CHAPTER VI
IN THE HILLS
BOB rode to the trees indicated by Ace and looked at the pole corral. There was evidence that the little inclosure had been recently occupied.
“It’s my idea,” said Ace, “that there was stock in this basin until a few hours ago. The rustlers had plenty time to drive it out.”
“Where are Tomlinson’s men?”
“Scattered all over. My gosh, Bob, you got no idea how the trails back here criss-cross. I betcha there’s a hundred parks like this scattered where you cain’t find them except by stumblin’ over them.”
“Well, let’s stumble over some.”
They found a trail leading from the corral and followed it. For several miles it twisted through arroyo and gully, then quite suddenly the riders found themselves in a rocky depression where the tracks disappeared completely. They circled the basin, stopping at each debouching wash to study the ground. All the passages showed tracks of some kind.
“You follow this one,” Bob directed, pointing to a trail which was comparatively fresh. “I’ll take another. If you don’t find anything in an hour, come back and meet me here.”
Ace urged his horse along the trail he had been told to follow, and Bob retraced his course to the line of tracks they had just passed. The trail entered a shallow wash, following its convolutions deeper into the hills. Gradually the gully deepened into a gorge with rocky, scrub-covered walls, occasionally pierced by lateral passages, the bed of each marked with some kind of horse or cattle tracks.
“Looks like they are tryin’ to draw me from the gorge,” mused Bob. “So I reckon I’ll just stick to it.”
The trail ahead of him became increasingly difficult of passage, and finally the last faint hoofprints vanished altogether. Bob, however, pressed doggedly on, reasoning that the very absence of tracks might have been calculated to discourage his keeping up the gorge. A half hour later he was elated to find the going less difficult; the trail widened and slanted downward in an easy gradient that his horse welcomed with a grunt of relief. Quite abruptly he rounded a bend to find the gorge widening into another mountain park. Cattle grazed placidly in the near distance, and off to his right, among a cluster of oaks, was a small cabin. In the doorway,, smoking, sat a man.
The man did not rise at Bob’s approach, but Lee caught a flash of movement in the trees and had a fleeting glimpse of a running figure before it was completely hidden by the scrub. As he drew near the shack his blood quickened and he peered narrowly at the one who sat so calmly drawing on his pipe. He had seen at once that the fellow was red-headed; now he noticed that he wore an ornate but dirty calfskin vest, and Bob knew he was looking at the person who had been in the company of John Rutherford’s murderer.
Twenty feet from the cabin he drew rein. The redheaded fellow removed his pipe and growled, “Whadda you want?”
“You,” answered Bob, and drew his gun.
The fellow stared at him apparently undisturbed. “If this is a holdup you’ve shore got the wrong party.”
“It’s a holdup, all right.” Watching alertly, he swung from the saddle. “I’m the sheriff. Maybe you saw me in Lariat the night before election. You know—the night they hanged yore buddy for shootin’ John Rutherford.”
“I ain’t been in Lariat for months.”
“You were seen in a cantina with the jigger who killed Rutherford.” Bob reached for the handcuffs he carried in a hip pocket. “Stick out yore hands.”
At sight of the irons the fellow came to his feet, eyes blazing. “By Godfrey, no! What right you got to arrest me?”
“Accessory before the fact; suspicion; spittin’ on the sidewalk; anything.”
“I tell you I wasn’t in Lariat that night!”
“Manuel Gonzales said you were, and I’m goin’ to give him a chance to identify you.”
The man glared at him, freckled face red with anger. “You shore got yore nerve!” he choked.
“Stick out yore paws.”
Disregarding the drawn Colt, the fellow sprang at him, an incoherent growl rumbling from his throat. His huge hairy hands were extended, his red-lidded eyes blazed wrathfully.
Bob did not fire, for should he kill the fellow a possible link in the chain which was to connect Duke Haslam with the slaying would be broken. He aimed a swift blow at the fellow’s head, but a wide-flung arm warded off the gun barrel, and the next instant they were locked in each other’s arms.
The man was short but powerful. Bob grunted as the fellow’s muscular arms tightened about him, squirmed desperately to avoid the tripping leg which was thrust behind him. He dropped his gun in order that his hands would be unhampered, and strained to break the hold which threatened to crack his spine.
The man’s evil, sweating face was thrust close to his, the red-lidded eyes flamed venomously. Bob ducked forward, driving his forehead against the bridge of the fellow’s nose. The red-head’s hold slightly relaxed, and Bob succeeded in getting his forearms between himself and the man’s chest. He strained outward, slipped low, and threw the fellow heavily.
The breath was knocked from the other’s body, and he could do nothing but lie on his back and gasp. Bob got to his feet, found his gun and the handcuffs, and clicked the latter on the thick wrists. When the redhead had recovered his wind, Bob ordered him to his feet. “Where’s yore horse?”
The man nodded toward the trees behind the cabin. “Corral,” he gasped.
“All right, head for it. I’ll be behind you with a gun.” Leaving his horse standing, Bob followed the stocky red-head past the cabin and into the grove. He glanced into the shack as he passed and saw that it was empty.
He walked warily, for he remembered the man who had ducked into the grove as he was riding toward the cabin; nevertheless, what happened was so entirely unexpected that he was unable to prevent it.
They were approaching the corral when the man before him suddenly tripped and went down, manacled hands extended before him to break his fall. It was done so naturally that Bob had no suspicion of treachery until a flash on the far side of the corral caught his eye.
He acted immediately and almost involuntarily, dropping to the ground as a rifle whanged and a bullet cut the air directly above him. The flash Bob had caught was that of sunlight on rifle barrel, and had he not ducked instantly he would have been hit. As it was, his erstwhile prisoner having rolled to one side, Bob lay in the middle of the trail entirely exposed to the rifleman’s fire.
Bob did some rolling himself, bringing up in the scrub on the opposite side of the trail. Bullets were searching him out, scattering dust, whining through the low bushes. He found a little hollow and made himself as small as was possible. He dared not even raise his arm to shoot.
Presently the firing ceased and Bob concluded that the marksman was reloading. He got to hands and knees and scurried through the scrub until he reached a tree. Circling its base he got to his feet, keeping the trunk between him and the enemy. His prisoner had vanished. Presently Bob heard the sound of hoofs and caught a brief glimpse of two men riding rapidly away.
To pursue was foolish; there were too many hiding places for one man to ferret out. He returned to the cabin and searched it, but found nothing offering a clue to the identities of the two, or, for that matter, implicating them in any wrong-doing.
Mounting, he rode into the park. All the cattle he encountered wore a large Diamond-Cross on their flanks. He roped one and examined it carefully. The brand had originally been a Big 4, and the ear marks had been completely removed by a diagonal slash. Bob marked the location of the park in his memory and retraced his way to the rocky depression. Ace had returned and was seated in the shade, smoking.
“Find anything?” he inquired as Bob rode up.
Lee related his experience. “How about you?”
“No luck. Trail petered out and I turned back. Bob, we’ll have to come in here with an army if we want to run down all these tracks.”
Bob squinted at the sun.
“We’ll run ’em down sooner or later. Right now I reckon we’d better head for the Tumblin’ T if we aim to have supper there.”
And at about that time, Dick Markley dropped off his horse in Lariat and sauntered into the Paris saloon. Duke Haslam was not in sight, but a bartender nodded toward a door, and Dick began moving in its direction. Presently he was leaning against its frame, and, when he was certain he was not observed, he twisted the knob, opened it far enough to squeeze through, and closed it silently behind him.
He was in Haslam’s office. It was a small room between kitchen and saloon, with one window and another door opening into the hotel dining room. Dick had hardly entered when this second door opened and Haslam came in. He slipped the bolts on both doors and addressed Dick coldly.
“You should have been here long ago. What held you up?”
“Kurt didn’t give me yore message until after two o’clock. I rode over to the Tumblin’ T this mornin’ and met Bob Lee there. You know the raid last night went haywire?”
Haslam stared at him. “What happened?”
“Well, Bradshaw took us to the north corner of the Tumblin’ T and put the boys to work roundin’ up. I was standin’ guard. Some jigger came bustin’ over the range toward us, and I fired a warnin’ signal. This fella cut loose with a Winchester, and we dragged out of there.”
“Who was this fellow who broke up the raid?”
“Reckon it was Ace Talbot.”
“That tall deputy of Lee’s? What was he doing out there?”
“I don’t know, but he was Johnny-on-the-spot. Look here, Duke; are you shore you ain’t underestimatin’ Bob Lee? I’ve known him a right smart while and he shapes up pretty foxy to me.”
Haslam made an impatient gesture. “I know all about him.”
“Well, he’s from Texas and so are his deputies. Tomlinson and his crew are from there too. We’re shore fillin’ up with Texas men, and I got a pretty healthy respect for them.”
“I never met one yet who was bullet-proof,” Haslam told him. “Get on with the yarn. What happened after he broke up the party?”
“We rode for the hills and scattered. I cut around as soon as I could and headed for the Tumblin’ T. Deuce Lowery had come in with Ace and had gone to town after Lee. When Bob came out I rode with him. Figgered you might want to know what went on. First off he found an empty shell from my gun. Showed it to me and said he reckoned somebody else besides me shot a forty-one. Then we rode up the gully together and finally he stumbled on one of Shab Cannon’s parks. And at the edge of a spring he found the tracks of my horse.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Said I was there the day before lookin’ for strays. I buffaloed him, all right; but I know Bob Lee. He’ll keep pokin’ around until he does uncover somethin’.”
Haslam’s lips twisted in a sneer. “Then the thing to do is draw him away from the hills. The next two jobs will be around Lariat. That is why I sent for you.” He crossed to the window, looked out, then came back and sat down facing Dick. “The south-bound stage is due in Lariat tomorrow at noon. That means it crosses Navajo Pass around ten. There is a gold shipment aboard. You will hold up that stage and take the money box.”
Dick stared at him. “Wait a minute! You got plenty more men able to handle a job like that. Kurt or Bradshaw, for instance.”
“Kurt and Bradshaw will be in town. Besides, this is part of your job to fool Lee. You won’t tackle it alone. Tell Kurt to fix you up with four men and a pack-horse. It will be easy.”
Dick was frowning. “I don’t like it.”
“I suppose not, but it’s got to be done. Now listen. Put on clothes that won’t be recognized—you can find some at the ranch-and ride the horse Kurt will furnish. Tie a bandana over your face, and if you have to talk be careful to disguise your voice. The climb to the top of the pass is long, and the stage team will be walking. There are plenty rocks big enough to hide you and your horse. When the stage is about to pass, ride out and cover the messenger. Have a couple of the boys come out with the pack-horse and lift the strong box. That is all. Don’t bother the passengers. As soon as the stage pulls out you can beat it. Get back to the ranch, change clothes, climb on your own horse and ride over to the Tomlinsons.”
Dick swore uneasily. “I tell you I don’t like it, Haslam.”
“Still want that other nine thousand, don’t you?”
Dick continued to glower, but the fire had gone from his eyes.
Haslam spoke smoothly. “This, like last night’s raid, is designed only to worry Lee. As a matter of fact, the specie is consigned to me. Nobody will suspect me of stealing my own gold; and since Kurt and Bradshaw will both be in town, even their worst enemies will have to admit that they could have had no hand in the holdup.”
Dick got reluctantly to his feet. “All right; I’ll do it. But, Haslam, don’t figure out any more deals like this. It’s not in our contract.”
“No? Didn’t you agree to participate in our enterprises from time to time as an evidence of good faith?”
Dick’s face was grim. “Yeah; but I didn’t agree to do all yore dirty work. I tell you, if it wasn’t for that ten thousand dollars—”
“My dear boy, without that ten thousand dollars I wouldn’t ask a thing of you. Every man has his price; yours happens to be ten thousand dollars. But you’ve got to earn it.... Go out this door and nobody will see you leave.”
Dick rode slowly back toward the Kady mulling over his conversation with Duke Haslam. He began to see now the depths to which he might sink under the pressure brought to bear against him by the wily owner of the Paris. His first feeling was one of resentment, a resentment that was presently tempered by thought of the reward Haslam had dangled before his eyes.
Duke had said that every man had his price, and Duke was right. A man who would not consider a ten-thousand-dollar bribe might be bought for twenty; one who scorned twenty would sell his soul for fifty. Even Bob, Dick told himself, must have his price. Suppose Duke had riffled the edges of a thousand dollars in notes before Bob’s eyes, they’d stand out on stems too. Or would they? Dick experienced a feeling of uncertainty. He shrugged it off impatiently.
“Shore he has his price,” he muttered. “He’d be a fool if he didn’t.”
Having thus convinced himself that he was perfectly justified in doing as Duke Haslam directed, Markley fell to thinking about the contemplated holdup. In spite of his reluctance to tackle the job, his blood quickened. Once reconciled to the task he found this an adventure that appealed to his reckless spirit. He knew Navajo Pass as well as anybody; a holdup at that point would be simplicity itself. An old Stetson, a discarded coat, overalls—
His horse slackened its pace and Dick looked up. He was approaching the fork in the trail which led to the Tumbling T. After a moment’s indecision Dick reined the animal into it. He wanted to see and talk with June, if only for a minute. Sleeping or awake the girl’s face haunted him.
The sun had disappeared when at last he drew rein at the house hitching rack. Two horses stood at the rail, and now that he was close enough to make them out distinctly, he recognized them as belonging to Bob and Ace. The blood beat a bit faster in his veins; after all, this was like a big game, a game where he stacked his wit and resourcefulness against the keen mind of his friend. If only Bob were a bit less stanch!
As he strode across the gallery, June came to the door to welcome him. She smiled and extended her hand; Dick grasped it between both his own and pressed it. His eyes were very eager, very bold.
“Just stopped in a minute to say hello. I’m gettin’ so I cain’t ride by the fork in the trail without turnin’ into it.”
The twilight hid the delicate color which mounted to the girl’s cheeks. She withdrew her hand hastily. “Come in, Dick; supper will soon be ready.”
“I shouldn’t,” he told her. “I’m supposed to be workin’ for the Kady.”
She looked at him frankly. “I wish you weren’t; I wish yo
u were working for us. Why don’t you talk to father about it? I’m sure he could use another hand.”
Dick’s smile was a bit crooked. “I’ve passed my word to Kurt Dodd. Don’t tempt me.”
“I believe Dodd is a rascal,” she said bluntly. “He’s your boss, and you wouldn’t admit it even if you knew it to be true; but I believe it just the same. I wish you would work for the Tomlinsons.”
“I’m workin’ for one of them every day of the week, and when I make my pile I’ll have somethin’ to say to her.”
June turned quickly away. “Come in,” she invited.
Bob and Ace were in the living room talking with Tomlinson. As Dick entered, Ace’s face went hard; but Bob turned to him with a smile.
“Hello, Dick. Glad you dropped in. You don’t happen to know a short, husky red-headed chap who wears a dirty calfskin vest, do you?”
Dick shook his head. “Cain’t say that I do. Why?”
Bob told him of the encounter in the hills which had culminated in the escape of his prisoner and the finding of the rustled stock.
Dick listened gravely. “There are a lot of parks back there.”
“Too bad they’re so close to Kurt Dodd’s spread,” said Ace. “Some evil-minded folks will be suspectin’ him.”
“If you suspect Kurt, you’re wrong. I told Bob he had nothin’ to do with this rustlin’.”
“You been ridin’ for him two days and you know him that well?”
“I don’t have to ride with a man forever to find out the color of his hair.”
June interrupted the conversation to announce supper. Dick refused her invitation to stay. “I got work to do on the Kady,” he said.
She saw him to the door, and for another moment he held her hand between both his own. “Good night,” he said softly. “You’ll be seein’ me again, soon.”
“Dick, I wish you’d leave that spread.”
He laughed grimly and released her hand. “You’re as bad as Bob and Ace. I tell you Kurt Dodd is all right. I know what I’m doin’. Good night.”
Texas Men Page 6