“Money in it?”
“Only a little. I wanted some papers.”
“Your father’s wallet, eh?” Gunthorp dipped the cloth in the warm water again, squeezed part of the water out, and started on another cut. “Where’s your father, boy?”
“He’s dead-killed in a mine.”
“Sorry. Was it a cave-in?”
“Yes, sir. Kelman came and said he was my guardian, and that I must do as he said. He had Pop’s wallet, which he got from the drawer where Pop always left it when he went to work in the tunnel.”
“Why’d he beat you?” Gunthorp looked searchingly at the boy, who was slipping into a clean shirt that belonged to Gunthorp and looked about a dozen sizes too big.
“He wanted me to tell him where Pop hid some papers he couldn’t find, and he wanted me to ask the judge to have him left in charge of my father’s place.”
“And you wouldn’t tell?”
“No, sir.” Gunthorp nodded, admiration in his eyes. “You’ve got grit, boy. You’ve a lot of grit. Don’t tell anybody else about those papers for now. Do you know what’s in them? What’s the value?”
“I-I don’t know. Only, Pop told me they were very important and I must keep them. He said that somebody might try to get them from me, but they were all he could leave to my sister and me if anything happened.”
“So you have a sister? Where is she?”
“Out in California. She’s going to school but I think she’s coming back soon. I wrote her when Father was killed, and she said she was coming home.”
“That’s good.” Gunthorp started putting dishes and food on the table. While they were eating, he looked across the table at the boy. His nose was flat, and there was a scar on his upper lip. “Kelman’s after something your father owned? You don’t know what it could be?”
“No, sir. Unless it’s the mine. It was a good mine, I think, but Pop never got much out of it. He owned a lot of land in the valley.”
“That desert land? What did he want with that?”
“I don’t know, sir. I think Kelman knows, though.”
Gunthorp nodded. “What makes you believe so?”
“He told Pop once that he knew. I heard him say something like -pretty smart, aren’t you, Stevens? But I’ve got it figured out. Are you taking me in?’ It was something like that … pretty close, anyway.”
“Hm. Interesting. It gives me a clue, boy. Stevens your name then? And the first one?”
“Lane, sir. My name is Lane Stevens.”
“It’s a good name. You’ve been well brought up, too, I can see that.” Gunthorp looked up over his coffee cup. “Where’s your mother, son?”
“She’s dead, sir. A long time ago. I don’t remember her very well.”
“More credit to your father, then. Have you been to school?”
“A little, and my father taught me some, too. He taught me to read, sign, and to know the different minerals, and how to shoot a rifle and use a single jack.”
“A wise man, your father.” Gunthorp was listening as he spoke. “A man who knows how to teach a boy practical things. Still, they are of little account unless one knows what lies behind them. The thoughts behind things, and the reasons for them … that’s important, too.”
He got up. “Finish your supper, boy. The sheriff will be here in a few minutes for you.”
Lane started up. “The sheriff?”
“Sit still. There’s no reason for excitement. Let the man come. He’s an unlikely man, not sure of himself, and he will come because Kelman will urge him. Tonight we can, I hope, talk him out of it. Tomorrow may be another thing.”
The sound of horses on the hard-packed earth of the yard made him nod. “Of course. Now put the light out, boy, and stand away from the door. I’ve no trust for the look in that Kelman’s eye.”
“Hallo, the house!”
Gunthorp opened the door. “How are you, Sheriff Eagan. Ah, I see we brought Kelman with you. Are you taking him under arrest then? You want me for a witness?”
“Arrest?” Eagan was confused. “Why should I arrest him?”
“For beating the lad, for beating him until there’s cuts a finger deep his back. If you want, I’ll come to town and swear out a warrant for myself.”
“Forget that and get on with it, Eagan!” Kelman snapped roughly.
Gunthorp stood in the door, his big hands on his hips, his enormous shoulders and chest seeming to fill the door. He smiled. “Now, now, Kelman,” he said mildly. “Let’s not be ordering the sheriff around. Mr. Eagan knows his duties, and it isn’t any citizen’s place to order him about. You don’t take orders from Kelman, do you, Sheriff?”
“Certainly not!” Eagan blustered. “Now, enough of that. I’ve come for the boy. He’s a thief, and I’m arresting him.”
“A thief? What did he steal? A wallet, wasn’t it? And the wallet belonged to his father. He is his father’s heir, or one of them. You can’t arrest this boy for stealing. I’m sure it wouldn’t hold up.”
Eagan turned toward Kelman, uneasily. “You didn’t tell me the wallet belonged to Stevens,” he protested.
“That’s neither here nor there!” Kelman’s rage was mastering him again. “Take the boy and let’s go. If that blundering fool wants to try to stop us, I’ll handle him!”
“Stop you?” Gunthorp smiled. “I’d never think of it, Sheriff. I’ve a great respect for the law and officers of the law. The boy was taken to Kelman’s ranch, where he was beaten to make him tell where some papers were. The boy escaped, and in escaping took his father’s wallet, to which he certainly had more right than Kelman. No, Sheriff, the boy is better off here.”
He smiled again. “When he is needed for any court appearance, I shall gladly answer for him.”
“We want him, and we want him now,” Kelman flared.
Gunthorp nodded. “I’m afraid you are mistaking yourself for some sort of official, Kelman. Mr. Eagan is his own man and he can do his own thinking. If he can’t … well, we’ll see who gets the votes in the next election.”
Eagan shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. Secretly, he was afraid of Kelman, but he resented the man’s arrogant manner and the ordering about he constantly took from him. The way Gunthorp was putting it, Eagan would practically prove he was crawling to Kelman’s orders if he took the boy. Gunthorp comprehended something of what was in the sheriff’s mind, so he offered him an easy way out.
“Anyway,” he added, “Sheriff Eagan is a man who knows the law. I’m not saying the boy is here, but he can’t search my house without a warrant.”
Eagan clutched at the opportunity. “That’s right, Kelman,” he said, “I’d have to have a warrant for the boy to go into that house and search for him.”
“Warrant, blazes!” Kelman exploded with rage. He flung himself toward the house. “Get away from the door!” he roared at Gunthorp.
Gunthorp did not move, but with his eyes on Kelman, he said to the sheriff, “Eagan, if he comes at me, I’ll defend myself.”
Before Eagan could speak, Kelman’s hand swept back for a gun, and at the same instant, Gunthorp moved. His left hand shot out and gripped Kelman’s wrist. His right hand dropped to Kelman’s left bicep. Kelman was a big man, and a skillful boxer, but here he had no chance. Gunthorp’s big brown hands shut down hard, the right fingers digging into the muscles of Kelman’s arm, the fingers of the left hand shutting down like a powerful vise on the wrist of the gun hand. Kelman might have been stricken with paralysis.
Gunthorp’s hands gripped with crushing power, and Kelman’s face went white. The gun had come clear of the holster, but Kelman cried out with pain, and the gun dropped from his hand. Then, still gripping him by the wrist and upper arm, Gunthorp lifted the man clear off his feet and hurled him bodily into the yard. His face had not changed.
“I’m sorry, Sheriff, but he attacked me. You saw it. I refuse to allow any search without a warrant. Go to judge McClees and get one, if you wish.”
Eag
an knew just as well as Gunthorp did that judge Jim McClees was not going to grant any warrant without making a thorough study of the case; and that would be the last thing Kelman would want.
Kelman, his right hand almost useless from the crushing grip, caught the pommel of the saddle with his left and hauled himself up.
Gunthorp retrieved the gun and handed it to Eagan. “Return this to him when you think it’s appropriate,” he said, smiling.
WHEN DAYLIGHT BEGAN LIFTING the shadows from the sun-blasted ridges, Gunthorp ate a hurried breakfast, and then he took the boy to the door. “You see that cottonwood with the dead limb? Right opposite the end of that limb, in the wall of the cliff, is a cave. You go up there with this grub I packed and this canteen, and don’t you stir out of there until I come for you … or ‘til three days have gone by. If you don’t hear from me in three days, somebody got me.
“In that cave there’s more water. You can also see this place, but you keep still up there or somebody might see you moving.”
With that, Gunthorp swung into the saddle and started for the hills. He knew where the Stevens mine was and he was taking a chance that no one would be around. He rode swiftly, and when he found himself among the pinons on the slope above the canyon where the mine lay, he ground hitched the gelding and slid farther down the hill to where he looked over the mine and a shack nearby.
A half hour’s careful watch showed no movement. He went down the hill with long strides, sliding gravel around him, his weight carrying him almost at a run. When he reached the bottom of the steep slope, he surveyed the buildings once more. No movement. Swiftly, he crossed to the mine, took one quick, last look around, then disappeared into the tunnel.
As he walked along the drift, he remembered what he had seen in that quick glance. The mine was in the face of the rock at the end of a deep notch in the mountain, a notch that widened out until it opened upon the desert valley below. Stevens had purchased this canyon and considerable land in the valley, although the extent of his buying was unknown.
He had told those who were curious that he did not wish to be crowded, but they had laughed and said there was no chance of anyone ever moving near him, for the land he bought was the driest and worst around. This much Gunthorp knew, for he was a man who listened well, and there were men enough who talked freely.
He carried a candle with him, and after a while he stopped to study the wall of the tunnel. There was very little mineral here, but the big vein might be farther inside. He walked swiftly, counting his paces as he went.
Suddenly, he rounded a turn in the drift and was brought up short, finding himself staring at the end where the drift had collapsed. He had walked almost a quarter of a mile from the entrance. Thoughtfully, he studied the rock around him, and particularly that in the face. Then he turned and with the same swift strides hurried back. A quick look around showed no one in sight, so he stepped out and started for the wash.
“Hey!” The shout stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to see a man rushing toward him. “Who are you? What do you mean by going into that mine without permission?”
Gunthorp faced the unshaven, burly watchman. “Permission from who?”
“From Kelman, that’s who!”
The man faced Gunthorp, glaring at him. “You come back up here and wait until he comes. I ain’t sure he’d like you being in there!”
Gunthorp’s bleak eyes showed humor. “I’m quite sure he wouldn’t, my friend. However, if I were you, I’d pick up and leave just as quickly as I could. Kelman’s through in this country.”
The man laughed harshly. “That’s likely! He’s the boss around here. You coming with me, or do I take you?”
Gunthorp chuckled. “Why, I guess you take me,” he said simply.
He waited, his hands down, smiling at the other man. “Come on,” the watchman blustered, “I don’t want no trouble!”
“Then go on back to your shack and keep your mouth shut. If you don’t tell Kelman, he’ll never know I was here. Then you won’t get in trouble at all.”
The watchman was disturbed. A second look told him that although this man might not be as tall as he, he was a solid mass of bone and muscle. Moving him wouldn’t be easy. Staring into those bleak eyes made him doubt the advisability of trying the pistol in his holster.
A rattle of hoofs on the trail decided the man. “Get out of here, quick!” he said. “If Kelman found you here, he’d have my scalp!”
In three fast steps, Gunthorp was in among the pinons. He glanced back to see three horsemen riding up to the mine. The man in the lead was Joe, but Kelman himself was not among them.
When he reached his horse, he mounted and cut back across the mountain. There was no regular trail, but he wove in and out among the trees until he could see into a narrow canyon beyond. When he was in position, he stopped his horse and studied this new area with thoughtful eyes. This canyon was green, deeply green, thick with cottonwoods and tamarisk and a small stream flowing along the bottom. At one point the stream disappeared into a wide area of marshy sand and reeds.
Gunthorp glanced at the sun, and seeing there was yet time, turned his horse down the trail and rode down through to the cottonwoods. The small river flowed out of the rock, described a wide half circle through a meadow, and then vanished into the sand on the same side from which it emerged. It was no more than four or five feet across, but the water was clear and cold and ran swiftly.
As his horse drank, Gunthorp turned in his saddle and surveyed the valley. Mining operations had begun here, too. Across from him he could see the mouth of a drift and the pile of waste outside it. The tunnel mouth was low down against the valley floor. Gunthorp turned his horse and started for town, his face serious.
RED BUTTE’S RESIDENTIAL SECTION was composed of some forty or fifty buildings, built haphazardly down the slope from the mesa. Beyond the buildings and corrals, the land sloped away for two miles and disappeared under the unsightly waters of an alkali lake.
Gunthorp tied his horse at the hitching rail and stepped up on the boardwalk, heading for the office of judge Jim McClees.
At that moment, the door of the restaurant thrust open and Kelman stepped out, accompanied by an uncommonly pretty girl. They saw him at the same instant. “That’s the man!” Kelman pointed at him with a stiff arm. “That’s him.,, “
The girl walked right up to Gunthorp, her heels clicking on the walk. “Where is my brother?” she demanded, her eyes sparking. “I want you to take me to him at once. And you must return the papers you took from him. She was young, and very pretty, and he liked the determined set of her chin.
“Miss Stevens,” he said quietly, “your brother is safe, and no thanks due to Mr Kelman. If there are any papers, he alone knows where they are.”
“Look here!” Kelman thrust himself forward. “Madge Stevens has returned to settle her father’s estate, and to do that, she must have those papers. Your little scheme has failed, so you can bring the boy in and turn the papers over to me.”
Gunthorp glanced at the girl. “Is that what you want?”
“It is.” Her chin lifted. “You have no right to interfere in this matter, none at all. Mr. Kelman was doing all that could be done.”
Gunthorp smiled. “No doubt. But is he doing what is best for your interests and the boy’s, or his own?”
“That doesn’t matter,” she flared.”It certainly is none of your business.”
“No doubt Kelman has made you an offer for the land your father owned? Was he going to take all that wasteland off your hands as a favor?”
From the puzzled look in her eyes, he knew that he was right. “What did he offer you for it?”
“That’s neither here nor there.” Kelman’s anger was growing. “All you have to do is take us to the boy.”
Gunthorp ignored Kelman. “Miss Stevens,” he said, “I don’t know what he has offered you for the land, but whatever it is, I’ll double it.”
Her eyes widened. “For that
worthless land? Why, that’s absurd! That would be ten dollars an acre for-“
“Ten?” Gunthorp’s eyes brightened. “Miss Stevens, I’ll give you more. If you say ten dollars, he must have offered you only five. I’ll give you twenty dollars an acre and a twenty percent share in any profit I make.”
“But I don’t understand,” she protested.
“The man’s trying to pull the wool over your eyes,” Kelman interrupted. His tone was desperate, and anger was growing in him. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. You’ve sold the land to me for five dollars an acre, and you’ve been paid for it.”
He turned back to Gunthorp. “See, my friend? You are too late. Now will you turn the boy over to us and get out of here?”
Gunthorp stood flat-footed, shaken by the statement the girl did not deny. If she had sold the land …
Suddenly, he smiled. “Miss Stevens,” he asked politely, “I know it is always wrong to ask a woman’s age, but how old are you?”
“Why, I’m eighteen, almost nineteen, but how does that matter?”
Kelman’s face changed. “You mean you’re not of age?”
Gunthorp looked up at him. “It really wouldn’t matter, Kelman,” he said softly. “You see, Lane is an heir, too, and she would have no right to sign away his rights. Miss Stevens has no right to dispose of the property without the authority of his legal guardian.”
“But she’s his older sister,” Kelman protested furiously. “She’s his guardian.”
“Not unless the court appoints her so, and as she’s underage, that isn’t likely. I suggest we talk with judge McClees.”
Madge Stevens stared from one to the other, frightened and confused. In each of the three letters that had come to her from Kelman, he had assured her of his friendship for her father and herself, and had offered to dispose of the land her father had, he suggested, foolishly bought. Now this man whom Kelman had said was forcibly holding her brother was suddenly making everything seem very different.
Kelman noticed the indecision in her face. “Come over here,” he said to Gunthorp. “I want to talk to you!”
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