THE TEMPTER
AT THE sound of the first crashing shot, Bob leaped from the blanket he had spread on the floor, his sixgun in hand. Crouching at the end of the room he counted the reports: one, two, three, four, five, six!
A moment’s pause to be sure the would-be killer had only one gun, then he sprang to the window. The tree was a large one; no swaying limb betrayed the position of the attacker. Bob fired into the heart of the foliage and was rewarded by hearing a smothered exclamation. Then came the sound of a falling body, a thud, and the pound of fleeing footsteps. An instant later the rapid drum of hoofbeats flung back at him, then came silence.
Bob quickly reloaded his gun and, running to the door, unbarred it. Somebody was rapidly mounting the stairs. He lighted the lamp and turned to face the entrance. The door opened, and Duke Haslam burst into the room, eyes fixed on the bed. Sensing Bob’s presence, he wheeled, and for the first time Lee saw him lose control of that mask-like face.
“Anxious about me?” inquired Bob.
“Why, I—I—” Haslam recovered his poise with an effort. “Yes, I was. I warned you that you might stop lead, and on top of my warning I heard those shots. I thought they’d got you.”
“Sort of a strange coincidence, wasn’t it?” Bob walked over to the bed, threw back the covers. “I didn’t like the looks of that tree, and I remembered yore warnin’; so I sacrificed comfort for safety and slept on the floor. Unfortunately I had to use yore wash-stand pitcher for a head on this dummy, and the bowl for part of the body. They shore are busted up.”
Boots again pounded the stair steps and Ace, Deuce, and Joe rushed into the room. They appeared vastly relieved to see Bob apparently unhurt. Moving over to the bed they looked at the ripped covers, at the tree outside, and then at the blanket and pillow on the floor.
Joe grinned. “Thees sheriff, she have the hard life. Weeth good bed and soft mattress, Bob ees slip on the floor.”
“Good thing he did,” murmured Deuce, “or he’d do the rest of his sleepin’ under a blanket of daisies. Reckon I’ll bed down in the hall the rest of the night.”
“And I’ll curl up at the foot of that tree,” decided Ace. “Bob’s an important person now, and one dead candidate a night is plenty.”
Bob spoke to Haslam. “You can go to bed now, Duke. Don’t worry so much about me; I reckon I’ll last the night out.”
Duke eyed him levelly for a few seconds, then turned and walked from the room. Ace and Deuce followed him, and Joe proceeded to remove his boots.
“The barn ees lock’ after the caballo she ees go. Me, I’m won’er w’ere I’m slip tonight, and here I’m fin’ good bed! Come, amigo; breeng the blanket and the peelow. We catch w’at you call the good snooze, no?”
Bob Lee was elected sheriff the next day. It was an orderly election as elections go, for cowboys from the ranches of law-abiding cattlemen remained on the job in the courthouse with Kurt Dodd and his gunmen, and saw to it that voters were neither influenced nor molested. When the result was announced that night, Kurt Dodd swore savagely and kicked a hole in the ballot box, while Duke Haslam clamped his teeth on his cigar so tightly that his jaw muscles stood out in ridges.
Bob drew Dick Markley to one side. “I want to talk to you about that deputy job. Dick, it pays a hundred a month. It will put you on yore feet, and in time you—you—” He broke off, a bit dismayed to find that the words came so hard.
Markley nodded. “I know. I want to make money, Bob, so I can offer June somethin’ besides my name; but I got somethin’ else in view. So long, and take care of yoreself.” He seemed anxious to get away.
The actual swearing in of the new sheriff took place the next day. The county judge and the prosecuting attorney, both Haslam men, had been re-elected, the Cleanup Party concentrating its efforts on the office of sheriff.
Judge Bleek was tall, thin, and dyspeptic. His indigestion had soured him on the world, and it was the general opinion that the unlucky man who faced him in his court during one of his “spells” would receive the limit regardless of whether or not he was backed by Haslam. Thaddeus Poole, the prosecuting attorney, was fifty-five, fat, and fond of oratory. When sober he was a dignified old bluffer. That he had more than a casual acquaintance with the demon rum was attested by his blue-veined cheeks and ruddy nose.
The ceremony over, Bob took possession of the sheriff’s office, receiving keys, badges, handcuffs, and other appurtenances from the former sheriff. Here he swore in as deputies Ace, Deuce, and Joe, after which the four seated themselves to talk over a plan of campaign.
“There are two problems ahead of us,” Bob told them. “One is to pin the deadwood on the jasper who ordered the death of Rutherford, the other is to break up the gang which has been stealin’ the folks of this country blind.”
“If you ask me,” volunteered Deuce, “the two are linked together like twin sausages.”
“Who do you figure had John murdered?”
“Duke Haslam. By murderin’ John right before election he figgered the Cleanup Party wouldn’t be able to find another candidate in time to run.”
“You said the murder of Rutherford was connected with the stealin’ and killin’ that have been goin’ on. H that is so, and Haslam had John killed, he must also be runnin’ the outlaw band.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Ace. “Folks sorta figger Kurt Dodd to be what you might call the prime mover of that outfit.”
The Mexican spoke positively. “Duke Haslam ees behin’ eet all.”
“How come?”
“Thees keeler we hang, she ees hire’ by Duke. Bueno. Nobody know heem; she ees not leave in town and she does not work on any rancho we know. Yet she mus’ eat and slip. So she work for Dodd, no?”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Bueno! Now she work for Dodd, but she keel for Haslam; so Dodd and Haslam ees work together.”
Deuce swore admiringly. “That was my hunch, but I’m danged if I could put it so clear. Joe, you win the han’some crocheted spurs.”
“I believe Joe is right,” said Bob. “At any rate we’ll find out pretty quick. If Duke isn’t behind the whole thing, the one who is will lie low until he sees which way the wind blows. If Haslam is the real leader, we can look for the lightnin’ to strike real sudden.”
“That’s plumb correct,” agreed Ace. “He’ll do his dangdest to make us look foolish so he can tell folks how much better Grubb would ’a’ done.”
“And since we don’t know where the blow will be aimed, we must split our forces. Joe, after dinner you get a blanket roll and some grub and camp along the road twenty miles north of Lariat. Follow the stage in tomorrow. Circle the town and pick it up on the other side when it leaves. Trail it twenty miles south and wait for the north-bound. Keep that up until further orders.
“Deuce, you and Ace ride range. Sleep in the daytime and prowl around at night. I’ll stay in town. I must see about jailers and check up Grubb’s accounts. If there is anything to report, leave word at Tomlinson’s.”
Deuce got up. “Let’s eat, Ace. We got the jump on Joe anyway. We do our reportin’ at the Tumblin’ T. I wish I knowed how to play a gui-tar!”
Joe grinned. “Eef I’m mean hombre, I’m tich you. No matter how good you play, w’en you seeng the señorita weel theenk the stray cat ees bus’ loose.”
As they passed out of the courthouse June Tomlinson sprang from a buckboard she had just driven up to the hitching rack and hurried toward them, her violet eyes shining.
“Hello, Mr. Sheriff! Congratulations! The Cleanup Party couldn’t have picked a better candidate. And these gentlemen, I suppose, are your deputies. Oh, but aren’t we going to have law and order!”
Before the “gentlemen” could answer, Dick Markley came up. Brushing past them he seized the girl’s hand, head bare, that winning smile on his handsome face. “I’m shore glad you came in,” he told her. “And you’re not drivin’ back until you’ve had dinner with me.”
The
girl colored slightly. “Why—I hadn’t intended to remain in town, but if you insist—” She turned and smiled at Bob. “Your friend has such a persuasive way about him that one just can’t say no. Come out to see father when you can, Bob. He likes you immensely.”
Bob promised an early visit, then slowly followed as the two strolled toward the hotel. As they drew opposite the entrance, Duke Haslam stepped forward and raised his hat. Dick presented him to June, and frowned slightly as the owner of the Paris bowed low over her hand. June acknowledged the introduction with her customary poise and, placing her fingers on Dick’s arm, moved into the hotel. Duke turned, his eyes on the slim form of the girl, and Bob’s blood boiled at sight of the covetous look which overspread his face.
Bob and his deputies ate dinner at the Paris, where Dick had secured a small table at one side of the room for June and himself. At the conclusion of the meal the two left the room immediately ahead of Bob’s party, and as June turned to speak to Deuce, Pete Grubb sidled up to Dick and whispered something to him. Dick shrugged impatiently, excused himself, and hurried away.
June got into the buckboard, and as the four stood watching the rapidly vanishing vehicle a band of horsemen swept around the corner of the hotel, passing them at a fast trot. The big, black-bearded Kurt Dodd was in the lead, and riding beside him, face held rigidly to the front, was Dick Markley.
Deuce swore. “What’s he doin’ with Dodd’s outfit?”
Ace flashed him a significant glance. “Mebbe Dick is just headin’ in the same direction as Kurt.” His voice, however, lacked conviction.
Bob said nothing. Dick was his friend, and to assume that he had gone over to the enemy was unthinkable. There was, no doubt, some good explanation of Markley’s conduct.
When his deputies had departed on their assignments, Bob set about the difficult task of identifying the man who had shot John Rutherford. Painstakingly he moved from saloon to store, buying drinks and tobacco and asking casual questions. He met with no success until he reached a little cantina in the Mexican quarter. Here the proprietor remembered that the fellow had come into his place shortly before the fatal shooting and had bought several drinks of tequila. Another man had accompanied him. The proprietor knew neither of them, but the fellow’s companion was short and chunky, with red hair and a freckled face. He wore a much soiled but elaborate calfskin vest.
From place to place Bob moved seeking a line on this second man. Nobody else seemed to have noticed him, and by the time he had combed the town it was supper time. He returned to the hotel, washed up, and went into the dining room. Pop Purvis, the retired cattleman, waved him to an adjoining seat.
“Ain’t seen you before to congratulate you. You shore have bit off a big chunk of grief for yoreself, but I’m thinkin’ you’ll come through, especially with them other four hellions· to help. High, low, jack, and game, and the joker. That’s a great combination, boy.”
“Joker?” Bob caught the allusion to the other four points but this reference to the joker puzzled him.
“Dick Markley. I seen him ride outa town with Kurt Dodd. That’s a smart idee, son: to plant him on the Kady.”
Bob grinned. If folks thought he had sent Dick to Dodd’s spread, let them continue to think it. “You’re a smart article, Pop, and there isn’t much that gets by you. Now I bet you are the only man in town who can tell me the name of a short, chunky fella with red hair and a loud and dirty calfskin vest.”
Pop shook his head. “Nope, I cain’t tell you his name, but I know who you mean. I seen him twice in town here. Once he rode in with Kurt Dodd, and another time with Kurt’s foreman, Cole Bradshaw.”
Bob succeeded in hiding his elation. “Thanks, Pop. By the way, I haven’t seen Duke Haslam this afternoon. Wonder where he is.”
“I can tell you that. He’s gone to Dutch Trumbauer’s spread to look at a hawss. Heard him tell the clerk.”
Pop’s information was for once incorrect, but that was not the fault either of Pop’s hearing or of his understanding. Duke had told the clerk plainly enough that he was riding to Trumbauer’s ranch, and had actually started in that direction. Once clear of the town, however, he had swung off to the river and had followed it until he felt safe in striking directly for the Kady. It was dark by the time he reached his destination.
There was nothing about the ranch itself to arouse suspicion. The cattle which dotted the range were all legitimately branded KD, and cowboys went about the business of caring for them in exactly the same manner as other cowboys on other ranches; but as Duke approached the corrals a rider loomed up out of the darkness to challenge him. The guard carried a ready rifle.
Duke answered the challenge and the horseman wheeled and melted into the shadows. Haslam rode to the house, dismounted, and tied his horse.
“Go right in, Duke,” came a voice from the veranda. A cigarette end glowed momentarily, and Duke knew that although he had not seen the guard he had been under observation ever since passing the corrals.
He walked into the front room to find three men playing poker at a table which was illuminated by a ship’s lantern swung overhead. One of the men was Kurt Dodd; the second was his foreman, Cole Bradshaw; the third was Dick Markley. All three looked up as Haslam entered.
“Hello, boys,” Duke saluted them. “I haven’t much time. Put down your hands and listen. I came out here to talk because I didn’t want to be seen with you in town. With this seven-up combination in office we must watch our step.”
“Seven-up?” frowned Dodd.
Duke explained. “That old fossil, Pop Purvis, started it. Calls that Ace fellow high, the little one low, Bob Lee jack, and the greaser game.” He looked at Dick. “You’re the joker.”
“What have I to do with it?”
“Well, as the joker you are more or less an uncertain quantity. The set-up is favorable to us. Our game is to keep folks guessing. That is why I want you in our little company.” He smiled sardonically at the frowning Markley. “You see, boys, Dick is in love.”
“Cut that out!” cried Dick sharply.
Haslam’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, there is nothing to be offended about. Miss Tomlinson is a wonderful young woman; you should be proud to admit that you care for her.” He addressed the other two. “Unfortunately, Dick finds that he is in no position financially to court the young lady, so I have decided to provide a little nest egg for him provided he throws in with us and helps us in certain enterprises.”
“What is it you want me to do?” asked Dick tightly.
Haslam leaned back in his chair and gazed at the young man through half closed lids. “Not much. The new sheriff is a bosom friend of yours; he trusts you and believes in you. That you should oppose him is unthinkable—to him. I want you to convince Lee that Kurt is running a perfectly legitimate ranch, and that he must look elsewhere for the gang which is operating in this county. You will also assist us from time to time, just as an assurance of your loyalty.”
Dick swore heatedly. “I won’t do it. Bob Lee is my friend.”
“Friendship and business do not mix. If you elect to do this you will receive at the end of the year a fair share of the profits. I should say that your cut will amount to at least ten thousand dollars.”
“Ten thousand dollars!” Dick gasped. He stared at Haslam, moistening his lips. “Ten thousand dollars,” he repeated dazedly.
Haslam produced a fat wallet, opened it, and took out a wad of bills.
“As a mark of good faith I am prepared to advance you one thousand in cash before you lift a finger.” He counted out some bills, replaced the wallet in his pocket, and riffled the edges of the banknotes between his fingers. “How about it?”
Dick was staring at the money as though fascinated. “Haslam, you got no right to tempt me! Bob and me have been buddies ever since he came here from Texas. He’s stood by me when I hadn’t a friend in the world. He’s looked after me and took care of me. I—I just cain’t do it.”
Haslam sighed and r
eached for the wallet. “Very well. I won’t attempt to influence your decision. But it is too bad. A thousand dollars is a lot of money. And ten thousand—” He riffled the bills again, carelessly.
Dick leaned forward and snatched the bills from his hand.
“You devil! You knew I’d fall for it. I’ll do yore work for a year; not a day longer. Then I’m free. You understand? I’m free!”
“Of course. Now you’re acting sensibly.” He took a slip of paper from the wallet and spread it on the table. “Kurt, get me a pen. I want Dick to sign this receipt. Something I always require, Dick. I’m operating a big business, and I must keep the records straight.”
Dick hastily signed at the place indicated, giving such a vicious twist to the pen at the end of the signature that the ink splattered the paper. The three observers exchanged glances. Kurt and Bradshaw were smiling thinly.
“And now,” said Haslam, “to business. Here’s the layout: With this new sheriff on the job the so-called Cleanup Party is looking for quick action. Well, we’ll give it to them. We’ll strike swiftly at first one point and then another. We’ll run them dizzy; make monkeys of them.
“First we’ll raid Tomlinson’s spread. He has some fine three-year-olds. And the Tumbling T will work over into an excellent Diamond Cross.”
“That’s rubbin’ it in,” protested Dick. “Keep off that spread.”
Duke eyed him coldly. “From now on I give the orders. You’re a member of the outfit, and do as I say. It won’t break Tomlinson by any means; the raid is merely intended to embarrass the sheriff. Bradshaw, you pick the boys and see that Dick has a place. Kurt, you spend the night in town. That will alibi you and make Dick’s job easier when he tells Lee that your crew is innocent. We’ll pull it off tomorrow night. I guess that’s all.”
Bradshaw winked and got to his feet, yawning. “Well, I’ll hit the hay. Come on, Dick; I’ll find you a bunk. And I got a money belt I’ll lend you to tote that dinero around in. So long, Duke.” He led the way from the room, Dick at his heels.
Texas Men Page 4