Atop the hill, in a cleft between two large boulders, they found the little Mex squatting by his fire. In response to Jim’s command, he extinguished the fire and readied his burro for the trail. By midnight, the four hunters were again riding the land recently covered by the L-Bar-W herd.
‘When we get there …?’ asked Kell.
‘We might as well shelter in the house or the barn,’ said Jim. ‘And tomorrow, come first light, I’ll start looking around again.’
Not until they were in sight of the ranch buildings did they ease the pace. Now came the waiting.
Eight – Seeds of Suspicion
Their preliminary inspection of the ranch buildings in the first light of dawn indicated nothing amiss. L-Bar-W was like any other spread temporarily deserted while its owners and employees were away on a cattle-drive. A certain amount of food had been left behind; the cellar was well stocked. Some of the clothing owned by the partners was strewn about the two bedrooms of the ranch house. In the bunkhouse, Hurst found more clothing, but most of it shabby and beyond use.
It was Jim who, during a search of the barn, noticed the sawdust. He was crouched on his haunches, pensively puffing on a cigarette and rubbing an ounce of the sawdust between finger and thumb, when Kell came to the barn entrance.
‘Find anything?’
‘Sawdust,’ said Jim, as he scanned the floor.
‘That’s important?’ Kell dubiously enquired.
‘It might be,’ said Jim. ‘It just might be.’ He squinted, nodded towards the side wall of the barn. ‘More of it on the floor over there.’
‘And some tools in the rear corner,’ Kell observed. ‘A nail box, hammer, chisel and saw. What’s the significance?’
‘Take a look at the saw,’ frowned Jim.
Kell entered the bam, hurried to the comer for the saw and, under Jim’s directions, examined its teeth. The soft dust was still adhering. Hurst now appeared in the doorway, repeating Kell’s original question.
‘There has been,’ Jim patiently explained, ‘a little activity with lumber and a saw. From the feel of this sawdust, I’d say the lumber was cut only recently.’
‘So?’ challenged Hurst.
‘Check around the ranch buildings,’ offered Jim, rising to his feet. ‘New wall-boards show up clearly. So do shingles on a roof or mended sections of a table or chair.’
‘What in tarnation do we care,’ wondered the deputy, ‘if any hombre fixed a chair or cut shingles or nailed new planks to a wall? What’s your point, Rand?’
‘I’m thinking of something Kell said,’ Jim told him. He came to the doorway, stared out into the early morning sunlight. ‘Let’s suppose, for instance, that Luscombe and Wilton and those hired hands lied about that stampede. Maybe the stampede was a cover-up, a way of blotting out tracks of the bank-robbers.’
‘Meaning …?’ prodded Hurst.
‘Meaning tracks leading all the way from Delandro to this ranch,’ drawled Jim.
Hurst eyed him incredulously, then emitted a low whistle and said:
‘Damn and blast.’
‘The sawdust,’ said Jim, ‘could mean that Kell’s hunch is right. The bank loot might be cached right here on the ranch. They didn’t have a good enough hiding place, so they made one specially. Somebody got busy here in the barn. That saw was used within the last thirty-six hours, unless I’m greatly mistaken.’
‘I call that a mighty wild notion, big man,’ muttered Hurst. ‘But, by Godfrey, it’s worth checking.’
‘I’ve already checked the barn,’ said Jim, moving out of the doorway. ‘Let’s take a look at the other buildings.’
While the deputy hurried to the bunkhouse, Jim and Kell went over every square foot of the main building, examining walls, floors, ceilings and roof, also the closets and every article of furniture. So intrigued was Benito that he abandoned his search for re-saleable items and lent a hand.
Some twenty minutes later, they assembled in the yard. Hurst removed his Stetson, wiped the sweatband with his bandanna and declared:
‘There’s nothin’ new in the bunkhouse. I’m dead sure, because I went over every inch of it. Seems like Kell’s hunch just ain’t payin’ off.’
‘Not a sign of repairs or replacements in the house,’ frowned Kell.
‘They didn’t cache it here at the ranch, and they sure didn’t take it with them.’ Hurst shrugged hopelessly. ‘So they just can’t be the men we’re lookin’ for.’
‘You searched their saddlebags, their packrolls,’ Jim recalled. ‘You made them turn out their pockets—made the big redhead unload the chuck wagon …’ He snapped his fingers in the same instant that something clicked in his brain. All of a sudden it was very clear. ‘That chuck wagon !’
‘Hold on now, Rand,’ protested Hurst. ‘You saw me search it. Every sack and crate, the cooking gear …’
‘Yeah, sure,’ nodded Jim. ‘I saw everything shoved out of that wagon—that wagon with its brand-new floor.’
‘Hey now!’ breathed Hurst.
‘The only new lumber I remember seeing,’ said Jim, ‘was the floor of that wagon.’ He let his gaze travel from Hurst’s face to Kell’s, as he declared, ‘That’s one way of hiding a lot of paper money. Cut enough planks to cover the floor of a wagon. Lay ’em down to fit so that the rig has two floors—one above the other.’
For a few moments, Hurst and Kell were silent, their minds still grappling with their memory of that violent scene—Red Modine’s show of temper—Red Modine daring Hurst to search the wagon, but not caring, having absolute confidence in his ability to fool the deputy.
‘I searched that damn wagon so careful,’ muttered Hurst. ‘And—all the time—the bank loot was right under the floor.’
‘One of them—maybe more than one of them,’ said Kell, ‘shot my father, opened fire on him from behind.’ His eyes gleamed as he asked himself the question. ‘Which one? Wilton—Luscombe—Modine …?’
‘We’ll find out, Kell,’ said Hurst. ‘That I promise you, amigo. We’ll find out.’
They had temporarily lost sight of Benito. Now, as they strode towards their waiting horses, they saw the little Mex again. He came ambling around from the back of the house, mumbling complaints in his native tongue, hurling a couple of rolled sacks to the ground. Jim stopped dead, stared at the sacks.. They were coated with earth, and he soon learned why.
‘I am searching for the stolen dinero—to give it back to the bank .’ Benito began.
‘I’ll bet,’ scowled Jim.
‘Behind the house,’ the little man continued. ‘I see where a hole has been dug and filled in again. The earth is—how you say—disturbed? So—’
‘So you dug up these two empty sacks,’ frowned Hurst.
‘Sí,’ shrugged Benito. ‘Useless, eh? Of no value.’
‘There’s no doubt in my mind,’ declared Hurst. ‘I’d stake my life these are the same grain sacks used in the robbery—but it mightn’t be enough to convince a judge and jury. We’d need more proof than this.’ He shook out the sacks, rolled them again and stowed them in his saddlebags. Then, staring westward, he opined, ‘The best proof would be the money—every last dollar of it—and the men who stole it.’
‘We’d better get started,’ said Jim. ‘We have a lot of miles to cover.’
‘Damn right,’ grunted Hurst. ‘And, this time, we’ll have plenty of tracks to follow.’
Mid-morning of the following day, the plodding, bawling L-Bar-W herd followed the rumbling chuck wagon along the dusty floor of a broad canyon, hustled on by the cursing Barlow, Doan and Underfield. Alkali rose in white clouds to bedevil them, hanging over the entire area like a pall. The herders were obliged to knot their bandannas over their mouths and noses.
Riding level with the wagon seat, Wilton and Luscombe held a brief conference with Modine, who was lustily cussing his team.
‘Take us all of another hour to get outa this consarned canyon!’ he shouted to the partners. ‘She’s a doggone dustbowl!’
‘But the fastest route west,’ Wilton pointed out.
‘There’s times when the fastest route ain’t the easiest,’ countered Modine. ‘Like now, for instance. We’d of done better to head for the high country.’
‘Not with three hundred head of Longhorns to push,’ growled Luscombe. ‘Kane—how far d’you calculate we’ve come?’
‘We’re many a long mile from Marris County,’ declared Wilton. ‘The Rio Colorado would be northwest of this canyon and, once we’ve forded it, we should see the Utah border inside a couple of days.’
‘But how long before we see the river?’ demanded Luscombe.
‘At the pace we’re moving,’ said Wilton, ‘I’d say three—maybe four days.’ He grinned scathingly, as Luscombe threw a nervous glance over his shoulder at the plodding herd. ‘Quit fretting, Horrie. We aren’t apt to be chased.’
‘All right for you to laugh,’ muttered Luscombe. ‘You ramrodded the whole deal, but I’m the one that threw down on Garrard—me and Ike.’
It was noon before they sighted the western outlet of that broad canyon and, at that same time, they also sighted the riders, two men in the apparel of cattlemen, riding unhurriedly towards them. One of the oncoming riders raised an arm, and Wilton couldn’t decide if that was a welcoming wave or a demand that they halt.
‘Best we keep movin’, eh, Kane?’ suggested Luscombe.
‘Not till I know what these jaspers want,’ drawled Wilton. ‘They could be lawmen for all we know. Also, there might be a dozen more of them beyond the canyon gate. So, if we started something with these two, we could end up looking mighty foolish.’
‘Well, you handle all the talkin’,’ muttered Luscombe. ‘I’m in no mood to parley with strangers.’
‘Signal our men to stall the herd,’ ordered Wilton. ‘Red—haul up.’
Modine jerked back on his reins, bringing his team to a panting halt, while Luscombe turned in his saddle and bellowed instructions to the herders. Gradually, the three hundred steers settled on the sunbaked canyon floor. The two riders continued their approach, advancing to within a few yards of the wagon. Wilton accorded them an affable nod.
‘Howdy there.’
‘Howdy,’ drawled the taller of the riders. ‘How many head you pushin’, friend?’
The question was voiced in a casual way and not to be construed as a challenge. The speaker looked to be in his early fifties a hawk-faced, balding man of leathery complexion and nonchalant demeanor. His companion was of bulky build and closer to Wilton’s own age, a heavy-featured man with greying hair and probing brown eyes.
‘Three hundred head exactly,’ Wilton replied, while lighting a cigar. ‘I know for a fact we haven’t lost a single steer, because the travelling has been easy—so far.’
‘Where you headed?’ demanded the bulky man.
‘Who’s askin’?’ interjected Modine, gruffly.
The bulky man fixed an impassive stare on the fire haired chuck-boss, then returned his gaze to Wilton and, from that moment on, pretended that Modine did not exist.
‘This here is Mr. Wes Merril,’ he told Wilton. ‘I’m his ramrod—name of Barney McHaig. Our brand is Bar M, and …’
‘And you’re on my land, friend,’ Merril calmly informed Wilton. ‘You’ve been on it for the past hour, but don’t let that faze you. I never holler ‘trespasser’ at folks passin’ through.’
‘We saw no signs,’ said Wilton.
‘There ain’t none,’ grinned Merril. ‘Where you leaded?’
‘The Utah border,’ Wilton told him.
‘Lupton City, eh?’ prodded the Bar M ramrod. ‘I heard tell there’d be buyers from Ogden comin’ south about this time.’
‘I need to sell to those buyers from Ogden. Don’t mind admitting it,’ said Wilton. He nudged his mount closer to Merril’s and offered his hand. ‘Walters is my name. This is my partner, Layton. Feller on the wagon seat is Red, our chuck-boss.’
‘Bad season where you come from?’ Merril asked.
‘Bad enough,’ said Wilton. ‘I got myself into debt, but managed to keep the herd on its feet. If I can sell for the right price in Lupton City, the old L-Bar-W will have its head above water again.’
‘The right price,’ mused Merril. He named a figure, and asked, ‘How does that strike you?’
Wilton and Luscombe traded glances. On this point, they had no need of a conference; just a quick look was more than enough.
‘It strikes me as fair, Merril,’ frowned Wilton. ‘Probably in line with Lupton City prices.’
‘You wouldn’t get one cent more,’ McHaig assured him, ‘from those buyers from Ogden.’
‘I’m a plain-talkin’ hombre that don’t horse around,’ said Merril. ‘Give me a little while to have some of my hands check your stock. Three hundred, you said? I’d take the whole herd off your hands at the price I offered. That’d save you the trouble of drivin’ ’em all the way to Lupton City.’
‘Come to think of it,’ said McHaig, ‘you could run a lot of condition off a those critters, between here and the border.’
‘Tell you somethin’ else,’ offered the Bar M boss. ‘The river’s runnin’ high right now. You might just get into a heap of trouble, tryin’ to ford three hundred head. Well? You interested?’
‘I’ll need a moment to talk it over with my partner,’ said Wilton.
‘You mind if my boys check your herd while you parley?’ asked Merril.
‘Not at all,’ said Wilton.
McHaig rose in his stirrups, put two fingers into his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. A few moments later, while Wilton and Luscombe were in conference out of earshot of the rancher and his foreman, a half-dozen punchers came riding into the canyon from its west end.
They paused only long enough to listen to McHaig’s orders. The bulky ramrod then led them along to where the herd milled.
‘We don’t need to dicker with this Merril hombre,’ Luscombe muttered. ‘With a fortune hid in the wagon …’
‘Exactly,’ nodded Wilton. ‘We don’t need the cash Merril is ready to pay. But, if it comes to that, we don’t need the herd either. These steers have served their purpose. We’re clear of Marris County, and we’ll reach the Utah border a damn sight faster without them.’
‘So what the hell?’ grinned Luscombe. ‘Let Merril have ’em, at his price.’
Wilton rode forward to convey their decision to the Bar M boss. A little while later, McHaig came riding back to assure his chief:
‘Prime enough, Wes. They’ll be worth what you’re payin’.’
‘Bueno,’ nodded Merril. ‘Walters—Layton—you want to ride along with me? Won’t take more than an hour for us to reach Bar M. You can make out a bill of sale and I’ll pay you rightaway. Cash on the barrelhead.’
‘That’ll suit me.’
‘And me,’ grinned Luscombe.
Twenty-four hours later, when the four hunters reached the eastern entrance to the big canyon, their animals were badly in need of rest. Kell Garrard and Deputy Hurst had set a grueling pace. The burro toting Benito was content to plod along in the rear, barely keeping the three horsemen in sight. Even now, while Jim, Kell and the deputy studied the ground at the canyon-mouth, the little Mex was still some two hundred yards to the east. He came on unhurriedly, while Jim and the Deputy read sign and made their decision.
‘Track of the herd goes only one way,’ Hurst observed, ‘but away to the right there’s track of a rig, a team and five other horses. They show clear on ground the herd didn’t cover.’
‘The L-Bar-W wagon?’ mused Jim.
‘Could be,’ nodded Hurst. ‘I’ll allow it don’t make much sense, but ...’
‘Tell you what,’ offered Jim. ‘My horse isn’t ready to drop. If I don’t hustle him, he’ll last a while longer before I have to spell him. But your horse and Kell’s ought to stay right here—while I tag those tracks a ways.’
‘They go east.’ Hurst shook his head in puzzlement. ‘That mak
es no sense either.’
‘If we’re spelling these animals,’ said Kell, ‘we couldn’t choose a better spot than over there.’ He gestured to a tall, oblong-shaped rock some fifty yards inside the canyon and to the left of the trail. ‘Plenty of shade. That’s what we need.’
‘All right, Rand,’ said Hurst. ‘We’ll wait for you there.’
The gambler and the lawman dismounted and led their weary animals into the canyon. Soon afterward, Benito joined them in the shade of the tall rock, and Kell told him:
‘Your amigo is checking some tracks. He’ll be along in a little while.’
‘Ah, sí.’ The little Mex nodded and grinned. ‘Experto is my Amigo Jim.’
He dismounted, made Capitan Cortez as comfortable as possible, then hunkered on his heels and inserted a cigarillo between his teeth and politely requested a light.
An hour passed slowly. About to roll another cigarette, Hurst changed his mind and restored his makings to his pockets; his mouth was too dry for the enjoyment of Bull Durham. He echoed Kell’s sigh of relief, when the sound of plodding hooves announced the return of the big man.
Jim came into the canyon slowly, leading Hank by his rein. The stallion still stepped surely, never lagging, but Jim was now determined to spell him before remounting. He led Hank into the shade, squatted beside Benito and told of his findings.
‘Kind of interesting—and just a mite mysterious. Those tracks took me all the way to a regular trail. I wouldn’t call it a stage-route, but it’s a trail covered fairly regularly.’
‘And …?’ prodded Kell.
‘They were heading northeast all the time,’ said Jim. ‘Right up until they hit that trail, it looked as though they were headed back towards Marris County.’
‘Well, damnitall …’ began Hurst.
‘I know what you’re about to say,’ nodded Jim. ‘It doesn’t make sense. But hear me out. They’re moving due west now along that trail. They changed direction as soon as they reached it.’
‘Is that so mysterious?’ demanded Kell.
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