CHAPTER 4. A BLUFF IS CALLED
Torpid lay Aravaipa in a coma of sunheat. Its adobe-lined streets baskedin the white glare of an Arizona spring at midday. One or two PapagoIndians, with their pottery wares, squatted in the shade of thebuildings, but otherwise the plaza was deserted. Not even a moving dogor a lounging peon lent life to the drowsy square. Silence profound andpeace eternal seemed to brood over the land.
Such was the impression borne in upon the young man riding townward ona wiry buckskin that had just topped the rise which commanded the valleybelow. The rider presented a striking enough appearance to take andhold the roving eye of any young woman in search of romance. He was aslender, lithe young Adonis of medium height. His hair and eyebrowsleft one doubtful whether to pronounce them black or brown, but the eyescalled for an immediate verdict of Irish blue. Every inch of him spokeof competency--promised mastership of any situation likely to arise.But when the last word is said it was the eyes that dominated thepersonality. They could run the whole gamut of emotions, or they couldbe impervious as a stone wall. Now they were deep and innocent as agirl's, now they rollicked with the buoyant youth in them. Comradesmight see them bubbling with fun, and the next moment enemies findthem opague as a leaden sky. Not the least wonder of them was that theylooked out from under long lashes, soft enough for any maiden, at aworld they appraised with the shrewdness of a veteran.
The young man drew rein above the valley, sitting his horse in the easy,negligent fashion of one that lives in the saddle. A thumb was hitchedcarelessly in the front pocket of his chaps, which pocket served also asa holster for the .45 that protruded.
Even in the moment that he sat there a change came over Aravaipa. As asummer shower sweeps across a lake so something had ruffled the town tosudden life. From stores and saloons men dribbled, converging toward acommon centre hurriedly.
"I reckon, Bucky, the band has begun to play," the rider told himselfaloud. "Mebbe we better move on down in time for the music."
But no half-expected revolver shots shattered the stillness, even thoughinterest did not abate.
"There's ce'tainly something doing at the Silver Dollar this gladmo'ning. Chinks, greasers, and several other kinds of citizens driftin'that way, not to mention white men. I expect there will be room for you,Bucky, if you hurry before the seats are all sold out."
He cantered down the plaza, swung from the saddle, threw the rein overthe pony's head to the ground, and jingled across the sidewalk into thegambling house. It was filled with a motley crowd of miners, vaqueros,tourists, cattlemen, Mexicans, Chinese, and a sample of the rest of theheterogeneous population of the Southwest. Behind this assemblagethe newcomer tiptoed in vain to catch a glimpse of the cause of theexcitement. Wherefore, he calmly removed an almond-eyed Oriental from achair on which he was standing, tipped the ex-Cantonese a half dollar,and appropriated the point of vantage himself.
There was a cleared space in the corner by the roulette table, and here,his chair tipped back against the wall and a glass of whisky in frontof him, sat a sufficiently strange specimen of humanity. He was a manof about fifty years, large boned and gaunt. Dressed in fringed buckskintrousers and a silver-laced Mexican sombrero, he affected the long hair,the sweeping mustache, and the ferocious aspect that are the customof the pseudo-Westerners who do business in the East with fake medicalremedies. Around his waist was a belt garnished with knives by thedozen. These were long and pointed, sharpened to a razor edge. One ofthem was in his hand poised for a throw at the instant Bucky mounted thechair and looked over the densely packed mass of heads in front of him.
The ranger's keen glance swept to the wall and took in the target. Aslim lad of about fifteen stood against it with his arms outstretched.Above and below each hand and on either side of the swelling throatknives quivered in the frame wall. There was a flash of steel, and theseventh knife sank into the wood so close to the crisp curls that a lockhung by a hair, almost completely severed by the blade. The boy chokedback a scream, his big brown eyes dilating with terror.
The bully sipped at his highball and deliberately selected anotherknife. To Bucky's swift inspection it was plain he had drunk too muchand that a very little slip might make an end of the boy. The fascinatedhorror in the lad's gaze showed that he realized his danger.
"Now, f'ler cit'zens, I will continue for your 'musement by puttin' nexttwo knives on right and lef' sides of his cheek. Observe, pleash, thatthese will land less than an inch from hish eyes. As the champion knifethrower in the universe I claim--"
What he claimed his audience had to guess, for at this instant anotherperson took a part in the act. Bucky had stepped lightly across theintervening space on the shoulders of the tightly packed crowd and haddropped as lightly to the ground in front of the astonished champion ofthe universe.
"I reckon you've about wore out that target. What's the matter withtrying a brand new one," drawled the ranger, his quiet, unwavering eyefixed on the bloated, mottled face of the imitation "bad man."
The bully, half seas over, leaned forward and gripped his knife. He wassober enough to catch the jeer running through the other's words withoutbeing sufficiently master of himself to appreciate the menace thatunderlay them.
"Wha's that? Say that again!" he burst out, purple to the collar line.He was not used to having beardless boys with long, soft eyelashesinterfering with his amusements, and a blind rage flooded his heart.
"I allowed that a change of targets would vary the entertainment, if youhaven't any objections, seh," the blue-eyed stranger explained mildly.
"Who is this kid?" demanded the bully, with a sweep of his arm towardthe intruder.
Nobody seemed to know, wherefore the ranger himself gave the informationmildly:
"Bucky O'Connor they call me."
A faint murmur of surprise soughed through the crowd, for Bucky O'Connorof the Arizona Rangers was by way of being a public hero just now onaccount of his capture of Fernendez, the stage robber. But the knifethrower had but lately arrived in the country. The youth carried withhim none of the earmarks of his trade, unless it might be that quiet,steady gaze that seemed to search the soul. His voice was soft anddrawling, his manner almost apologetic. In the smile that came and wentwas something sweet and sunny, in his bearing a gay charm that didnot advertise the recklessness that bubbled from his daredevil spirit.Surely here was an easy victim upon whom to vent his spleen, thought theother in his growing passion.
"You want to be my target, do you?" he demanded, tugging ferociously athis long mustache.
"If you please, seh."
The fellow swore a vile oath. "Just as you say. Line up beside the otherkid."
With three strides Bucky reached the wall, and turned.
"Let 'er go," his gentle voice murmured.
He was leaning back easily against the wall, his thumb hitchedcarelessly in the revolver pocket of his worn leather chaps. He lookedat ease, every jaunty inch of him, but a big bronzed cattleman who hadjust pushed his way in noticed that the frosty blue eyes never releasedfor an instant those of the enemy.
The bully at the table passed an uncertain hand over his face to clearhis blurred vision, poised the cruel blade in his hand, and sent itflashing forward with incredible swiftness. The steel buried itself twoinches deep in the soft pine beside Bucky's head. So close had it shavedhim that a drop of blood gathered and dropped from his ear to the floor.
"Good shot," commented the ranger quietly, and on the instant hisrevolver seemed to leap from its holster to his hand. Without raising ormoving his arm in the least, Bucky fired.
Again a murmur eddied through the crowd. The bullet had neatly boredthe bully's ear. He raised his hand in dazed fashion and brought itaway covered with blood. With staring eyes he looked at his moist redfingers, then at his latest victim, who was proving such an unexpectedsurprise.
The big cattleman, who by this time had pushed a way with his broadshoulders to the front, observed the two men attentively with a derisivesmile on his frank face
. He was seeing a bluff called, and he enjoyedit.
"You'll be able to wear earrings, Mr. Champion of the Universe, after Ihave ventilated the other," suggested the ranger affably. "Come again,seh."
But his opponent had had enough, and more than enough. It was one thingto browbeat a harmless boy, quite another to measure courage with ayoung gamecock like this. He had all the advantage of the first move.He was an expert and could drive his first throw into the youth'sheart. But at bottom he was a coward and lacked the nerve, if not theinclination, to kill. If he took up that devil-may-care challenge hemust fight it out alone. Moreover, as his furtive glance went round thering of faces, he doubted whether a rope and the nearest telegraph polemight not be his fate if he went the limit. Sourly he accepted defeat,raging in his craven spirit at the necessity.
"Hell! I don't fight with boys," he snarled,
"So?"
Bucky moved forward with the curious lightness of a man spring-footed.His gaze held the other's shifting eyes as he plucked the knife from hisopponent's hand.
"Unbuckle that belt," he ordered.
All said, the eye is a prince of weapons. It is a moral force morepotent than the physical, and by it men may measure strength to acertainty. So now these two clinched and battled with it till the bestman won. The showman's look gave way before the stark courage ofthe other. His was no match for the inscrutable, unwavering eye thatcommanded him. His fingers began to twitch, edged slowly toward hiswaist. For an instant they fumbled at the buckle of the belt, whichpresently fell with a rattle to the floor.
"Now, roll yore trail to the wall. Face this way! Arms out! That's good!You rest there comfortable while I take these pins down and let the kidout."
He removed the knives that hemmed in the boy and supported thehalf-fainting figure to a chair beside the roulette table. But always heremained in such a position as to keep the big bully he was baitingin view. The boy dropped into the chair and covered his face with hishands, sobbing with deep, broken breaths. The ranger touched caressinglythe crisp, fair hair that covered the head in short curls.
"Don't you worry, bub. Now, don't you. It's all over with now. Thatcoyote won't pester you any more. Will you, Mr. False Alarm Bad Man?"
At the last words he wheeled suddenly to the showman. "You're rightsorry already you got so gay, ain't you? Come! Speak yore little piece,please."
He waited for an answer, and his gaze held fast to the bloated face thatcringed before his attack.
"What's your name?"
"Jay Hardman," quavered the now thoroughly sobered bad man.
"Dead easy jay, I reckon you mean. Now, chirp, up and tell the boy howsorry you are you got fresh with your hardware."
"He's my boy. I guess I can do what I like with him," the man burst outangrily. "I wasn't hurting him any, either. That's part of our show,to--"
Bucky fondled suggestively the revolver in his hand. A metallic clickcame to his victim.
"Don't you shoot at me again," the man broke off to scream.
The Colt clipped the sentence and the man's other ear.
"You can put in your order now for them earrings we were mentionin', Mr.Deadeasy. You see, I had to puncture this one so folks would know theywere mates."
"I'll put you in the pen for this," the fellow whined, in terror.
"Funny how you will get off the subject. We were discussin' an apologywhen you got to wandering in yore haid."
The mottled face showed white in patches. Beads of perspiration stoodout on the forehead of Hardman. "I didn't aim to hurt him any. I'll beright glad to explain to you--"
A bullet plowed a path through the long hair that fell to the showman'sshoulders and snipped a lock from it.
"You don't need to explain a thing to me, seh. I'm sure resting easyin my mind. But as you were about to re-mark you're fair honin' for achance to ask the kid's pardon. Now, ain't I a mind reader, seh?"
A trembling voice stammered huskily an apology.
"Better late than too late. Now, I've a good mind to take a vote whetherI'd better unload the rest of the pills in this old reliable medicinebox at you. Mebbe I ought to pump one into that coyote heart of yours."
The fellow went livid. "My God, you wouldn't kill an unarmed man, wouldyou?"
For answer the ranger tossed the weapon on the table with a scornfullaugh and strode up to the other. The would-be bad man towered sixinches above him, and weighed half as much again. But O'Connor whirledhim round, propelled him forward to the door, and kicked him into thestreet.
"I'd hate to waste a funeral on him," he said, as he sauntered back tothe boy at the table.
The lad was beginning to recover, though his breath still came witha catch. His rag of a handkerchief was dabbing tears out of his eyes.O'Connor noticed how soft his hands and how delicate his features.
"This kid ain't got any more business than a rabbit going around inthe show line with that big scoundrel. He's one of these gentle,rock-me-to-sleep-mother kids that ought to stay in the home nest andnot go buttin' into this hard world. I'll bet a doughnut he's an orphan,though."
Bucky had been brought up in the school of experience, where everystudent keeps his own head or goes to the wall. All his short life hehad played a lone hand, as he would have phrased it. He had campaignedin Cuba as a mere boy. He had ridden the range and held his own on thehurricane deck of a bucking broncho. From cowpunching he had graduatedinto the tough little body of territorial rangers at the head of whichwas "Hurry Up" Millikan. This had brought him a large and turbulentexperience in the knack of taking care of himself under allcircumstances. Naturally, a man of this type, born and bred to the codeof the outdoors West, could not fail of a certain contempt for a boythat broke down and cried when the game was going against him.
But Bucky's contempt was tolerant, after all. He could not deny hissympathy to a youngster in trouble. Again he touched gently the lad'scrisp curls of burnished gold.
"Brace up, bub. The worst is yet to come," he laughed awkwardly. "Ireckon there's no use spillin' any more emotion over it. He ain't yourdad, is he?"
The lad's big brown eyes looked up into the serene blue ones and foundcomfort in their strength. "No, he's my uncle--and my master."
"This is a free country, son. We don't have masters if we're goodAmericans, though we all have to take orders from our superior officers.You don't need to serve this fellow unless you want to. That's a cinch."
The boy's troubled eyes were filmed with reminiscent terror. "You don'tknow him. He is terrible when he is angry," he murmured.
"I don't think it," returned Bucky contemptuously. "He's the worstblowhard ever. Say the word and I'll run the piker out of town for you."
The boy whipped up the sleeve of the fancy Mexican jacket he wore andshowed a long scar on his arm. "He did that one day when he was angry atme. He pretended to others that it was an accident, but I knew better.This morning I begged him to let me leave him. He beat me, but he wasstill mad; and when he took to drinking I was afraid he would workhimself up to stick me again with one of his knives."
Bucky looked at the scar in the soft, rounded arm and swept the boy witha sudden puzzled glance that was not suspicion but wonder.
"How long have you been with him, kid?"
"Oh, for years. Ever since I was a little fellow. He took me after myfather and mother died of yellow fever in New Orleans. His wife hates metoo, but they have to have me in the show."
"Then I guess you had better quit their company. What's your name?"
"Frank Hardman. On the show bills I have all sorts of names."
"Well, Frank, how would you like to go to live on a ranch?"
"Where he wouldn't know I was?" whispered the boy eagerly.
"If you like. I know a ranch where you'd be right welcome."
"I would work. I would do anything I could. Really, I would try to paymy way, and I don't eat much," Frank cried, his eyes as appealing as ahomeless puppy's.
Bucky smiled. "I expect they can stand all you ea
t without going to thepoorhouse. It's a bargain then. I'll take you out there to-morrow."
"You're so good to me. I never had anybody be so good before." Tearsstood in the big eyes and splashed over.
"Cut out the water works, kid. You want to take a brace and act like aman," advised his new friend brusquely.
"I know. I know. If you knew what I have done maybe you wouldn't askme to go with you. I--I can't tell you anything more than that," theyoungster sobbed.
"Oh, well. What's the diff? You're making a new start to-day. Ain't thatright?"
"Yes, sir."
"Call me Bucky."
"Yes, sir. Bucky, I mean."
A hand fell on the ranger's shoulder and a voice in his ear. "Young man,I want you."
The lieutenant whirled like a streak of lightning, finger on triggeralready. "I'll trouble you for yore warrant, seh," he retorted.
The man confronting him was the big cattleman who had entered the SilverDollar in time to see O'Connor's victory over the showman. Now he stoodserenely under Bucky's gun and laughed.
"Put up your .45, my friend. It's a peaceable conference I want withyou."
The level eyes of the young man fastened on those of the cattleman, and,before he spoke again, were satisfied. For both of these men belonged tothe old West whose word is as good as its bond, that West which will gothe limit for a cause once under taken without any thought of retreat,regardless of the odds or the letter of the law. Though they had nevermet before, each knew at a glance the manner of man the other was.
"All right, seh. If you want me I reckon I'm here large as life," theranger said,
"We'll adjourn to the poker room upstairs then, Mr. O'Connor."
Bucky laid a hand on the shoulder of the boy. "This kid goes with me.I'm keeping an eye on him for the present."
"My business is private, but I expect that can be arranged. We'll takethe inner room and let him have the outer."
"Good enough. Break trail, seh. Come along, Frank."
Having reached the poker room upstairs, that same private room which hadseen many a big game in its day between the big cattle kings andmining men of the Southwest, Bucky's host ordered refreshments and thenunfolded his business.
"You don't know me, lieutenant, do you?"
"I haven't that pleasure, seh."
"I am Major Mackenzie's brother."
"Webb Mackenzie, who came from Texas last year and bought the RockingChair Ranch?"
"The same."
"I'm right glad to meet you, seh."
"And I can say the same."
Webb Mackenzie was so distinctively a product of the West that no othersegment of the globe could have produced him. Big, raw-boned, tannedto a leathery brick-brown, he was as much of the frontier as the tenthousand cows he owned that ran the range on half as many hills anddraws. He stood six feet two and tipped the beam at two hundred twelvepounds, not an ounce of which was superfluous flesh. Temperamentally,he was frank, imperious, free-hearted, what men call a prince. He worea loose tailor-made suit of brown stuff and a broad-brimmed light-grayStetson. For the rest, you may see a hundred like him at the yearlystock convention held in Denver, but you will never meet a man evenamong them with a sounder heart or better disposition.
"I've got a story to tell you, Lieutenant O'Connor," he began. "I'vebeen meaning to see you and tell it ever since you made good in thatFernendez matter. It wasn't your gameness. Anybody can be game. But itlooked to me like you were using the brains in the top of your head, andthat happens so seldom among law officers I wanted to have a talk withyou. Since yesterday I've been more anxious. For why? I got a letterfrom my brother telling me Sheriff Collins showed him a locket he foundat the place of the T. P. Limited hold-up. That locket has in it aphotograph of my wife and little girl. For fifteen years I haven't seenthat picture. When I saw it last 'twas round my little baby's neck.What's more, I haven't seen her in that time, either."
Mackenzie stopped, swallowed hard, and took a drink of water.
"You haven't seen your little girl in fifteen years," exclaimed Bucky.
"Haven't seen or heard of her. So far as I know she may not be alivenow. This locket is the first hint I have had since she was taken away,the very first news of her that has reached me, and I don't know whatto make of that. One of the robbers must have been wearing it, the way Ifigure it out. Where did he get it? That's what I want to know."
"Suppose you tell me the story, seh," suggested the ranger gently.
The cattleman offered O'Connor a cigar and lit one himself. For a minutehe puffed slowly at his Havana, leaning far back in his chair with eyesreminiscent and half shut. Then he shook himself back into the presentand began his tale.
"I don't reckon you ever heard tell of Dave Henderson. It was back inTexas I knew him, and he's been missing sixteen years come the eleventhof next August. For fifteen years I haven't mentioned his name, becauseDave did me the dirtiest wrong that one man ever did another. Back inthe old days he and I used to trail together. We was awful thick, andmostly hunted in couples. We began riding the same season back onthe old Kittredge Ranch, and we went in together for all the kinds ofspreeing that young fellows who are footloose are likely to do. Fact is,we suited each other from the ground up. We frolicked round a-plenty,like young colts will, and there was nothing on this green earth Davecould have asked from me that I wouldn't have done for him. Nothingexcept one, I reckon, and Dave never asked that of me."
Mackenzie puffed at his cigar a silent moment before resuming. "Ithappened we both fell in love with the same girl, little Frances Clark,of the Double T Ranch. Dave was a better looker than me and a moretaking fellow, but somehow Frances favored me from the start. Davestayed till the finish, and when he seen he had lost he stood up withme at the wedding. We had agreed, you see, that whoever won it wasn't tobreak up our friendship.
"Well, Frankie and I were married, and in course of time we had twochildren. My boy, Tom, is the older. The other was a little girl, namedafter her mother." The cattleman waited a moment to steady his voice,and spoke through teeth set deep in his Havana. "I haven't seen her, asI said, since she was two years and ten months old--not since the nightDave disappeared."
Bucky looked up quickly with a question on his lips, but he did not needto word it.
Mackenzie nodded. "Yes, Dave took her with him when he lit out acrossthe line for Mexico."
But I'll have to go back to something that happened earlier. About threemonths before this time Dave and me were riding through a cut in theSierra Diablo Mountains, when we came on a Mexican who had been woundedby the Apaches. I reckon we had come along just in time to scare themoff before they finished him. We did our best for him, but he died inabout two hours. Before dying, he made us a present of a map we foundin his breast pocket. It showed the location of a very rich mine he hadfound, and as he had no near kin he turned it over to us to do with aswe pleased.
"Just then the round-up came on, and we were too busy to pay muchattention to the mine. Each of us would have trusted the other with hislife, or so I thought. But we cut the paper in half, each of us keepingone part, in order that nobody else could steal the secret from the onethat held the paper. The last time I had been in El Paso I had bought mylittle girl a gold chain with two lockets pendent. These lockets openedby a secret spring, and in one of them I put my half of the map. Itseemed as safe a place as I could devise, for the chain never left thechild's neck, and nobody except her mother, Dave, and I knew that it wasplaced there. Dave hid his half under a rock that was known to both ofus. The strange thing about the story is that my false friend, in thehurry of his flight, forgot to take his section of the map with him. Ifound it under the rock next day, so that his vile treachery availed himnothing from a mercenary point of view."
"Didn't take his half of the map with him. That's right funny," Buckymused aloud.
"We never could understand why he didn't."
"Mebbe if you understood that a heap of things might be clear that aredark now."
"Mebbe. Knowing Dave Henderson as I did, or, rather, as I thought Idid, such treachery as his was almost unbelievable. He was the sweetest,sunniest soul I ever knew, and no two brothers could have been as fondof each other as we seemed to be. But there was no chance of mistake. Hehad gone, and taken our child with him, likely in accordance with a planof revenge long cherished by him. We never heard of him or the childagain. They disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed themup. Our cook, too, left with him that evil night."
"Your cook?" It was the second comment Bucky had ventured, and it cameincisively. "What manner of man was he?"
"A huge, lumbering braggart. I could never understand why Dave took theman with him."
"If he did."
"But I tell you he did. They disappeared the same night, and the trailshowed they went the same road. We followed them for about an hour nextday, but a heavy rain came up and blotted out the tracks."
"What was the cook's name?"
"Jeff Anderson."
"Have you a picture of him, or one of your friend?"
"Back at the ranch I had pictures of Dave, but I burned them after heleft. Yes, I reckon we have one of Anderson, standing in front of thechuck wagon."
"Send it to me, please."
"All right."
The ranger asked a few questions that made clearer the situation onthe day of the kidnapping, and some more concerning Anderson, then fellagain into the role of a listener while Mackenzie concluded his story.
"All these years I have kept my eyes open, confident that at last Iwould discover something that would help me to discover the whereaboutsof my child, or, at least, give me a chance to punish the scoundrel whobetrayed my confidence. Yesterday my brother's letter gave the firstclue we have had. I want that lead worked. Ferret this thing out to thebottom, lieutenant. Get me something definite to go on. That's what Iwant you to do. Run the thing to earth, get at the facts, and findmy child for me. I'll give you carte blanche up to a hundred thousanddollars. All I ask of you is to make good. Find the little girl, or elsebring me face to face with that villain Henderson. Can you do it?"
O'Connor was strangely interested in this story of treachery andmystery. He rose with shining eyes and held out his hand. "I don't know,seh, but I'll try damned hard to do three things: find out what hasbecome of the little girl, of Dave Henderson, and of the scoundrel whostole your baby because he thought the map was in the pocket."
"You mean that you don't think Dave--"
"That is exactly what I mean. Your cook, Anderson, kidnapped the child,looks like to me. I saw that locket Collins found. My guess was that themarks on the end of the chain were deep teeth marks. The man that stoleyour baby tried first to cut the chain with his teeth so as to steal thechain. You see, he could not find the clasp in the dark. Then the childwakened and began to cry. He clapped a hand over its mouth and carriedthe little girl out of the room. Then he heard somebody moving about,lost his nerve, and jumped on the horse that was waiting, saddled, atthe door. He took the child along simply because he had to in order toget the chain and the secret he thought it held."
"Perhaps; but that does not prove it was not Dave."
"It's contributory evidence, seh. Your friend could have slipped thechain from her neck any day, or he could have opened the locket andtaken the map. No need for him to steal in at night. Do you happen toremember whether your little girl had any particular aversion to thecook?"
The cattleman's forehead frowned in thought. "I do remember, now, thatshe was afraid of him. She always ran screaming to her mother when hetried to be friendly with her. He was a sour sort of fellow."
"That helps out the case a heap, for it shows that he wanted to makefriends with her and she refused. He was thus forced to take the chainwhen she was asleep instead of playing with her till he had discoveredthe spring and could simply take the map."
"But he didn't know anything about the map. He was not in ourconfidence."
"You and your friend talked it over evenings when he was at the ranch,and other places, too, I expect."
"Yes, our talk kind of gravitated that way whenever we got together."
"Well, this fellow overheard you. That's probable, at least."
"But you're ignoring the important fact. Dave disappeared too thatnight, with my little girl."
Bucky cut in sharply with a question. "Did he? How do you know hedisappeared WITH her? Why not AFTER? That's the theory my mind isgroping on just now."
"That's a blind trail to me. Why AFTER? And what difference does itmake?"
"All the difference in the world. If he left after the cook, you havebeen doing him an injustice for fifteen years, seh."
Mackenzie leaned forward, excitement burning in his eyes. "Prove that,young man, and I'll thank you to the last day of my life. It's for mywife's sake more than my own I want my little girl back. She jes' pinesfor her every day of her life. But for my friend--if you can give meback the clean memory of Dave you'll have done a big thing for me, Mr.O'Connor."
"It's only a working theory, but this is what I'm getting at. You andHenderson had arranged to take an early start on a two days' deer huntnext mo'ning. That's what you told me, isn't it?"
"We were to start about four. Yes, sir."
"Well, let's suppose a case. Along comes Dave before daybreak, when thefirst hooters were beginning to call. Just as he reaches your ranchhe notices a horse slipping away in the darkness. Perhaps he hearsthe little girl cry out. Anyhow, instead of turning in at the gate, hedecides to follow. Probably he isn't sure there's anything wrong, butwhen he finds out how the horse he's after is burning the wind hissuspicions grow stronger. He settles down to a long chase. In thedarkness, we'll say, he loses his man, but when it gets lighter he picksup the trail again. The tracks lead south, across the line into Mexico.Still he keeps plodding on. The man in front sees him behind and getsscared because he can't shake him off. Very likely he thinks it is youon his track. Anyhow, while the child is asleep he waits in ambush, andwhen Henderson rides up he shoots him down. Then he pushes on deeperinto Chihuahua, and proceeds to lose himself there by changing hisname."
"You think he murdered Dave?" The cattleman got up and began to pace upand down the floor.
"I think it possible."
Webb Mackenzie's face was pallid, but there was a new light of hopein it. "I believe you're right. God knows I hope so. That may sound ahorrible thing to say of my best friend, but if it has got to be one orthe other--if it is certain that my old bunkie came to his deathfoully in Chihuahua while trying to save my baby, or is alive to-day,a skulking coward and villain--with all my heart I hope he is dead." Hespoke with a passionate intensity which showed how much he had cared forhis early friend, and how much the latter's apparent treachery had cuthim. "I hope you'll never have a friend go back on you, Mr. O'Connor,the one friend you would have banked on to a finish. Why, Dave Hendersonsaved my life from a bunch of Apaches once when it was dollars todoughnuts he would lose his own if he tried it. We were prospecting inthe Galiuros together, and one mo'ning when he went down to the creekto water the hawsses he sighted three of the red devils edging up towardthe cabin. There might have been fifty of them there for all he knew,and he had a clear run to the plains if he wanted to back one of theponies and take it. Most any man would have saved his own skin, but notDave. He hoofed it back to the cabin, under fire every foot of theway, and together we made it so hot for them that they finally gave upgetting us. We were in the Texas Rangers together, and pulled each otherthrough a lot of close places. And then at the end--Why, it hurt me morethan it did losing my own little girl."
Bucky nodded. Since he was a man and not a father, he could understandhow the hurt would rankle year after year at the defalcation of hiscomrade.
"That's another kink we have got to unravel in this tangle. First off,there's your little girl, to find if she is still alive. Second, we mustlocate Dave Henderson or his grave. Third, there's something due thescoundrel who is responsible for thi
s. Fourthly, brethren, there's thatmap section to find. And lastly, we've got to find just how this storyyou've told me got mixed with the story of the holdup of the Limited.For it ce'tainly looks as if the two hang together. I take it that thething to do is to run down the gang that held up the Limited. Once wedo that, we ought to find the key to the mystery of your little girl'sdisappearance. Or, at least, there is a chance we shall. And it'schances we've got to gamble on in this thing."
"Good enough. I like the way you go at this. Already I feel a heapbetter than I did."
"If the cards fall our way you're going to get this thing settled oncefor all. I can't promise my news will be good news when I get it, butanything will be better than the uncertainty you've been in, I take it,"said Bucky, rising from his chair.
"You're right there. But, wait a moment. Let's drink to your success."
"I'm not much of a sport," Bucky smiled. "Fact is, I never drink, seh."
"Of course. I remember, now. You're the good bad man of the West,"Mackenzie answered amiably. "Well, I drink to you. Here's good hunting,lieutenant."
"Thank you."
"I suppose you'll get right at this thing?"
"I've got to take that kid in the next room out to my ranch first. Iwon't stand for that knife thrower making a slave of him."
"What's the matter with me taking the boy out to the Rocking Chair withme? My wife and I will see he's looked after till you return."
"That would be the best plan, if it won't trouble you too much. We'dbetter keep his whereabouts quiet till this fellow Hardman is out of thecountry."
"Yes, though I hardly think he'd be fool enough to show up at theRocking Chair. If my vaqueros met up with him prowling around they mightshow him as warm a welcome as you did half an hour ago."
"A chapping would sure do him a heap of good," grinned Bucky, and sodismissed the Champion of the World from his mind.
Bucky O'Connor: A Tale of the Unfenced Border Page 4