The Fortune Hunters

by J. T. Edson

  The house, its out-buildings and the wall surrounding them all had been built out of stone in the days when labour was so cheap that mighty structures could be erected for a fraction of what they would cost in the present day. For all his meanness, Elmo Thackery never allowed the maintenance of his home to lapse.

  Three people stood on the steps leading to the main doors of the house, a fourth, a tall, black dressed man, behind them. All watched the approaching party with interest. As he rode through the gates, leading the party in, Dusty wondered if one of the quartet might have some guilty knowledge. On second thoughts Dusty absolved the man at the rear, for he knew Frank Gaunt very well.

  Mamie Thackery made the first move, coming down the steps towards the party as they brought their horses to a halt before the house. Never had two people been less alike in every way than Mamie and Elmo Thackery. She was short, plump, in her early fifties, although her dark hair did not show it, and her merry, friendly face had a love of life to it. Despite all the years spent with him, the woman showed nothing of her brother’s suspicious, mean nature.

  ‘Hello, Claude,’ Mamie greeted, without any great enthusiasm, then her face softened and she advanced to place her hands on Frankie’s shoulders. ‘You must be Francine.’

  The gentleness of Mamie’s tones brought Frankie into her arms and the girl kissed her, then turned to Joan who Mark Counter had just helped from the wagon.

  ‘This is Joan, she’s my friend,’ Frankie said, and Joan could not have come to Mamie Thackery with a better recommendation.

  ‘Hello, Dustine,’ Jennie Thackery said, coming down the steps after her aunt and making straight for the small Texan.

  ‘Hello, Jennie,’ Dusty replied. ‘Come and meet your kin.’

  This was the girl Elmo Thackery tried to persuade Ole Devil Hardin would make a good wife for Dusty; and also link the two families’ fortunes together. She stood about an inch taller than Dusty, slim, pallid, beautiful, with shoulder-long red hair. There was a hint of Elmo’s nature about Jennie, a coldness which would have chilled Dusty even if his uncle had considered Thackery’s offer worthwhile. Like her aunt, Jennie wore black mourning clothes and the dress did nothing to make her attractive, for she must be the one person who genuinely grieved over her grandfather’s death. In fact Jennie had been the only living person Thackery cared for. Only Jennie’s presence caused Thackery to keep his home in the luxurious manner it showed.

  ‘Dusty looks as keen to meet that gal as I was to have young Frankie straddle me,’ Waco whispered to Mark.

  ‘It’s a mite more serious than that,’ Mark answered sotto voce. ‘Say, just look at Thackery, will you.’

  For a moment after stepping down from the carriage, ignoring his wife who was still inside, Claude Thackery looked at his home. His eyes turned to where the tall, darkly handsome Vint Borg, clad in a black mourning outfit instead of his range clothes, came towards him. Thackery’s main memories of young Vint Borg covered several thrashings and numerous practical jokes at the hands of the cowhand who was now foreman, and whose father’s loyalty helped found the Thackery fortune.

  On his way south Thackery had thought out a pompous welcome speech to be delivered to his foreman; covering lightly Thackery’s satisfaction with the way the spread had been run, hinting that improvement must be made, and that Borg’s selfless devotion to the master of the house would be expected and might bring its own reward at a later date.

  Somehow the words would not come and the old feeling of inadequacy returned as he faced Borg.

  ‘Howdy, Claude,’ Borg said with easy familiarity, throwing a glance towards the carriage and stepping forward to hand Marlene down. ‘And you must be good ole Claude’s missus. Man, Claude, I never thought you’d got such good taste. My name’s Vint Borg, ma’am, and when we’re better acquainted, why I’ll tell you things you never knowed about Claude.’

  ‘I can hardly wait, Vint,’ Marlene replied, holding his hand longer than her watching husband thought necessary. ‘And of course any friend of Claude must call me Marlene.’

  Although Thackery thought of stating an employee could hardly be classed as a friend and should not be on first-name terms with his employer, he did not speak. His silence was due to Lawyer Gaunt moving forward; and the fact that he doubted whether Borg would accept his comments as became a hired man. That lousy Socialist Labour bunch were ruining the workers, making them lose all their respect for their betters.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Gaunt said, interrupting the greetings and talk. ‘I’m sorry to butt in like this, but I wish to read the will.’

  Any thoughts of speech-making, or objections to the hired help’s attitude, left Thackery, being replaced by a desire to know how much of his father’s worldly goods would be coming his way.

  ‘I think the library would be the best place,’ he said, in the manner of the owner granting a favour. ‘Come, Marlene.’

  ‘Dustine,’ Mamie put in, ‘I’d like you along.’

  ‘Sure, Aunt Mamie. Where can the boys put up their horses?’

  ‘In the stables, the harness stock can go in the corral. I’ve arranged for rooms to be made ready. We’re a bit crowded, but I’ve four beds in one of the larger rooms that you and your boys can use.’

  Throwing an angry glare at his aunt’s back, Thackery tried to send her a telepathic order to put the OD Connected men in the bunkhouse with the Thackery hands, if they had to be encouraged to stay on eating his food. His effort failed to have any result, for Mamie called to a Mexican servant who had been waiting in the hall and gave orders to show the cowhands to the stables, then on to their quarters in the main house.

  The legatees, Dusty and Gaunt made their way across the entrance hall and into the library which had been prepared hurriedly on the party being seen in the distance. A half circle of chairs faced a long, polished oak table in the centre of the room. Lawyer Gaunt walked around the table and stood with his back to the fireplace over which hung a portrait of Thackery, Ole Devil Hardin, James Bowie and Sam Houston dressed in their Mexican War uniforms and looking dashing young blades. Dusty knew the portrait well, its original hung over the fireplace in his uncle’s gun-decorated library. Not that Dusty had much time to study the portrait for Gaunt got down to business as soon as the others took their seats.

  Taking a long envelope from the inside pocket of his coat, Gaunt handed it across the table saying, ‘Would you examine the seal on this document, Captain Fog?’

  ‘Sure,’ Dusty replied, accepting the envelope and studying the blob of red wax on the sealed-down flap. It bore the Leaning T mark which Thackery used as a brand and appeared to have been made with the signet ring Thackery always wore. ‘I’d say it was intact and untouched.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Gaunt answered. ‘Would you pass the envelope to anybody who wishes to examine it?’

  Without waiting to be asked, Dusty passed the envelope to Thackery, who took it and studied it as if he knew what he was doing. After a careful scrutiny Thackery handed the envelope to Gaunt, his whole attitude indicating further examination would be unnecessary now he had decided the seal was all right.

  None of the others spoke, but Dusty saw Borg grin and wink at Marlene who smiled in return. Happen Thackery did not watch his step, he would have trouble with his wife and foreman. Turning his head, Dusty glanced at the others, all showed some interest in the proceedings. Jennie sat rigid in her seat, her pallid face stiff with expectancy although she darted glances at the other members of the gathering as if wondering why they had been brought to her home.

  ‘This is the last will and testament of Elmo Thackery,’ Gaunt told the others. ‘I will dispense with the legal formalities and get straight down to his wishes for the disposal of his fortune if this meets with your approval.’

  ‘Carry on,’ Thackery answered without consulting any of the others.

  ‘Thank you,’ Gaunt replied dryly. ‘The will says I, Elmo Thackery, leave my entire property and wealth to be divided e
qually—’

  ‘Divided equally!’ Thackery barked, looking at the other people in the room, with particular emphasis on Joan Shandley and Vint Borg.

  ‘To be divided equally,’ Gaunt repeated in a cold tone, ‘between my sister Mamie, who helped keep my house in order for many years; my granddaughter Jennie, whose love and affection served as a crutch in my declining years; my son Peter, or his heirs should he be passed away; my son Claude, who never came near me; his wife Marlene, who I never saw; Vinton Borg, whose father helped found my fortune; and lastly Joan Shandley, who kindly bought an old man a meal when she believed him to be down on his luck.’

  ‘And she gets an equal share—!’ began Thackery.

  ‘Shut up, listen and don’t be a hog, Claude!’ Mamie snapped.

  ‘Thank you, Mamie,’ Gaunt said and looked down at the paper. ‘There is a clause to the will which reads: The entire fortune will be shared out three months from the date of my death among the seven people listed. If any one of them should not be in Casa Thackery at that time for any reason, that one’s share will be divided among the remainder.’

  ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’ Dusty asked quietly.

  ‘What do you think it means, Captain Fog?’ Gaunt replied.

  ‘That if all but one of these people died, the entire fortune would pass to that one.’

  Even as he spoke Dusty could not shake off the feeling that he was being watched. Yet none of the legatees had given him as much as a glance while listening to the will being read.

  ‘That’s just what it means, Captain,’ Gaunt answered. ‘Although in the case of Marlene and Claude Thackery, as man and wife with equal property rights, if one should die the other would have a good claim to the one’s share, which might not be legal terminology, but explains what I mean the more clearly.’

  ‘Would the will stand up legally?’ Dusty went on.

  ‘It would, despite its unusual conditions. Elmo Thackery was in sound mind and body when he made it. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Reckon I was just curious,’ Dusty drawled and settled back in his seat.

  Gaunt gave the small Texan a long, searching look. One thing the lawyer knew for sure, Dusty did not ask questions out of idle curiosity. However, a glance around the room, then at Dusty’s face told Gaunt it would be a waste of time to take the matter further.

  ‘Does my father say anything about m—who will run the ranch until the three months are up?’ Thackery asked.

  ‘How do you mean, run it?’ growled Borg. ‘I reckon I ran it all right for the past two years.’

  ‘I’m sure Vint has the experience and ability to handle things for us,’ Marlene put in. ‘After all, darling, you’re not exactly a rancher.’

  ‘I’m trustee to the estate,’ Gaunt said, before Thackery could make any comment on his ability to handle the matter. ‘Vint will carry on as foreman and I am allowed to grant the payment of two hundred and fifty dollars a month to each of you against the estate, as well as to authorise any other payments of money that I feel may be necessary.’

  This idea did not please Claude Thackery, but he could think of no valid objections. He thought of contesting the will in court, and wished he had spent more time at his legal studies and less on protest marching or other political activities. Had he done so, he would now possess a clearer idea of his chances of successfully contesting the will and grabbing the lion’s share of his father’s fortune.

  ‘Are there any other questions?’ asked Gaunt.

  ‘Sure,’ Borg replied, taking his eyes from Marlene. ‘How much do we get?’

  ‘I haven’t the exact figures on hand,’ the lawyer answered. ‘But I’d say in the region of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—each.’

  Talk welled up, low but intense among the group of people for none of them had realised such an enormous sum would be involved.

  ‘As much as that?’ Dusty said quietly when the talk died down.

  ‘As much as that,’ agreed Gaunt. ‘Now, if there is nothing more for us to discuss I would suggest we let our new arrivals retire to their rooms to rest and tidy up before dinner.’

  After the others left the room, Dusty caught the lawyer’s arm and suggested they had a talk in private. Without asking any questions, Gaunt agreed. The lawyer escorted Dusty upstairs and along a passage to the largest of the guest rooms. All the others of the party shared the same passage, despite Thackery’s hints that he and his wife should be given the best quarters in the house.

  Dusty’s three amigos had not yet arrived from tending the horses, giving the small Texan a chance to talk privately with Gaunt. This did not imply a lack of trust in his friends, Dusty knew Gaunt would not wish to discuss private and confidential matters before too many witnesses.

  Although the room’s large double bed had been replaced with four smaller to be used by the Texans, the other furnishings remained. In addition to the big wardrobe, dressing table and washstand, there was a large, built-in cupboard. Dusty took advantage of being first into the room to select the softest bed. Dropping his hat and gunbelt on the bed, Dusty sat down and told the lawyer to take a seat.

  ‘What’s worrying you, Dusty?’ Gaunt asked, dropping the formal ‘Captain’.

  ‘The same that’s worrying you. Thackery’s will.’

  ‘I didn’t like the idea of it from the beginning,’ the lawyer admitted. ‘I told Thackery his terms would be an open invitation to somebody to try and get rid of the other beneficiaries.’

  ‘What did he say to that?’

  ‘Just laughed that mean laugh of his. Said nobody would be fool enough to try it as the last alive must be the one who killed the rest.’

  ‘So they would,’ agreed Dusty. ‘But one or two out of the way raises the take for everybody and spreads out the suspicion, if it was cleverly done.’

  Taking out his cigar-case, Gaunt opened it and offered Dusty a thick, black cigar.

  ‘Not for me, I only smoke tobacco,’ grinned Dusty.

  ‘I got these from your Uncle Devil,’ replied the lawyer.

  ‘Yeah, I thought so. They’re some he had sent as a Christmas present. I wondered how he’d get rid of them,’ Dusty drawled, then became more serious. ‘How many people knew the conditions of Thackery’s will?’

  ‘Only two. Thackery and myself.’

  ‘Tell me all about it,’ Dusty suggested. ‘All I know was what the telegraph message Uncle Devil sent me said.’

  Quickly and concisely Gaunt went into the full story of Thackery’s will and the preparations made for the old man’s death. Dusty sat on the bed and took one of his matched Colts from its holster. While listening to the lawyer, Dusty began to spin and twirl the gun in a flashing circle upon his trigger finger. It said much for the lawyer’s powers of concentration that he could tell his story without a mistake while watching one of the finest exhibitions of gun juggling it had ever been his privilege to see.

  ‘So only you and Thackery knew about the will and that he had traced his other heir and heiresses?’ Dusty asked, flipping the Colt into the air and catching it as it fell.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Not even Jennie knew?’

  ‘She says not,’ replied Gaunt. ‘I may say that surprised me. She knew more about Elmo’s actions than any other living soul. Yet she claimed she hadn’t heard a thing.’

  ‘Could anybody have gotten hold of the will and read it?’ Dusty went on.

  ‘No. I came out here on Elmo’s request, made out the will with just himself and I in the library. He called in two of his Mexican house servants, who probably can’t read English and anyway didn’t get a chance as the will was covered over except for the pan on which they made their marks as witnesses. Thackery sent them out of the room before he sealed the will in an envelope, using his signet ring to mark it. You yourself examined the seal and saw it to be intact. And the sealed envelope has been locked in Thackery’s deed box, fastened in my safe, ever since.’

  ‘Which mea
ns it couldn’t have been known about,’ Dusty said quietly.

  ‘What’s all this about, Dusty?’ asked Gaunt. ‘And don’t say you’re only curious, because I won’t believe you.’

  ‘I’m curious all right. Somebody tried to kill Joan Shandley.’ Not by a flicker of his face did Gaunt show any surprise at the words, but he sat a little straighter on the bed and watched Dusty’s face the closer.

  ‘When?’ asked the lawyer.

  ‘In Newton. The night Lon and Waco arrived to tell her the news,’ Dusty replied and told Gaunt what happened.

  ‘They could have been after the Benson girl.’

  ‘Sure, Frank, but I don’t buy that. Then there was another hit, this time at all of us.’

  This time Gaunt did show some surprise. He let the cigar fall from his hand and on to the bed. Catching it up hurriedly, Gaunt dusted the ash off the blankets. He made no comment as Dusty told the story of the attack in Oklahoma. Once more the lawyer raised an objection.

  ‘That game’s been done before, raiding a trail boss on his way home.’

  ‘Sure,’ Dusty admitted. ‘But there were parts of it I didn’t like. I reckon the boys and I are well enough known for a raiding party to think twice before they came after us. Yet this bunch did it, and they hit the wagons, would have killed all four legatees had they been inside. It still could’ve been a precaution—except that their boss had seen the women and Thackery go to bed and knew where they’d be. He didn’t usually do his own scouting, but he did that time.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Two reasons: first, to make sure where the folks he wanted dead were—’

  ‘And the second?’

  ‘To stop his men knowing they were gunning down women until it was too late to avoid it.’

  ‘But that implies previous knowledge,’ Gaunt objected. ‘And only two people had access to that knowledge.’

  ‘Only one, Frank.’