Six Feet Four

by Jackson Gregory

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE YELLOW ENVELOPE AGAIN!

  Old man King, red eyed with wrath, had gone out after the cattlerustlers in his own direct fashion, seeking to follow the trail ofrunning steers through the mountain passes, his eye hard, his rifleready, his mind eager to suspect any man to whom that trail might lead.But he found only confused tracks which ran toward the state border lineand which vanished before even his sharp eyes, leading nowhere.

  Young Bud King, his own anger little less than his father's, went forthon another trail, not after the running steers but after a man. And hewent to the town of Dead Man's Alley. Mentally he had made his list ofthe men to whom one might look to for the commission of the crime whichhad driven the Bar X outfit to action. Being no man's fool, young Kingplanned to go first to the source of the stream, as it were, and thenceto travel downward seeking to see who had muddied the waters. And his"one chief bet" was that the source was in Hill's Corners.

  The result of Bud King's investigations, so far as he was concerned, waslittle different from that of his father's and negligible. But hisjourney to the town of the bad name was of vast importance to others.

  Winifred Waverly, upon the morning after the dance, came down late toher breakfast, and found that Pollard had waited for her. Although hewas not in the habit of offering her this little courtesy, she thoughtnothing of it at first, having enough of other matters in her brain,perplexing her. But before the meal was over she knew why Henry Pollardhad waited for her.

  It was plain to her that he realized that some real importance might beattached to the matter of her having seen Buck Thornton last night, ofhaving danced and talked with him. On the ride home he had not referredto the cattle man nor had she. Now, in great seeming carelessness butwith his eyes keen upon her, he spoke lightly of the dance, mentionedthat he had seen Thornton talking to one of the men at the schoolhousedoor and wondered why he had gone so early.

  She managed to look at him innocently and to say carelessly as he hadspoken:

  "I had a dance with him. He didn't say anything about leaving so soon."She even achieved a little laugh which sounded quite natural, ending,"He seemed rather put out that I did not receive him like an oldfriend!"

  "You did not accuse him of having robbed you?"

  "Not in so many words," quietly. "But I was certainly not polite to him!For a little I thought that he was going to return your money to me."

  "Why?" Pollard asked sharply, and now she was sure of his readiness tosuspect her of holding back something from him.

  "He said," she went on, her interest seeming chiefly for her bacon andeggs, "that he was returning something to me I had left at the cabin atHarte's place. I couldn't think of anything but your money."

  "What was it?"

  "A spur rowel. It had been loose for several days, and dropped out inthe cabin. He brought it back to me."

  From this they passed on to speak of other incidents of the dance and ofother people, but the girl saw that her uncle's interest waned with thechange of topic. Then, her heart fluttering in spite of her, but hervoice steady enough, Winifred said lightly:

  "I think I'll go for a little ride after breakfast. My horse needs theexercise, and," she added laughingly, "so do I."

  "Good idea," he returned, nodding his approval. But then he asked whichway she was riding, and finally volunteered to go with her, assuring hersmilingly that he had nothing of importance to do, and adding gravely,that he would feel safer if she were not out alone in this roughcountry.

  So he rode with her and after an hour of swift galloping out toward themountains, for the most part in silence, they came back to the town.Pollard left her at his own gate and rode back through the street, "tosee a man." But he returned almost immediately and for the rest of theday did not leave the house. It was a long day for the girl, filled withrestlessness and a sense of being spied upon, of being watched almostevery moment by her uncle. And before the day was done, there had comewith the other emotions a little thrill of positive, personal fear.

  It was midafternoon. The silence here at this far end of the street hungheavy and oppressive. She had gone up and down stairs half a dozenaimless times, eager for something to do. The long hours had been hersfor reflection, and after weighing the hundred little incidents of theselast few weeks, now there was no faintest shadow of a doubt that HenryPollard was at least guilty of criminal complicity in a scheme to sendan innocent man to the penitentiary if not to the gallows; she was morethan half persuaded that Pollard was in some way seeking to shieldhimself by using Thornton as a scapegoat; she had got to the point whereshe began to wonder if Henry Pollard and Ben Broderick shared share andshare alike both in the profits of these crimes and in their actualcommission.

  She came down stairs for a book, having at last finished the one in herroom, resigned to inactivity for another day, perhaps for two or threedays, until her uncle's watch upon her movements was less keen andsuspicious. She reflected that if she read something she might coax herthoughts away from considerations which he could not understand intheir entirety, and which terrified her when she thought that she didunderstand.

  In her quest she passed down the hall and to Pollard's office at thefront of the house. The room was by no means private; she had gone intoit many times before; sometimes it was used as a sitting room. She hadthought that her uncle was in it, but when she came to the open door shesaw that it was empty.

  She went to the long table at which Pollard wrote his few letters. Uponone end of it, at the far end from the pen and ink, were some books andold magazines, piled carelessly. Yesterday she had seen here a fairlyrecent novel the title of which promised her an interesting story. Aglance showed her the book, lying open, where Pollard had evidently beenreading it. And in the same careless glance she saw something else whichsent the blood into her face and made her turn swiftly, apprehensively,toward the door.

  There, beside Pollard's chair, was his waste paper basket, filled tooverflowing with crumpled papers. And, thrusting upward through thepapers, catching her eye because the papers were white and it wasanother colour, was a long, yellow envelope. An envelope exactly likethe one in which Mr. Templeton had put the bank notes she was to carryto her uncle!

  Obeying her swift impulse she stepped to the basket and drew theenvelope out. It was not only like the one she knew, yellow and clothlined, but it was the same one! She knew that beyond a hint of doubt.For she remembered how, while sealing the thing for her, Mr. Templetonhad laid it down on his table, upon his ink-wet pen, how he hadcarelessly blotted it. And here was the blot!

  She came swiftly around the table. Her back was toward the open door.And....

  Henry Pollard was standing behind her, watching her! She did not seehim, she could not be sure that she had heard his soft step on the hallcarpet, but she knew that he was there. She seemed to sense his presencewith the subtle sixth sense.