Wallie was indeed a different person. A fop no longer; instead, a man of purpose with cruel ruthlessness in every feature. He went through the living room without a pause and halted only when he reached the kitchen. He closed the door without a slam.
Jeb sat with a woebegone expression on a heavy chair. Sawtell, as bland as ever, stood beside him, holding a heavy gun in one hand. At the sight of Wallie, Sawtell spoke. “He started to make some complaints a little while ago, an’ I tapped him on the head. I don’t think we’ll hear any more from him.”
Wallie glanced at his lean brother. There was a cut somewhere beneath the stringy hair on the left side of Jeb’s skull. Blood, seeping from it, had dribbled down his cheek and stained his collar. Jeb’s eyes held an unvoiced but pathetic plea. They resembled those of a hog-tied calf suffering the torment of a branding iron.
Wallie said, “Better gag an’ tie him. I’ll decide later what’s to be done.”
Sawtell nodded, dropped his pistol in a holster, and proceeded with the tying, while Jeb, who knew that a voiced complaint would simply mean another crack on the head, made no resistance.
Lonergan sat on the edge of the kitchen table, casually working on his fingernails with a carving knife. He glanced up, a question mark in his expression.
There had been two others locked in the vault beneath the living room. They, too, were present in the kitchen. Lombard and Vince, sullen, and dripping muttered curses as well as sweat, stood side by side, leaning against the wall with half-filled whisky glasses in their hands.
“Are you sure,” began Wallie, “none of you knows who that masked man is?” He glanced from one to another, receiving negative headshakes.
“All I know about him,” grumbled Lombard, “is that I spent a hell of a night in that damned wet cellar, an’ I’m goin’ to square it with him.”
“What about me?” snapped Vince. “My joints’ll ache fer a week after las’ night.”
“You,” said Wallie, looking at Lombard, “stand at the foot of the stairs, an’ make sure he don’t come out of Bryant’s room. Vince, you get close to the window an’ keep watch on the Gap. Yuma will be here some time today with a warrant for Bryant’s arrest, an’ law men to act on the warrant.”
“Why me? What’s the matter with Sawtell or Lonergan?”
Wallie didn’t reply, but his cold-eyed gaze was quite enough. Vince grumbled his way to the window, as if he resented being ordered about by his own brother in the same fashion that ordinary outlaws were commanded. He dragged a chair to the window and sat down.
“This’ll do for the time,” Sawtell suggested, as he tied the last knot in the ropes about Jeb’s arms. “Now what’ll we do with him?”
“Leave him where he is until I finish speaking, and then we’ll decide later what we’ll do with him. I told you that already.”
“He knows too damn much,” said Vince, “an’ he’s too dumb to be any good to us. Why worry about him?”
“Who,” said Wallie, “is worrying?”
“What about that masked man? What was it you said about Yuma comin’ with the law?” It was Lonergan, the lawyer-gambler, speaking.
Wallie explained briefly how Yuma’s hat had been shot at by Bryant; how both Yuma and the man with the mask were convinced that Bryant Cavendish was the leader of all that went on in the Basin.
“That works out fine for us,” he said. “We may have to lay low for a little while, but we’ve been needin’ a rest anyhow. We’ll sell off some of the cattle we’ve got here now, but wait till things cool off before we bring in any more.” He went into detail, explaining how the masked man’s plan was to persuade Bryant to confess before he went to jail. “And he figures,” he continued, “on lettin’ the law take you men back.”
Sawtell shifted his weight uneasily, and Lonergan laid down the carving knife. “There’s a rope just a little too tight for my neck waitin’ for me if I go back to Red Oak,” Sawtell said.
“None of you are goin’ back,” snapped Wallie. “Didn’t I tell you, when I suggested that you come here and help me out, that I’d see you well protected?”
“Maybe,” suggested Lonergan, “you’ve got some new scheme.”
“I have.”
“It better be good. Your idea was working out swell until Rebecca sent for the law. Then, instead of entertaining those Texas Rangers and convincing them that everything was all right here, you had to ambush them. As a lawyer, I advised against that massacre.”
“I didn’t ask for your advice, Lonergan.”
“Well, it was a mistake to dry-gulch them anyway. That won’t stop other Rangers from coming here to see what happened to them. I tell you, Wallie, there’s a great big rope, speaking in the picturesque way of the story-writers, around all of us, an’ that rope is bein’ hauled in tight.”
“Like hell it is,” barked Wallie in a sharp reply. “If you’ll button your lip for a few minutes I’ll tell you how everything has worked out to put us in the clear.”
“You weren’t satisfied with that massacre,” the lawyer went on accusingly. “You had to kill Rangoon, then Gimlet, and last night, Mort.”
“My policy,” replied Wallie, his voice cold with suppressed anger, “is to leave no loose ends. Rangoon couldn’t be relied on. Gimlet already knew a few things, an’ thought a lot more. Mort would have squealed his yellow head off to avoid bein’ hanged. As for Yuma, it’s a damned shame he didn’t get a couple of slugs where they’d do the most good for us.”
“I don’t know why he was hired to work here anyway,” said Lonergan. “He wasn’t like the rest of the men.”
“Bryant himself hired Yuma, an’ God knows why. Anyway, it’s the fact that Yuma is bringin’ the law that’ll put us in the clear.”
“In the clear on what?” asked Lonergan.
“I don’t know why in hell I take so much back talk from you, Lonergan,” said Wallie.
“I do. It’s because you wouldn’t have a ghost of a show in handling things after Bryant dies, without my legal talents.” The lawyer studied his fingernails with exaggerated concern, and again picked up the carving knife. “Now what is this big scheme of yours that’s to put us in the clear? My own suggestion would be to go to Bryant’s room and get the drop on this masked man, then—”
“I’ll do the talking from now on,” Wallie interrupted. “In the first place, there’s the murder of Rangoon to be accounted for. Well, that masked man and the Indian friend that went to town with Penny were both in the clearing. All right, we blame Rangoon’s death on them. As for Gimlet, Yuma had a lot better chance to kill him than I did. It’s known that Yuma was on the ranch at the time. But no one knows that I came back from Red Oak by the Thunder Mountain route, knifed Gimlet, an’ went back to town. We tell the law men it’s Yuma who killed Gimlet. I’ll accuse him of it when he gets here, and let him try to deny it. Penny herself, if need be, will have to say that Yuma was here at the time.”
Lonergan nodded. “So far,” he said, “you’re doin’ good—go on.”
“As for Mort’s death—hell, that’s easy to blame on the masked man. Everyone in Red Oak has already accused him of murderin’ Mort. Everyone in town heard him yell to that white horse of his when he carried Bryant away. Why, public sentiment is with us! There ain’t anyone in town that wouldn’t blame the masked man for killing, not only Mort, but Bryant as well!”
“It sounds swell to me,” admired Sawtell, “all but for the fact that this masked man an’ Bryant are both upstairs and livin’.”
“That’s a detail that’s goin’ to be taken care of pronto,” stated Wallie. “My story, which Vince will back up, being that none of you others dare show yourselves, is that the masked man brought Bryant here, dead. I shot him for it after a hell of a fight.” Wallie looked proudly at Lonergan. “Now what’s the matter with that?”
Lonergan pondered and then said, “Those two are still alive. That’s the only trouble.”
“It won’t take long to remedy that. We
go up to Bryant’s room, burst in, and start shootin’. Get Bryant and get the masked man. I took the trouble to bring the key with me, so the door won’t be locked. By lookin’ through the keyhole I’ll make sure where the two of them are, an’ then when we go into the room we won’t be shootin’ blind. We can’t miss.”
“The more I hear about it,” said Sawtell, “the better it sounds. It’ll be a big relief to have Bryant out of our way for keeps. He’s been a nuisance around here.”
“We had to let him live until we had things arranged,” explained Wallie, “but now there’s no more need of him.”
“It’ll not only get rid of Bryant,” added Sawtell, “it’ll clear up the murders around here. I suppose you’ve got some way all worked out to blame the killin’ of those Texas Rangers on him?”
“The masked man will be blamed for those. It’s well known that he an’ that Indian are pards. Their footprints are both up there on Thunder Mountain where the buzzards are cleanin’ off Rangoon’s bones. The Indian’s footprints are near the graves of the Rangers. Any law man could put an’ two together an’ get the answer that the masked man an’ Indian killed ’em. If the Redskin tries to deny it, who’ll listen to him against the evidence?”
Lonergan laid down the knife methodically and slid from the edge of the table to his feet. Wallie looked at him defiantly, as if daring the lawyer to find a flaw in the plans.
There was a mixture of surprise and admiration in the way Lonergan looked at Wallie. “I didn’t think,” he said, “you had it in you. I’m damned if it won’t work.”
Wallie’s deep-rooted respect for the adroit brain of the lawyer made him glow with pleasure at a compliment from that man.
“As I see it,” said Lonergan, “there’s just one little flaw in the plans.”
“What’s that?” demanded Wallie.
“The story you figure on telling won’t account for a lot of bullet holes around that bedroom of your uncle. Have you got a way around that worked out?”
“Of course. We tell the law that Bryant was shot in front of the house and that I shot the masked man for it in the same place. Both corpses will be on the porch, an’ there won’t be any reason to go into the bedroom until after we have the chance to clean it up.”
“That,” said Lonergan, “will do it.”
“I’ve had a hunch,” contributed Vince from his post at the window, “that Bryant’s been suspectin’ things for some time. I’ll be damned glad to see him done away with. With him an’ Penny out of here, we won’t have to be so damned careful about every move we make.”
Wallie nodded. “After the law is satisfied,” he said, “we’ll go on just as we have been. Vince will take charge of things while I’m tomcattin’ around Red Oak an’ playin’ the part of a girl-crazy Romeo while I listen for news about cattle ranches that are just invitin’ visitors like us.”
The leader of the group sketched a few details of his plan, then said, “I want all of you to go upstairs with me. Keep your guns drawn an’ keep still. We’ll take Lombard as we go by him. When the fireworks are over with, me an’ Vince will wait for Yuma to fetch the law men, an’ the rest of you can hide. Now put Jeb down in the vault, then fix the room up as it should be. While you’re doin’ that I’ll tell Lombard the plans, an’ then we’ll all go up to Bryant’s room.”
Jeb was still dazed from the ugly blow Sawtell had given him. He was limp and unresisting as the men picked him up bodily, hands and feet tied tightly, and carried him to the living room. They dropped him on the floor and replaced things where they belonged. Sawtell tossed the hunk of firewood to one side, then handed down the chair from its place on the table top. Lonergan kicked the chair toward a wall, while Sawtell stepped to the floor and hauled away the table. It was Vince who opened the trapdoor, then rolled his brother Jeb into the opening. He laughed as he heard Jeb’s body strike the hard-dirt floor below. “Don’t get intuh no mischief down there,” he called; then he closed the door and pulled the rug in place to conceal it.
Meanwhile Wallie was with Lombard at the foot of the stairs. Lombard was grinning and nodded as the others joined the couple. He drew his gun and spun the cylinder to check it. A moment later, after a few last, whispered instructions from Wallie, the five were ready to go upstairs with disaster for the Lone Ranger.
CHAPTER XXVII
Guns Talk Back
The murder-bent quintet went up the stairs like Indians stalking single file through wooded land. Each man carried his gun in his left hand and braced himself with his right against the wall. They stayed as close to that wall as possible to minimize the creaking of the stairs. The only sound was a faint, leathery whisper from the dusty boots. Wallie cursed inwardly at his lack of foresight in not having his men go stocking-footed to the double murder.
Wallie was in the lead, Vince in the rear. In this order they gained the upstairs hall. Any apprehensions Wallie might have had about the squeaking boots were dispelled as he drew close to Bryant’s door. A resonant voice, undoubtedly that of the masked man, was speaking. Wallie felt no qualms of guilt or conscience at the cold-blooded ruthlessness of his plans. He hadn’t the slightest intention of giving the men who were marked for execution a chance to defend themselves. The code of Western fair play was missing from Wallie’s personality. This was to be no duel, but simply the extinction of two men whose deaths had become essential to his plans.
Wallie halted at the closed but unlocked door and motioned Lonergan and Lombard past him. As the leader faced the door those two were on his left, while Vince and Sawtell, guns now shifted to their right hands, stood upon his right. All but Wallie were balanced on the balls of their feet, tense and ready to charge through the door, but Wallie hesitated. He could hear the masked man’s voice, with a vibrant quality carrying through the door. He could hear, distinctly, each word that was said. The masked man was scolding old Bryant Cavendish.
Wallie crouched and placed one eye close to the keyhole. The room, he saw, was dimly lighted. It was difficult to see details. The blankets were mounded on the bed as if they’d been pulled over Bryant’s big body. On the far side of the bed Wallie could make out a white sombrero, and judged that to be where the masked man sat while he conducted the one-sided conversation.
Wallie now knew just where he should direct his men to fire when he threw open the door. He hesitated, listening to what was being said inside.
“You’re the most unreasonably stubborn old fool I’ve ever known, Cavendish.” It was the masked man speaking. “It’s high time for you to drop this false pride of yours; admit you’ve grown old, let someone help you.
“Cavendish, all these murders are yours. I know you aren’t the killer, personally, but none of them could possibly have happened if you hadn’t been so foolishly stubborn! You’d never admit that you found it hard to walk. You thought you hid that fact, but you didn’t! You didn’t fool anyone at all. Then when your eyes began to fail you, you tried to hide that fact too. Why, right now, you’re so nearly blind that you have to feel your way.”
Wallie heard a low-toned response from his uncle. Then the masked man continued.
“All of those nephews of yours realized that you not only were incapable of getting about, but that you couldn’t even see what went on. They felt secure in doing whatever they pleased, so they organized a regular crime ring here in the Basin. They replaced all of your former hands with crooks whom they selected. They let it be known in the right places that this Basin would be a safe hideout for men the law was looking for. You couldn’t see what your cowhands looked like, so you had no cause to distrust them. You wouldn’t go to a doctor and have your eyes treated and your sight improved, because you wanted to conceal your condition.”
Wallie reasoned that inasmuch as neither of the two beyond the door was to survive much longer, he might as well hear what else this incalculable masked man knew.
“Penelope tried her best to find reasons for your unconcern over the ways things were going here. S
he thought more of you than you deserved. She tried to convince herself that you were not aware of things, and tried to find out if blindness was the reason. She defended you when Yuma turned against you; and what was her reward for that loyalty? You turned against her, the same as you did against those graceless cousins. She was made to sign away her rights just as they were. Don’t interrupt, Cavendish—I’ve more to say. Yuma felt that as long as you were alive, that girl would be guarded and protected. How wrong he was! But that was what he thought, and when I captured him he tried to convince me that he was the leader of these Basin killers. He was ready to spend the rest of his life as a fugitive in hiding, and keep the law off your neck. When I showed him the document that Penelope had been made to sign, he realized that he’d made a mistake. He saw then that the girl he loved could look for little enough happiness or security through you. Who, in the name of Heaven, is this Andrew Munson? What do you owe him that you’d deprive Penelope of any future comfort, in his favor?”
Wallie strained to hear what Bryant’s reply would be, but there was none. In the brief pause, he heard the heavy, emotional breathing of the masked man.
“It wasn’t until this morning that I learned some truths,” the masked man continued. “I knew that someone had slipped into this Basin and murdered Gimlet, because the killer rode within ten yards of me, but I didn’t know who he was. Tonto was halfway up Thunder Mountain when this same man went by. It was too dark there for the Indian to identify him when he killed Rangoon. Then he went on to Red Oak, where he let Mort out of jail with instructions to kill you in your hotel room. You know what happened there. I told you how I shot him in the leg, and how he was later stabbed to death. Since then, I’ve learned who the killer is!
“I told you about Tonto. He was here, waiting for the riders to come back from Red Oak. The trail from Red Oak is on hard ground, as you know. The trail over Thunder Mountain is marshy in a lot of places. The loam there is soft and black, and different from anything that could be found on the trail through the Gap. Well, Tonto watched when each horse came into the corral. He found one, just one horse, Cavendish, that had black loam caked to the fetlocks. He gave me the name of the man who rode and owned that horse, in a note which he left at the cave. That man is your nephew, Wallie!”
The Second Western Megapack Page 153