CHAPTER 8. FIRST BLOOD!
Occasionally Alice Mackenzie met Collins on the streets of Tucson. Onceshe saw him at the hotel where she was staying, deep in a discussionwith her father of ways and means of running down the robbers of theLimited. He did not, however, make the least attempt to push their trainacquaintanceship beyond the give and take of casual greeting. Withoutshowing himself unfriendly, he gave her no opportunity to determine howfar they would go with each other. This rather piqued her, thoughshe would probably have rebuffed him if he had presumed far. Of whichprobability Val Collins was very well aware.
They met one morning in front of a drug store downtown. She carried aparasol that was lilac-trimmed, which shade was also the outstandingnote of her dress. She was looking her very best, and no doubt knew it.To Val her dainty freshness seemed to breathe the sweetness of springviolets.
"Good morning, Miss Mackenzie. Weather like this I'm awful glad I ain'ta mummy," he told her. "The world's mighty full of beautiful things thisglad day."
"Essay on the Appreciation of Nature, by Professor Collins," she smiled.
"To be continued in our next," he amended. "Won't you come in and havea sundae? You look as if you didn't know it, but the rest of us havediscovered it's a right warm morning."
Looking across the little table at him over her sundae, she questionedhim with innocent impudence. "I saw you and dad deep in plans Tuesday. Isuppose by now you have all the train robbers safely tucked away in thepenitentiary?"
"Not yet," he answered cheerfully.
"Not yet!" Her lifted eyebrows and the derisive flash beneath mockedpolitely his confidence. "By this time I should think they might behunting big game in deepest Africa."
"They might be, but they're not."
"What about that investment in futurities you made on the train? Themonth is more than half up. Do you see any chance of realizing?"
"It looks now as if I might be a false prophet, but I feel way down deepthat I won't. In this prophet's business confidence is half the stock intrade."
"Really. I'm very curious to know what it is you predicted. Was itsomething good?"
"Good for me," he nodded.
"Then I think you'll get it," she laughed. "I have noticed that itis the people that expect things--and then go out and take them--thatinherit the earth these days. The meek have been dispossessed."
"I'm glad I have your good wishes."
"I didn't say you had, but you'll get along just as well without them,''she answered with a cool little laugh as she rose.
"I'd like to discuss that proposition with you more at length. May Icall on you some evening this week, Miss Mackenzie?"
There was a sparkle of hidden malice in her answer. "You're too late,Mr. Collins. We'll have to leave it undiscussed. I'm going to leaveto-day for my uncle s ranch, the Rocking Chair."
He was distinctly disappointed, though he took care not to show it.Nevertheless, the town felt empty after her train had gone. He was gladwhen later in the day a message came calling him to Epitaph. It took himat least seventy-five miles nearer her.
Before he had been an hour at Epitaph the sheriff knew he had struckgold this time. Men were in town spending money lavishly, and at a roughdescription they answered to the ones he wanted. Into the Gold NuggetSaloon that evening dropped Val Collins, big, blond, and jaunty.He looked far less the vigorous sheriff out for business than thegregarious cowpuncher on a search for amusement.
Del Hawkes, an old-time friend of his staging days, pounced on him anddragged him to the bar, whence his glance fell genially on the roulettewheel and its devotees, wandered casually across the impassive pokerand Mexican monte players, took in the enthroned musicians, who wereindustriously murdering "La Paloma," and came to rest for barely aninstant at a distant faro table. In the curly-haired good-looking youngfellow facing the dealer he saw one of the men he had come seeking. Nordid he need to look for the hand with the missing trigger finger to besure it was York Neil--that same gay, merry-hearted York with whom heused to ride the range, changed now to a miscreant who had elected totake the short cut to wealth.
But the man beside Neil, the dark-haired, pallid fellow from whosepresence something at once formidable and sinister and yet gallantseemed to breathe--the very sight of him set the mind of Collins at workbusily upon a wild guess. Surely here was a worthy figure upon whom toset the name and reputation of the notorious Wolf Leroy.
Yet the sheriff's eyes rested scarce an instant before they wenttraveling again, for he wanted to show as yet no special interest in theobject of his suspicions. The gathering was a motley one, picturesque inits diversity. For here had drifted not only the stranded derelicts ofa frontier civilization, but selected types of all the turbid elementsthat go to make up its success. Mexican, millionaire, and miner brushedshoulders at the roulette-wheel. Chinaman and cow-puncher, Papago andplainsman, tourist and tailor, bucked the tiger side by side with ademocracy found nowhere else in the world. The click of the wheel, themonotonous call of the croupier, the murmur of many voices in alientongues, and the high-pitched jarring note of boisterous laughter, wereall merged in a medley of confusion as picturesque as the scene itself.
"Business not anyways slack at the Nugget," ventured Collins, to thebartender.
"No, I don't know as 'tis. Nearly always somethin' doing in little oldEpitaph," answered the public quencher of thirsts, polishing the glasstop of the bar with a cloth.
"Playing with the lid off back there, ain't they?" The sheriff's nodindicated the distant faro-table.
"That's right, I guess. Only blue chips go."
"It's Wolf Leroy--that Mexican-looking fellow there," Hawkes explainedin a whisper. "A bad man with the gun, they say, too. Well, him andYork Neil and Scott Dailey blew in last night from their mine, up atSaguache. Gave it out he was going to break the bank, Leroy did. Backingthat opinion usually comes high, but Leroy is about two thousand to thegood, they say."
"Scott Dailey? Don't think I know him."
"That shorthorn in chaps and a yellow bandanna is the gentleman; himthat's playing the wheel so constant. You don't miss no world-beaterwhen you don't know Scott. He's Leroy's Man Friday. Understand they'vestruck it rich. Anyway, they're hitting high places while the mazumalasts."
"I can't seem to locate their mine. What's its brand?"
"The Dalriada. Some other guy is in with them; fellow by the name ofHardman, if I recollect; just bought out a livery barn in town here."
"Queer thing, luck; strikes about as unexpected as lightning. Haveanother, Del?"
"Don't care if I do, Val. It always makes me thirsty to see people Ilike. Anything new up Tucson way?"
The band had fallen on "Manzanilla," and was rending it with variationswhen Collins circled round to the wheel and began playing the red. Hetook a place beside the bow-legged vaquero with the yellow bandannaknotted loosely round his throat. For five minutes the cow-puncherattended strictly to his bets. Then he cursed softly, and asked Collinsto exchange places with him.
"This place is my hoodoo. I can't win--" The sentence died in the man'sthroat, became an inarticulate gurgle of dismay.
He had looked up and met the steady eyes of the sheriff, and thesurprise of it had driven the blood from his heart. A revolver thrustinto his face could not have shaken him more than that serene smile.
Collins took him by the arm with a jovial laugh meant to cover theirretreat, and led him into one of the curtained alcove rooms. As theyentered he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Leroy and Neilwere still intent on their game. Not for a moment, not even while thebarkeeper was answering their call for liquor, did the sheriff releaseScott from the rigor of his eyes, and when the attendant drew thecurtain behind him the officer let his smile take on a new meaning.
"What did I tell you, Scott?"
"Prove it," defied Scott. "Prove it--you can't prove it."
"What can't I prove?"
"Why, that I was in that--" Scott stopped abruptly, and watched thesmile broa
den on the strong face opposite him. His dull brain had cometo his rescue none too soon.
"Now, ain't it funny how people's thoughts get to running on the samething? Last time I met up with you there you was collecting a hundreddollars and keep-the-change cents from me, and now here you are spendingit. It's ce'tinly curious how both of us are remembering that littleseance in the Pullman car."
Scott took refuge in a dogged silence. He was sweating fear.
"Yes, sir. It comes up right vivid before me. There was you a-trainin'your guns on me--"
"I wasn't," broke in Scott, falling into the trap.
"That's right. How come I to make such a mistake? Of cou'se you carriedthe sack and York Neil held the guns."
The man cursed quietly, and relapsed into silence.
"Always buy your clothes in pairs?"
The sheriff's voice showed only a pleasant interest, but the outlaw'sfrightened eyes were puzzled at this sudden turn.
"Wearing a bandanna same color and pattern as you did the night of ourjamboree on the Limited, I see. That's mightily careless of you, ain'tit?"
Instinctively a shaking hand clutched at the kerchief. "It don't cut anyice because a hold-up wears a mask made out of stuff like this."
"Did I say it was a mask he wore?" the gentle voice quizzed.
Scott, beads of perspiration on his forehead, collapsed as to hisdefense. He fell back sullenly to his first position: "You can't proveanything."
"Can't I?" The sheriff's smile went out like a snuffed candle. Eyesand mouth were cold and hard as chiseled marble. He leaned forward faracross the table, a confident, dominating assurance painted on his face."Can't I? Don't you bank on that. I can prove all I need to, and yourfriends will prove the rest. They'll be falling all over themselves totell what they know--and Mr. Dailey will be holding the sack again, whileLeroy and the rest are slipping out."
The outlaw sprang to his feet, white to the lips.
"It's a damned lie. Leroy would never--" He stopped, again just in timeto bite back the confession hovering on his lips. But he had told whatCollins wanted to know.
The curtain parted, and a figure darkened the doorway--a slender, lithefigure that moved on springs. Out of its sardonic, devil-may-care facegleamed malevolent eyes which rested for a moment on Dailey, before theycame home to the sheriff.
"And what is it Leroy would never do?" a gibing voice demanded silkily.
Scott pulled himself together and tried to bluff, but at the look on hischief's face the words died in his throat.
Collins did not lift a finger or move an eyelash, but with the firstword a wary alertness ran through him and starched his figure torigidity. He gathered himself together for what might come.
"Well, I am waiting. What it is Leroy would never do?" The voice carrieda scoff with it, the implication that his very presence had strickenconspirators dumb.
Collins offered the explanation.
"Mr. Dailey was beginning a testimonial of your virtues just as youright happily arrived in time to hear it. Perhaps he will now proceed."
But Dailey had never a word left. His blunders had been crying ones,and his chief's menacing look had warned him what to expect. The courageoozed out of his heart, for he counted himself already a dead man.
"And who are you, my friend, that make so free with Wolf Leroy's name?"It was odd how every word of the drawling sentence contrived to carry ataunt and a threat with it, strange what a deadly menace the glitteringeyes shot forth.
"My name is Collins."
"Sheriff of Pica County?"
"Yes."
The eyes of the men met like rapiers, as steady and as searching as coldsteel. Each of them was appraising the rare quality of his opponent inthis duel to the death that was before him.
"What are you doing here? Ain't Pica County your range?"
"I've been discussing with your friend the late hold-up on theTranscontinental Pacific."
"Ah!" Leroy knew that the sheriff was serving notice on them of hispurpose to run down the bandits. Swiftly his mind swept up the factorsof the situation. Should he draw now and chance the result, or wait fora more certain ending? He decided to wait, moved by the considerationthat even if he were victorious the lawyers were sure to draw out of thefat-brained Scott the cause of the quarrel.
"Well, that don't interest me any, though I suppose you have to explaina heap how come they to hold you up and take your gun. I'll leave youand your jelly-fish Scott to your gabfest. Then you better run back hometo Tucson. We don't go much on visiting sheriffs here." He turned on hisheel with an insolent laugh, and left the sheriff alone with Dailey.
The superb contempt of the man, his readiness to give the sheriff achance to pump out of Dailey all he knew, served to warn Collins thathis life was in imminent danger. On no hypothesis save one--that Leroyhad already condemned them both to death in his mind--could he accountfor such rashness. And that the blow would fall soon, before he had timeto confer with other officers, was a corollary to the first proposition.
"He'll surely kill me on sight," Scott burst out.
"Yes, he'll kill you," agreed the sheriff, "unless you move first."
"Move how?"
"Against him. Protect yourself by lining up with me. It's your only showon earth."
Dailey's eyes flashed. "Then, by thunder, I ain't taking it! I'm nocoyote, to round on my pardners."
"I give it to you straight. He means murder."
Perspiration poured from the man's face. "I'll light out of thecountry."
The sheriff shook his head. "You'd never get away alive. Besides, I wantyou for holding up the Limited. The safest place for you is in jail, andthat's where I'm going to put you. Drop that gun! Quick! That's right.Now, you and I are going out of this saloon by the back door. I'm goingto walk beside you, and we're going to laugh and talk as if we were thebest of friends, but my hand ain't straying any from the end of my gun.Get that, amigo? All right. Then we'll take a little pasear."
As Collins and his prisoner reappeared in the main lobby of the GoldNugget, a Mexican slipped out of the back door of the gambling-house.The sheriff called Hawkes aside.
"I want you to call a hack for me, Del. Bring it round to the back door,and arrange with the driver to whip up for the depot as soon as we getin. We ought to catch that 12:20 up-train. When the hack gets here justshow up in the door. If you see Leroy or Neil hanging around the door,put your hand up to your tie. If the coast is clear, just move off tothe bar and order something."
"Sure," said Hawkes, and was off at once, though just a thought unsteadyfrom his frequent libations.
Both hands of the big clock on the wall pointed to twelve when Hawkesappeared again in the doorway at the rear of the Gold Nugget. With awink at Collins, he made straight for the cocktail he thought he needed.
"Now," said the sheriff, and immediately he and Dailey passed throughthe back door.
Instantly two shots rang out. Collins lurched forward to the ground,drawing his revolver as he fell. Scott, twisting from his grasp, ranin a crouch toward the alley along the shadow of the buildings. Shotsspattered against the wall as his pursuers gave chase. When the GoldNugget vomited from its rear door a rush of humanity eager to see thetrouble, the noise of their footsteps was already dying in the distance.
Hawkes found his friend leaning against the back of the hack, hisrevolver smoking in his hand.
"For God's sake, Val!" screamed Hawkes. "Did they get you?"
"Punctured my leg. That's all. But I expect they'll get Dailey."
"How come you to go out when I signaled you to stay?"
"Signaled me to stay, why--"
Collins stopped, unwilling to blame his friend. He knew now that Hawkes,having mixed his drinks earlier in the evening, had mixed his signalslater.
"Get me a horse, Del, and round up two or three of the boys. I've got toget after those fellows. They are the ones that held up the Limited lastweek. Find out for me what hotel they put up at here. I want their roomssearched
. Send somebody round to the corrals, and let me know where theystabled their horses. If they left any papers or saddle-bags, get themfor me."
Fifteen minutes later Collins was in the saddle ready for the chase,and only waiting for his volunteer posse to join him. They were juststarting when a frightened Chinaman ran into the plaza with the newsthat there had been shooting just back of his laundry on the edge oftown and that a man had been killed.
When the sheriff reached the spot, he lowered himself from the saddleand limped over to the black mass huddled against the wall in the brightmoonlight. He turned the riddled body over and looked down into the faceof the dead man. I was that of the outlaw, Scott Dailey. That thebody had been thoroughly searched was evident, for all around him werescattered his belongings. Here an old letter and a sack of tobacco, itscontents emptied on the ground; there his coat and vest, the liningsof each of them ripped out and the pockets emptied. Even the boots andsocks of the man had been removed, so thorough had been the search.Whatever the murderers had been looking for it was not money, sincehis purse, still fairly well lined with greenbacks, was found behind acactus bush a few yards away.
"What in time were they after?" frowned Collins. "If it wasn't hismoney--and it sure wasn't--what was it? I ce'tainly would like to knowwhat the Wolf wanted so blamed bad. Guess I'll not follow Mr. Leroy justnow till my leg is in better shape. Maybe I had better investigate alittle bit round town first."
The body was taken back to the Gold Nugget and placed on a table,pending the arrival of the undertaker. It chanced that Collins, lookingabsently over the crowd, glimpsed a gray felt hat that looked familiarby reason of a frayed silver band found it. Underneath the hat was aMexican, and him the sheriff ordered to step forward.
"Where did you get that hat, Manuel?"
"My name is Jose--Jose Archuleta," corrected the olive-hued one.
"I ain't worrying about your name, son. What I want to know is where youfound that hat."
"In the alley off the plaza, senor."
"All right. Chuck it up here."
"Muy bien, senor." And the dusty hat was passed from hand to hand tillit reached the sheriff.
Collins ripped off the silver band and tore out the sweat-pad. It wasan off chance--one in a thousand--but worth trying none the less. And amoment later he knew it was the chance that won. For sewed to the insideof the discolored sweat-pad was a little strip of silk. With his knifehe carefully removed the strip, and found between it and the leather afolded fragment of paper closely covered with writing. He carried thisto the light, and made it out to be a memorandum of direction of somesort. Slowly he spelled out the poorly written words:
From Y. N. took Unowhat. Went twenty yards strate for big rock. Eightfeet direckly west. Fifty yards in direcksion of suthern Antelope Peke.Then eighteen to nerest cotonwood. J. H. begins hear.
Collins read the scrawl twice before an inkling of its meaning came hometo him. Then in a flash his brain was lighted. It was a memorandum ofthe place where Dailey's share of the plunder was buried.
His confederates had known that he had it, and had risked capture tomake a thorough search for the paper. That they had not found it was dueonly to the fact that the murdered man had lost his hat as he scurrieddown the streets before them.
The doctor, having arrived, examined the wound and suggested ananaesthetic. Collins laughed.
"I reckon not, doc. You round up that lead pill and I'll endure thegrief without knockout drops."
While the doctor was probing for the bullet lodged in his leg, thesheriff studied the memorandum found in Dailey's hat. He found it blind,disappointing work, for there was no clearly indicated starting-point.Bit by bit he took it:
From Y. N. took Unowhat.
This was clear enough, so far as it went. It could only mean that fromYork Neil the writer had taken the plunder to hide. But--WHERE did hetake it? From what point? A starting-point must be found somewhere, orthe memorandum was of no use. Probably only Neil could supply the neededinformation, now that Dailey was dead.
Went twenty yards strate for big rock. Eight feet direckly west. Fiftyyards in direcksion of suthern Antelope Peke. Then eighteen to nerestcotonwood.
All this was plain enough, but the last sentence was the puzzler.
J. H. begins hear.
Was J. H. a person? If so, what did he begin. If Dailey had buried hisplunder, what had J. H. left to do?
But had he buried it? Collins smiled. It was not likely he had handed itover to anybody else to hide for him. And yet--
He clapped his hand down on his knee. "By the jumping California frog,I've got it!" he told himself. "They hid the bulk of what they got fromthe Limited all together. Went out in a bunch to hide it. Blind-foldedeach other, and took turn about blinding up the trail. No one of themcan go get the loot without the rest. When they want it, every one ofthese memoranda must be Johnny-on-the-spot before they can dig up themazuma. No wonder Wolf Leroy searched so thorough for this bit of paper.I'll bet a stack of blue chips against Wolf's chance of heaven thathe's the sorest train-robber right this moment that ever punctured acar-window."
Collins laughed softly, nor had the smile died out of his eyes whenHawkes came into the room with information to the point. He had made around of the corrals, and discovered that the outlaws' horses had beenput up at Jay Hardman's place, a tumble-down feed-station on the edge oftown.
"Jay didn't take kindly to my questions," Hawkes explained, "but after alittle rock-me-to-sleep-mother talk I soothed him down some, and cutthe trail of Wolf Leroy and his partners. The old man give me severalspecimens of langwidge unwashed and uncombed when I told him Wolf andYork was outlaws and train-robbers. Didn't believe a word of it, hesaid. 'Twas just like the fool officers to jump an innocent party. Itold Jay to keep his shirt on--he could turn his wolf lose when theyframed up that he was in it. Well, sir! I plumb thought for a momenthe was going to draw on me when I said that. Say he must be thefellow that's in on that mine, with Leroy and York Neil. He's a big,long-haired guy."
Collins' eyes narrowed to slits, as they always did when he was thinkingintensely. Were their suspicions of the showman about to be justified?Did Jay Hardman's interest in Leroy have its source merely in theirbeing birds of a feather, or was there a more direct community oflawlessness between them? Was he a member of Wolf Leroy's murderousgang? Three men had joined in the chase of Dailey, but the tracks hadtold him that only two horses had galloped from the scene of the murderinto the night. The inference left to draw was that a local accomplicehad joined them in the chase of Scott, and had slipped back home afterthe deed had been finished.
What more likely than that Hardman had been this accomplice? Hawkes saidhe was a big long-haired fellow. So was the man that had held up theengineer of the Limited. He was--"J. H. begins hear." Like a flash theill-written scrawl jumped to his sight. "J. H." was Jay Hardman. Whatluck!
The doctor finished his work, and Collins tested his leg gingerly."Del, I'm going over to have a little talk with the old man. Want to goalong?"
"You bet I do, Val"--from Del Hawkes.
"You mustn't walk on that leg for a week or two yet, Mr. Collins," thedoctor explained, shaking his head.
"That so, doctor? And it nothing but a nice clean flesh-wound! Sho! I'vea deal more confidence in you than that. Ready, Del?"
"It's at your risk then, Mr. Collins."
"Sure." The sheriff smiled. "I'm living at my own risk, doctor. But I'da heap rather be alive than daid, and take all the risk that's coming,too. But since you make a point of it, I'll do most of my walking on abronco's back."
They found Mr. Hardman just emerging from the stable with a saddle-ponywhen they rode into the corral. At a word from Collins, Hawkes took theprecaution to close the corral gate.
The fellow held a wary position on the farther side of his horse, thewhile he ripped out a raucous string of invectives.
"Real fluent, ain't he?" murmured Hawkes, as he began to circle round toflank the enemy.
&nbs
p; "Stay right there, Del Hawkes. Move, you redhaided son of a brandblotter, and I'll pump holes in you!" A rifle leveled across the saddleemphasized his sentiments.
"Plumb hospitable," grinned Hawkes, coming promptly to a halt.
Collins rode slowly forward, his hand on the butt of the revolver thatstill lay in its scabbard. The Winchester covered every step of hisprogress, but he neither hastened nor faltered, though he knew his lifehung in the balance. If his steely blue eyes had released for one momentthe wolfish ones of the villain, if he had hesitated or hurried, hewould have been shot through the head.
But the eyes of a brave man are the king of weapons. Hardman's fingersitched at the trigger he had not the courage to pull. For such anunflawed nerve he knew himself no match.
"Keep back," he screamed. "Damn it, another step and I'll fire!"
But he did not fire, though Collins rode up to him, dismounted, andthrew the end of the rifle carelessly from him.
"Don't be rash, Hardman. I've come here to put you under arrest forrobbing the T. P. Limited, and I'm going to do it."
The indolent, contemptuous drawl, so free of even a suggestion of thestrain the sheriff must have been under, completed his victory. Thefellow lowered his rifle with a peevish oath.
"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, Mr. Collins."
"I guess not," retorted the sheriff easily. "Del, you better relieve Mr.Hardman of his ballast. He ain't really fit to be trusted with a weapon,and him so excitable. That Winchester came awful near going off, friend.You don't want to be so careless when you're playing with firearms. It'sa habit that's liable to get you into trouble."
Collins had not shaved death so closely without feeling a reactionof boyish gaiety at his adventure. It bubbled up in his talk likeeffervescing soda.
"Now we'll go into a committee of the whole, gentlemen, adjourn tothe stable, and have a little game of 'Button, button, who's got thebutton?' You first, Mr. Hardman. If you'll kindly shuck your coat andvest, we'll begin button-hunting."
They diligently searched the miscreant without hiding anythingpertaining to "J. H. begins hear."
"He's bound to have it somewhere," asseverated Collins. "It don't standto reason he was making his getaway without that paper. We got to bemore thorough, Del."
Hawkes, under the direction of his friend, ripped up linings andtore away pockets from clothing. The saddle on the bronco and thesaddle-blankets were also torn to pieces in vain.
Finally Hawkes scratched his poll and looked down on the wreckage. "Ihate to admit it, Val, but the old fox has got us beat; it ain't on hisperson."
"Not unless he's got it under his skin," agreed Collins, with a grin.
"Maybe he ate it. Think we better operate and find out?"
An idea hit the sheriff. He walked up to Hardman and ordered him to openhis mouth.
The jaws set like a vise.
Collins poked his revolver against the closed mouth. "Swear for us, oldbird. Get a move on you."
The mouth opened, and Collins inserted two fingers. When he withdrewthem they brought a set of false teeth. Under the plate was a tinyrubber bag that stuck to it. Inside the bag was a paper. And on it waswritten four lines in Spanish. Those lines told what he wanted to know.They, too, were part of a direction for finding hidden treasure.
The sheriff wired at once to Bucky, in Chihuahua. Translated into plainEnglish, his cipher dispatch meant: "Come home at once. Trail gettingred hot."
But Bucky did not come. As it happened, that young man had other fish tofry.
Bucky O'Connor: A Tale of the Unfenced Border Page 8