by Short, Luke;
“What right have you to wonder then?” Letty asked hotly.
Cole rose, walked over to the bench where Letty’s small gun was lying. He picked it up, glanced at her; then, seeing the heavy, iron-framed mirror on the opposite wall, he raised the gun and shot at the mirror. The mirror was untouched. He tossed the gun on the bench, then leaned against the wall and looked at Letty.
Her face was a study. There was fear, panic, courage and defiance in it for a few seconds, and then it broke into a lovely smile. She laughed then, a laugh that was not quite steady.
“I see. You’re a very observant boss, Mr. Armin.”
“I got good ears,” Cole drawled.
“That holdup was faked. I admit it. What would you do to get a job if nobody would give you one? You’d make one for yourself, wouldn’t you? How? By putting someone in your debt if you could. That’s what I did. I knew if I seemed to have saved you from a robbery then you’d be in my debt. When I asked for the job it would be harder for you to refuse. It was, wasn’t it?”
“I reckon,” Cole said slowly. He was still looking at her, but a little of Letty’s courage had returned.
“It was crude, I know. I paid one of these toughs to hold you up. I can’t shoot very well, so I used blanks. And you heard the difference between the shots. But I got the job, and I can hold it, Mr. Armin. Because I did that does that give you any right to accuse me of plotting your death?”
Cole didn’t say anything.
“I was starving, Mr. Armin. I had to have a job! It was either that or the honky-tonks. Should I have chosen them? Who was hurt by my trick? Anybody? No. As for Jim Rough, I told you how I happened to know him. I know a lot of good freighters—Arch Masters, Joe Humphries, Zeke Bothwell, Lute Hamlin. I can’t vouch for their characters. I couldn’t vouch for Jim’s.”
“I see,” Cole said.
“You believe me?”
Cole came over to the table then and picked up his hat.
“Do you?” Letty insisted.
“Letty,” Cole said, raising his glance to hers, “I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t know. I’ll tell you some more truth. If I ever doubt you again then it’s the last time I’ll ever have to.” He hesitated a moment, his piercing gaze on her, then said quietly, “I can take a tinhorn because he’s born that way. Or a thief because he needs somethin’. Or a coward, Letty, because he can’t help it. But a traitor, no. Good night.”
“Wait, Mr. Armin!” Letty said desperately. “I’ll do anything—”
A call from out in the street broke off her speech. She listened. There it was again, and it was plain.
“Fire! Fire! Everybody out!”
Cole opened the door. Off toward the center of the town the sky was lighted up. The unwritten frontier law which made every man help his neighbor was sometimes broken by men, but the call to help at a fire was a command that everyone obeyed. Cole turned to Letty and said, “You’re still workin’ for Western, Letty. Good night.”
When Cole had gone Letty’s knees gave way and she sank down in the chair. That was close. And behind her fright was stark fear. Was she in a compact to kill Cole Armin and Ted Wallace?
As soon as Keen Billings heard about Western landing the China Boy contract and the accident that had happened to Cole Armin’s wagon his spine went cold. He got the news in late evening, for it had taken time to work upstreet from the Desert Dust, where it was fast becoming one of the teamsters’ legends. Keen heard it at the bar of the Aces Up saloon. He left his drink untouched, sought the street and headed for the Cosmopolitan House.
He found Sheriff Ed Linton at a faro table in the ornate gambling room beyond the bar. Keen had to take off his hat and stifle his excitement as he tramped across the thick rug through the crowd of well-dressed men to the table where Sheriff Linton was sitting.
Keen said politely, “Business, Sheriff. Can you step outside?”
Sheriff Linton excused himself in a low voice, pocketed his chips and followed Keen through the saloon and into a deserted corner of the lobby. Keen faced Sheriff Linton, and there was fear mixed with his anger.
“Your double cross didn’t work!” he snarled in a low voice. “He’s alive, and the word is he’s on the prod!”
“Man,” Sheriff Linton drawled, “what are you talkin’ about?”
“About Cole Armin!” Billings said harshly. “He’s out to nail up my hide!”
“But why should he be?” Linton asked blankly.
“Listen, Ed. Don’t stall. I know damn well you sneaked back to Jim Rough’s last night after we left and sawed that brake lever. I tell you, he come through it!”
Linton shook his head blankly, then hauled himself up. “Start from the beginning. This doesn’t make sense. I take it the Western tried it with nine drivers?”
“Haven’t you heard, damn you?” Billings snarled. “They got the contract, moved four hundred tons of ore with ten wagons! Cole Armin drove Jim Rough’s wagon. On one of them grades he pulled on his brake lever and it snapped off. He come out of it, the Lord only knows how, without crackin’ up and goin’ overside. And that brake lever was sawed half in two!”
“I see,” Linton said slowly. “And you think I sneaked back after we got Jim Rough drunk and sawed it?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I staggered home and fell asleep with my clothes on!” Linton said harshly. “I was so drunk I couldn’t have held a saw, and you know it!”
“So was I!” Billings countered hotly. “You carried me part of the way!”
And then again there was that stalemate. And Keen Billings shivered a little. It was funny, but he had the impression of some invisible person standing there listening to what they were saying.
“Then you didn’t saw that brake lever?” he asked hollowly.
“Man, I couldn’t have!”
“And I didn’t. Then who did?”
They stared at each other, half suspicious, half puzzled. Keen Billings said finally, “Ed, someone is out to kill Cole Armin, and right now! And Cole Armin thinks it’s me! He’s goin’ to make a try for me and damn quick! And I can’t get him first, or how do we frame Craig Armin?”
Linton, wide-eyed, shook his head in blank inability to answer him. “First Ted Wallace gets shoved downstairs. That was meant to kill him. Then that brake lever is sawed, aiming to kill Cole Armin. Keen, if I ever told the truth in my life I’m tellin’ it now. And I want it from you too. Did you shove Ted Wallace or saw that brake lever?”
“And put a noose around my own throat?” Billings countered. “No! Hell, no, I didn’t!”
“Then who did?” they both asked each other.
At that moment a man ran into the lobby and yelled, “Fire! Fire! All out! The Monarch’s on fire!”
12
Keen Billings moved first. He lunged for the door, yelling over his shoulder to Sheriff Linton, “Get Craig!” Then he was in the middle of the street, running down it with the scores of men who were pouring out of the saloons and gambling halls in answer to the emergency call.
When he reached the Monarch wagon yard he saw that the feed barn and the blacksmith shop, on the east side of the yard, were in flames, great pillars of fire and billowing white smoke lifting to the sky above them and lighting up the whole yard and surrounding street. The Piute Volunteer Fire Department was already there with the pump wagon, and they had two hoses run into the Monarch well. Another hose reached to the rear of a saddle shop across the street. The firemen were already working frantically over the hand pumps, dousing the roofs of the adjoining stables.
Quickly, then, Billings organized a crew to lead the panic-stricken mules out of the stables. While he was working two bucket brigades were formed to assist the firemen. The wagon yard was cleared of spectators, and the others settled down to the grim business of keeping the fire under control. Wisely the barn and shop were given up as lost, and the effort of the fire fighters was turned toward preventing the fire from spreading.
Into the madhouse of shouting m
en Craig Armin and Sheriff Linton walked. Billings, who had seen to the safety of the mules and as many wagons as the men could reach, could do nothing more now. Wiping his face with a huge bandana, he walked over to Craig Armin and Linton.
Craig Armin said nothing as he came up, only watched the fire. Linton glanced at him quizzically, but Keen Billings was waiting for Armin to say something. But Armin didn’t. With his immaculate clothes, his graying hair, his erect carriage and his unreadable face a man would not have known that it was his property that was being destroyed. More than ever Billings hated his cold, contained guts.
And Keen had an uneasy feeling within him, as if sooner or later Armin was going to blame him for this too. Keen started away to check up on the activity, glad to be out of Armin’s sight. He was looking at the bucket brigade, watching it work, when suddenly he hauled up and stared.
There, hat on the ground beside him, passing buckets as fast as they were given him, was Cole Armin.
For one brief moment Billings was stunned. Then his presence of mind returned. He wheeled to face Ed Linton and pointed a finger at Cole.
“There’s the man that started the fire, Sheriff! Arrest him!” he shouted.
In a few moments Billings’ wild shouting and cursing had drawn a crowd around himself and Cole, who had given over his place in the brigade to another man.
Sheriff Linton finally succeeded in elbowing his way through the crowd, followed by Craig Armin. Cole Armin was facing Billings, calmly wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. His face was rock-hard, his eyes dancing with wicked lights as he watched Billings.
“There’s your man!” Billings said grimly to Linton.
Craig Armin spoke then. “A magnificent bluff,” he remarked quietly. “It won’t work, though, Cole.”
Cole Armin’s level gaze switched to him, and he didn’t speak. Then he looked back at Billings. “I thought I’d find you here, Billings. I’ve wanted to talk with you.”
The tone of his voice led Sheriff Linton to say immediately, “None of that, Armin. Stick to business.”
Cole dragged his gaze from Billings and said, “What business?”
“The business of this fire you started!” Craig Armin said in cold fury.
The instinct of self-preservation was strong in Keen Billings at that moment. He read in Cole Armin’s face the will to plain murder, and it scared him. But now Keen saw what he was going to do, and he made one supreme effort to be casual. He had to be if he was going to get Cole Armin in jail, where he couldn’t kill him.
“Your story has got to be good,” Keen said grimly. “For the past hour I been listenin’ to everyone tell me that you’re out to get me, Armin. I was waitin’ for you. But you didn’t have the guts to back up your brag, did you? You figured you’d fire the Monarch instead.”
Cole’s hands fisted at his sides, and muscles in his arms tensed till they ached. There was a wild light in his eyes for a moment, and then he settled back on his heels. Keen Billings knew then that he had him.
“What are you waitin’ for, Sheriff?” Keen said. “There he is.”
Cole spoke slowly. “There’s a matter of an alibi, Sheriff. I wouldn’t make an arrest just yet.”
“Your friends will lie for you,” Billings sneered. “That’s to be expected.”
Linton said, “Let’s hear your alibi.”
“I don’t aim to bother with one if you don’t aim to believe it,” Cole drawled softly. He was counting on the crowd helping him, and there were murmurs of, “Give him a chance, Sheriff.”
But Sheriff Linton wanted to know how far it was safe to go, and he said, “I’m givin’ you your chance, man, before I make the arrest. What’s your alibi?”
“I was with a lady,” Cole said quietly.
There was a guffaw from the crowd that was quickly throttled as Linton raised a hand for silence.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid Celia Wallace’s word is prejudiced, Armin. It’s got to be better than that.”
“It is better than that,” Cole murmured. “I didn’t say Celia Wallace.”
“Then who?” Billings blurted out.
Cole’s eyes were watchful as he said, “Letty Burns.”
Keen Billings knew immediately that he must not look at Linton. None of them must give this away by so much as a move. But a hot elation pounded through his veins as he stood there, making his face unreadable. He knew Craig Armin wouldn’t have given it away by so much as the wink of an eyelid, and he wanted Craig Armin to speak.
Craig did. “I don’t believe I know the lady,” he said shrewdly.
“You’ll meet her,” Cole drawled. “That is, you will if you decide to listen to her. If you won’t then what’s the sense of seein’ her?”
A man in the crowd volunteered, “She ain’t lyin’ for no man, Letty ain’t.”
Keen suppressed a smile and looked at Linton. Letty might not lie for just any man, but she would for Monarch—for them. Cole Armin had walked into the neatest trap possible. In ten minutes he would be in jail on an arson charge, and Linton could keep him there forever.
Linton saw this, too, but he did not show it. Craig Armin wasn’t aware that Linton knew Billings had hired Letty Burns. He mustn’t give it away to Craig. Nor to Cole. He must pretend blank ignorance, although he thought that maybe—just maybe—Letty, in this pinch, would not help Cole Armin. He said, “All right. Let’s see this Letty Burns then.”
Cole wheeled and walked to the gate. Linton fell in beside him. Keen Billings fell in alongside Craig Armin. Not a word passed between the four of them as they walked the two blocks to Letty Burns’s place. Billings nudged Craig Armin, and Craig Armin raised a finger to his lips. Billings nodded and his face was impassive. They would let Cole walk into the neatest frame-up ever devised for a man.
At Letty’s house the sheriff took charge. He knocked, answered her question and was the first through the door when she opened it. Letty looked alarmed, Keen saw, but that was to be expected when four men walked into her bedroom.
“You’re Miss Burns?” Sheriff Linton asked.
“Yes.”
Keen hadn’t told Letty of his association with Sheriff Linton, but that wouldn’t matter. He wished she wouldn’t look at him so questioningly.
Sheriff Linton went on carefully, “There was a fire tonight at the Monarch yard. Circumstances point to Cole Armin. We believe he set the fire.” He paused. “He says he was with you when the fire started and long before. Was he?”
There it was. The statement had been framed so as to give Letty no doubt as to what they wanted her to answer. Keen was aware that Cole Armin was watching him closely, not Letty. And that made it impossible for him to signal her. But she didn’t need a signal anyway. She was a smart girl and understood things.
Letty’s face was dead white. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, licked her lips and then said in a voice just above a whisper, “Why—yes. He was with me.”
Keen Billings could gladly have killed Letty Burns then. He barely controlled a wild impulse to hit her.
Cole Armin was smiling faintly. He said, “Good night, gentlemen.”
The three of them stood there, confounded. But it was Sheriff Linton, a cynical man who had anticipated Letty’s answer and provided for it, who took over then.
“Not good night,” he said smoothly to Cole. “Nothing of the kind, Armin.”
Cole said gently, “Remember your promise, Sheriff. You gave it in front of several dozen people—and they elect you.”
“Let me finish,” Linton said, a trace of a smile under his fine silken mustache. “What I was going to say is that it isn’t good night—yet. You’ve made threats against the lives of the Monarch operators. They have already complained to me.” He looked at Craig Armin, who nodded.
“I think,” Linton said slowly, “I’ll have you put under a peace bond, Armin. You’ve threatened murder. I’ll advise the judge to set the bond at five thousand dollars.”
<
br /> Before Cole could answer Juck’s booming voice came from the door: “Go ahead, Cole. I’ll git the money from Ted and beat you all to the sheriff’s office.”
He stood there in the door, a gun in his fist, a smile on his broad and ugly face, out of breath and still dirty and a little drunk to boot. But he was there, solid as a log.
He said to Cole, “I figured you didn’t mean it when you said ‘alone’ back there.”
13
It was an hour before Celia, led by Juck, stepped into the dirty office that held Cole, a bored justice of the peace, and Sheriff Linton. Celia looked harried but not at all frightened, and Cole knew Juck had told her of this business. She had a shawl around her shoulders, and a lock of her golden hair straggled down over her forehead, displaced by her contact with the jostling half-drunken crowd that lived on the streets of Piute after dark.
Cole came to his feet at her entrance, and she walked straight to the sheriff’s desk, put the canvas sack of money on it and then turned to Cole.
“I’m sorry I took so long, Cole. I had to rouse Mr. Shay at the bank and show him the China Boy contract before he would take Ted’s note.” She looked at Sheriff Linton, angry contempt in her green eyes. “I’m sure you’ll find the amount right.”
Linton bowed and waved to the J. P. In silence the J. P. made out the peace bond and the papers were signed.
When he was finished Sheriff Linton said dryly: “If you want that five thousand dollars back, Armin, you’ll keep out of trouble. One more of your ruckuses in this man’s town and you’ll wind up behind bars. And the county will spend your five thousand convictin’ you too. So walk softly, mister.”
Cole said quietly, “I’ll walk softly, Sheriff, but I aim to make some mighty big tracks in the next few days. Keep an eye out for ’em.”
“Is that a threat?” Linton asked, smiling.
“You figure it out. You’ll have to sooner or later.”
He took Celia’s arm and they stepped out onto the sidewalk. There were a thousand questions Celia wanted to ask him, for she had not seen Cole since early that morning when the men started out for the China Boy. She was bewildered by all that had happened, scarcely knowing whether to be happy over the contract or disheartened over the loss of the money. But one look at Cole’s face as he guided her across the street told her that this was not the time for talk.