“Where you going from here?” the sheriff asked sharply.
“I’m going to get myself a pack of cards and play solitaire,” Bond flung over his shoulder.
When he had gone, Sheriff Mills put aside his paper, opened a drawer, and took out a manila envelope. For some minutes he scanned its contents. Then he again was interrupted, this time rudely.
Chapter Fourteen
It was Big Tom Lester who stormed into Sheriff Mills’s office some minutes after the departure of Jim Bond. The resortkeeper closed the door after him, a thing that Bond had not seen fit to do. Lester’s face was red and he was puffing with exertion as he faced Mills, who had quietly replaced the contents of the manila envelope in their container and put the envelope in a drawer.
“Sheriff,” blustered Lester, “I’ve always played square with you, an’ I’m not side-steppin’ anything this time, but you gave me an order . . .”
“I never gave you an order in my life . . . not straight out,” the sheriff interrupted. His tone was different from that he had employed in talking with Bond. He sensed that Lester had not seen Bond and gave the latter a mental credit mark for having avoided a meeting.
“Well, we’ll call it a tip,” sneered Lester. “You’ve given me a tip now an’ then, haven’t you?” He wiped his face and brow with a large handkerchief. His clothes showed signs of travel.
“Let it go at that,” Mills snapped out. “And put a checkrein on your voice, Tom. I’m not deaf.”
Lester cooled a bit and sat down. “You came out to town an’ put me wise that a gorilla by the name of Bovert was headed my way, remember? Of course . . . an’ you said to lay off him. We can call it a tip, but between ourselves it was more than that.” He took off his hat and scowled darkly, while the sheriff surveyed him coolly and somewhat curiously. “Well, this terror of the big an’ open showed up on schedule an’ opened his bag of tricks pronto . . . an’ in my place to boot!”
“You’ve got that kind of a place, haven’t you?” the sheriff asked sharply.
Lester stared and opened his mouth foolishly. “Why . . . I’ve always had the same kind of a place . . . I . . . it ain’t been so bad,” he stammered.
“Well, they haven’t held any services there for the common good that I’ve heard of,” the sheriff shot back.
Lester’s face darkened, and then he abruptly changed his method of approach.
“All right,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t claim to have any kind of a place except the kind I’ve got, although I haven’t bothered anyone, either.” He nodded at the sheriff, who nodded in turn. Apparently a more amiable understanding had been arrived at without the need of verbal explanation.
“This Bovert arrives an’ first off picks a fight with Red Cole at a wheel,” Lester continued.
“Picked out a tough one to start with,” was Mills’s comment. “What did Cole do to him.”
“Well, he probably . . . he would have killed him, I reckon, if I hadn’t given him the signal to lay off,” replied Lester, rubbing his palms. The lie was written all over his face, but Mills merely smiled.
“So then,” Lester went on, “he gets into trouble with my man, Porky, an’ that was worse.”
“Porky bored him, maybe,” said the sheriff, who now seemed but mildly interested.
“No, he bored Porky,” Lester flared. “An’ I had to butt in again or Red Cole would have certainly put him away for keeps.”
“Why, I thought Porky was such a bad man,” the sheriff observed in mild surprise.
“He is a bad man!” Lester exploded. “But you told me yourself what a terror this Bovert was. I suppose you think Porky should stand up with him, especially when he doesn’t give Porky a chance. I’d have gone at him myself if it hadn’t been that . . .”
“That you was afraid of him,” Mills interrupted, nodding.
Lester’s face purpled. “We’ll let all this go,” he snarled. “The thing is that I’m not goin’ to have him around there, bustin’ up games an’ raising trouble, an’, if you want him, you can have him, but he’s not safe in Sunrise any more. I came all the way here to tell you that I can’t go through with my promise to protect him, that’s all.”
“I didn’t ask you to protect him,” said Mills coldly. “I said to lay off him, yes. I didn’t want any trouble starting out there, maybe. What does he look like?”
“Well, he’s tall, not so old, but he’s got a mean eye . . . you can tell him by his eye. Oh, it’s Bovert, all right. He’s quicker than greased lightnin’ with his gun, too.”
“Give you any name?” the official inquired casually.
“Calls himself by the name of Bond,” said Lester with a grimace.
The sheriff sat up with an intense show of interest. “Bond?” he said, wrinkling his brow. “Jim Bond? Youngish sort of fellow?”
“That’s him,” Lester answered, looking puzzled.
“Why, he was just in here,” said Mills. “Said he come from Sunrise, too. I’ve never seen Bovert myself. I didn’t know it was him . . . don’t know yet. Said he followed Dan Farlin in. Has Farlin and him had any trouble?” The official appeared greatly concerned.
Big Tom Lester was staring, open-mouthed. He started to speak and the words died on his tongue. “In . . . in here?” he managed to get out at last, as if he doubted his own ears.
“Right where you’re sitting,” was the answer. “Didn’t you know he was in town? He must have come right ahead of you. Did you know Dan Farlin was coming to town?”
“No!” Lester spoke the truth, but he saw no need of telling the sheriff he had suspected as much. But Bovert—seeing the sheriff! “What did Bovert come to see you for?” he asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“He wanted to know if I wanted him,” was the ready reply.
The sheriff coolly prepared and lighted another cigar, while Lester watched him with a new and menacing light in his eyes.
“Say, Sheriff”—Lester’s voice carried a new note and he leaned forward with his hands on his knees—“this Bond may not be Bovert at all.”
“I didn’t arrest him,” said Mills laconically.
“That’s it.” A grim smile played about Lester’s cruel lips. “He might”—he lowered his voice so it barely carried to the ears of him for whom it was intended—“even be connected with the law.”
Mills looked up quickly. “You think so? Better be careful how you jump at conclusions, Tom.”
“He might,” Lester continued in the same tone, “even be one of your own men.” There was a significant pause. “You don’t have to spy on me, Mills. An’ so far as I know, there’s no reason why you should spy on Lawson. He’s playin’ the game, although he hasn’t a thing to do with me. Don’t forget that. He drifts in with his crowd now an’ then, spends a little money, lets his men get the cramps out of their legs, an’ moves on . . . but never in this direction.”
The sheriff had been thinking rapidly. So it was Red Cole, or Porky, one of the two, that Lester had used to bait the man who called himself Bond. Lester had told him much and he had read more between the words spoken by both the resortkeeper and Bond.
“What makes you think Bond might be a law agent?” The sheriff scowled. “I’ve got to know that, Tom.”
“Because . . .” Lester hesitated. “Oh, well, because he was the next thing to caught tryin’ to eavesdrop outside my office last night.”
Sheriff Mills tossed back his head and laughed. “Tom . . . Tom . . . you’re upset,” he said, recovering himself with difficulty. “Just because I gave you a tip about this Bovert, you’ve got yourself all worked up. You just can’t stand anything mysterious, eh, Tom? Everything’s got to be right out in plain sight with the sun shining on it, or in the dark with you holding a match on it, or you’re thrown off your balance, isn’t that so, Tom?”
“You’re not talking very clever,” said Lester grimly.
“What’s Farlin doing in town?” the sheriff asked.
“
I don’t know, an’ you’re gettin’ away from what I was talking about, an’ it don’t look good, Mills.”
“What were you talking about?” growled the sheriff.
“About this Bovert, or Bond, or whoever he is, being the law.”
“You know just as much about that as I do,” said Mills evenly. “If he’s the law, I don’t know it any more than I’m sure he’s this Bovert. But there’s one thing I do know, Tom, and I want you to get this straight. If he is the law, he isn’t working at whatever he may be doing for my office. I don’t have to sneak in any outsider to help me with my business, and you ought to know that. Sometimes I think you’re losing your grip.”
Lester started. He had heard that so often it was assuming the nature of a prediction. And he knew Mills spoke nothing but the truth when the latter told him he had no outsider working for him.
He rose. “All right, Mills. I believe you. But this smart hombre, whoever he is, isn’t safe from now on in Sunrise. I’m doin’ the square thing by declaring myself.”
“Just one thing more, Tom,” said the sheriff sternly. “Whoever he is, leave him alone. This isn’t a tip, as you call it. It’s an order!”
Lester moistened his lips and clenched his palms. “I suppose I should stand still an’ let him shoot me down, if he sees fit,” he said harshly. “I suppose that . . .”
“You suppose nothing!” Mills broke in, rising from his chair. “If he starts something when he shouldn’t, providing he goes back there, that’s his look-out, but don’t you start anything . . . understand?”
Lester’s eyes were blazing with baffled fury. “I’m beginning to think I understand a lot!” he shot between clenched teeth.
“I’m not worrying about what you think, Tom!” Mills called after him as he went out.
* * * * *
Big Tom Lester slipped into the rear door of a resort and managed to attract the attention of an employee, who came at his bidding.
“I don’t want to see anybody yet,” he said hurriedly to the man, who evidently knew him and stood with an attentive ear. “Just bring me a bottle of the best in this room here so I can take a snort or two alone. I’ve had a hard ride an’ want to rest an’ think a minute or two by myself, see?”
A gold piece changed hands and the man “saw” at once, and hastened to carry out the order. When he returned, Lester was slumped in a chair in the private card room, his hat on the table, a dark frown on his face. He tossed another gold piece on the board.
“Take it out of that,” he commanded, and waved the man out.
Big Tom poured himself a big drink and downed it with two gulps. Then he tipped up the pitcher of water the man had brought and drained half of it. He had not particularly wanted the drink of fiery liquor, but he had to have a legitimate excuse for being where he was.
Never in his life had Big Tom been more angry, and at one and the same time so puzzled. Bovert or Bond—whichever he was—had followed Dan Farlin to town. Lester had known that before Sheriff Mills had mentioned the fact. It had been Lester who had raced that race for the wilds of Crazy Butte in the van of the dawn. But why had his quarry gone to the sheriff’s office, and why had he told him he had followed Farlin to Rocky Point? Had he told him anything more?
Lester twisted about in his chair, his face dark, his fists clenched, his lips twitching. Mills had lied to him! Everything pointed to it! Why—why—why? Lester grasped the bottle and poured himself another drink and tossed it off. Perhaps he was going crazy.
It took a third drink to steady him, and then he decided that Mills had come to the conclusion that any means he might use would be fair in a contest with Big Tom Lester, czar of Sunrise. The fact that, if Mills had openly declared war, he would have won, that Lester would take what he had and leave rather than run the risk of losing all made the matter all the more puzzling and ominous. Well, now that it was war, the question arose—should he run away from a gold mine—and the Red Arrow was a gold mine if ever there was one—or fight? And if it were to be war, would Lawson stand behind him?
Lester put a hand to his wet forehead and had recourse to the bottle. The drink fired his brain with an idea.
Bovert, or Bond, or whoever he was, was the cause of it all. The thing to do was to get rid of him first off and running, and then act according to the way the wind blew. Lester smiled in satisfaction—and dropped his glass.
The door had opened silently. Jim Bond entered, kicking it shut behind him. He advanced softly to the table.
“Don’t try to draw, big boy,” he purred, “this is a friendly little visit. Still . . . stand up!” His gun appeared like magic.
Big Tom stood up, his jaw dropping, elevating his hands.
In a trice, Bond had relieved him of his weapon. “Now,” said Bond, in a low pleasant voice, “we can talk and effect a little settlement.” He seated himself comfortably and took out tobacco and cigarette papers.
“Settlement?” said Lester with a blank look.
“Sure.” Bond smiled. “I’ve finished your errand, Tommy. I’ve found out where Farlin went and what for he went. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”
Big Tom Lester dropped limply into his chair.
Chapter Fifteen
Sitting opposite Big Tom Lester, Jim Bond slowly rolled his cigarette with one hand, exercising meticulous care as to its symmetry, wetting the edge of the paper delicately, sealing it perfectly, pinching the end precisely, and then lighting it with a graceful movement of the flame of the match, looking at him the while with a cynical smile that maddened the trapped resortkeeper.
Wafting a smoke ring across the table, he said: “I’ve found out everything you wanted to know, big boy, so there was no need of you chasing out here.” He nodded affably. He knew, or was very sure, that it was Lester, after all, who had raced him across the plain. He had seen Lester enter the sheriff’s office but had been careful not to be seen himself. He had viewed Lester’s lathered horse in the livery. He had hurried back and shadowed him into the rear of the resort. Now he had him dead to rights, he knew, for Big Tom could not shout for help without making a fool of himself and without having to put forth an explanation, and he had been disarmed.
“I suppose you think I needed your services,” sneered Big Tom.
“You said you did, and you got ’em,” returned Bond. “Farlin is right in this town.” He leaned back in mock triumph. “You see, I trailed him. I found him and learned why he came. You might never have got here in time, if that nag of yours can’t mosey along any better than it did this morning.”
The flush in Lester’s face was a dead give-away.
“So I finished the first part of Porky’s job that you turned over to me,” Bond continued. “Now for the second part. Farlin came here to pay a visit to the bank. I glanced in the window and he was in the back office. So I trailed in, made a deposit, and saw him toss a big wad of bills on the banker’s desk. There! He came to Rocky Point, and he came to put some money in the bank. Now you have it. Only, I wouldn’t let Farlin see me in town, if I were you.”
Lester suspected this was a half truth, but he could not prove it. He started to speak and reached for the bottle instead—he needed a bracer, this time.
“So now,” Bond continued cheerfully, flipping the ash from his cigarette, “we’ll settle.”
“Settle!” Lester ejaculated. “Settle for something I did . . . practically did myself? I chased you here, didn’t I? You couldn’t help yourself, could you? Settle for what?”
Bond’s cigarette spun in the air on the instant. “Settle with me for doing your dirty work,” he said, his eyes looking through slits formed by his narrowed lids. “Don’t try to cross me, Lester. I’ll make you crawl in the dust of the main street and put six slugs of lead in you in the bargain, or . . . I’ll put one slug in you right here. Which do you want?”
Lester looked into the black eye of Bond’s gun and gulped.
“How much do you want?” he asked in a gurgling voice.
“That’s better,” said Bond. “You must have some brains, and you never had a better chance to use ’em. You said you’d give me a couple of thousand to find out where Farlin went. I found out. You said, if I found out what he went for, you’d maybe make it five. I found out why he came here, and there’s going to be no maybe about it. You’re coming across with five thousand dollars, here and now, or you’re going out of here on your hands and knees, or feet first. You can take your choice, big boy, and I’m not waiting long.”
Big Tom Lester had mixed with men on that range long enough to recognize a dangerous one when he saw him, and to see and sense when such a man meant exactly what he said. Here was no henchman of Mills. He knew instinctively that Bond did not represent the law. This made him all the more dangerous. And he was not a novice. Perhaps he was Bovert, after all, and the visit to Mills had been an audacious exhibition of sheer bravado. More than likely Mills was not sure of his man. Otherwise, why had the sheriff ordered hands off in his case? But the matter at hand was far from trifling.
“You know I don’t carry any such amount of money on my person,” he complained, sparring for time.
“Imagine,” commented Bond scornfully. “Big Tom . . . the Big Tom . . . going around with small change in his pocket. What’re you playing me for? Don’t you think I know men of your stamp? Inside, way inside, you’re yellow. Here!” He put Lester’s gun in the center of the table and put his own at the left end of the table. “Now. Make a grab for it. You’ve got as good a chance as I have. Go for your gun.”
But Lester had no intention of going for the gun so close to his hand. He knew the signs. Now he had an inspiration.
“You win,” he said. “I’ve had too much to drink . . . even if you put my gun in my hand, I’d probably miss. An’ I haven’t ridden so fast an’ so far in a long time, although I was a rider in my day.” A sparkle came into his eyes, to be succeeded by a look of cunning as Bond took up the weapons.
“Suppose I give you a thousand now an’ the other four when we get back,” he suggested.
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