CHAPTER XVI
The marshal awoke to a pleasant feeling of warmth and found that he was covered with a blanket and lying beside a fire of dead mesquite branches. Pete, with an anxious face, was kneeling over him, a canteen in his hands. Green made a feeble grab at it.
"No, yu don't," the deputy grinned. "That stuff's wuss'n whisky for yu just now, an' a damn sight more precious in this corner o' hell. Yu gotta be spoon-fed, fella, yet awhile."
Though he would have sold his soul for one deep drink, the sufferer submitted, knowing that the other was right. At the end of an hour he could sit up and use his tongue again, but he was still utterly played out. From behind a hummock of sand Black Feather now appeared and flung an armful of twigs on the fire.
"How'd yu find me?" the invalid enquired.
"Yu gotta thank the Injun for that," Pete told him. "Fact is, we didn't do no searchin' for rustled cattle; I played a hunch an' we followed yu 'bout an hour after; when we met yore hoss I knowed somethin' was wrong. We picked up the trail at the Old Mine. How the hell that copper-coloured cuss followed it I dunno, but he did, an' I'm bettin' we come just in time."
"That's whatever," the marshal agreed, and held out his hand to the redskin. "I'm mighty obliged to yu," he added.
Black Feather took the hand timidly. "White man my brother," he said in his low, husky tone. "My fault he here."
"Shucks!" Green said disgustedly. "My own damn stupidity. They played me for a sucker an' won--this time. Black Feather big chief; he trail bird in the air an' fish in river, huh?"
The Indian smiled at this extravagant tribute to his powers.
Water, warmth, and food gradually restored the marshal's strength, but the red rim of the sun was rising above the horizon before he was able to stand. Helped by the others, he mounted the Indian's horse, its owner electing to walk, and they set out. By this time he had managed to tell the full story; on the redskin it produced no visible effect, but the deputy was furious.
"By God!" he said. "If I find the fella that wrote that invite I'll make him curse his mother for bringin' him into the world. Who d'yu reckon it might be?"
"Ain't a notion," the marshal admitted. "Moraga sprung the trap, but I'm figurin' he didn't bait it. He speaks our lingo pretty good, but that don't mean he can write it."
"Leeson?" Barsay suggested.
Green shook his head. "Them mistakes was made a-purpose," he said. "Good writin' an' bad spellin' don't usually go together."
After a short silence, Barsay spoke again: "See here, Jim, I got an idea. I'll get back to town an' not let on yu've been found. Mebbe somebody'll give us a pointer."
"It's certainly a chance," Green allowed. "Yu see, nobody in town oughta know what's become o' me."
So when they had got clear of the desert and over the Border, the marshal and Black Feather struck out for the Box B ranch, and the deputy took the trail for Lawless. The evening found him in the bar of the Red Ace. He had already decided on his plan of action. Remembering his friend's dictum that a man in liquor may learn more than a sober one, he had resolved to try it out. Draping himself against the bar, he swallowed several drinks in rapid succession and then turned a scowling face on the company.
"'Lo, Pete, how they treatin' yu?" asked the store-keeper jovially.
"Mighty seldom--yu'll never have a better chanct," the deputy told him.
Loder laughed and ordered liquor. "What's come o' the marshal--ain't seen him all day?" he went on.
In a voice that could be heard all over the room Barsay related his own version of the mysterious missive, adding that, becoming uneasy, he had followed the marshal to the appointed spot only to discover the ample evidence of an ambush. The story gained him the attention of most present. Suddenly he darted a finger at Leeson.
"Ask that fella," he said. "Mebbe he can tell yu somethin'."
He watched the man closely as he spoke and noted the look of blank amazement. "What yu gittin' at?" Leeson protested. "How should I know anythin' of it?"
Pete, in fact, saw that he did not, but he had to justify his charge. "Huh! Yu tried to bump him off two-three days ago," he growled.
"I told yu it was a mistake," the 88 man explained quickly, for the statement produced a murmur from several.
"Shore was, an' one more o' the same'll be yore last," Pete threatened.
He poured himself another drink, took a mouthful, spat it out and turned wrathfully on the bartender: "Ain't yu never goin' to get some decent liquor?" he asked belligerently. "That stuff would poison a hawg."
"What's the trouble, Jude?" The saloon-keeper's spare, stooping figure injected itself into the group.
"Barsay's on the prod 'bout the nose-dye," the bartender explained.
Raven's sneering gaze swept the deputy. "Too strong for him, seemin'ly," he said.
The deputy cackled. "That's an insult to me an' a compliment to the dope yu call whisky," he said, with a slight stagger. "What I wanna know is what yu done with the marshal?"
The saloon-keeper's face was wooden. "Yo're either drunk or loco," he replied, and appealed to one of the bystanders: "What: the hell's he mean?" He heard the story with apparent indifference, but Pete, lolling against the bar, saw an expression in the narrowed eyes which might have been satisfaction.
"Looks like he's met up with Moraga," he commented. "I warned him the Mexican was bad medicine, but yu can't tell the marshal anythin'. I guess we won't see him no more."
Bar say nodded his head stupidly and fumbled with his glass.
"How'd yu know it was the Mexican?" he queried.
"I don't--I'm guessin'," Raven replied. "Green has twisted his tail two-three times, an' Greasers ain't a forgivin' sort." His' lips suddenly split in a feline grin: "Anyways, what yu belly-achin' about? Don't yu want his job?"
Pete blinked at him owlishly. "Hell's bells! I hadn't thought o' that."
So ludicrous was his expression that the onlookers laughed aloud, and Raven was quick to seize the opportunity. "Set 'em up, Jude," he cried. "We'll drink to the marshal."
"The new one?" someone questioned.
"There ain't a new one--yet," Raven told him, and lifting his glass added, "The marshal."
Pete grinned foolishly as he raised his glass with the rest, and said thickly, "Here's hopin'"--he paused a second and a man guffawed--"he comes back."
"O' course, we're all wishin' that," the saloon-keeper agreed, and smiled understandingly at the deputy.
The smile confirmed the little man's suspicions, and sent him back to his quarters in an unusually thoughtful frame of mind.
* * *
The marshal received an enthusiastic welcome at the Box B; in the eyes of its owner nothing was too good for the man who had rescued Tonia and punished her assailant. He had heard the details from the girl's own lips, and only her urgent entreaties had kept him from rounding up his outfit and going in search of the offender. He listened with amazement and growing anger to the marshal's account of Moraga's attempted vengeance.
"That Greaser's gettin' too brash whatever," he said. " 'Bout time he was abolished. Yu got that paper with yu? Mebbe I know the writin'."
When the marshal produced it the young man stared in puzzled bewilderment.
"If it didn't seem ridic'lous I'd have said Potter wrote that," he pronounced. "But he wouldn't be agin yu or for the Greaser."
"It ain't Raven's fist, I s'pose, or Leeson's?"
"Dunno 'bout Leeson--shouldn't think he could write so good, but it certainly ain't Raven. What's put them in yore mind?"
The marshal told of the 88 rider's attempt to bushwhack him, and the rancher's eyes widened.
"Yu think Seth put him up to it?"
"I dunno, Andy, an' that's a fact. I'm gropin' in the dark. Leeson is one o' Raven's men, an' unless he's been told different, he'd figure me the same, seein' that Raven made me marshal."
Both were silent for a few moments, and then Green said, "Don't think I'm hornin' in, Andy, but did yore dad owe Raven
money?"
"Fifteen thousand, though I didn't know of it till I saw the note," Bordene replied. "I paid it off. Why?"
"When he drew out that five thousand the mornin' he was--got, he told Potter it was to square a debt, an' he went to the Red Ace," the marshal said quietly. "Raven was out--at the 88. Yu have the note?"
He studied the cancelled document carefully. "That figure one could 'a' been put in after it was wrote," he pointed out.
"Shore could," Andy agreed. "I reckon the Old Man was some careless, but yu got Seth sized up wrong, marshal; he wouldn't play it that low on me."
Green laughed. "Well, seein' as yu've paid, I s'pose it don't do no good to worry about it," he said. "Aimin' to try another drive?"
"Yeah, an' it's goin' through this time, yu bet vu," Bordene said.
"Don't camp too near Shiverin' Sand," Green warned.
"Seth was tellin' me the same thing yestiddy," Andy smiled. "I said I hadn't made no plans."
"Let it be known yu expect to bed down in The Pocket again, an' then change yore mind," the marshal advised.
"Yo're a suspicious jigger, but it ain't a bad notion," the other agreed.
* * *
When his guests had departed on the following morning, Andy set out for the Double S to take Tonia riding. He soon noticed that Reuben Sarel was not his jovial self, and that there was a tiny crease between the girl's level eyebrows.
"What's troublin' Uncle this bright mornin'?" he asked as they trotted away. "Not losin' weight, is he?"
"Losing cows, Andy," she told him, "and we don't know how. I think, too, he's worrying about that Mexican."
The young man snorted. "That fella's becomin' a menace to the country," he said, and told of the guerrilla's latest exploit.
The girl shivered; she knew what the victim of it must have endured. "Are the men around here going to stand for that?" she asked indignantly.
"They ain't," Andy assured her. "When I get my drive through something goin' to be done; but, for now, the marshal wants it kept quiet."
"I shall be glad when you are back, Andy," the girl said. "I'm a bit scared, I think."
"Of that dirty Greaser?" he asked.
"No--not altogether," she said slowly. "I can't explain it, but I've had a 'breakers ahead' sort of feeling, and that man Raven has begun visiting the Double S."
Bordene laughed. "Nothin' to that, Tonia," he replied. "I s'pose he had business with Reuben."
"That's the excuse, of course, but if it weren't so absurd I'd say he came to see me," Tonia told him. "Yesterday he brought me a box of candy, and--he pays me compliments."
Andy's eyebrows rose. "Yu think he's courtin' yu?" he gasped incredulously. "Why, he's a breed. Ain't Reuben showed him the door?"
"He sings praises; I think he's afraid of him in some way," Tonia replied.
"My Gawd!" the young man exploded. "Seth Raven shinin' up to yu--a Sarel? Well, if that ain't the frozen limit." He looked at her closely. "Yu still don't like the fella, Tonia?"
"I detest him," was her emphatic reply. "To me he always suggests what they call him, 'The Vulture,' rapacious, cruel, a bird of prey."
For some time the rancher rode in moody silence; he was getting a new angle on the man he had hitherto regarded as a good sort. The seeds of doubt sown in his mind by the marshal were beginning to germinate, fed by this latest factor. Had the note been tampered with? Was the breaking up of his drive herd the word of the 88? He recalled the poker game, in which he had a shrewd suspicion that Green had saved him from being skinned--for he now knew that Pardoe was a not too scrupulous professional gambler. Were these all part of a plan to put a rival out of the running? The questions milled in his mind and he could find no satisfactory answers. It was the girl who spoke first:
"Too bad to bother you with my little troubles, Andy. Especially when you have bigger ones of your own."
"Shucks! I hope yu'll allus come to me, Tonia, Yu know I'd do anythin'."
There was an undercurrent of feeling in the voice and the girl steered from the subject. "You drive to-morrow?" she asked.
"Yeah. I've got a good bunch--all hand-picked--an' if I lose 'em this time I'll be comin' to yu for a job, Tonia."
For an instant she looked at him in startled surprise, but his grin reassured her, and she replied in the same vein: "What sort of job would you like, Andy? But there, you'll make it this trip; bad luck, like lightning, never strikes twice in the same place."
The soft, sweet voice and the heartening warm smile in her eyes were almost irresistible; he ached to take her in his arms and tell her that the job he wanted was to care for and shield her all the days of his life. But his man's pride kept him silent. When he came back, his ranch cleared of debt--
So the golden moment passed.
CHAPTER XVII
The marshal's return to Lawless excited a great deal of curiosity which had to remain unsatisfied. His own explanation was that he had been absent on business connected with his office, and he treated any suggestion that he had been kidnapped by El Diablo with a tolerant smile, an attitude which aroused Pete's personal wrath.
"What's the grand idea?" he enquired. "Here's me workin' up a case agin the Greaser an' yu percolate in an' knock it flat. Makes me look a fool."
"I can't see that yore appearance has altered the littlest bit," the marshal told him, with that disarming grin of his. "We gotta walk in the water, ol'-timer; yu watch Raven's face when I say my little piece."
They had not long to wait, for the saloon-keeper came in soon afterwards.
"'Lo, marshal, so yo're back again all safe an' sound," he began, with a crooked smile. "We've shore bin some worried 'bout yu. Barsay here, reckoned yu'd bin carried off by Moraga."
"Hold yore hosses, Raven, it sticks in my mind that suggestion come from yu," the deputy protested.
"That so? Well, mebbe yo're right," Raven admitted easily. "Yore high-falutin' yarn made it seem likely."
"Pete's a born romancer," the marshal said. "Hear him tell of his past an' yu look for his wings."
"So it warn't the Greaser?" Raven asked.
"Senor Moraga has not yet settled his little account with me," Green smiled, adding, "I've been at the Box B."
This was not all the truth, but it served, for the marshal saw the visitor's eyes widen. All he said, however, was:
"Andy's drivin' to-day, I hear. Where's he campin' this time?"
"Same place as before, I understand. It's a good beddin' ground an' he reckons there ain't no storms around."
Raven nodded. "Weather seems likely to stay put," he agreed.
When he had gone Pete turned aggressively on his chief. "Why d'yu tell him where Andy was campin'?" he asked.
"I didn't," the marshal grinned.
"But--" the deputy began, and then comprehension came to him and he grinned too.
"Awright, Solomon," the little man said. "What yu goin' to do now?"
"Put some money in the bank," Green told him.
Barsay dropped into the nearest chair. "Savin' coin, the hawg, an' me with a thirst," he ejaculated in mock horror. "Wonder which of us he can't trust, me or the Injun?"
To which query he got no reply, the marshal being already on the way to execute his financial errand. Arrived outside the bank he hung about until he saw the clerk emerge and then entered. As he had hoped, Potter was alone. He took the money Green tendered and wrote out a receipt.
"Ain't got on the track of that outlaw yet, I suppose?" he remarked, and when his customer admitted that his supposition was correct, he added, "I was saying to Raven yesterday that you hadn't much to go on, and that probably he's hundreds of miles away by now."
"Raven is a hard man to satisfy," the marshal stated.
"You are right," the banker agreed harshly. "He's--" he paused suddenly, and then, in an altered tone, went on, "a good customer, and I ought not to be discussing him, but I know you won't chatter, marshal."
Having assured him on that point, Green came away
, wondering. A comparison of the receipt with the mysterious note showed a similarity in the writing; they might have been done by the same person, but why, Green asked himself, should the banker help Moraga? For the rest, all he had discovered was that Potter disliked but feared Raven, an attitude common to many of the citizens of Lawless. Additional proof of this was afforded that same evening. The marshal was nearing the bank when he heard Seth's voice, and, curious as to his business there so late, slipped round the corner of the building and waited. In a moment the door opened and he heard the banker say, in. a tone of abject humility:
"I'll do as you wish, sir."
"Yu'd better," the saloon-keeper said contemptuously, and went up the street.
From his door the banker watched until the other was out of hearing and then his pent-up bitterness burst its bonds:
"And may God damn your rotten soul," he hissed, and shook his fist at the retreating figure.
Not until the door slammed did the marshal resume his way. One thing the incident told him--Potter was in The Vulture's power, and might therefore have been compelled to write the decoy message.
"Odd number that," he ruminated. "The banker is a bet I mustn't overlook."
* * *
A week slid by and the marshal was no nearer the solution of the problem he had set himself to solve. Though there had been no further activity on the part of Sudden the Second, Green did not agree with Potter's suggestion that the outlaw had departed for fresh pastures; the black horse was still in its hiding-place. In the meanwhile, he had plenty to occupy his mind. Two attempts had been made on his life, and though he believed that the saloon-keeper had something to do with them, he had no proof. Since his escape from death in the desert, the autocrat of Lawless had treated him with jovial friendliness, a circumstance which aroused suspicion in the object of it. So marked indeed was the change that Pete was moved to caustic comment.
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