"My fellas would do a better job than that, an' wouldn't leave the cattle where you could find 'em till the wounds were healed," he pointed out. "I'd say someone is doin' this to throw suspicion on the Dumb-bell, an' cover their own tracks."
"If you'd said that right off we might 'a' believed you," was Owen's comment. "If you ain't liftin' the cattle, I'll bet a blue stack yo're buyin' 'em. It wouldn't be the first rotten trick you've turned, you--jail-bird." Sark's face became livid. Dumb with rage, he made a movement towards his gun.
"I--just--wouldn't," the marshal said.
Simple as the words were, they carried a threat which penetrated the mind of the half-demented man. His hand stopped, and then, with a furious wave of dismissal, he turned and walked back to his ranch-house. Owen had a parting shaft:
"We're leavin' the cow you paid for." No response coming, they rode unhurriedly away. For a while neither spoke; the marshal was the first to break the silence.
"Has he really been a guest o' Uncle Sam?"
"Yeah, it ain't generally knowed, but he got two years in the pen; that finished him with Amos."
"Yet he leaves him practically all his property. Odd, ain't it?"
"So damned odd I can't believe it, but the will seemed straight enough. O' course, Amos was queer in some ways, but he thought a lot o' Mary." Another silence ensued, and then the rancher remarked, "Well, I got troubles o' my own. What am I to. do 'bout this brand-blottin'?"
"Yu can't move till yu know for shore," Sudden told him. "It might be a frame-up like he claims."
"I'll stake my life he's mixed up in it," Owen said stubbornly. "They steal, an' he buys--cheap; that's my guess."
"Yu may be right," Sudden agreed. "I was watchin' him close an' he didn't seem so surprised as he oughta been, but we gotta have proof. It'll mean waitin', but we'll get it. I'm beginnin' to feel a whole lot interested in Mister Sark."
Chapter XII
SEVERAL days had passed, and Sudden was again at the Silver Mane, watching the sheet of water sweep over The Step, to drop, with a continuous boom, into the stream beneath and go dancing and eddying away between the willow-lined banks.
He waded through the water and rode to the other side. Dense masses of evergreen masked the sides of the fall, but pushing into these he found a narrow space between them and the wall of rock. Following this, he came to a ledge of stone some three feet in width, directly under the Silver Mane, and there, completely concealed, was what appeared to be the entrance to a cavern. Though it was high enough to admit a horseman, he decided to explore on foot.
As he had expected, the opening led into the bowels ofThe Step itself. By the light which came, as from a window, through the sheet of water, he could see innumerable hoof-marks, both of horses and cattle. So this was how Pockmark's companion had got clear.
The tunnel sloped slightly upwards, and from the roughness of the walls it was evident that man had no hand in the making of it. As the faint light from the entrance failed he found that the passage veered to the left, and since it soon became entirely dark, he had to feel his way. He had covered something more than two hundred paces when a voice came to him, reverberating weirdly through the gloom.
"I'll see you," it said, and a curse followed. "Damn it, two-handed poker never was no good to me." Sudden went on, but more warily, until, groping round a bend, he saw that which sent him swiftly behind a projecting spur of rock--a fire, and beside it, two men playing cards on a spread blanket. The leaping flames showed that here the tunnel gave upon a large and lofty cave, the full extent of which he was unable to determine; on the far side, through an irregular opening, he could see daylight.
The gamblers were conversing in low tones, and the marshal was considering an attempt to get near enough to overhear when an indefinite sound of movement from behind arrested him. Ere he could even turn, a heavy body dropped on his back and sent him sprawling. At the same moment, steel-like claws gripped his throat and strove to choke him. Spread-eagled on the ground, his face forced into the sand, and pinned down by the panting burden above him, he was well-nigh helpless; but not quite. Arching his spine, he bucked violently in a desperate effort to throw off the weight which was crushing the breath from his body. He came near enough success to draw speech from his assailant:
"Hi, fellas, come an' give a hand." The card-players rushed over and flung themselves on the struggling pair just as Sudden had again almost unseated his rider. But those digging fingers on his wind-pipe were sapping his strength, and the reinforcement rendered resistance futile. He drove a heel into the midriff of one newcomer, to send him down, groaning and gasping, but that was all; a few more hectic moments, and his wrists were tied behind his back. The two who had done this stood up, breathing hard; it had been no picnic.
"That's that," one of them said.
The prisoner's guns were removed and he was hustled to the fire. As they entered the circle of light, the one who had spoken before emitted a whistle of astonishment.
"The marshal, by thunder ! If we'd knowed you were payin' us a visit, the welcome would 'a' bin warmer."
"I ain't complainin'," Sudden replied. He remembered the man, Galt, who had left Welcome with Mullins; the third he did not know. He sat down. "Nice place yu got here," he remarked casually.
"Yeah," Pock-mark snarled. "an' as we aim to keep it to ourselves, yore findin' it may be awkward--for you." *
"I'll have to talk that over with Jake," Sudden said coolly.
"Shore you will. Better fetch him, Pocky--he's at the corral," the third man said, and was promptly cursed by the others. "Hell, what's the odds? Dead men don't squeak." They wrangled for a few moments and then the pitted ruffian departed, grumbling. The remaining couple squatted one on either side of the captive. Galt picked up Sudden's guns and examined them.
"Thought you was a killer," he remarked. "There ain't a notch on 'em."
"They're kind o' new," the marshal said gravely. "My old ones was so carved up that there warn't sca'cely any wood left, an' it spoilt the balance; I was shootin' fellas through the eyes 'stead of atween 'em. Not that I had any complaints, but I like to do a neat job." The rustlers received this boastful bit of imagination with hard grins and the conversation languished. This was not tothe marshal's liking. He was testing the bonds on his wrists; the rope was thick for the purpose, and not tied in the manner of an expert cowman. He could feel the knots give a little, and with the loss of some skin, there was a chance of freeing himself. But he must have time, and keep their attention occupied.
"Ever travelled in Texas?" he asked, and when both shook their heads, "Fine country, but too many law-officers an' coyotes." The speaker paused, but his hands went on working; the knots were slackening.
"Is there any difference?" Galt asked.
"On'y in the number o' legs," Sudden agreed pleasantly. His hands were nearly free; if he could hold their attention another moment.
Galt guffawed. "That's a good one."
"An' here's a better," the marshal added.
With the words his right fist swung round and landed with venomous precision on the rustler's chin, stretching him senseless; one leap put the prisoner in possession of his weapons, and before the other man could recover from the paralysing swiftness of the attack, a crashing blow from the butt of a gun tumbled him by the side of his companion. The murmur of voices outside warned Sudden that he had no time to lose, and gaining the tunnel, he dashed down it at the risk of breaking a limb. Reaching the outlet safely, he found his horse, and set out for the Bar O. He had not gone far, however, when the unwitting reference to a corral recurred to him. It would not be for the horses--they would want those handy, and Pocky had been quite a while fetching Jake.
"They'll flit now their hide-out is discovered," he reasoned. "An' mebbe try to take some stock along. If I can find the other entrance to that cave . . ."
"Yi-i-i-i-i-i-ip ! " The shrill call advented the approach of a racing pony which slid to a stop by the marshal's side. The r
ider straightened up and disclosed the cheerful features of the Bar O foreman.
"Found any rustlers?" was his greeting.
"Yeah, like to see some? If yu got nothin' to do ..."
"Me? I just come out for a ride."
"Is there a gully runnin' at right angles to The Step and just south o' the fall?" asked Sudden.
"Yu mean Dark Canyon--one hell of a place. There's no way out this end, an' don't I know it? Tried her for a short cut once; I was wrong."
"I expect yu didn't look careful," was all the sympathy he got.
Reaching the place, they dismounted and crept through the thick brush which fringed the edges of the gully. There was no sign of life, save birds.
"We're outa luck," he said. "Let's try further along." They pushed their way to another position some fifty yards distant, and were duly rewarded; in an open patch below stood a group of saddled ponies, two of which carried packs. Then, from behind a dark mass of undergrowth, men appeared, eight of them, mounted and set out.
"Why, there's Jake," Reddy whispered excitedly.
"Shore it is, an' we gotta follow. Fetch the hosses." For about a mile they kept pace with the riders, of whom they got only occasional glimpses. This brought them to a spot where the walls of the gully flattened out a little as it mounted towards the level of the surrounding country, and here was a grassy hollow, hedged in by thorn bushes, with a pool of water at one side. The entrance to this was closed with a crude gate of trimmed sapling trunks; inside the corral a score of cattle grazed peacefully.
"What we goin' to do?" Reddy asked, as they watched Mullins and his men ride up, and two of them jump down to remove the barrier.
"Scare 'em off," Sudden replied. "When yu've fired, break ground quick an' let 'em have another, pronto; they'll figure there's a lot of us." One after the other, they pulled trigger, and without waiting to see the result, ran a few yards right and left to repeat the process. The unexpected attack from unseen assailants caused something approaching a panic among the rustlers. The pair on foot dropped the pole they were lifting and jumped for their mounts; one of the riders cursed and grabbed his left arm; another reeled, but kept his seat in the saddle; a pack-animal squealed and kicked, dragging on its lead-rope. The fusillade from above continued and some of those below made an attempt to retaliate, firing at the smoke, but their leader soon saw the hopelessness of their position; they were just targets.
"It's no use, boys," he shouted. "Leave the cows an' git goin'." He set the example by spurring his horse for the mouth of the gully, and the rest followed. The marshal watched them.
"They're headin' north--for the hills," he said.
"One ain't," Reddy corrected, as a rider separated from the others and turned west. "Now what's that mean?"
"At a guess, I'd say Jake is visitin' the Dumb-bell." They rode to the end of the gully, and turning in, arrived at the corral. The remains of a fire, a straight iron lying beside it, betrayed the purpose to which the place had been put. The steers were Bar O three-year-olds, and on four of them the brand had been clumsily changed to the Dumbbell. Reddy snorted with disgust.
"Shore looks like yo're right about Sark," he said. "Jake ain't the sort to be makin' presents." Having rounded up the cattle, they commenced the task of driving them to the Bar O.
When, in due course, they drew rein at the ranch-house, Owen himself welcomed them with a whoop, inspected the recovered stock, frowned at the altered brands, and then dragged the two men indoors, eager to hear all about it. When Sudden told of the tunnel behind the Silver Mane, the eyes of both his listeners went wide.
"I warn't smart enough to remember that others might be usin' the tunnel," the marshal said ruefully, and related his capture and escape. "Then I met Reddy, an' the rest was easy," he finished.
"You done noble," Owen said warmly. "Wonder where they've gone?"
"They'll leave a trail."
"Not in the hill country they won't," the foreman stated.
The marshal's eyes twinkled. "One o' them pack-hosses had a sack o' meal across its rump," he said. "I put a bullet into it." The cattleman slapped his knee. "you think of every-thin', you durned ol'--methodis'," he grinned.
Chapter XIII
WELCOME lay sweltering in the midday sun. The marshal, his deputy, and factotum, draped over the only three chairs in the office, were smoking and sweating in silent discomfort.
"It's a nice day to go for a ride," Sudden remarked, after a while.
"It's a nicer day not to," Dave contradicted.
"Sloppy, wasn't yu around when Amos Sark was bumped?" Sudden went on.
The little man, who had been half-asleep, became swiftly awake. His expression was one almost of alarm, but he answered without hesitation.
"Yeah, I was livin' at Drywash."
"yu know where it happened?"
"The fella what--found him, pointed it out to me."
"I'd like to see it."
"Why, it took place over a year ago; what yu expect to find?"
"Oh, I'm curious."
"Curious is puttin' it mild--yo're a freak," Dave rejoined. They passed a side trail which would have taken them to the Dumb-bell ranch, and about a mile further on, Sloppy halted. "Here she is," he said.
In the bright sunlight it was difficult to conceive that there a man could be foully done to death, and yet the spot possessed the one necessary adjunct. The road, deep-rutted, was open, save for scattered trees, but on one side a solitary cluster of low bushes offered safe cover for a lurking assassin. Ten yards away was a young birch, and to this Sloppy pointed.
"Amos was lyin' there, on his face, arms spread; they figured he'd went over the hoss's head," he informed. "His money was missin'."
"So it might 'a' been robbery?"
"Yeah," Sloppy agreed, but his tone was not very convincing. "The track o' the slug showed he was shot from behind." The marshal dismounted and walked to the bushes. They were close-growing, but at the back was an opening where a man could stand and command a view of *_he road in both directions. With the barrel of a pistol he poked about in the rubble of lead leaves and coarse grass which obscured the roots of the shrubs. Presently he heard the unmistakable clink of metal against metal. The find proved to be a small, brass tobacco-box, dull and discoloured by exposure to the elements. It was empty, but on the lid inside, rudely scratched, were the letters E.K. Returning, he showed it to his companions.
"Remember anyone with those initials?" he asked Sloppy, and got a shake of the head for answer. "Then it don't help us any."
"Plenty people use this road," Dave said. "One of 'em could 'a' throwed it there."
"That's so," Sudden agreed, and slipped the box into a pocket. "Sloppy, d'yu know much about that law-sharp yu mentioned to me?"
"Slimy? Not enough to hang him--more's the pity."
"What's he done to yu?"
"Nothin'--I ain't anythin' to lose, so I'm safe from his kind."
"I'm beginnin' to suspect yu don't like the fella," Sudden said. "Amos Sark trusted him."
" `Used' is a better word," Sloppy retorted. "By all accounts, Amos could smell a skunk, two-legged or four."
"He let him make his will," the marshal persisted.
"I'm lettin' this hoss carry me, but I ain't trustin' him," the little man said, with a wry smile.
Nippert examined the brass box and shook his head. "Funny findin' it where you did, but it don't prove a thing," he said. "Yo're a clever guy, Jim, but the shootin' o' Amos Sark is goin' to be one too many for you."
"Dessay yo're right," Sudden rejoined. "I did hope them letters would give me a line. What sort of a burg is Dry-wash?"
"A lot bigger'n Welcome, an' as tough as a rawhide," was the reply. "They got a sheriff there--Blick--but Jesse Sark owns him, like he would the marshal here if you hadn't come along. You'll on'y be wastin' yore time there."
"I guess I'll look the place over," Sudden said carelessly.
So, in the morning, he set out. Curiosity was the excu
se he gave his friends, but the real incentive was the possibility of unearthing information about the murder, in which the discovery of the tobacco-box had stimulated his interest. Amos must have had friends and probably enemies, there.
He had compassed about half the journey when, having crossed an arid area and entered the welcome shade of a small forest, he turned in his saddle just as a rider appeared on the other verge of the plain.
Concealed in the undergrowth, he waited, but when the rider at length arrived, jogging steadily along, it was Sudden who got the surprise, for the traveller proved to be Jesse Sark.
"What's his errand in Drywash?" he asked himself. "Mebbe I can find out." The leisurely pace enabled him to keep his quarry in sight without discovery, for the rancher rode with hunched shoulders, apparently deep in thought, and devoid of interest for what might be behind him. When they entered the town, it became more difficult, for though--as Nippert had said--it was a big place, it consisted of the inevitable one long street. Keeping in the rear of a loaded freight-wagon, Sudden contrived to trail his man to the Drywash Hotel. Here Sark dismounted and went in.
The marshal waited a while, and then--having ascertained that the bar was empty--followed. He ordered a drink and invited the shirt-sleeved dispenser of liquor to join him. Almost immediately a short, wizened, grey-haired man with a beak of a nose and lips so thin that they made a mere line on his face, bustled in and said sharply :
"Is Sark here?"
"Shore, Mister Lyman, in No. 7."
"Now, ain't that too bad?" Sudden drawled, when the other had vanished up a stairway. "I reckon I'll need a room to-night, an' seven is my lucky number."
"He don't off'n stay--just uses it for a business powwow, I guess," the bar-tender said. "I'll keep it for you."
"But I'm wantin' that apartment straight away--I've been ridin' since dawn, an' I'm aimin' to snatch a snooze afore I start in to set this burg alight," was the peevish reply.
"No. 6 is next door, an' just as good a room. If I'm gamblin' I like to begin with a loss."
"Somethin' in that too," Sudden allowed. "I'll go up pronto. Shore I'll take my spurs off--I ain't no wild man from the woods." With a broad grin, he went up the staircase and reached a corridor with numbered doors along one side. Stepping lightly as a cat, he located the one he was looking for and slipped noiselessly in. As he had hoped, the partition wall was of board, and with his ear pressed against it, much of the conversation in the next room was audible. Lyman was speaking, and his reedy voice was strident.
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