And, he argued, it would be easy. They were letting the men stay here another day before returning to the ranch, and Webster and he were going on to Woodbine alone. They would sleep out one night. Webster couldn’t stay awake every minute of the time. And it would only take a moment to lift a gun and kill a sleeping man. Then with Webster out of the way, he could go and explain to Faulkner that hijackers had waylaid and robbed them, killing Webster when he put up a fight. Then a word with Sonia, and they would elope and go to south Texas, or Mexico, or possibly make the trek out to California.
Seizing on the idea, Dustin built his dream up into a fabulous cattle empire in the Far West, with a few gold mines discovered on his land, with Sonia the stately mistress of his pretentious castle, and with a half dozen other pretty girls spotted strategically here and there awaiting his pleasure.
All as the result of lifting a small handgun a few inches and pulling a trigger, less than a half minute’s work. Easy as falling off a horse, and not half as dangerous. No witnesses, nobody to know or care what had happened.
The only difficulty was—Webster, himself. Even sleeping, Webster was a dangerous man. He might wake up!
Dustin was building his cattle empire when he recalled with a chilling suddenness that Webster had prepared himself against just such a contingency. The duplicate of Webster’s incriminating deposition, along with the guns and shells involved in the killing of the two officers, were in other hands, so that they would come to light if Webster died. Webster had pointed out that it was to Faulkner’s and Emory’s interest to keep him alive, so that the evidence would not fall into the hands of the law.
This situation chilled Emory for a moment, and he gave his best thinking to find a way to circumvent the possibility of running afoul of the law. Then he got it; he could say that Webster had not been killed, but had followed the outlaws, and would not be back until he had run them down and got the money back. This would give him—Emory—time to get safely away. Then, once he had disappeared, and safely hidden somewhere in California under an assumed name—then, as a matter of fact, he hoped that the evidence would come out—and hang Faulkner!
Good enough! The job would give him a few bad moments, but he had to do it. And after that—freedom, and money, and Sonia Swanson!
He dreamed for a while, and just before noon he dressed and went downstairs to get ready to go. Webster was at the table, eating beans and bull meat with another man.
“Emory,” Webster said when Dustin had joined them, “I want you to meet Hoot Ballew. He’s going down to Woodbine, so I lent him a horse, and he’ll go along. Be company for us.”
Dustin felt a burning rage come over him. He wanted no witnesses to his killing of Webster, but he kept a smile on his face as he acknowledged the introduction. “Glad to have you along,” he grinned. “Webster ain’t any too much fun on a business trip, and it would be nice to have a civilized man to talk to for a change. This your part of the country?”
“No. I was just up looking around. Glad to get out of it.”
Ballew got up and went to pay his bill, and Webster waited until he got out of hearing, then spoke to Dustin in a low voice.
“Watch this hombre,” he said. “He’s not what he’s claiming to be.”
“How do you know?” Dustin asked, his already nervous state increasing.
“He claims that he was just looking for a piece to settle up here. But I happen to know who he is.”
“Who is he?”
“Didn’t you ever hear of Hoot Ballew? He and a man by the name of Gibson are the star detectives of the Cattlemen’s Protective Association. They’re dynamic, too. Always work together, and I don’t suppose they ever failed to break a case in their lives.
“What do you reckon he’s doing here?” Dustin asked.
“I don’t know, but you can bet he’s doing something. And that Gibson is not far behind him. They’re regular Siamese twins. They keep track of each other that way.”
“You don’t suppose they’re looking in on us, do you?”
“That’s what I don’t know, but we’ve got to play it safe. Just don’t talk too much, and keep on pumping him. See if he talks vaguely, see if he contradicts himself in some of the things he says.”
“I wish he wasn’t coming along.”
“You’re wrong again. It’s better to have him under your nose so you can watch him while he’s watching you, isn’t it?”
“You sure think of all the angles,” Dustin had to admit.
“One other thing,” Webster cautioned him. “When we get to Woodbine, we’d better not hightail it straight to Faulkner’s. If this hombre is tailing us, that would be a dead giveaway.”
“What’ll we do?”
“We’ll separate. I’ll try to draw the guy off to come along with me. And if I do, you beat it to Faulkner and report. Everything, including this hombre. Tell him I’m tolling the guy away from him, and that I’ll see him later.”
“About that money!”
“Don’t be a fool. Faulkner won’t want that kind of evidence in his safe. Tell him I’ll hide it until this hombre blows on out of sight. Then see if he’s got anything on his mind, and I’ll meet you at the saloon. All right?”
“I reckon that’s best,” Dustin admitted.
Despite his smile, Dustin was sick inside. With an officer along, and another trailing him, he couldn’t take a chance on killing Webster. His plans were shot; his dream of the big stake went fading.
There was nothing left for him now but to get out of the country while he could. Things were getting too hot, and he had no intention of sticking around until his own shirttail was on fire. He had to get Sonia to elope with him, and go farther west and make a new start somewhere.
“Look, Webster,” he said. “You’ve cleaned me flat in those poker games, and I’ve got an important debt due when I get back. How’s chances of you lending me a thousand dollars till we sell some more stuff? I’ll pay you back then.”
Knowing how cold-blooded Webster could be, he was surprised when Webster answered. “Sure!”
Webster opened his money belt and counted out gold pieces. The gold had come from the robbery in which the two officers had been killed. Dustin’s eyes went to Webster in a kind of sickish fear, but Webster kept on counting. The man had a mind like a well-oiled machine.
“You can pass this money if I can,” Webster said. “You were the one who stole it! You’d better dig up a ramrod somewhere to stiffen your backbone. You’re getting flimsy, and I don’t like flimsy people.”
CHAPTER XVI
Hell Starts Popping
Leaving Boggy Depot at noon, the three men rode until night, slept at a creek, and rode all the next day, reaching Woodbine after dark. Dustin had been nervous and quiet, and the man named Ballew had been talkative in an evasive sort of way.
Dustin gradually became convinced that the man was on the trail of something hot, and the hottest thing he could think of was the setup he was in. He had abandoned the idea of killing and robbing Webster, and now his hope was to check in with Faulkner in order to keep him from being suspicious, then go to Sonia and persuade her to leave with him. He was in a hurry to put Woodbine behind him.
The three men rode into the livery stable at Woodbine and left their horses. Ballew asked the way to the hotel, and left them.
“You follow him,” Webster told Dustin, “and see that he doesn’t double back and trail me. I’m going to hide this money. We don’t want to be caught with it on us. I’ll see you later.”
Dustin was glad to be away from Webster, having his own affairs to take care of. He made his way down to Faulkner’s warehouse, hoping to catch him there. But the warehouse was closed and dark, and he came back to the hotel where Faulkner made his home, and inquired at the desk.
“He’s out of town on business,” the clerk told him. “Went away su
ddenly a couple of nights ago. Didn’t say when he would be back.”
“You don’t know where he went?”
“Nobody knows anything that personal about Faulkner,” the clerk grinned.
Dustin went out and had supper at a restaurant while he thought over his next move. Faulkner’s absence might give him the break that he needed to get out of town safely. After he had eaten, he went to his own room at the hotel, picked up some clean clothes, and went down to the barbershop for a bath and a shave, and spruce up before going to see Sonia.
As he came out of the barbershop, Dustin ran into the old bookkeeper who worked for Faulkner. The man appeared nervous and wanted to talk to him.
“What’s on your mind, Lester?” he asked, as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Old Lester, gray and hollow, looked anxiously up and down the almost deserted street. “You’d better walk down a-ways and I’ll follow you. It’s important.”
Dustin went down the street, and came presently to a dark place beside an old blacksmith shop, where the ancient bookkeeper joined him.
“What’s up?” Dustin asked. His own nerves had been tightening up for the last few days, and the old man’s actions sent a premonition of trouble through him.
“Where’ve you been?” the old man asked.
Faulkner’s associates were accustomed to treating the mousy clerk with contempt, and Dustin snapped, “What does it matter to you?”
“Nothing to me,” Lester answered quickly; “but Mr. Faulkner is mighty put out that you haven’t shown up before. He needed you, and he sent a man out to the ranch. The man said that you and this new man, Webster, and all the stock and everything had vanished. Faulkner was mad.”
“Sure we were vanished,” Dustin said. “We couldn’t let that stuff lie around there like that. We took it out and sold it. What did Faulkner want?”
“Maybe you haven’t heard. Do you know who this Jim Webster is?”
“I know a lot about him. He’s a mighty tough hombre, and a smart one.”
“Do you know who he’s working for?”
“Sure. He’s working for Jim Webster, and nobody else. Right now he’s working along with me and Faulkner, but he’s not fooling me. He’s working for himself, and himself alone.”
“Oh, no, he’s not working for himself alone. He’s working for Eric Swanson.”
Lester stopped, allowing his important announcement to sink in.
Dustin snapped, “What?” Then after a minute, he added, “You’re crazy! He’s as crooked as a snake.”
Lester was enjoying his hour of importance, and he said, “That is what you think! That was what Faulkner thought. But now we know different.”
“What do you know? Don’t talk in riddles. Say what’s on your mind.”
Something inside Dustin was boiling; a feeling that the world was crumbling around him keyed his nerves up to the breaking point.
“You know that Asa Cromwell owes Faulkner a lot of money. Well, maybe you didn’t know that. Hardly anybody knew it except them and myself. Well, Cromwell had some information that he thought Faulkner would pay well for, and so he and Faulkner made a deal. He told Faulkner what he knew. And it was terrible—absolutely terrible.”
“What was it? Get on with your story.”
“Well, it seems that this Webster is a professional trouble buster from down in Texas, who Swanson sent for to find out what was happening to his cattle and all the other stuff that has been missing around these parts. This Webster’s way of doing it was to work his way into Faulkner’s confidence, to join up with us by proving to Faulkner that he was tougher than anybody else Faulkner had working for him. He has reported every move he made to Swanson. Swanson has an affidavit, the guns those officers were killed with, and everything. The affidavit tells—”
“I know what the affidavit tells,” Dustin snapped. “He showed it to me. But how do you know Swanson has the other copy now?”
“Swanson hasn’t got it now. Cromwell was supposed to put it into a safety deposit box in the bank for Swanson but, instead, he just put some blank papers in the envelope and sealed them. He gave the real affidavit to Faulkner to cancel his debt.”
Dustin studied this piece of news, and the possibilities it offered gave him a new hope. The danger that the duplicate affidavit might come to light if Webster died no longer existed. Webster could be killed, his own copy of the affidavit removed from his person, and that would destroy every scrap of evidence against him and Faulkner.
And he would again be the boss of the ranch.
The only thing standing against him and Faulkner would be the rifles and the dummy shells.
“That affidavit mentioned a couple of rifles and some shells,” he said to the old man. “Do you know what happened to them?”
“Cromwell said that Swanson had them hidden at the home of Mrs. Halsell. That’s where Swanson and Webster met to talk things over. For one thing, Faulkner wanted you to get those guns. He told me that if you showed up, you was to get them.”
“How does he think I can get them?”
“That’s up to you, he said. You’re sweet on that Swanson girl, and you visit at Mrs. Halsell’s. He said for you to get those guns.”
“Hell, I can’t just go in and rob the house.”
“He said you’d better get them; he didn’t care how you got them, but that you had to get them.”
“Why don’t he get them? He’s the one that sold them, and he’s the one they’ll hang.”
“He’s got other business right now.”
“What?”
“Something else be blames you for. Swanson got orders from the commission men in Kansas City, I reckon, for a lot of stock. He made up a shipment of five hundred head, and started driving them up to the railroad at McAlester. Faulkner wanted those cattle, and there wasn’t any of you boys around to take them. He had to get another crew, and he had to go out and boss the job himself. He’s as mad as a hornet.”
“Who’s he having get them for him?”
“Cloyd Martin and his crew. Who else could he round up to do the job. And Martin tried to back out; too dangerous. But Faulkner forced him to do it. Had too much on him. They’re going to drive them to the ranch. They ought to have got through with the job by now. And Faulkner wants you up there as soon as you get those guns back.”
“I never heard of him spreading himself so.”
“He had to. Things are so hot, he had to take things in his own hands. There’s too much to do; get rid of Webster, get those rifles and ammunition back, get back that stock—I suppose Webster engineered the selling of that stock, didn’t he?”
Dustin said, “Yeah. It was his idea.”
“So I suppose he kept all the money?”
Now Dustin saw why Webster had made excuses to keep the money, and to hide it. Webster had never intended to turn it over to Faulkner. And in that case—Dustin knew then where that money was. Webster had been using Mrs. Halsell’s house for headquarters. That was where he would be taking the money for safekeeping.
Now Dustin got rid of the old bookkeeper. “All right,” he said. “I’ll get busy. If Faulkner comes back looking for me, tell him that I’ll fix everything up. I’ll get the guns, and I’ll probably get a chance to take care of Webster as well. I’ll see you later.”
Dustin left the old bookkeeper and walked back toward town with his mind in a turmoil. He was at the crossroads now, and he had to make a quick choice.
He could follow Faulkner’s orders and perhaps they could get things straightened out, retrieve the incriminating guns and shells and get the money back to be divided between them, and pick up where he left off when Webster appeared on the scene.
Or he could go to Mrs. Halsell’s and get that money and keep it all for himself. It would cost him the girl, but here was the chance he had been looking for. He
could get out of the country with all that money, and leave Faulkner here to face the music.
He stopped off at the saloon and poured four stiff drinks down in rapid succession. Then he tightened up his belt and walked down toward Mrs. Halsell’s.
* * * *
When Dustin left Webster at the livery stable on their arrival in Woodbine, Jim Webster took his pair of saddlebags off his saddle and struck out afoot. He disappeared into a clump of brush in a vacant lot and waited long enough to be sure that he was not being followed. Then he emerged and made his way through the darkness to Mrs. Halsell’s house, and knocked.
When she admitted him he saw the look of surprise on her face, and when that look had subsided, it was replaced by a look of worry as she quickly closed the door behind him and took him into the living room. He sensed trouble, for she was a woman of cheerful disposition.
He dropped his saddlebags on the center table and laid his hat beside them. She had seated herself, and now she nodded to a chair, waiting for him to speak.
“Mrs. Halsell,” Jim said. “I’ve been liquidating the thieves’ loot. Some of the cattle belonged to Swanson, and I’ve got a list of all the brands and the number of cattle of each brand that I found up there. As to the merchandise, it is listed, but there’s no way to identify ownership of it. We also have the signatures of the men who were buying it, signed right on bills for the goods itself.
“The money for the stock and merchandise is in those saddlebags. I’d like to turn it over to Swanson for safekeeping. And I suppose the next step now is to round up the men. I asked Swanson to get me some men when I needed them, and I’ll be needing them now.”
Mrs. Halsell asked, “You haven’t seen anybody, Dick or Eric?”
“No. I just got in.” He sensed her agitation. “Something happened?”
“A great deal,” she smiled ruefully. “You sent Dick in to get Eric to find out about your affidavit.”
The Fifth Western Novel Page 38