230CHAPTER XXIIIWHERE THE WHEEL TRACKS LED
Bud Jessup removed a battered stew-pan from the fire and set it aside to cool a little.
“Well, by this time I reckon friend Tex is all worked up over what’s become of me,” he remarked in a tone of satisfaction, deftly shifting the coffee-pot to a bed of deeper coals. “He’s sure tried often enough to get rid of me, but I don’t guess he quite relishes my droppin’ out of sight like this.”
Buck Stratton, his back resting comfortably against a rock a little way from the fire, nodded absently.
“You’re sure you didn’t leave any trace they could pick up?” he asked with a touch of anxiety.
“Certain sure,” returned Jessup confidently. “When Miss Mary came in around four, I was in the wagon-shed, the rest of the crowd bein’ down in south pasture. Like I told yuh before, she had a good-sized package all done up nice in her hand, an’ it didn’t take her long to tell me what was up. Then we walks out together an’ stops by the kitchen door.
“‘Yuh better get yore supper at the hotel,’ she says,231an’ ride back afterwards. ‘I meant to send in right after dinner to mail the package, but I got held up out on the range.’
“Then she seems to catch sight of the greaser for the first time jest inside the door, though I noticed him snoopin’ there when we first come up.
“‘I hope yuh got somethin’ left from dinner, Pedro,’ she says, with one of them careless natural smiles of hers, like as if she hadn’t a care on her mind except food. ‘I’m half starved.’”
Bud sighed and finished with a note of admiration. “Some girl, all right!”
“You’ve said it,” agreed Buck fervently.
His appearance had improved surprisingly in the ten days that had passed since his accident. The head-bandage was gone, and his swollen ankle, though still tender at times, had been reduced to almost normal size by constant applications of cold water. His body was still tightly strapped up with yards and yards of bandage, which Mary Thorne had thoughtfully packed, with a number of other first-aid necessities, in the parcel which was Bud’s excuse for making a trip to town.
Stratton was not certain that a rib had been broken after all. When Jessup came to examine him he found the flesh terribly bruised and refrained from any unnecessary prodding. It was still somewhat painful to the touch, but from the ease with which he232could get about, Buck had a notion that at the worst the bone was merely cracked.
“They wouldn’t be likely to notice where you left the Paloma trail, would they?” Buck asked, after a brief retrospective silence.
“Not unless they’re a whole lot better trackers than I think for,” Jessup assured him. “I picked a rocky place this side of the gully, an’ cut around the north end of middle pasture, where the land slopes down a bit, an’ yuh can’t be seen from the south more ’n a quarter of a mile. I kept my eyes peeled, believe me! an’ didn’t glimpse a soul all the way. I wouldn’t fret none about their followin’ me here.”
“I reckon it is foolish,” admitted Stratton. “But lying around not able to do anything makes a fellow think up all kinds of trouble. Lynch isn’t a fool, and there’s no doubt when you didn’t come back that night he’d begin to smell a rat right off.”
“Sure. An’ next day he likely sent in to town, where he’d find out from old Pop that I never showed up there at all. After that, accordin’ to my figgerin’, he’d be up against it hard. Yuh can bank on Miss Mary playin’ the game, an’ registerin’ surprise an’ worry an’ all the rest of it. There ain’t a chance in the world of his thinkin’ to look for me here.”
“I reckon that’s true. Of course we’ve got to remember that so far as he knows I’m out of the way for good.”233
Bud took up coffee-pot and stew-pan and set them down beside Stratton, where the rest of the meal was spread.
“Sure,” he chuckled, dropping down against the ledge. “Officially, you’re a corpse. That’s yore strong point, old-timer. By golly!” he added, with a sudden, fierce revulsion of spirit. “I only hope I’ll be on hand when he gets what’s comin’ to him, the damn’, cowardly skunk!”
“Maybe you will,” commented Buck grimly. “Well, let’s eat. Seems like I do nothing but eat and sleep and loaf around. I’ve a good notion to bust up the monotony,” he added, after a few minutes had passed in the silent consumption of food, “and take that trip to north pasture to-morrow.”
“Don’t be loco,” Bud told him hastily. “Yuh ain’t fit for nothin’ like that yet.”
“I did it a few days ago,” Stratton reminded him, “and I’m feeling a hundred per cent. better now.”
“Mebbe so; but what’s the use in takin’ chances? We got plenty of time.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Buck said seriously. “You say that Lynch thinks I’m dead and out of the way. Well, maybe he does; but unless he’s a lot bigger fool than I think for, he’s not going to leave a body around in plain sight for anybody to find. He’ll be slipping down into that gulch one of these234days to get rid of it, and when he finds there ain’t any body—then what?”
“He’ll begin to see he’s got into one hell of a mess, I reckon,” commented Jessup.
“Right. And he’ll be willing to do anything on earth to crawl out safe. Like enough he’ll connect your disappearance with the business, and that would worry him more than ever. He might even get scared enough to throw up the whole game and beat it; and believe me, that wouldn’t suit me at all.”
“Yuh said a mouthful!” snarled Jessup. “If that hellion should get away—Say, Buck, why couldn’t yuh get him for attempted murder?”
“I might, but the witnesses are all on his side, and there’d be a good chance of his slipping out. Besides, I’m set on finding out first what his game is. I’m dead certain now it’s connected somehow with the north pasture, and I’ve an idea it’s something big. That car I told you about, and everything—Well, there’s no sense guessing any longer when we can make a stab at finding out. We’ll start the first thing to-morrow.”
Bud made no further protest, and at dawn next morning they left camp and set out northward through the hills. It was a slow journey, and toward the end of it Buck felt rather seedy. But this was only natural, he told himself, after lying around and doing235nothing; and he even wished he had made the move sooner.
Both he and Jessup were conscious of a growing excitement as they neared the goal from which circumstances had held them back so long. Were they going to find out something definite at last? Or would fate thrust another unexpected obstacle in their way? Above all, if fortune proved kind, what would be the character of their discovery?
Immensely intrigued and curious, Bud chattered constantly throughout the ride, suggesting all sorts of solutions of the problem, some of which were rather far-fetched. Gold was his favorite—as it has been the favorite lure for adventurers all down the ages—and he drew an entrancing picture of desert sands sprinkled with the yellow dust. He thought of other precious metals, too, and even gave a passing consideration to a deposit of diamonds or some other precious or semi-precious stones. Once he switched off oddly on the subject of prehistoric remains, and Stratton’s surprised inquiry revealed the fact that three years ago he had worked for a party of scientific excavators in Montana.
“Them bones and skeletons as big as houses bring a pile of money, believe me!” he assured his companion. “The country up there ain’t a mite different from this, neither.”236
Buck himself was unusually silent and abstracted. During the last ten days of enforced idleness he had considered the subject for hours at a time and from every conceivable angle, with the result that a certain possibility occurred to him and persisted in lingering in his mind, in spite of its seeming improbability. It was so vague and unlikely that he said nothing about it to Bud; but now, mounting the steep trail, the thought of it came back with gathering strength, and he wondered whether it could possibly be true.
Advancing with every possible precaution, they gained the summit and passed on down the other side. Before them lay the desert, glittering and glowing in the morning sun, without a sign of alien presence. Keeping a sharp lookout, they reached the little, half-circular recess in the cliffs that formed the end of the trail, and paused.
No rain had fallen in the last ten days and the print of motor-tires was almost as clear and unmistakable as the day it had been made. They could make out easily where the car had been driven in, the footprints about it, and the marks left by its turning; and with equal lack of difficulty they picked out the track made as it departed.
The latter headed north, but Stratton was not interested in it. Without hesitation he selected the incoming trail, and the two followed it out into the desert. For a few hundred yards they rode almost237due east. Then the wheel-marks turned abruptly to the south, and a little further on Buck noted the prints of a galloping horse beside them.
“Lynch, I reckon,” he commented, pointing them out to his companion. “When he saw me up on the cliffs down yonder, he must have hustled to catch up with the car.”
Neither of them spoke again until they reached the spot where Buck had seen the car stop and the men get out and walk about. Here they dismounted and followed the footprints with careful scrutiny. Bud saw nothing significant, and when they had covered the ground thoroughly, he expressed his disappointment freely. Stratton merely shrugged his shoulders.
“We’ll follow the back track and see where else they stopped,” he said curtly.
His voice was a little hoarse, and there was an odd gleam in his eyes. When they were in the saddle again, he urged his horse forward at a speed which presently brought a protest from Jessup.
“Yuh better take it easy, old man,” he cautioned. “If that cayuse steps in a hole, you’re apt to get a jolt that’ll put you out of business.”
“I don’t guess it’ll hurt me,” returned Stratton with preoccupied brevity.
Bud gave a resigned shrug, and for ten minutes the silence remained unbroken. Then all at once Buck238gave a muttered exclamation and pulled his horse up with a jerk.
They were on the rim of a wide, shallow depression in the sand. There was nothing remarkable about it at first sight, save, perhaps, the total absence of desert vegetation for some distance all around. But Stratton slid hastily out of his saddle, flung the reins over Pete’s head, and walked swiftly forward. Thrilled with a sudden excitement and suspense, Bud followed.
“What is it?” he questioned eagerly, as Buck bent down to scoop up a handful of the trampled sand. “What have yuh—”
He broke off abruptly as Stratton turned suddenly on him, eyes dilated and a spot of vivid color glowing on each cheek-bone.
“Don’t you see?” he demanded, thrusting his hand toward the boy. “Don’t you understand?”
Staring at the open palm, Jessup’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
“Good Lord!” he gasped. “You don’t mean that it—it’s—”
He paused incredulously, and Buck nodded.
“I’m sure of it,” he stated crisply.
239CHAPTER XXIVTHE SECRET OF NORTH PASTURE
Jessup swallowed hard. “But—but—” he faltered, “there ain’t never been any found around here. The nearest fields are hundreds of miles away, ain’t they?”
Stratton dropped the lump of sand. A number of particles still clung to his palm, and over the skin there spread an oily, slightly iridescent film. His manner had suddenly grown composed, though his eyes still shone with suppressed excitement.
“Just the same, it’s—oil!” he returned quietly. “There’s no doubt at all about it. Look at the ground there.”
Mechanically Bud’s glance shifted to the wide, shallow depression in the desert. The sand was noticeably darker, and here and there under the sun’s rays, it held that faintly iridescent glint that was unmistakable. At a distance he would have said there was a spring somewhere beneath the surface. But no water ever had that look, and now that he was prepared for it he even noticed a faint, distinctive odor in the air.240
“By golly!” he cried excitedly. “You mean to say the whole pasture’s full of it?”
“Not likely, but it looks to me as if there was a-plenty. There were traces back there where we stopped, and there’s no telling how many more—”
“But I didn’t see nothin’,” interrupted Bud in surprise.
“You weren’t looking for it, that’s why,” shrugged Stratton. “I was. Thinking it all over this past week, I got to wondering if oil might not just possibly be what we ought to look for. I was so doubtful I didn’t say anything about it. Like you said, nobody’s ever struck it anywhere around these parts, but I reckon you never can tell.”
“Wough!” Bud suddenly exploded in a tremendous exhalation of breath. “I can’t seem to get it through my nut. Why, it means a fortune for Miss Mary! No wonder that skunk tried his best to do her out of it.”
Buck stared at him oddly. A fortune for Mary Thorne! Somehow, until this moment he had not realized that this must seem to every one to be the object of his efforts—to rid Mary Thorne of all her cares and troubles and bring her measureless prosperity. Ignorant of Stratton’s identity and of all the circumstances of her father’s treachery and double-dealing, she must hold that view herself. The thought241disturbed Buck, and he wondered uncomfortably what her feelings would be when she learned the truth.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Bud suddenly. “What yuh scowlin’ that way for?”
“Nothing special,” evaded Buck. “I was just thinking.” After all, there was no use crossing bridges until one came to them. “We’d better get started,” he added briskly. “We’ve found out all we want here, and there’s no sense in taking chances of running up against the gang.”
“What’s the next move?” asked Bud, when they had mounted and started back over their trail.
“Look up Hardenberg and put him wise to what we know,” answered Stratton promptly. “We’ve done about all we can; the rest of it’s up to him.”
“I reckon so,” agreed Jessup. “I never met up with him, but they say he’s a good skate. Perilla’s some little jaunt from here, though. Yuh thinkin’ of riding all the way?”
“Why not? It’ll be quicker in the end than going to Harpswell and taking the train. We’ll likely need the cayuses, too, when we get there. I’ve done forty miles at a stretch plenty of times.”
“So’ve I, but not with a bad ankle and a bunged-up side,” returned Bud dryly. “How yuh feelin’?”
“Fine! I’ve hardly had a twinge all day. That242bandage stuff is great dope for keeping a fellow strapped up comfortable.”
“Well, if you’re up to it, I reckon that would be better than the train,” Bud admitted. “For one thing, if we take the trail around south of the Rocking-R we ain’t likely to meet up with anybody who’ll put Lynch wise, an’ I take it that’s important.”
“I’ll say so!” agreed Buck emphatically. “The chances are that even if he got wind of you and me being together, he’d realize the game was up, and probably beat it for the border. As long as we can manage to keep out of the spot-light, he may suspect a lot of things, but considering the size of the stake, he’s likely to take a chance and hang on.”
“Let’s hope he don’t take it into his head to ride up here this morning,” remarked Jessup, glancing apprehensively across the desert wastes toward the south. “That would spill the beans for fair.”
The very possibility made them urge the horses to an even greater speed, and neither of them really breathed freely until they had gained the little sheltered depression in the cliffs, from which the trail led over the shoulder of the mountain.
“I reckon we’re safe enough now,” commented Stratton, drawing rein. “I didn’t see a sign of anybody as we came along.”
Halting for ten minutes to rest the horses, they started up the trail in single file, Bud going first. For243a greater part of the distance the rocky spurs shielded them from any save a very limited field of observation. But at the summit there was an almost level stretch of twenty feet or more from which an extended view could be had, not only of a wide sweep of desert country, but of a section of the northern end of middle pasture as well. Reaching this point, Buck glanced back searchingly. An instant later he was out of the saddle and crouching against the rocky wall.
“Lead Pete around the corner,” he urged Jessup sharply. “Get out of sight as quick as you can.”
Bud obeyed without question, and Stratton hastily took out his field-glasses and focused them on the three figures he had glimpsed riding along the northern extremity of the Shoe-Bar pasture. He recognized them instantly, pausing only long enough to make out that they did not seem to be in haste, and that so far as he could tell they were not looking in the direction of the trail. Then he thrust the glasses back into the case, and slipping around the buttress rejoined his companion.
“Lynch, with McCabe and Kreeger,” he explained curtly, gathering up the reins and swinging himself into the saddle.
“Did they see yuh?”
“I don’t think so. They seemed to be taking things easy, and weren’t looking this way at all. I wonder what they’re up to?”244
“Couldn’t we stick around here for a while and watch them?” Bud asked eagerly.
Buck hesitated an instant. “I guess we’d better not take a chance,” he replied at length. “Such a whale of a lot depends on his not knowing that I’m alive and kicking; I’d hate like the devil to spoil everything now by his getting a glimpse of me. Besides, for all we know they may be coming through here to meet somebody—the rest of the gang, perhaps, or—”
“That’s right,” interrupted Bud hastily. “Let’s go. Sooner we’re off this here trail the better.”
Without further delay they rode on down the slope, paused for a moment or two at the spring in the hollow to water the horses, and then pushed on again. Passing the entrance to the gulch, Jessup glanced that way curiously.
“Mebbe they’re on their way to dispose of yore corpse, Buck,” he chuckled.
Stratton grinned. “I thought of that, and I rather hope it’s so. They’d be puzzled and suspicious, maybe, but they couldn’t be really sure of anything. It would be a whole lot better than to have them run across our tracks in the sand back there. That would give away the show completely.”
Twenty minutes or so later they reached the gully through which they had come out on the trail. Though there had been no further signs of the Shoe-Bar245men, their vigilance did not relax. Pushing on with all possible speed, they covered the distance to the little camp in very much less time than it had taken in the morning.
Here the horses had a brief rest while the two men collected their few belongings and loaded them on the pack-horse, for they had decided to go on at once. Both felt that no time should be lost in finding the sheriff and setting the machinery of the law in motion. Moreover, they were down to the last scrap of food and unless they stirred themselves they were likely to go hungry that night.
An hour later found them riding southward, following the route through the mountains used by the cattle-rustlers. Making the same cautious circuit Buck had taken around the southern end of the Shoe-Bar, they reached Rocking-R land without adventure and pulled up before the door of Red Butte camp about six o’clock.
Gabby Smith was cooking supper and greeted them with his customary lack of enthusiasm. Bud, who had never seen him before, was much diverted by his manner, and during the meal kept up a constant chatter of comment and question for the purpose, as he afterward confessed, of making the taciturn puncher go the limit in the matter of loquacity. His effort, though it could scarcely be termed successful, evidently got on Gabby’s nerves, for afterward he turned both men246out of the cabin while he cleared up, a process lasting until nearly bedtime.
It was not until then that Stratton, by a chance remark, learned that three or four days after his departure from the camp two weeks earlier, a stranger had been there making inquiries about him. Gabby’s stenographic brevity made it difficult to extract details, but apparently the fellow had passed himself off as an old friend of Buck’s from Texas, desirous of looking him up. He was a stranger to Gabby, slight, dark, with eyes set rather closely together, and he rode a Shoe-Bar horse. Apparently he had hung around camp until nearly dusk, and then departed only when Gabby got rid of him by suggesting that his man had probably ridden in to spend the night at the Rocking-R ranch-house.
Stratton and Jessup discussed the incident while making brief preparation for bed. So far as Bud knew there had been no stranger on the Shoe-Bar at that time; but it seemed certain that the fellow must have been sent by Lynch to spy around and find out where Buck was.
“I s’pose he went to the ranch-house first and Tenny sent him down here, knowing he wouldn’t get much out of Gabby,” remarked Stratton. “Well, as far as I can see he had his trouble for his pains. Unless he hung around for two or three days he couldn’t very well be certain I wasn’t somewhere on the ranch.”247
Save as a matter of curiosity, however, the whole affair lay too far in the past to be of the least importance now, and it was soon dismissed. Having removed boots and outer clothing, and spread their blankets in one of the pair of double-decked bunks, the two men lost no time crawling between them, and fell almost instantly asleep.
248CHAPTER XXVTHE TRAP
“Yuh out last night?” brusquely inquired Gabby, as they were dressing next morning.
A direct question from the eccentric individual was so novel that Buck paused in buckling on his cartridge-belt, and stared at him in frank surprise.
“Why, no,” he returned promptly. “Were you, Bud?”
“I sure wasn’t. I didn’t budge after my head hit the mattress. What gave yuh the notion, old-timer?”
“Door unlatched,” growled Gabby, continuing his preparations for breakfast.
“Is that all?” shrugged Bud. “Likely nobody thought to close it tight.”
Gabby made no answer, but his expression, as he went silently about his work, failed to show conviction.
“Ain’t he a scream?” inquired Bud an hour later, when they had saddled up and were on their way. “I don’t wonder Tenny can’t get nobody to stay in camp with him. It would be about as cheerful as a morgue.”249
“Must have got soured in his youth,” remarked Stratton. “I had to put up a regular fight to get him to look after the pack-horse till somebody can take it back to the ranch-house. Where do we hit this trail you were telling me about?”
“About a mile and a half further on. It ain’t much to boast of, but chances are we won’t meet up with a soul till we run into the main road a mile or so this side of Perilla.”
Bud’s prediction proved accurate. They encountered no one throughout the entire length of the twisting, narrow, little-used trail, and even when they reached the main road early in the afternoon there was very little passing.
“Reckon they’re all taking their siesta,” commented. Bud. “Perilla’s a great place for greasers, yuh know, bein’ so near the border. There’s a heap sight more of ’em than whites.”
Presently they began to pass small, detached adobe huts, some of them the merest hovels. A few dark-faced children were in sight here and there, but the older persons were all evidently comfortably indoors, slumbering through the noonday heat.
Further on the houses were closer together, and at length Bud announced that they were nearing the main street, one end of which crossed the road they were on at right angles.
“That rickety old shack there is just on the corner,”250he explained. “It’s a Mexican eating-house, as I remember. Most of the stores an’ decent places are up further.”
“Wonder where Hardenberg hangs out?” remarked Stratton.
“Yuh got me. I never had no professional use for him before. Reckon most anybody can tell us, though. That looks like a cow-man over there. Let’s ask him.”
A moment or two later they stopped before the dingy, weather-beaten building on the corner. Two horses fretted at the hitching-rack, and on the steps lounged a man in regulation cow-boy garb. A cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth, and as the two halted he glanced up from the newspaper he was reading.
“Hardenberg?” he repeated in answer to the question. “Yuh mean the sheriff? Why, he’s inside there.”
Bud looked surprised and somewhat incredulous. “What the devil’s he doin’ in that greaser eatin’-house?”
The stranger squinted one eye as the cigarette smoke curled up into his face. “Oh, he ain’t patronizin’ the joint,” he explained with a touch of dry amusement. “He’s after old José Maria for sellin’ licker, I reckon. Him an’ one of his deputies rode up about five minutes ago.”251
After a momentary hesitation Stratton and Jessup dismounted and tied their horses to the rack. Buck realized that the sheriff might not care to be interrupted while on business of this sort, but their own case was so urgent that he decided to take a chance. At least he could find out when Hardenberg would be at leisure.
Pushing through the swinging door, they found themselves in a single, long room, excessively dingy and rather dark, the only light coming from two unshuttered windows on the north side. To Buck’s surprise at least a score of Mexicans were seated around five or six bare wooden tables eating and drinking. Certainly if a raid was on they were taking it very calmly. The next moment he was struck by two things; the sudden hush which greeted their appearance, and the absence of any one who could possibly be the man they sought.
“Looks like that fellow must have given us the wrong tip,” he said, glancing at Jessup. “I don’t see any one here who—”
He paused as a wizened, middle-aged Mexican got up from the other end of the room and came toward them.
“Yo’ wish zee table, señors?” he inquired. “P’raps like zeechile con carne, or zee—”
“We don’t want anything to eat,” interrupted252Stratton. “I understand Sheriff Hardenberg is here. Could I see him a minute?”
“Oh, zee shereef!” shrugged the Mexican, with a characteristic gesture of his hands. “He in zee back room with José Maria. Yo’ please come zis way.”
He turned and walked toward a door at the further end of the long room, the two men following him between the tables. But Buck had not taken more than half a dozen steps before he stopped abruptly. That curious silence seemed to him too long continued to be natural; there was a hint of tension, of suspense in it. And something about the attitude of the seated Mexicans—a vague sense of watchful, stealthy scrutiny, of tense, quivering muscles—confirmed his sudden suspicion.
“Hold up, Bud!” he warned impulsively. “There’s something wrong here.”
As if the words were a signal, the crowd about them surged up suddenly, with the harsh scrape of many chair-legs and an odd, sibilant sound, caused by a multitude of quick-drawn breaths. Like a flash Buck pulled his gun and leveled it on the nearest greaser.
“Get out of the way,” he ordered, taking a step toward the outer door.
The fellow shrank back instinctively, but to Buck’s surprise—the average Mexican is not noted for daredevil bravery—several others behind pushed themselves253forward. Suddenly Jessup’s voice rose in shrill warning.
“Look out, Buck! Behind yuh—quick! That guy’s got a knife.”
Stratton whirled swiftly to catch a flashing vision of a tall Mexican creeping toward him, a long, slim knife glittering in his upraised hand. The fellow was so close that another step would bring him within striking distance, and without hesitation Buck’s finger pressed the trigger.
The hammer fell with an ominous, metallic click. Amazed, Buck hastily pulled the trigger twice again without results. As he realized that in some mysterious manner the weapon had been tampered with, his teeth grated, but with no perceptible pause in the swiftness of his action he drew back his arm and hurled the pistol straight into the greaser’s face.
His aim was deadly. The heavy Colt struck the fellow square on the mouth, and with a smothered cry he dropped the knife and staggered back, flinging up both hands to his face. But others leaped forward to take his place, a dozen knives flashing in as many hands. The ring closed swiftly, and from behind him Stratton heard Bud cry out with an oath that his gun was useless.
There was no time for conscious planning. It was instinct alone—that primitive instinct of every man sore pressed to get his back against something solid—that254made Buck lunge forward suddenly, seize a Mexican around the waist, and hurl him bodily at one side of the closing circle.
This parted abruptly and two men went sprawling. One of them Buck kicked out of the way, feeling a savage satisfaction at the impact of his boot against soft flesh and at the yell of pain that followed. Catching Jessup by an arm he swept him toward one of the tables, snatched up a chair, and with his back against the heavy piece of furniture he faced the mob. His hat was gone, and as he stood there, big body braced, mouth set, and hair crested above his smoldering eyes, he made a splendid picture of force and strength which seemed for an instant to awe the Mexicans into inactivity.
But the pause was momentary. Urged on by a voice in the rear, they surged forward again, two of the foremost hurling their knives with deadly aim. One Stratton avoided by a swift duck of his head; the other he caught dexterously on the chair-bottom. Then, over the heads of the crowd, another chair came hurtling with unexpected force and precision. It struck Buck’s crude weapon squarely, splintering the legs and leaving him only the back and precariously wobbling seat.
He flung this at one of the advancing men and floored him. But another, slipping agilely in from the side, rushed at him with upraised knife. He was the255same greaser who, weeks before, had played that trick about the letter; and Buck’s lips twitched grimly as he recognized him.
As the knife flashed downward, Stratton squirmed his body sidewise so that the blade merely grazed one shoulder. Grasping the slim wrist, he twisted it with brutal force, and the weapon clattered to the floor. An instant later he had gripped the fellow about the body and, exerting all his strength, hurled him across the table and straight through the near-by window.
The sound of a shrill scream and the crash of shattered glass came simultaneously. In the momentary, dead silence that followed, one could have almost heard a pin drop.
256CHAPTER XXVISHERIFF HARDENBERG INTERVENES
During that brief lull Buck found time to wonder why no one had sense enough to use a gun to bring them down. But almost as swiftly the answer came to him; they dared not risk the sound of a shot bringing interference from without. He flashed a glance at Bud, who sagged panting against the table, the fragments of a chair in his hands and a trickle of blood running down his face. Somehow the sight of that blood turned Buck into a raging savage.
“Come on, you damned coyotes!” he snarled. “Come and get yours.”
For a brief space it looked as if no one had nerve enough to accept his challenge, and Buck shot a sudden appraising glance toward the outer door, between which and them their assailants crowded thickest. But before he could plan a way to rush the throng, that same sharp voice sounded from the rear which before had stirred the greasers into action, and six or seven of them began to creep warily forward. Their movements were plainly reluctant, however, and of a257sudden Stratton gave a spring which carried him within reaching distance of the two foremost. Gripping each by a collar, he cracked their heads together thrice in swift succession, hurled their limp bodies from him, grabbed another chair from the floor, and was back beside Jessup before any of their startled companions had time to stir.
“Now’s the time to rush ’em, kid,” he panted in Jessup’s ear. “When I give the word—”
He broke off abruptly as the front door was flung suddenly open and a sharp, incisive, dominant voice rang through the room.
“What in hell ’s doing here?”
For a fraction of a second the silence was intense. Then like a flash a man leaped up and flung himself through the window, while three others plunged out of the rear door and disappeared. Others were crowding after them when there came a sudden spurt of flame, the sharp sound of a pistol-shot, and a bullet buried itself in the casing of the rear door.
“Stand still, every damn’ one of you,” ordered the new-comer.
He strode down the room through the light powder-haze and paused before Stratton, tall, wide-shouldered, and lean of flank, with a thin, hawklike face and penetrating gray eyes.
“Well?” he questioned curtly. “What’s it all about? That scoundrel been selling licker again?”258
“Not to us,” snapped Buck. “Are you Hardenberg?” he added, with sudden inspiration.
“I am.”
“Well, you’re the cause of our being in here.”
The gray eyes studied him narrowly. “How come?”
“I came to town to see you specially and was told by a man outside that you were making a raid on this joint. We hadn’t been inside three minutes before we found it was a plant to get us here and knife us.”
“I don’t get you,” remarked the sheriff in a slightly puzzled tone.
By this time Buck’s momentary irritation at the hint that it was all merely a drunken quarrel was dying away.
“I don’t wonder,” he returned in a more amiable tone. “It’s a long story—too long to tell just now. I can only say that we were attacked without cause by the whole gang here, and if you hadn’t shown up just now, it’s a question whether we’d have gotten away alive.”
The sheriff’s glance swept over the disordered room, taking in the shattered window, the bodies on the floor, the Mexican who crouched moaning in a corner, and returned to Stratton’s face.
“I’m not so sure about that last,” he commented, with a momentary grim smile. “What’s your name?”
“Buck Green.”259
“Oh! You wrote me a letter—”
“Sure. I’ll explain about that later. Meanwhile—”
He broke off and, bending swiftly, pulled his Colt from under the table. Breaking the weapon, he ejected a little shower of empty brass shells, at the sight of which his lips tightened. Still without comment, he rapidly filled it from his belt, Hardenberg watching him intently the while.
“Meanwhile, you’d like a little action, eh?” drawled the sheriff. “You’re right. Either of you hurt?”
He glanced inquiringly at Jessup, who was just wiping the blood from his cut face.
“Not me,” snapped Bud. “This don’t amount to nothin’. Say, was there a guy hangin’ around outside when yuh came in—short, with black hair an’ eyes set close together?”
Buck gave a slight start; the sheriff shook his head.
“I might have known he’d beat it,” snorted Bud. “But I’ll get the lyin’ son-of-a-gun yet; it was him told us yuh were in here.”
Hardenberg’s gray eyes narrowed slightly. “That’ll come later. We’ll round up this bunch first. If you two will ride around to Main Street and get hold of half a dozen of my deputies, I’ll stay here and hold this bunch.”
Rapidly he mentioned the names of the men he wanted and where they could be found, and Stratton260and Jessup hastily departed. Outside they found three horses, their own, tied to the hitching-rack as they had left them, and a big, powerful black, who stood squarely facing the door, reins merely trailing and ears pricked forward. The two that had been there when they first rode up were gone.
“Just like I thought,” said Jessup, as they mounted and swung around the corner. “That guy was planted there a-purpose to get us into the eatin’-house. What’s more, I’ll bet my saddle he was the same one who came snoopin’ around Red Butte camp two weeks ago. Recollect, Gabby said he was small, with black hair an’ eyes close together?”
Buck nodded. “It’s a mighty sure thing he was there again last night and pulled our loads,” he added in a tone of chagrin. “We’re a pretty dumb pair, kid. Next time we’ll believe Gabby when he says his door was opened in the night.”
“I’ll say so. But I thought the old bird was just fussing. Never even looked at my gun. But why the devil should we have suspected anythin’? Why, Lynch don’t even know yore alive!”
“He must have found out someway,” shrugged Stratton, “though I can’t imagine how. No use shedding tears over it, though. What we’ve got to do is get Hardenberg moving double-quick. Here’s George Harley; I’ll take him, and you go on to the next one.”
Rapidly the deputies were gathered together and261hurried back to the eating-house to find Hardenberg holding the Mexicans without difficulty. Half an hour later these were safely lodged in the jail, and the sheriff began a rigorous examination, which lasted until late in the afternoon.
The boldness of the affair angered him and made him determined to get at the bottom of it; but this proved no easy matter. To begin with, José Maria, the proprietor of the restaurant, was missing. Either he had merely rented his place to the instigator of the plot, and was prudently absenting himself for a while, or else he was one of those who had escaped through the rear door. Most of the Mexicans were natives of Perilla, and one and all swore that they were as innocent of evil intent as unborn children. They had merely happened to be there getting a meal when the fracas started. The miscreants who had drawn knives on the two whites were quite unknown to them, and must be the ones who had escaped.
Hardenberg knew perfectly well that they were lying, but for the moment he let it pass. He had an idea that Stratton could throw some light on the situation, and leaving the prisoners to digest a few pithy truths, he took the cow-puncher into his private room to hear his story.
Though Buck tried to make this as brief as possible, it took some time, especially as the sheriff showed an absorbing interest from the start and persisted in262asking frequent questions and requesting fuller details. When he had finally heard everything, he leaned back in his chair, regarding Stratton thoughtfully.
“Mighty interesting dope,” he remarked, lighting a cigarette. “I’ve had my eyes on Tex Lynch for some time, but I had no idea he was up to anything like this. You’re dead sure about that oil?”
Buck nodded. “Of course, you can’t ever be certain about the quantity until you bore, but I went over some of the Oklahoma fields a few years ago, and this sure looks like something big.”
“Pretty soft for the lady,” commented Hardenberg. He paused, regarding Stratton curiously. “Just whereabouts do you come off?” he asked frankly. “I’ve been wondering about that all along, and you can see I’ve got to be dead sure of my facts before I get busy on this seriously.”
Though Buck had been expecting the question, he hesitated for an instant before replying.
“I’ll tell you,” he replied slowly at length, “but for the present I’d like to have you keep it under your hat. My name isn’t Green at all, but—Stratton.”
“Stratton?” repeated the sheriff in a puzzled tone. “Stratton?” A sudden look of incredulity flashed into his eyes. “You’re not trying to make out that you’re the Buck Stratton who owned the Shoe-Bar?”
Buck flushed a little. “I was afraid you’d find it hard to swallow, but it’s true,” he said quietly. “You263see, the papers got it wrong. I wasn’t killed at all, but only wounded in the head. For—for over a year I hadn’t any memory.”
Briefly he narrated the circumstances of the unusual case, and Hardenberg listened with absorbed attention, watching him closely, weighing every word, and noting critically the most trifling gesture or change of expression. For a while his natural skepticism struggled with a growing conviction that the man before him was telling the truth. It was an extraordinary experience, to be sure, but he quickly realized that Stratton had nothing to gain by a deliberate imposture.
“You can prove all that, of course?” he asked when Buck had finished.
“Of course. I haven’t any close relatives, but there are plenty of men who’ll swear to my identity.”
The sheriff sat silent for a moment. “Some experience,” he mused presently. “Rotten hard luck, too, I’ll say. Of course you never had a suspicion of oil when you sold the outfit to old man Thorne.”
Again Buck hesitated. Somehow he found this part of the affair extraordinarily hard to put into words. But he knew that it must be done.
“I didn’t sell it,” he said curtly at length. “That transfer of Thorne’s was a forgery. He was a man I’d had a number of business dealings with, and when I went to France I left all my papers in his charge.264I suppose when he saw my name on the list of missing, he thought he could take a chance. But his daughter knew nothing whatever about it. She’s white all through and thinks the ranch is honestly hers. That’s the reason why I want you to keep quiet about this for a while. You can see how she’d feel if this came out.”
A faint, fleeting smile curved the corners of Jim Hardenberg’s straight mouth. Accustomed by his profession to think the worst of people, and to probe deeply and callously for hidden evil motives, it amused and rather pleased him to meet a man whose extraordinary story roused not the faintest doubt in his critical mind.
“Some dirty business,” he commented at length. “Still, it’s come out all right, and at that you’re ahead of the game. That oil might have laid there for years without your getting wise to it. Well, let’s get down to cases. It’s going to take some planning to get that scoundrel Lynch, to say nothing of the men higher up. Tell me about those fellows in the car again.”
Buck readily went over that part of his story, describing the fat man and his driver as accurately as he was able. The sheriff’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he listened.
“Think you know him?” Buck asked curiously.
“I’m not sure. Description sounds a bit familiar,265but descriptions are apt to fool you. I wish you’d managed to get the number of the car.”
“That would likely be a fake one,” Stratton reminded him.
“Maybe. Well, I’ll make a few inquiries.” He stood up stretching. “I’d like mighty well to start for the Shoe-Bar to-night, but I’m afraid I can’t get a posse together soon enough. We’ll need some bunch to round up that gang. You’ll be at the United States Hotel, I suppose? Well, I’ll get busy now, and after supper I’ll drop around to let you know how things are going. With what you’ve told me I’ll see if I can’t squeeze some information out of those greasers. It may help.”
They left the room together, the sheriff pausing outside to give some instructions to his assistant. Buck gathered in Jessup, who had been waiting, and the two left the building and walked toward the hotel, where they had left their horses.
Perilla was a town of some size, and at this hour the main street was fairly well crowded with a picturesque throng of cowboys, Mexicans, and Indians from the near-by reservation, with the usual mingling of more prosaic-looking business men. Not a few motor-cars mingled with horsemen and wagons of various sorts in the roadway, but as Buck’s glance fell on a big, shiny, black touring-car standing at the curb, he was struck by a sudden feeling of familiarity.266
Mechanically he noted the license-number. Then his eyes narrowed as he saw the pudgy, heavily-built figure in the tan dust-coat on the point of descending from the tonneau.
An instant later they were face to face. For a second the fat man glanced at him indifferently with that same pouting droop to the small lips which Stratton knew he never could forget. Then, like a flash, the round eyes widened and filled with horror, the jaw dropped, the fat face turned to a pale, sickly green. A choking gurgle burst from the man’s lips, and he seemed on the point of collapse when a hand reached out and dragged him back into the car, which, at a hasty word from the occupant of the back seat, shot from the curb and hummed rapidly away.
Thinking to stop them by shooting up the tires. Buck’s hand dropped instinctively to his gun. But he realized in time that such drastic methods were neither expedient nor necessary. Instead, he turned and halted a man of about forty who was passing.
“Any idea who that fellow is?” he asked, motioning toward the car, just whirling around the next corner. “He’s short and fat, in a big black Hammond car.”
“Short and fat in a Hammond car?” repeated the man, staring down the street. “Hum! Must be Paul Draper from Amarillo. He’s the only one I know267around these parts who owns a Hammond. Come to think, though, his car is gray.”
“He’s probably had it painted lately,” suggested Stratton quietly. “Much obliged. I thought I’d seen him before some place.”