Texas Men

by Paul Evan Lehman

  He swung into his saddle and rode swiftly toward the Kady. June Tomlinson stood watching his erect form until it was swallowed by the dusk; then, with a worried sigh, turned and went into the house.

  CHAPTER VII

  SEEDS OF SUSPICION

  THE supper was thoroughly appreciated by Bob and Ace. The former was in good spirits, for while he knew that this was but the beginning, he could not underestimate the damage to the prestige of the rustler gang in so completely frustrating their first coup under the new administration.

  Ace, on the other hand, was morose. Never one to talk much, he was more taciturn than ever. The discovery of the horse track in the mountain park would have meant nothing had Dick not chosen to lie about it. If he had, as he said, been looking for strays the day before, there could have been no reason for denying the presence of the branding fire. By stating that he had not seen it he had cast a doubt in Ace’s mind as to the errand which had really taken him to the park.

  What worried the tall puncher was the fact that he could not bring himself to confide his suspicions to Bob. On the impulse of the moment he had destroyed the tell-tale print in order to spare Bob the pain of finding Dick disloyal; but if Markley permitted the evidence against him to accumulate, sooner or later Bob could not fail to realize the truth.

  Ace noticed June’s clouded brow when she joined them at the table, and wondered just how much she suspected. June Tomlinson was a very discerning young woman, and she appeared to be more than ordinarily interested in Dick. If Markley had chosen the crooked path his defection would hurt more than one person.

  They repaired to the living room after the meal was finished, and while Ace talked with Tomlinson, June found occasion to speak to Bob. She came directly to the point.

  “Knowing what friends you are, I’ve been wondering why Dick hasn’t been appointed a deputy. Or is that an official secret?”

  Bob smiled. “Dick doesn’t care for that kind of work. He wouldn’t want to be tied down by legal restrictions.”

  “I hate to see him riding for Kurt Dodd. I don’t know Dodd personally, but one is bound to pick up gossip, and that raid right on the border of his spread is rather significant.”

  Bob nodded. “I know. But Kurt was in town while that raid was bein’ pulled. He would have had no hand in it.”

  “His being in town might have been a blind. That foreman of his, Bradshaw, is probably as great a villain as is Dodd. He wasn’t in town, was he?”

  “No-o, he wasn’t.” Bob regarded the girl gravely. “Reckon I’d better set yore mind at ease, Miss June. Dick joined up with Dodd in order to find out whether or not Kurt’s men are in this business.”

  Her face brightened. “You sent him?”

  “Well—no; not exactly. It was Dick’s idea. You see, we’ve been pretty good friends for a long while. Dick figured that I would camp on Dodd’s trail tryin’ to get somethin’ on him, so he joined the Kady to learn for himself. He told me that as far as he could determine Kurt Dodd is runnin’ a legitimate ranch.”

  The girl was eyeing him thoughtfully. “And what do you think?”

  “I don’t know. Dick wouldn’t lie to me. If he is mistaken, it is because he himself has been deceived. Knowin’ how friendly we are it stands to reason that Dodd would hide his crookedness from him. Since meetin’ that red-head this mornin’, though, I’m almost ready to leave Dodd out of it.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, this red-head had a cabin in a park full of stolen cattle. There may be a gang under his leadership workin’ in the hills and stealin’ from the valley ranchers, Dodd included.”

  “Didn’t you tell father that this red-headed man was seen in town twice, once with Kurt Dodd and again with Bradshaw?”

  “I reckon I did. I don’t know what to think, Miss June. I’m keepin’ an open mind for the present. But Dick’s square; I’d bet my bottom dollar on that. He’s a fine, upstandin’ boy. You will never regret knowin’ him.”

  June spoke very quietly. “You think a lot of him, don’t you?”

  “We’ve been friends a long time,” he repeated.

  “I like him too. I would love to help him. He is the kind that needs help: wild, impulsive, perhaps a bit weak. One of those likable chaps who are apt to do things on the spur of the moment and then regret them later. I don’t want to see him go wrong, but if he is mixed up with this Dodd outfit, and if Kurt is the kind of man we think he is, I’m afraid for the boy.”

  “It’s kind of you to want to help him,” Bob said soberly. “Dick doesn’t remember his mother and he has no brothers or sisters. Reckon that’s why I sort of cottoned to him. He thinks a heap of you, Miss June; maybe if you talked with him he’d quit the Kady.”

  “I have spoken to him. I urged him to ask father for a job. He told me he had passed his word to Dodd.”

  Bob smiled at her. “Dick is his own master and knows what he is about. If he finds that Dodd is not on the square, he’ll quit.”

  And there they left it. But Bob wondered as he rode to Lariat whether Dick realized how lucky he was in having such a stanch friend in June Tomlinson, and June wondered as she stood on the veranda gazing after him, whether Dick fully appreciated the fine loyalty of this clear-eyed Texan.

  Bob reached Lariat around ten o’clock, found Deuce in the sheriff’s office and sent him out to join Ace. It was not likely that the rustlers would strike again immediately, but Bob was taking no chances.

  He stabled his horse and entered the Paris. Dutch Trumbauer and Frank Enright were there, and he drew them to one side. Neither had heard of the raid on the Tumbling T. Bob told them about it, and set them to staring.

  “Py golly!” exclaimed Dutch. “Dey are beginning it already yet!”

  “Yeah,” agreed Enright, “but they got no farther than the beginnin’; remember that, Dutchy. It does a man good to know that at last we got a go-get-’em sheriff and deputies in office! Bob, just breakin’ up that raid hurt them more than you realize. It should be advertised all over the county. No matter if you didn’t get any of them, it’s their first set-back, and you shore gave them somethin’ to think about.”

  “Dot iss right,” agreed Trumbauer. “Dey haf found dot dey can’t pust in and run stock out yet venever dey like. Soon dey find dot with high, low, chack, and der game in von hand against dem, dey can’t so frisky get.”

  “Do either of you know a short, chunky red-headed jasper who sports a dirty calfskin vest?” asked Bob.

  The two cattlemen eyed each other, then shook their heads. “Nobody around these diggin’s that fits that description,” said Enright. “Why?”

  “Manuel Gonzales said such a man came into his cantina on election eve with the fella who later shot Rutherford. Nobody seems to know him. I ran across him in the hills today. He was sittin’ in the doorway of a cabin in a park full of cattle. I put the cuffs on him to bring him in, but a partner of his opened up with a Winchester, and he got away. I looked at the cattle. Enright, your Big 4 had been changed to a Diamond-Cross.”

  “By Judas!” swore Enright. “I’ll get the boys together in the mornin’ and we’ll comb those hills.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” said Bob slowly. “Cleanin’ up will be a big job, Frank. I wish you’d do me the favor of keepin’ what I’ve told you to yoreself until later. When we go in there we’ll land with a crash that will put the fear of the Almighty in a few hearts, but the time isn’t ripe.”

  Enright frowned. “And I sit back and twiddle my thumbs while they steal me blind, eh?”

  “If necessary, yes. Remember we’re workin’ against an organized gang. This isn’t a bunch of common thieves; they have brains behind them.”

  Trumbauer snorted scornfully. “Kurt Dodd? Pah! He iss not the brains of a shicken got.”

  “I didn’t say it was Dodd. But I have a hunch that you can look for the lightning to strike again, and strike soon.”

  “Well, you’re the doctor,” said Enright. “I’ll keep quiet unt
il you say the word.”

  On the way out, Duke Haslam stopped Bob. “Heard you had a little trouble out at the Tumbling T last night.”

  Bob turned on him swiftly. “How did you find that out?”

  Haslam smiled and shrugged. “I don’t miss much. News like that is bound to get around, you know.”

  Bob continued his way through the swinging doors. He was wondering how Haslam had heard about the raid. He had told only Enright and Trumbauer. On an impulse he mounted to the hotel veranda and dropped into a chair beside Pop Purvis. If by any chance Deuce had mentioned the matter Pop would be sure to have heard it.

  “Howdy, Bob,” greeted the old cattleman. “How goes the sheriffin’?”

  “So-so,” replied Bob carelessly.

  “Well, I reckon things will go along right smooth for a while,” said Pop; and Bob knew Deuce had not talked.

  “Any strangers in town today?”

  “Shucks, no. Town’s dead. Nobody even rode in but you and the joker.”

  “Dick?”

  “Yep. He come in late this evenin’ and went into the saloon.” Pop glanced sidewise at the man beside him. “He come out of the hotel.”

  “Went in the saloon and came out of the hotel? You sure of that?”

  “Shore as I’m a foot high. Come out that door behind us. I was settin’ right here in this chair.”

  “Reckon he went into the kitchen for somethin’ to eat,” said Bob. He got to his feet and yawned. “I’m goin’ to turn in. So long, Pop.”

  He walked to the office, undressed, and stretched out on the cot, but he didn’t go to sleep for a long time. Mentally he conjured up a picture of the interior of the Paris saloon. There was a door leading to the alley, from whence Dick could easily have made his way to the hotel kitchen. And there was another door leading into Duke Haslam’s office. From the office one could enter the dining room by still another door. Which route had Dick taken?

  “You’re a hell of a friend!” Bob told himself savagely. “Dick’s square; you know it. Why worry about it?” He dismissed the subject and gathered the blankets about him.

  Early next morning, twenty miles north of Lariat, José Villegas pulled on his boots and set about preparing breakfast. After he had eaten, he cleaned up the utensils, made up his blanket roll, and led his horse to a nearby spring to drink. Then he saddled up, mounted, and headed for the road. In the scrub he halted the horse and, cocking a leg about the horn, smoked patiently.

  Presently came the rattle of wheels and the clink of chain and the stage rolled by. Joe had a glimpse of driver and messenger, the latter with a shotgun across his knees, then the vehicle was hidden by the foliage. Joe waited a few minutes, then spurred onto the road and put his horse to a slow lope.

  Hour after hour he rode, occasionally singing a little Spanish song just for the sake of hearing his own voice. Then he noticed that the stage team had slowed to a walk. The vehicle was ascending the grade to Navajo Pass.

  Joe checked his own mount, eyes on the coach ahead. He struck the grade and pulled to a walk. The stage reached the top of the incline and gradually dropped. from view except for its very top. Presently that, too, would disappear over the crest of the pass.

  But it didn’t! The upper part of the back remained in view, and Joe realized at last that it had stopped. It was not the habit of the driver to breathe his horses here, but it was possible that some small damage to the harness had necessitated the halt. It was also possible—

  Joe spurred his horse up the grade at a run. Nearer and nearer the summit of the pass he drew, until at last the entire coach came into view. Joe noticed that the driver was sitting stiffly with his hands raised. He also saw a man with a scarf over the lower half of his face sitting a motionless horse and holding a gun extended threateningly before him, while two other men, afoot, led a pack-horse toward the vehicle.

  Joe’s face brightened in anticipation as he drew the Winchester from its scabbard under his leg.

  The pack-horse was halted close to the stage, and one of the men climbed over the wheel to remove the strong box. Joe raised the rifle, aimed hurriedly at the bandit leader, and squeezed the trigger.

  Now José was a fair enough shot with a sixgun, and the way he could handle a knife was uncanny; but with a rifle, and atop a lunging horse, he was by no means a sterling performer. The bullet aimed at the mounted man went through the head of the pack-horse, which folded up and dropped beside the coach. The effect of the shot, however, left nothing to be desired.

  The man on the stage nearly broke a leg getting to the ground, and the one already there streaked for the bowlders where he had left his horse. The leader wheeled his mount and started blazing away at Joe with his sixgun, until three or four rifle slugs cut the air about his head, whereupon he gave ground and headed for the far side of the pass.

  Joe reached the level on which the stage was halted, stopped long enough to ascertain that, besides the pack-horse, there had been no casualties, then spurred in pursuit. He found where five sets of tracks entered a lateral ravine, followed them swiftly from one twisting passage to another, crossed flats, mounted ridges, plunged into gullies and washes and out again.

  For two hours he chased them doggedly, his face streaming with sweat, his horse lathered and laboring; then one of the five sets of tracks swerved into another lateral. Joe stuck to the four remaining. Presently a second set led off to one side, then a third, and finally a fourth. One set continued onward, and to this Joe stuck with the persistence of a bloodhound.

  The sun reached the meridian and started its westward slant. Joe’s horse was almost exhausted. Then, quite suddenly, he found himself in a little mountain park with grazing cattle. On the far side of the basin he saw a cabin and a corral partly hidden by the trees.

  Joe urged his flagging horse across the meadow, investigated the cabin swiftly but cautiously, found it unoccupied, and continued to the corral. Standing inside the inclosure was the outlaw leader’s horse, head low, swaying on its feet. The water dripped from its heaving flanks, and a dark patch on its back testified to the recent presence of a saddle. Joe circled the corral, found a trail leading into a gorge, and followed it. He was forced to move more slowly because of the condition of his horse.

  Two hours later he found himself in the valley on what he recognized as a corner of the Kady. Here the trail thinned out in the grass. Riding slowly, about a mile ahead of him, was a horseman. Joe urged his tired mount to a lope. Presently the other turned in his saddle and looked back. Joe waved, and the horseman halted, waiting for him.

  As he drew closer, the Mexican’s eyes narrowed and his mobile lips were compressed in a fine line. When he overtook the other, however, the tautness had vanished and he was smiling wearily.

  “Señor Deek, I’m not look for fin’ you here.”

  “No? Well, I work for the Kady, and I’m ridin’ over to the Tumblin’ T. What are you doin’ around here?”

  “I’m theenk I’m get los’ in the heels,” Joe told him. “Come; I’m go to the rancho weeth you.”

  He swung in beside Dick, who slowed his pace to a walk out of consideration for Joe’s mount. The Mexican rolled a cigarette and smoked indolently, but from beneath lowered eyelids he was studying every detail of equipment on man and horse.

  Bob and Ace spurred from the Tumbling T to meet them.

  “I just came out from town,” the former explained. “The stage got in at noon with the news, and I figured you might leave word at Tomlinson’s.”

  “What news?” asked Dick.

  “Of the holdup,” Bob told him. “Five men stuck them up at the top of Navajo Pass. Joe was trailing the stage and jumped them. Any luck, Joe?”

  The Mexican shrugged. “I’m follow five track through the heels. One by one they leave the trail until I’m follow a single ’orse. That ’orse I’m fin’ in leetle park. I’m follow trail to the Kady. Then I fin’ Señor Deek and we ride together. W’at luck you say I’m have?”

  “
Not much. Well, it’s a slippery outfit, but we’ll catch up with them sooner or later.”

  They dismounted before the Tomlinson house. June had come to the door, and Dick sprang to greet her without waiting for the others. As Bob was about to follow, the Mexican caught him by the sleeve.

  “You and Ace come weeth me to the corral. I mus’ spik weeth you.”

  They rounded a corner of the house and made for the corral in its rear. Here they halted.

  “Señor Bob,” said the Mexican, his face grave, “I’m hate lak hell to tell you thees, but you mus’ know. The man w’at hold up the stage ees—Deek.”

  Bob jerked erect as though he had been struck. “What’s that?”

  Joe nodded grimly. “Ees heem. I’m follow to the park I’m tell you about. I’m fin’ ’orse, and I’m fin’ Deek one, two mile ahead when I reach Kady. He ees change hees ’orse and hees clothes. Also he ees wash hees face. But the saddle she ees ver’ wet, and so ees hees hair. I am not meestake.”

  “I reckon Joe’s right, Bob,” said Ace. “Remember that track I was lookin’ at in the park yeste’day? Well, it was made by Dick’s horse. He said there was no brandin’ fire there the day before, but he lied. That print of his was over the ashes from the fire. Bob, as shore as shootin’ he’s ridin’ with that rustler outfit.”

  Bob stared at him for a moment, then swung on his heel and walked swiftly toward the house. Ace and the Mexican exchanged glances. Joe shrugged.

  “Bob ees not want to believe until he fin’ out for heemself.”

  Ace sighed. “Yeah, I know. Aw, hell! What’s it all comin’ to anyhow?”

  CHAPTER VIII

  CALAMITY

  BOB paused by the hitching rack on his way to the house. He was hard hit, for to Dick he had given his entire confidence and it was difficult to believe the boy had played him false; yet the evidence of the empty forty-one cartridge combined with the positive statements made by Ace and Joe had shaken his faith to the very foundation. Had it been any other than Dick he must have been convinced at once.