Wolves of the Chaparral

by Paul Evan Lehman

  Presently he heard low voices and the thud of booted feet. He judged that Ace and the two gunmen had entered the lobby. The click of the safe lock came clearly to him as Ace snapped the handle in place. He heard a careless, “Hasta Mañana, boys,” grunted replies from the bouncers, and the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  Barry crouched in the shadows and drew his gun. There must be no noise. The footsteps drew nearer, and he heard Ace swear and mutter something about the dimmed light. The next instant he stepped around the corner and brought up against the muzzle of Barry’s Colt.

  “Not a word,” came the whispered command. “Up with your hands.”

  Ace stood staring, taken entirely by surprise. Slowly his hands crept upward. “You’re all wrong, buddy,” he whispered. “I haven’t a dime on me.”

  “Turn around.”

  Ace obeyed, and Barry swiftly tied his hands behind him with a rope he had brought for the purpose. Standing close to the man, his gun pressed against his back, he said, “This is Barry Weston. Know me, don’t you? One little peep and I’ll drill you. Stand where you are.”

  Not a sound had reached him from below. Ace stood stock still; he had been a sure-thing gambler too long to risk taking a chance now. They were at the head of the stairs, and Barry was peering intently at the thin light which illuminated the lobby. Suddenly this was extinguished, and he knew Nip and Tuck had carried out their part of the program. He heard their soft footsteps as they forced the gunmen to walk ahead of them into the dining room and through the kitchen doorway.

  “Get gain’,” commanded Barry. “Take it easy, and don’t make the mistake of thinkin’ you can get away.”

  Taking a couple turns of the rope about his wrist, he followed Ace down the stairs. At the bottom he moved close to him, putting the gunmuzzle against his back. Down the dining room aisle they walked, through the kitchen and into the starlight behind the hotel. Straight to the horses he marched Ace, to find Nip and Tuck with their prisoners awaiting them.

  Here the three were searched and their weapons removed. Then, one at a time, they were forced to mount and were tied securely to their horses. A rope around the body of each connected them with their captors. Still enforcing strict silence, they rode slowly across the range, out to the south and east, and finally headed for the Cinchbuckle. Presently the horses were urged to a running walk, and by the time dawn overtook them the cabin was in sight. A man was standing in the doorway awaiting them. It was Clay.

  “Got your message,” he told Barry. “Thought you might need me.”

  “Good. Start a fire in the stove and fix some breakfast for us. Don’t bother with Ace and his friends; they ain’t hungry yet.”

  The prisoners were allowed to dismount and seat themselves on the ground. Their hands were still tied, and they were not permitted to communicate with each other. Bender and Pell were grinning; Ace’s face held a defiant sneer.

  “You’re wasting time,” he told Barry scornfully. “Keeping us from testifying won’t help Clement a bit. We gave our testimony at the inquest, and in our absence they’ll simply read what we said then into the record.”

  The blow told, but Barry’s face did not betray that fact. “We’re not worryin’ about that,” he said calmly. Nevertheless, when Clay was guarding the prisoners and they were eating their breakfast, he admitted that this contingency had not occurred to him.

  “Then we got to git the truth outa them,” said Tuck savagely. “Heat up a poker and burn a few fancy crosses on the bottoms of their feet.”

  “We’re supposed to be civilized.”

  “So are they, but they ain’t. And it won’t do much damage; we brand cows and they live to eat grass.”

  “We might bluff them.”

  “They’re too wise to bluff.”

  “Maybe. Boys, somebody in that outfit reloaded Cal Garth’s gun and put it back into his holster; which of the three do you think did it?”

  “Ace,” answered Nip. “He’s the brains of the outfit, and the boss.”

  “Keno,” agreed Tuck. “That’s my guess too.”

  “All right; we’ll work it on that theory. This is what we’ll do.” He went on to explain in a voice too low for any outside to hear.

  Presently they got up and walked out to where Ace and his gunmen were seated. They did not seem in the least disturbed. As though in accordance with a prearranged plan, Nip and Tuck led the horses off into the brush, returning presently on foot.

  Barry addressed them shortly. “All right, boys; take Pell and Bender away. Don’t let them talk to each other. I’ll be down presently when I’m finished with Ace.”

  For the first time the sneer left Polmateer’s lips. “What are you going to do with me?”

  Barry adopted the harshest tone he could command. “Clement Dawn is a friend of ours. We don’t aim to stand on one side and see him railroaded on lyin’ evidence. Clay is heatin’ a poker in the stove, and we aim to get the truth out of you three before we finish. Take ’em away, boys. Ace, walk into the cabin.”

  For a moment the man stared wildly. “You can’t do that! You’re bluffing!” Barry had judged him correctly; he was soft and sensitive and had a yellow streak a yard wide.

  “Get inside,” said Barry, and slapped him across the face. It was an act of which he was not proud, but he was acting a part designed to impress Bender and Fell.

  The two protested as their captors relentlessly drove them through the brush to the stagnant pool which lay hardly within shouting distance of the cabin. Here at its edge they were tied to trees some distance apart, while Nip and Tuck grimly seated themselves on the ground. Bender and Pell were no longer grinning.

  “You know,” said Nip to Tuck, “they oughta repeal that part of the law which forbids torture. A good hot iron can draw more from a man in a minute than a whole flock of prosecutin’ attorneys can in a year.”

  “Trouble is it draws out as many lies as it does truths.”

  “Yeah, but in time a fella can git to the bottom of things. Take this case. Barry ain’t aimin’ to stop with Ace; he’ll take those jiggers and hear what they have to say too. Then he can add up the stories and strike an average.” Glancing carelessly at the two gunmen, Nip caught the swift apprehensive looks they exchanged.

  And then there came to them the sound of a cry of sheer agony. The shriek was muffled by distance, but there was no mistaking the note of horrible pain and fear it held. The two gunmen started, and Bender struggled fiercely with his bonds.

  “Hold still,” said Nip, “or I’ll bust you over the head with a rock. You think Ace is bein’ tortured; well, what about Miss Dawn and all of Clement’s friends? You dirty low-down skunks were fixin’ to torture them a million times worse by sendin’ Clement to the gallows with your lyin’ testimony. For gosh sake, take your medicine like men.”

  Again the agonized cry reached them. Even Nip and Tuck felt the chill creep up their spines. They exchanged uneasy glances; surely such a horrible sound could not be drawn from human lips except through torture. Bender and Pell were standing stiffly, eyes staring, beads of sweat on their brows.

  Nip forced himself to speak callously. “Reckon that last touch brought somethin’ out, eh, Tuck?”

  “Sure. He’ll talk. He’ll say plenty.” Tucked rolled a cigarette and puffed on it thoughtfully. “Stinks like heck down here,” he complained.

  “That’s the comp’ny you’re smellin’.”

  Presently they heard the sounds of a man approaching through the brush, and Barry stepped into sight. His face was drawn in harsh lines and his eyes burned. He stood looking from one to the other of the gunmen.

  “Ace talk?” inquired Nip.

  The answer was short. “Yes. Reckon I’ll take Bender next.”

  Bender strained again at his bonds, twisting and writhing, his face livid. “You ain’t gonna torture me!” he screamed. “You can kill me first.”

  “We could do that long ago if we wanted to,” said Barry calmly. “Quiet do
wn or I’ll clap you with a gun barrel; then we can tie you to the bunk without any trouble.”

  “I tell you you won’t torture me!” panted Bender. “I’ll talk. What is it you want to know?”

  “You’ll talk all right. Just like Ace. Untie him, boys.”

  Nip and Tuck started working on the bonds.

  “Dang you,” growled the former. “You’ve pulled those knots so tight we’ll have to cut ’em. Give him an extry brand for me, Barry.”

  “Wait a minute!” Bender had suddenly become calm. “I’ll bet Ace put the blame on us; didn’t he, Weston?”

  “I’m not sayin’,” answered Barry, but there was a look in his eyes which convinced Bender he had spoken the truth.

  “You hear that, Doug? The lousy son blamed us! Well, we didn’t do it. We was busy holdin’ back the crowd. Ace done it himself. I seen him.”

  “Hush your mouth!” cried Pell.

  “I won’t! I ain’t gittin’ the bottoms of my feet burned for nobody. Tell the truth, Doug. By Godfrey, I will! And I’ll tell it under oath.”

  “Reckon your oath ain’t worth much,” said Barry. “We’ll get the truth in our own way. Cut the rope, Nip.”

  The man fell to cursing Pell for his failure to support him until finally Doug gave in.

  “All right, Weston; you win. Ace reloaded that gun and put it back.”

  “Untie them both; we’ll give them a chance to say that in Ace’s presence.”

  They were forced to lead the way to the cabin. Clay was waiting at the door. “Two of ’em? Well, the more the merrier. Poker’s good and hot; bring ’em right in.”

  They entered the cabin, and even Nip and Tuck for the moment stood appalled. Ace Palmateer was bound to a bunk. His boots and socks had been removed and both feet were roughly bandaged. He lay limp and panting, eyes closed, sweat standing out on his white forehead.

  Barry addressed him roughly. “Ace, here are pour two bouncers. We aimed to give them a dose of your medicine, but they swear that you reloaded Garth’s gun and put it into his holster.”

  “It’s a lie,” said Ace thickly.

  “It ain’t no lie!” blazed Bender. “You know you did it. I seen you. Me and Doug both.”

  “Conflictin’ stories,” said Barry shortly. “Clay, get Ace off there; we’ll work on Bender a bit.”

  “No use,” said Pell, his eyes on Ace’s bandaged feet. “Ace, you got to take it this time. I figgered they were bluffin’, but I see they ain’t. I don’t aim to be crippled. Take us to town, Weston; we’ll testify.”

  “All right; but we’ll put the confession in writin’ first.”

  He found paper and pencil and dictated a short statement for each to sign. The statements were witnessed and pocketed by Barry.

  “Stay with Ace, Clay. We’ll take ’em in.”

  The horses were brought up and the five mounted and rode away, the two bouncers again securely tied.

  “Better stick to your stories, boys,” Barry warned. “If you don’t, we’ll have the sheriff hold you on the strength of these confessions, and Ace will have a chance to save his hide by blamin’ you.”

  It was their one chance and they took it. A wave of excitement swept the court room when two of the missing witnesses appeared in the custody of their three guards. Barry saw Barbara staring at him, lips parted, a question in her eyes, and smiled reassuringly. Both the prosecuting attorney and Clement’s lawyer rushed to meet them.

  The two gunmen went on the stand and in unfaltering voices told of the frame-up, putting the blame on Ace Palmateer. The building rocked with applause and the case was dismissed. Matt Billings promptly placed Bender and Pell under arrest for perjury at the inquest.

  Barry and his friends escorted Clement and Barbara from the court room. On the way out they passed Horace Maley and his son. Steve’s face was livid, and only his father’s restraining hand kept him from leaping at Barry. The lawyer’s face was inscrutable, but his burning gaze met Barry’s triumphant one and in it Barry read suppressed fury and implacable hate.

  They reached the jail just as Matt Billings came out after locking up his prisoners. Barry called to him to join them.

  “Got another perjury prisoner for you. Ride with us to the Cinchbuckle south line cabin and I’ll turn Palmateer over to you.”

  Nip and Tuck drew Barry aside. “How are you goin’ to explain his burned feet?” they demanded.

  Barry chuckled. “Ace isn’t hurt a bit; he just thinks he is. You see, I’d heard that if you make a fella believe you’re goin’ to burn him and then touch him with a piece of ice, he’ll think sure enough you used a hot iron. I didn’t have any ice, but I put a pewter knife in a bucket of that cold spring water and it served the same purpose. We tied him to the bunk and Clay held the hot poker close to his feet. Then I yelled ‘Now!’ and touched him with the cold knife handle. He sure hollered.”

  Nip shuddered at the memory. “I’ll say he hollered! You must have touched his conscience. I always figgered he carried it in his feet.”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE SECRET OF THE POOL

  THE days which immediately followed the trial of Clement Dawn were heart-breaking ones for the Basin ranchers. Horace Moley sued for judgment against the Cinchbuckle and secured it. The other spreads had been deeded to him; now the Cinchbuckle was sold by the sheriff and bid in by Steve Moley. Together Steve and his father owned the entire Basin. The ranchers had been given a month in which to settle up their affairs, pack their personal belongings, and get out.

  Barry and his two cowboys were making a final tour of the property in a last effort to determine just what the valuable thing was they were sure the Basin held. The matter intrigued Barry; he was convinced that Moley would never have gone to the lengths he had for the simple purpose of acquiring cattle range.

  “You say there were no signs of gold or silver?” questioned Nip.

  “Not a sign; and I don’t know what else it could be.” Barry rode for a short space in silence, mentally going over every inch of ground he had covered, searching for the tiniest clue to Slater’s secret. The man had found something, and had been paid five thousand dollars for his find; Barry was positive of that. The memory came to him of a dank, stagnant pool which stank, and suddenly he jerked erect in the saddle.

  “Come with me,” he said tersely, and headed for the line cabin.

  Not a word could they get out of him until they stood by the side of the evil-smelling pool. Barry scanned the surface of the water and exclaimed aloud.

  “That’s it! That’s the secret! And I sat here a half hour and didn’t see it.”

  “See what?” asked Nip.

  Barry pointed. “That film over there. No wonder the motto was ‘Buy, steal, or kill’! How blind I’ve been! And now Moley—”

  “What in heck are you talkin’ about? What film?”

  “You’re dumb as I am, Nip. That rainbow film on the top of the water over in that dark corner. It’s there plain as day and cryin’ to be noticed. You can even smell it.”

  “Smell it?” Nip sniffed the air, then stiffened like a pointer. “Holy bobcats! Tuck, you clanged fool, it’s oil!”

  “Oil!”

  Barry spoke bitterly. “Oil. The whole Basin’s undermined with it, likely. And if we had only used our eyes and our noses we could have got plenty of capital to take care of those notes. Now Maley and his son are headed towards millions while the ones to whom it really belongs are without even homes to live in!”

  He turned to them suddenly. “Boys, keep this to yourselves. Maley got possession by fraud; somewhere he must have tripped up. We missed out on Frothingham and Hodge and Groody; but there must be somebody alive that we can squeeze evidence from.”

  “Who could it be besides Steve?”

  “My step-father for one. It’s a slim chance; Horace Moley would hardly trust him, but he was paid ten thousand dollars for somethin’. Boys, I’m gain’ after him right now.”

  He rode off without ano
ther word, and for a long time the two cowboys sat at the edge of the pool and studied the film on its surface.

  “Tuck,” sighed Nip, “we’re the two biggest fools unhung. We set tight while Barry was puttin’ ice packs on Ace’s feet and looked right at a hundred million dollars without seein’ it. Maley sure rooked us good. And he killed Slater so’s he wouldn’t have to share it.”

  “Be a damn’ good joke on him if Slater had rooked him,” said Tuck savagely.

  “How’d he do it? He couldn’t keep pourin’ oil on top of the water right along, and there’s enough overflow to the creek to run it off.”

  There was a period of silence; then—“I know one way he could do it,” said Nip, and proceeded to explain.

  Barry, in the meanwhile, had started his search. He did not believe his step-father would go very far, and dismissed at once the possibility of his fleeing to Mexico. He met people in Mescal who had seen Chet Lewis ride north. At Hartsville he learned that Lewis had purchased some supplies. From Hartsville he traced him to Juniper, and there lost him; but north of Juniper was the large town of Benson, and here Barry began a systematic search which finally led him to his man.

  Chet was seated in an obscure table in the corner of a saloon. He was slumped in his chair and his head was lowered. For Chet was lonesome; even with a thousand dollars he was lonesome. He had lost his home and what friends he had, and he must stretch that thousand a long way. Here he didn’t know a soul and was afraid to scrape up an acquaintance lest the money be taken from him. He heard the rasp of a chair on the far side of his table and looked up. Barry Weston was standing there watching him.

  With a cry of alarm Chet started to his feet, but Barry reached out and gripped him by the wrist. “Sit down, Chet; I’m not goin’ to hurt you. I just want to ask you some questions.”