chairs, and then turned to her with a
grin.
“Phil, I’m about all in, an’ it’s a long way to the `Come Again’,” he suggested.
The girl laughed, vanished inside, and reappeared bearing a bottle and glass. The man’s eyes took in the daintiness of her, the desirableness of her surroundings—mentally comparing the place to his own—and his jaw firmed with decision : he would have her, come hell or high water, was his unspoken vow. He poured himself a drink, raising the glass in salutation.
“Here’s how,” he said, and then : “Gosh ! I wanted that. Huntin’ needles in a haystack’s easy compared with findin’ thieves in this man’s country. Yu heard about the bank hold-up, o’ course?”
“Yes, it was the White Masks, I suppose?”
“Well, I reckon it was, but the question is, who are the White Masks? There’s somethin’ queer about this robbery; two or three fellas drew all their money out just before it happened an’ Severn was one of ‘em. O’ course, it might be it just happened so, an’ then again, it might not.”
“Is Rapson much hurt?”
“He looked pretty desperate. He was just able to say what I told yu, an’ that the fellas’ faces were too muffled for him to know ‘em again, an’ then he fainted. Yu got any news, Phil?”
She told him of the finding of her father’s gun and Severn’s explanation; Bartholomew’s lips twisted into an incredulous sneer as he listened. At once he saw how the story could be used for his own advantage.
“Yu ain’t swallowin’ that, are yu, Phil?” he asked sardonically. “Shucks, I gave the fella credit for more savvy. He’ll have to produce the Greaser’s body to make that tale stick, an’ that’s somethin’ I’m bettin’ high he can’t do, for I happen to know Ignacio has left the country. Now see here, don’t tell no one else about this; we’ll lay low an’ let him run his own silly head into the noose.”
“Yu think he killed daddy?” the girl asked, a break in her voice.
“I ain’t any doubt myself, but we gotta get more proof,” he returned. “An’ we gotta find out if I’m right about Embley bein’ in with him. Then there’s this White Mask business. Was Severn about the ranch when the bank was cleaned?”
“No, he came in just before supper,” she replied. “I chanced to see him.”
“Huh, an’ he left town in plenty time to meet his pals an’ circle back,” Bartholomew said. “Far as I can gather, the fella that downed Rapson was about Severn’s build. But that’s all guess-work, an’ we gotta be shore before we move.” He stood up and patted her shoulder. “Don’t yu trouble, Phil,” he added. “Once things is straightened out I’ll have something to say that I hope yu’ll be glad to hear.”
The gesture and the look which accompanied it made the girl flush; she knew what he meant, but she was aware that there was no answering thrill in her heart. Somehow, though she could not account for it, Bartholomew seemed to have lost in attractiveness. She was not sorry when her visitor went, and she put it down to worry. Bart himself divined nothing of this; he rode away from the Lazy M in a pleasanter frame of mind than he had been in for weeks. Things were looking brighter for him.
Severn did not see the Bar B owner, having left early in the morning with several of the outfit for the southern part of the range, where a miniature round-up was taking, the foreman being desirous of getting an approximate idea of the number of cattle the ranch was running. It was late in the afternoon when he returned to his hut, and his sharp eye immediately told him he had had a visitor. Little displacements of various articles showed that the room had been subjected to a search, and in several spots small holes had been m de in the earthen floor, as though someone had thrust in a rodor stick. Nothing had been taken, and the foreman grinned as he looked around. Then he went down to the bunkhouse.
“Anybody been a-visitin’ to-day, Jonah?” he inquired. “Yessah, dat no ‘count punchah, Geevor, come pesterin’roun’ dis afternoon,” replied the grinning darky. “Went up to yo shack an’ was an almighty long time findin’ I done tole him de trufe when I say yu wasn’t to home.”
The foreman went back to his quarters in a thoughtful mood. At first his suspicions had suggested Phil, searching for further evidence of her father, though it was difficult to believe her guilty of so mean an action.
The evening passed without incident, and though Geevor’s appearance was discussed and speculated upon, Severn did not tell the others of the man’s real object. Bones, who had met an XT rider on the range, brought the news that the doctor gave Rapson one chance in ten to recover. He was too ill to make any statement, and the search for the hold-ups had been abandoned as hopeless.
The foreman did not join in the “kid’s poker”, which was the outfit’s name for the ten cent limit game they played among themselves. On the step of his shack, his back against the side of the open door and a cigarette between his lips, he squatted, gazing at the diamond-dusted sky.
“Mister `Friend’ is the joker in the pack,” he mused. “If I could locate him it would shore be helpful.”
But though he stayed there for more than an hour thrashing the matter out, he was no nearer a solution at the end of it, and at last gave it up in disgust and turned in.
It must have been near to midnight when a warning growl from the dog aroused him. Slipping from his bed, he crept noiselessly to the window and peered out. The night was dark but the stars provided a little light, and he had an impression of a blurred, shadowy form slinking in the direction of the ranch-house. Hurriedly he got into his clothes, and not waiting to buckle on his belt, seized one of his guns and stepped outside; he did not take the dog. Softly but swiftly he made his way to the house, watching warily for any movement.
The place was in darkness, and there was no sign of a marauder, but Severn was not satisfied; he was almost sure he had seen someone. A careful examination of the front of the house showed nothing suspicious, and the foreman went round to the back. Here he found an open window, and climbing through, realised that he was in the kitchen. The door of this opened upon a large hall, from which a flight of stairs led to the upper floor. At the foot of these Severn paused in doubt. The window could have been overlooked, and his eyes might have deceived him. What would Miss Masters think if he were discovered wandering about the house at midnight? He could vision her scornful disbelief of his story, and was on the point of beating a retreat when a low, harsh voice pulled him up. He could not distinguish the words, but it was a man speaking, andhe was upstairs. Noiselessly Severn mounted and halted at the top of the flight, listening to locate the room.
Phil Masters, awakened out of a deep sleep, stared in terrified amazement at the dark, slouch-hatted figure standing by her bedside. Before she could speak the intruder said :
“Keep quiet an’ yu won’t be hurt.”
“Geevor ! ” she cried, recognising the voice. “What are you doing here? How dare—”
“Shucks, war-talk won’t get yu nowhere,” the man returned easily. “Tell me where the money is an’ I’ll go.” Then seeing the look of bewilderment on her face, he added, “I mean the two thousand bucks Severn got for the XT herd. He drew it out just before the bank was gutted, though how he got wise beats me.”
I know nothing about it,” the girl told him, her courage beginning to assert itself. “If Severn drew it out I suppose he must have it.”
“It ain’t in his shack, for I’ve searched, an’ he wouldn’t tote that amount around with him, so it must be here somewheres,” Geevor returned doggedly.
“You cur,” she said. “I don’t know where the money is, and if I did I would not tell you.”
“We’ll see about that,” he growled.
A sudden dart of the long arms and his fingers, claw-like, gripped her shoulders, tearing the frail fabric of her night attire, and exposing the white flesh beneath; the man’s eyes gleamed bestially at the sight.
Frantically she beat him with her fists, but in that iron grip she was almost helpless, and the leering face with its lustful lips came nearer and nearer as h
e dragged her towards him. His liquor-laden breath told her he had been drinking heavily.’
“Bartholomew will hang yu for this,” she panted, and with a last despairing effort her nails scored the evil face now so near her own. With an oath of pain and rage he drew back.
“Yu cursed cat!” he snarled. “I’ll close yore mouth for goodan’. The man was mad with passion, beyond all control; his lust was now for blood. His right hand flew to his belt and shot into the air, gripping a knife. The girl’s terrified eyes wavered between the gleaming blade and the murderous mask of the ruffian who held it. Another second and it would have been buried in the round white throat, but Severn’s gun barked from the doorway, and Geevor, a look of wide surprise on his face, buckled at the knees and fell prone. The girl, half-fainting, gave an inarticulate cry, and sank back upon the bed. Sliding into the room, Severn did not pay any attention to her, but seizing the dead man by the ankles, hauled him on to the landing outside. When he returned, Phil had utilised the opportunity he had given her to don a dressing-gown.
“Ain’t hurt yu, has he?” he asked, and when she shook her head, “Yu needn’t to worry any more. I reckon he was playin’ a lone hand, but I’ll have the house watched.”
On the floor lay the knife, winking wickedly in the faint light. Severn picked it up and went out of the room without waiting for any reply. At the top of the stairs he found Dinah, staring aghast at the corpse. She had heard the shot and come up from her room beside the kitchen.
“Foh de deah Lawd’s sake—” she began, but the foreman cut her short.
“Yore mistress has had a shock; go an’ stay with her,” he said, and slinging the body over his shoulder, carried it out of the house by the way he had come in.
Early on the following morning when he returned from breakfast at the bunkhouse, he found Phil waiting outside his door. She was looking pale and drawn, but her eyes had lost the frostiness hitherto always there when they met.
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) Page 8