“It’s true, sir,” frowned Kerwin. “The stolen guns were hidden at the Lucky Dutchman mine in the Santa Rosa mountains. A search party had searched the cabin and the mineshafts, but, according to Valentine, the cabin had been built to camouflage one of the outlets ...”
He broke off, because the colonel was no longer listening. To the infirmary strode the grim-visaged Stone, and with mixed feelings, his relief mingled with resentment. The safe return of the hijacked rifles was cause for rejoicing. But, to be obligated to those arrogant, insolent Texans ...?
In the large tent that served as the camp hospital, Major Vaughan was performing an operation. His patient was an Apache brave and, to, Stone’s chagrin, the M.O. was playing to an audience. Two other braves were in close attendance, watching Vaughan’s every movement. So were Larry and Stretch. Stripped to the waist, the Texans sat close by the operating table. Vaughan’s orderlies were working first aid on Larry’s dented rib and Stretch’s creased shoulder.
“What is the meaning of this?” barked Stone. “Major Vaughan, that man is an Indian!” He pointed sternly at Vaughan’s unconscious patient, then nodded to the wounded trooper sprawled on a nearby cot. “Would you tend the injuries of a redskin—before one of our own men?”
“The trooper ain’t hurt real bad,” Larry calmly assured Stone, “but this Injun got a slug in his chest, which the doc is diggin’ out of him. Doc figures to save his life.”
“He’ll survive,” Vaughan announced. He raised his forceps to exhibit the bloodied bullet. “Fortunately, the wound wasn’t deep.”
In Spanish, Larry addressed the two braves. “Remember what you have seen this day. The son of your chief has been spared—his life saved by the white medicine man.”
“We have seen.” One of the braves nodded vehemently.
“This buck,” Vaughan informed the colonel, “happens to be Mochita—son of Gayatero. Valentine has made a suggestion. If we’re wise, we’ll heed it.”
“Be specific, Major,” snapped Stone.
“I’m busy,” said Vaughan, “so I’ll let Valentine explain it.”
“Colonel,” said Larry, “you’ve got Gayatero over a barrel. While I was barricaded in that shack at the mine, the boss hijacker tried to talk a deal with me. He let on why he stole the rifles. Sure, he figured to give ’em to Gayatero, but not as a gift—not by a long shot. It was gonna be a trade. Seems some of Gayatero’s braves went a’raidin’—I don’t know when or where—but ...”
“California,” offered Stretch. “A place called Collado Bernadino. I got it from one of Sunday’s sidekicks. You’d be surprised how talkative some hombres can be—with a bullet in their hide.”
“Anyway,” said Larry, “those braves made quite a haul—a fortune in raw gold. And now it’s hid somewheres on the Sun Dog reservation. That’s what the hijackers were after, Colonel. Gayatero knows it—and you know it. You hold all the aces. Play ’em right, and I’ll bet Gayatero’s bunch will stay peaceable from here on.”
“I don’t need advice from ...!” began Stone.
“You’ll never get such a chance again,” warned Larry. He jerked a thumb toward the operating table, and to the watching braves. “An army doc has just saved Mochita’s life—with two Apaches as witnesses. You savvy what this means? Gayatero is beholden to you. He won’t enjoy feelin’ that way, but he can’t dodge it. Take Mochita home, Colonel. Tell Gayatero you know all about the gold—and that the Ninth will be usin’ new repeaters from now on. Gayatero will be the most peace-lovin’ Apache you ever saw. There’ll be no war-talk, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he handed over every ounce of that stolen gold—and no arguments.”
On principle, the colonel couldn’t immediately agree to Larry’s proposal. He argued, scoffed and ranted for some considerable time, but the issue was never in doubt. Midmorning of the following day, a sore and sorry Mochita was taken back to Sun Dog Mesa, lying in the padded bed of an army wagon. With him went the two braves who had accompanied him on the abortive project of the day before. Colonel Stone led this deputation with a heavy force of battle-wise troopers, all armed with the new repeaters.
Even under these embarrassing circumstances, Gayatero’s cunning prevailed. He humbly thanked Stone for the saving of his son’s life, but blandly denied any knowledge of Webb Collier and his nefarious enterprise. No proposition had been made to the Apaches. As for stolen gold, well, some braves from another reservation had brought many sacks to the mesa one year ago and had left them here for safe keeping. Gayatero knew nothing of their contents. If the colonel claimed these sacks contained stolen gold, he was most welcome to take possession of it, and to return it to the place from whence it had been stolen. However, it must be understood that Gayatero and his people were completely unaware of this theft.
Confronted with the old chief’s bare-faced duplicity, Stone somehow managed to control his temper. The stolen gold was unearthed and loaded into the wagon by braves who cast many a wistful glance at the gleaming rifles displayed by Stone’s men. A point had been made. As well as being obligated to the army, Gayatero was forced to concede that the Ninth was now capable of winning a decisive victory over the warriors. Armed with those repeaters, how could they fail? And so, with great wisdom and much reluctance, the old chief assured Stone of his continued goodwill.
In Bosworth, that afternoon, Captain Ralph Kerwin visited the office of the Lowell-Taft Freight Line.
“I want you to understand, Miss Lowell,” he told Martha, “that this is no idea of mine. Colonel Stone has his eccentricities, and I have no option but to obey his orders.”
“What orders, Captain?” Martha demanded. “Is it something to do with Larry and Stretch?”
“I’m afraid so,” sighed Kerwin. For him, this was a most embarrassing moment. “Despite the army’s great obligation to those Texans, the colonel insists they be placed under military arrest. He—uh—refuses to overlook the fact that Stretch Emerson stole an item of army equipment. To be precise, Sergeant Boyle’s britches. It’s ridiculous, and petty, but ...”
“You expect me to tell you where to find them?” she frowned.
“I must insist,” said the captain. “It’s common knowledge you’re a friend of theirs.”
“And proud of it,” she warmly declared. “And only too happy to tell you where to find them.”
“Believe me,” said Kerwin, “I deeply regret …”
“You’ll find them anywhere,” she smiled. “Anywhere,” grinned Joey, “except in Bosworth County. They rode out this mornin’, Cap’n. By now, you can bet they’re a long ways from the county line.”
“And that’s the truth,” said Martha.
“Excellent!” smiled Kerwin. “By leaving the county, they have placed themselves beyond the colonel’s jurisdiction.”
“Well,” shrugged Martha, “I’m glad you’re glad. It was a bright day for Joey and me when we met Larry and Stretch. We’re grateful to them—but we have to be grateful to the army as well.”
“To the army?” he prodded.
“For all that compensation money,” said Martha. “Didn’t you know about it? Larry and Stretch gave us the thousand dollars put up by the army. Compensation, they called it. They said as how the army was obligated to pay damages to the families of civilians that are killed while working for the government. That’s what Pa and Uncle Mace were doing. Hauling army freight, when those hijackers ambushed them. Captain—will you thank Colonel Stone on our behalf, and tell him Larry and Stretch delivered the money, just like he ordered?”
It happened that Captain Kerwin was a fair poker player. He hid his reaction to this good news behind a bland smile and a gentle nod. Compensation for the Lowell and Taft families? Sure. But not authorized by the army. This had been naught but a ruse devised by the Texans. They wanted to help these young people, but not at the expense of their pride. Rather than have Martha feel obligated to them, they had cooked up a convincing lie. The one thousand dollars, more than enough to settle the
freight outfit’s debts, had come from their own pockets.
In Fort Gale, two days later, the Texans held a brief reunion with a fervently grateful Colonel Lansing. For the benefit of Army Intelligence’s Records Department, they submitted a terse but thorough report of their investigation and its violent aftermath. They then took their horses to a livery stable and toted their pack rolls to the Beaumont Regal Hotel.
Shocked to the core and sick with apprehension, John Wyvern and Will Sneddon watched the battle-scarred hellions trudging into the richly-appointed lobby.
“Howdy.” Larry greeted them with a cheerful wave. “We’re checkin’ in again.”
“No!” gasped the clerk.
“We’ll take that same suite we had before,” announced Larry. “Figure to throw us another party. You can start sendin’ the liquor up rightaway. We’ll need a couple kegs of beer iced—a case of whisky—better make it bourbon—and …”
“Mr. Wyvern,” said the clerk, “I wish to tender my resignation—effective as of right now.”
“Tell it to the owners of this doomed establishment!” retorted Wyvern. “I’m resigning too!”
About the Author
Leonard Frank Meares (February 13, 1921 - February 4, 1993)
Sydney born Len Meares aka Marshall Grover, published around 750 novels, mostly westerns. His best-known works feature Texas trouble-shooters Larry and Stretch. Before starting to write, Meares served in the Royal Australian Air Force, worked in the Department of Immigration and sold shoes. In the mid-1950s he bought a typewriter to write radio and film scripts. Inspired by the success of local paperback westerns, he wrote Trouble Town, which was published by the Cleveland Publishing Company in 1955.
His tenth yarn, Drift! (1956), introduced Larry Valentine and Stretch Emerson. In 1960, he created a brief but memorable series of westerns set in and around the town of Bleak Creek. Four years later came The Night McLennan Died, the first of more than 70 westerns (sometimes called oaters) to feature cavalryman-turned-manhunter Big Jim Rand.
More on Marshall Grover
The Larry and Stretch Series by Marshall Grover
Drift!
Arizona Wild-Cat
Ride Wild to Glory
Nomads from Texas
Ride Out Shooting
Texans Walk Proud
Never Prod a Texan
The Fast Right Hand
Close In For Showdown
Texas Gun Ghost
Lone Star Valiant
Colorado Pursuit
Follow the Texans
But the adventure doesn’t end here …
Join us for more first-class, action-packed books.
Regular updates feature on our website and blog
The Adventures continue…
Issuing new and classic fiction from Yesterday and Today!
More on Marshall Grover
Larry and Stretch 13 Page 12