The B. M. Bower Megapack

by B. M. Bower

  “My Lord! Think of grown men—officers of the law at that—being simple-minded enough to come fogging out here to me, instead of getting on the trail of the men that were seen on the spot! You say they came in a machine to the bank and you never so much as tried to trace it, or to get the license number even, I’ll bet a month’s salary you didn’t! It was a moving-picture stall, and so you come blundering out here to the only picture company in the country, thinking, by gravy, that it was all straight goods—oh, can you beat that for a boob?” He shook back his heavy mane of gray hair and turned to his boys disgustedly.

  “Pete and Tommy, you can drive the wagon back all right, can’t you? We’ll go on ahead and see what there is at the bottom of this yarn.”

  CHAPTER X

  DEPUTIES ALL

  At the ranch, whither they rode in haste, Luck meant to leave his boys and go on with the sheriff to town. But the Happy Family flatly refused to be left behind. Even old Aleck Douglas—whom years and trouble had enfeebled until his very presence here with Jean and Lite was a health-seeking mission in the wonderful air of New Mexico—even old Aleck Douglas stamped his foot at Jean and declared that he was going, along to see that “the boy” got a square deal. There wouldn’t be any railroading Luck to the pew for something he didn’t do, he asserted with a tragic meaning that wrung the heart of Jean. It took Lite’s arguments and Luck’s optimism and, finally, the assurance of the sheriff that Luck was not under arrest and was in no danger of it, to keep the old man at the ranch. Also, they promised to return with all speed and not to keep supper waiting, before the two women were satisfied to let them go.

  “Oh, Luck Lindsay,” Rosemary bethought her to announce just as they were leaving, “you better keep an eye out for Annie, while you’re in town. She’s gone—and the dog and all her clothes and everything. Maybe she took the train back to the reservation. I just wanted you to know, so if you feel you ought to bother—”

  “Annie gone?” Even in his preoccupation the mews came with a stab. “When did she go?”

  “We don’t know. She set up an awful yowling when you boys went to work. And the dog commenced howling, till it was simply awful. So we rode in to town after the mail, and when we came back she was gone, bag and baggage. We didn’t see anything of her on the trail, but she could dodge us if she wanted to—she’s Injun enough for that.”

  So Luck carried a double load of anxiety with him to town, and the first thing he did when he reached it was to seek, not the beaten cashier who had accused him, but the ticket agent at the depot, and the baggage men—anyone who would be apt to remember Annie-Many-Ponies if she took a train out of town.

  You might think that, with so many Indians coming and going at the depot, selling their wares and making picturesque setting for the curios which are purveyed there, that Luck stood a very slight chance of gaining any information whatever. But a Sioux squaw in Albuquerque would be as noticeable as a Hindoo. Pueblos, Navajos—they may come and go unnoticed because of their numbers. But an Indian of another tribe and style of dress would be conspicuous enough to be remembered. So, when no one remembered seeing Annie-Many-Ponies, Luck dismissed the conjecture that she had taken the train, and turned his attention to picking up the trail of the bank-robbers.

  Here the Happy Family, with Applehead and Lite Avery, had managed to accomplish a good deal in a very short time. The Native Son, for instance, had ridden straight out from the bank into the Mexican quarter, as soon as he learned that the red automobile had gone up Silver Street and turned south on Fourth. By the time Luck reached the bank Miguel came loping back with the news that the red machine had crossed the lower bridge and had turned up toward Atrisco, that little Mexican hamlet which lies between the river and the bluffs where the white sand of the desert spills over into the nearest corrals and little pastures.

  The others had learned definitely that Bill Holmes had manipulated the fake camera while the bank was being robbed, and that the man with him, who bad also driven the machine, was a certain chauffeur of colorless personality and an unsavory reputation among other drivers; and that the number of the automobile was a matter of conjecture, since three different men who were positive they remembered it gave three different numbers.

  In company with the sheriff they called upon the cashier, who was in bed with his head bandaged and his nerves very much unstrung. He was much calmer, however, than when he had hysterically accused Luck of betraying him into putting the money out to be stolen. He admitted now that he was not at all sure of the voice which talked with him over the phone; indeed, now when he heard luck speak, he felt extremely doubtful of the similarity of that other voice. He protested against being blamed for being too confiding. He had never dreamed, he said, that anyone could be so bold as to plan a thing like that. It all sounded straight, about the spoiled negative and so forth. He was very sorry that he had caused Luck Lindsay any inconvenience or annoyance, and he begged Luck’s pardon several times in the course of his explanation of the details.

  They left him still protesting and apologizing and explaining and touching his bandaged head with self-pitying tenderness. In the street Luck turned to the sheriff as though his mind was made up to something which argument could not alter in the slightest degree.

  “I realize that in a way I’m partly responsible for this,” he said crisply. “The scenes I took the other day made this play possible for Ramon and his bunch. What you’d better do right now is to swear Applehead and me in as deputies—and any of the boys that want to come along and help round up that bunch. We’ll do it, if it’s to be done at all. I feel I kind of owe it to that poor simp in there to get the money back—sabe? And I owe it to myself to bring in Ramon and Bill Holmes, and whoever else is with ’em on this; young Rojas we know is for one.”

  “Where do you aim to look for ’em, if you don’t mind telling?” Hank Miller was staring doubtfully down at Luck.

  “Where? Miguel here says they went toward Atrisco. That means they’re hitting for the Navajo reservation. There’s three hundred miles of country straight west, and not so much as a telegraph pole! Mighty few service stations for the machine, too, when you think of it—and rough country to travel over. If they try to go by automobile, we’ll overhaul them, most likely, before they get far. Also, we can trace ’em easy enough.”

  The sheriff pulled at his stubby mustache and looked the bunch over. “You know that country?” he asked, still doubtfully. “Them Navvies are plumb snaky, lemme tell yuh. Ain’t like the Pueblos—you’re taking a risk when yuh ride into the Navvy country. They’ll get yuh if they get a chancet; run off your horses, head yuh away from water—they’re plumb mean!”

  “Well, now, I calc’late I know them Navvies putty tol’ble well,” Applehead cut in. “I’ve fit ’em comin’ and goin’. Why, my shucks! Ef I notched my gun for the Navvies I’ve got off an’ on in the course uh my travels, she’d shore look like a saw-blade, now I’m tellin’ yuh!”

  “Yes, an’ yuh got a couple too many fer to go monkeyin’ around on their groun’ agin,” the sheriff informed him bluntly. “They ain’t forgot the trip you made over there after Jose Martinez. Best fer you to keep off’n that reservation, Applehead—and I’m speakin’ as a friend.”

  “As a friend you kin shet up,” Applehead retorted pettishly. “Ef Luck hits fer the Navvy country after them skunks, I calc’late ole Applehead’ll be somers close handy by—”

  “Hurry up and swear us in,” Luck interrupted. “We’ve got to get to the ranch and back with an outfit, yet tonight, so we can hit the trail as soon as possible. No use for you to take the oath, Andy—what you better do is to stay at the ranch with the women folks.”

  “Aleck will be there, and Pete and Tommy and the cook,” Andy rebelled instantly. His hand went up to take the oath with the others.

  There on the corner of the street where the shadows lay under a gently whispering box-elder tree, Hank Miller faced the group that stood with right hands uplifted and swore them
as he had sworn—with the oath that made deputy sheriffs of them all. He told them that while he did not believe the thieves had gone to the reservation, and would look for them elsewhere, the idea was worth acting upon—seeing they wanted to do it anyway; and that the sheriff’s office stood ready to assist them in any way possible. He wished them luck and hurried away, evidently much relieved to get away and out of an uncomfortable position.

  In the next two hours Luck managed to accomplish a good deal, which was one of the reasons why he was manager and director of the Flying U Feature Films. Just for example, he went to a friend who was also something of a detective, and put him on the job of find Annie-Many-Ponies—a bigger task than it looked to Luck, as we have occasion to know. He sent some of the boys back to the ranch in a machine, and told them just what to bring back with them in the way of rifles, bedding rolls, extra horses and so on. The horses they had ridden into town he had housed in a livery stable. He took the Native Son and a Mexican driver and went over to Atrisco, routed perfectly polite and terribly sleepy individuals out of their beds and learned beyond all question that a red automobile with several men in it had passed through the dusty lanes and had labored up the hill to the desert mesa beyond and that no one had seen it return.

  He sent a hundred-and-fifty-word message to Dewitt of the Great Western Company in Los Angeles, explaining with perfect frankness the situation and his determination to get out after the robbers, and made it plain also that he would not expect salary for the time he spent in the chase. He ended by saying tersely, “My reputation and standing of company here at stake,” and signed his name in a hasty scrawl that made the operator scratch his ear reflectively with his pencil when he had counted the words down to the signature. After that, Luck gave every ounce of his energy and every bit of his brain to the outfitting of the expedition.

  So well did he accomplish the task that by one O’clock that night a low-voiced company of men rode away from a livery stable in the heart of the town, leading four pack-horses and heading as straight as might be for the bridge. They met no one; they saw scarcely a light in any of the windows that they passed. A chill wind crept up the river so that they buttoned their coats when the hoofbeats of the horses sounded hollow on the bridge. Out through the lane that leads to Atrisco, which slept in the stolid blackness of low adobe houses with flat roofs and tiny windows, they rode at a trot. Dogs barked, ran but to the road and barked again, ran back to the adobe huts and kept on barking. In one field some loose horses, seeing so many of their kind in the lane, galloped up to the fence and stood there snorting. These were still in their colthood, however, and the saddle-horses merely flicked ears in their direction and gave them no more heed.

  “I’m glad you’re sure of the country, up here on top,” Luck said to Applehead when they had climbed, by the twisting, sandy trail, to the sand dunes that lay on the edge of the mesa and stretched vaguely away under the stars. To the rim-rook line that separated this first mesa from the higher one beyond, Luck himself knew the sand-hills well. But beyond the broken line of hills off to the northwest he had never gone—and there lay the territory that belongs to the Navajos, who are a tricky tribe and do not love the white people who buy their rugs and blankets and, so claim the Navajos, steal their cattle and their horses as well.

  At the rim of lava rock they made a dry camp and lay down in what comfort they could achieve, to doze and wait for daylight so that they could pick up the trail of the red automobile.

  THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX (Part 2)

  CHAPTER XI

  ALL THIS WAR-TALK ABOUT INJUNS

  Over his second cup of coffee the pale eyes of Big Medicine goggled thoughtfully at the forbidding wall of lava rock that stretched before them as far as he could see to left or right. There were places here and there where he believed that a man could climb to the top with the aid of his hands as well as his feet, but for the horses he was extremely skeptical; and as for a certain big red automobile.… His eyes swung from the brown rampart and rested grievedly upon the impassive face of Luck, who was just then reaching forward to spear another slice of bacon from the frying pan.

  “Kinda looks to me, by cripes, as if we’d come to the end uh the trail,” he observed in his usual full-lunged bellow, as though he had all his life been accustomed to pitching his voice above some unending clamor. “Yuh got any idee of how an autymobile clumb that there rim-rock?”

  Old Applehead, squatting on his heels across the little camp-fire, leaned and picked a coal out of the ashes for his pipe and afterwards cocked his eyes toward Big Medicine.

  “What yuh calc’late yuh tryin’ to do?” he inquired pettishly. “Start up an argyment uh some kind? Cause if ye air, lemme tell yuh I got the yer-ache from listenin’ to you las’ night.”

  Big Medicine looked at him as though he was going to spring upon him in deadly combat—but that was only a peculiar facial trick of his. What he did do was to pour that last swallow of hot, black coffee down his throat and then laugh his big haw-haw-haw that could be heard half a mile off.

  “Y’ oughta kep Applehead to home with the wimmin folks, Luck,” he bawled unabashed. “Night air’s bad fer ’im, and the trail ain’t goin’ to be smooth goin’,—not if we gotta ride our hawses straight up, by cripes!”

  “We haven’t got to.” Luck balanced his slice of bacon upon the unscorched side of a bannock and glanced indifferently at the rim of rock that was worrying the other. “I swung down here to make camp off the trail But it’s only a half mile or so over this rise that looks level to you, to where the lava ledge peters out so we can ride over it easier than we rode up off the river-flat in that loose sand. That ease your mind any?”

  “Helps some,” Big Medicine admitted, his eyes going speculatively to the rise that looked perfectly level. “I’m willin’ to take your word fer it, boss. But what’s gittin’ to worry me, by cripes, is all this here war-talk about Injuns. Honest to grandma, I feel like as if I’d been readin’—”

  “Aw, it’s jest a josh, Bud!” Happy Jack asserted boredly. “I betche there ain’t been a Injun on the fight here sence hell was a tradin’ post!”

  “You think there hasn’t?” Luck looked up quickly to ask. But old Applehead rose up and shook an indignant finger at Happy Jack.

  “There ain’t, hey? Well, I calc’late that fer a josh, them thar Navvies has got a right keen sense uh humor, and I’ve knowed men to laff theirselves to death on their danged resavation—now I’m tellin’ yuh I It was all a josh mebby, when they riz up a year or two back ’cause one uh their tribe was goin’ t’ be arrested er some darn thing! Ole General Scott, he didn’t call it no joke when he, went in thar to settle ’em down, did he? I calc’late, mebby it was jest fer a josh them troops waited on the aidge, ready to go in if he didn’t git back a certain time! ’N’ that wasn’t so fur back, shorely,—only two years. Why dang your fool heart, I’ve laid out there in them hills myself and fit off the Navvies—’n’ I didn’t see nothin’ much to laugh at, now I’m tellin’ yuh! Time I went there after Jose Martinez—”

  “Better get under way, boys,” Luck interrupted, having heard many times the details of that fight and capture. “We’ll throw out a circle and pick up the trail of that machine, or whatever they made their getaway in. My idea is that they must have stached some horses out here somewhere. I don’t believe they’d take the risk of trying to get away in a machine; that would hold them to the main trails, mostly. I know it wouldn’t be my way of getting outa reach. I’d want horses so I could get into rough country, and I’ve doped it out that Ramon is too trail-wise to bank very high on an automobile once he got out away from town. Applehead, you and Lite and Pink and Weary form one party if it comes to where we want to divide forces. Pack a complete camp outfit on the sorrel and the black—you notice that’s the way I had ’em packed first. Keep their packs just as we started out, then you’ll be ready to strike out by yourselves whenever it seems best. Get me?”

  “We get you, boss,”
Weary sang out cheerfully, and went to work gathering up the breakfast things and putting them into two little piles for the packs. Pink led up the black and the sorrel, and helped to pack them with bedding and supplies for four, as Luck had ordered, while Lite and Applehead saddled their horses and then came up to help throw the diamond hitches on the packs.

  A couple of rods nearer the rock wall Happy Jack was grumbling, across the canvas pack of a little bay, at Big Medicine, who was warning him against leaving his hair so long as a direct temptation to scalp-lifting. Luck bad already mounted and ridden out a little way, where he could view the country behind them with his field glasses, to make sure that in the darkness they had not passed by anything that deserved a closer inspection. He came back at a lope and motioned to Andy and the Native Son.

  “That red automobile is standing back about half a mile,” he announced hurriedly. “Empty and deserted, looks like. We’ll go back and take a look at it. The rest of you can finish packing and wait here till we come back. No use making extra travel for your horses. They’ll get all they need, the chances are.”

  The red automobile was empty of everything but the upholstering and a jack in the toolbox. The state license number was gone, and the serial number on the engine had been hammered into illegibility. What tracks there were had been blown nearly full of the white sand of that particular locality There was nothing to be learned there, except the very patent fact that the machine bad been abandoned for some reason. Luck took a look at the engine and saw nothing wrong with it. There was oil and there was “gas”—a whole tank full. Andy and Miguel, riding an ever-widening circle around the machine while Luck was looking for evidence of a breakdown, ran across a lot of hoofprints that seemed to head straight away past the rim-rock and on to the hills.