DISASTER GETS ORGANIZED
As Wallie descended the stairs after this talk with the masked man, his nonchalance crystallized into a grim resolve that transformed his personality. He paused at the bottom of the flight and glanced up. The enigmatic man with the mask apparently had returned to Bryant's bedroom. Then Wallie opened the front door and stepped to the verandah. Half a dozen of the ranch hands were there with ill-concealed curiosity.
Wallie spoke softly but without a trace of the careless ease that marked his style at other times. "Go back to whatever you were doin'," he ordered. "If you're needed, we'll send for you."
"But who was that masked man with Bryant?" asked one of the men.
"None of your damn business," retorted Wallie in a surly voice. "Get to work an' you'll be sent for later." He turned to another man. "Has Gimlet been buried yet?"
The lanky individual addressed shook his head slowly. "We jest tossed a blanket over him," he said. "We warn't shore what yore plans was. He's still in the bunkhouse."
Wallie nodded. "Leave him there for the time being." He swung through the door and headed for the upset living room. Had Penelope seen Wallie in his present mood, she would have revised her opinion of him in a hundred ways. He walked with a purposeful air instead of the familiar sauntering gait; his eyes, generally half-closed in boredom, were wide and divided by a perpendicular frown-crease on his forehead. And those eyes were hard. His hands were clenched with such intensity that the well-cared-for fingernails bit into the palms ... hard fists in place of hands that strummed soft tunes of romance on a guitar. The soft, full-lipped mouth was gone, and in its place there was the same hard line that Bryant Cavendish showed when angry.
Wallie was indeed a different person. A fop no longer; instead, a man of purpose with cruel ruthlessness in every feature. He went through the living room without a pause and halted only when he reached the kitchen. He closed the door without a slam.
Jeb sat with a woebegone expression on a heavy chair. Sawtell, as bland as ever, stood beside him, holding a heavy gun in one hand. At the sight of Wallie, Sawtellspoke. "He started to make some complaints a little while ago, an' I tapped him on the head. I don't think we'll hear any more from him."
Wallie glanced at his lean brother. There was a cut somewhere beneath the stringy hair on the left side of Jeb's skull. Blood, seeping from it, had dribbled down his cheek and stained his collar. Jeb's eyes held an unvoiced but pathetic plea. They resembled those of a hog-tied calf suffering the torment of a branding iron.
Wallie said, "Better gag an' tie him. I'll decide later what's to be done."
Sawtell nodded, dropped his pistol in a holster, and proceeded with the tying, while Jeb, who knew that a voiced complaint would simply mean another crack on the head, made no resistance.
Lonergan sat on the edge of the kitchen table, casually working on his fingernails with a carving knife. He glanced up, a question mark in his expression.
There had been two others locked in the vault beneath the living room. They, too, were present in the kitchen. Lombard and Vince, sullen, and dripping muttered curses as well as sweat, stood side by side, leaning against the wall with half-filled whisky glasses in their hands.
"Are you sure," began Wallie, "none of you knows who that masked man is?" He glanced from one to another, receiving negative headshakes.
"All I know about him," grumbled Lombard, "is that I spent a hell of a night in that damned wet cellar, an' I'm goin' to square it with him."
"What about me?" snapped Vince. "My joints'll ache fer a week after las' night."
"You," said Wallie, looking at Lombard, "stand at the foot of the stairs, an' make sure he don't come out of Bryant's room. Vince, you get close to the window an' keep watch on the Gap. Yuma will be here some time today with a warrant for Bryant's arrest, an' law men to act on the warrant."
"Why me? What's the matter with Sawtell or Lonergan?"
Wallie didn't reply, but his cold-eyed gaze was quite enough. Vince grumbled his way to the window, as if he resented being ordered about by his own brother in the same fashion that ordinary outlaws were commanded. He dragged a chair to the window and sat down.
"This'll do for the time," Sawtell suggested, as he tied the last knot in the ropes about Jeb's arms. "Now what'll we do with him?"
"Leave him where he is until I finish speaking, and then we'll decide later what we'll do with him. I told you that already."
"He knows too damn much," said Vince, "an' he's too dumb to be any good to us. Why worry about him?"
"Who," said Wallie, "is worrying?"
"What about that masked man? What was it you said about Yuma comin' with the law?" It was Lonergan, the lawyer-gambler, speaking.
Wallie explained briefly how Yuma's hat had been shot at by Bryant; how both Yuma and the man with the mask were convinced that Bryant Cavendish was the leader of all that went on in the Basin.
"That works out fine for us," he said. "We may have to lay low for a little while, but we've been needin' a rest anyhow. We'll sell off some of the cattle we've got here now, but wait till things cool off before we bring in any more." He went into detail, explaining how the masked man's plan was to persuade Bryant to confess before he went to jail. "And he figures," he continued, "on lettin' the law take you men back."
Sawtell shifted his weight uneasily, and Lonergan laid down the carving knife. "There's a rope just a little too tight for my neck waitin' for me if I go back to Red Oak," Sawtell said.
"None of you are goin' back," snapped Wallie. "Didn't I tell you, when I suggested that you come here and help me out, that I'd see you well protected?"
"Maybe," suggested Lonergan, "you've got some new scheme."
"I have."
"It better be good. Your idea was working out swell until Rebecca sent for the law. Then, instead of entertaining those Texas Rangers and convincing them that everything was all right here, you had to ambush them. As a lawyer, I advised against that massacre."
"I didn't ask for your advice, Lonergan."
"Well, it was a mistake to dry-gulch them anyway. That won't stop other Rangers from coming here to see what happened to them. I tell you, Wallie, there's a great big rope, speaking in the picturesque way of the story-writers, around all of us, an' that rope is bein' hauled in tight."
"Like hell it is," barked Wallie in a sharp reply. "Ifyou'll button your lip for a few minutes I'll tell you how everything has worked out to put us in the clear."
"You weren't satisfied with that massacre," the lawyer went on accusingly. "You had to kill Rangoon, then Gimlet, and last night, Mort."
"My policy," replied Wallie, his voice cold with suppressed anger, "is to leave no loose ends. Rangoon couldn't be relied on. Gimlet already knew a few things, an' thought a lot more. Mort would have squealed his yellow head off to avoid bein' hanged. As for Yuma, it's a damned shame he didn't get a couple of slugs where they'd do the most good for us."
"I don't know why he was hired to work here anyway," said Lonergan. "He wasn't like the rest of the men."
"Bryant himself hired Yuma, an' God knows why. Anyway, it's the fact that Yuma is bringin' the law that'll put us in the clear."
"In the clear on what?" asked Lonergan.
"I don't know why in hell I take so much back talk from you, Lonergan," said Wallie.
"I do. It's because you wouldn't have a ghost of a show in handling things after Bryant dies, without my legal talents." The lawyer studied his fingernails with exaggerated concern, and again picked up the carving knife. "Now what is this big scheme of yours that's to put us in the clear? My own suggestion would be to go to Bryant's room and get the drop on this masked man, then—"
"I'll do the talking from now on," Wallie interrupted. "In the first place, there's the murder of Rangoon to be accounted for. Well, that masked man and the Indianfriend that went to town with Penny were both in the clearing. All right, we blame Rangoon's death on them. As for Gimlet, Yuma had a lot better chance to kill him than I did. It's known that Yuma was on the ranch at the time. But no one knows that I came back from Red Oak by the Thunder Mountain route, knifed Gimlet, an' went back to town. We tell the law men it's Yuma who killed Gimlet. I'll accuse him of it when he gets here, and let him try to deny it. Penny herself, if need be, will have to say that Yuma was here at the time."
Lonergan nodded. "So far," he said, "you're doin' good—go on."
"As for Mort's death—hell, that's easy to blame on the masked man. Everyone in Red Oak has already accused him of murderin' Mort. Everyone in town heard him yell to that white horse of his when he carried Bryant away. Why, public sentiment is with us! There ain't anyone in town that wouldn't blame the masked man for killing, not only Mort, but Bryant as well!"
"It sounds swell to me," admired Sawtell, "all but for the fact that this masked man an' Bryant are both upstairs and livin'."
"That's a detail that's goin' to be taken care of pronto," stated Wallie. "My story, which Vince will back up, being that none of you others dare show yourselves, is that the masked man brought Bryant here, dead. I shot him for it after a hell of a fight." Wallie looked proudly at Lonergan. "Now what's the matter with that?"
Lonergan pondered and then said, "Those two are still alive. That's the only trouble."
"It won't take long to remedy that. We go up to Bryant'sroom, burst in, and start shootin'. Get Bryant and get the masked man. I took the trouble to bring the key with me, so the door won't be locked. By lookin' through the keyhole I'll make sure where the two of them are, an' then when we go into the room we won't be shootin' blind. We can't miss."
"The more I hear about it," said Sawtell, "the better it sounds. It'll be a big relief to have Bryant out of our way for keeps. He's been a nuisance around here."
"We had to let him live until we had things arranged," explained Wallie, "but now there's no more need of him."
"It'll not only get rid of Bryant," added Sawtell, "it'll clear up the murders around here. I suppose you've got some way all worked out to blame the killin' of those Texas Rangers on him?"
"The masked man will be blamed for those. It's well known that he an' that Indian are pards. Their footprints are both up there on Thunder Mountain where the buzzards are cleanin' off Rangoon's bones. The Indian's footprints are near the graves of the Rangers. Any law man could put an' two together an' get the answer that the masked man an' Indian killed 'em. If the Redskin tries to deny it, who'll listen to him against the evidence?"
Lonergan laid down the knife methodically and slid from the edge of the table to his feet. Wallie looked at him defiantly, as if daring the lawyer to find a flaw in the plans.
There was a mixture of surprise and admiration in the way Lonergan looked at Wallie. "I didn't think," he said, "you had it in you. I'm damned if it won't work."
Wallie's deep-rooted respect for the adroit brain of the lawyer made him glow with pleasure at a compliment from that man.
"As I see it," said Lonergan, "there's just one little flaw in the plans."
"What's that?" demanded Wallie.
"The story you figure on telling won't account for a lot of bullet holes around that bedroom of your uncle. Have you got a way around that worked out?"
"Of course. We tell the law that Bryant was shot in front of the house and that I shot the masked man for it in the same place. Both corpses will be on the porch, an' there won't be any reason to go into the bedroom until after we have the chance to clean it up."
"That," said Lonergan, "will do it."
"I've had a hunch," contributed Vince from his post at the window, "that Bryant's been suspectin' things for some time. I'll be damned glad to see him done away with. With him an' Penny out of here, we won't have to be so damned careful about every move we make."
Wallie nodded. "After the law is satisfied," he said, "we'll go on just as we have been. Vince will take charge of things while I'm tomcattin' around Red Oak an' playin' the part of a girl-crazy Romeo while I listen for news about cattle ranches that are just invitin' visitors like us."
The leader of the group sketched a few details of his plan, then said, "I want all of you to go upstairs with me. Keep your guns drawn an' keep still. We'll take Lombard as we go by him. When the fireworks are over with, me an' Vince will wait for Yuma to fetch the lawmen, an' the rest of you can hide. Now put Jeb down in the vault, then fix the room up as it should be. While you're doin' that I'll tell Lombard the plans, an' then we'll all go up to Bryant's room."
Jeb was still dazed from the ugly blow Sawtell had given him. He was limp and unresisting as the men picked him up bodily, hands and feet tied tightly, and carried him to the living room. They dropped him on the floor and replaced things where they belonged. Sawtell tossed the hunk of firewood to one side, then handed down the chair from its place on the table top. Lonergan kicked the chair toward a wall, while Sawtell stepped to the floor and hauled away the table. It was Vince who opened the trapdoor, then rolled his brother Jeb into the opening. He laughed as he heard Jeb's body strike the hard-dirt floor below. "Don't get intuh no mischief down there," he called; then he closed the door and pulled the rug in place to conceal it.
Meanwhile Wallie was with Lombard at the foot of the stairs. Lombard was grinning and nodded as the others joined the couple. He drew his gun and spun the cylinder to check it. A moment later, after a few last, whispered instructions from Wallie, the five were ready to go upstairs with disaster for the Lone Ranger.
GUNS TALK BACK
The murder-bent quintet went up the stairs like Indians stalking single file through wooded land. Each man carried his gun in his left hand and braced himself with his right against the wall. They stayed as close to that wall as possible to minimize the creaking of the stairs. The only sound was a faint, leathery whisper from the dusty boots. Wallie cursed inwardly at his lack of foresight in not having his men go stocking-footed to the double murder.
Wallie was in the lead, Vince in the rear. In this order they gained the upstairs hall. Any apprehensions Wallie might have had about the squeaking boots were dispelled as he drew close to Bryant's door. A resonant voice, undoubtedlythat of the masked man, was speaking. Wallie felt no qualms of guilt or conscience at the cold-blooded ruthlessness of his plans. He hadn't the slightest intention of giving the men who were marked for execution a chance to defend themselves. The code of Western fair play was missing from Wallie's personality. This was to be no duel, but simply the extinction of two men whose deaths had become essential to his plans.
Wallie halted at the closed but unlocked door and motioned Lonergan and Lombard past him. As the leader faced the door those two were on his left, while Vince and Sawtell, guns now shifted to their right hands, stood upon his right. All but Wallie were balanced on the balls of their feet, tense and ready to charge through the door, but Wallie hesitated. He could hear the masked man's voice, with a vibrant quality carrying through the door. He could hear, distinctly, each word that was said. The masked man was scolding old Bryant Cavendish.
Wallie crouched and placed one eye close to the keyhole. The room, he saw, was dimly lighted. It was difficult to see details. The blankets were mounded on the bed as if they'd been pulled over Bryant's big body. On the far side of the bed Wallie could make out a white sombrero, and judged that to be where the masked man sat while he conducted the one-sided conversation.
Wallie now knew just where he should direct his men to fire when he threw open the door. He hesitated, listening to what was being said inside.
"You're the most unreasonably stubborn old fool I've ever known, Cavendish." It was the masked man speaking. "It's high time for you to drop this false pride ofyours; admit you've grown old, let someone help you.
"Cavendish, all these murders are yours. I know you aren't the killer, personally, but none of them could possibly have happened if you hadn't been so foolishly stubborn! You'd never admit that you found it hard to walk. You thought you hid that fact, but you didn't! You didn't fool anyone at all. Then when your eyes began to fail you, you tried to hide that fact too. Why, right now, you're so nearly blind that you have tofeelyour way."
Wallie heard a low-toned response from his uncle. Then the masked man continued.
"All of those nephews of yours realized that you not only were incapable of getting about, but that you couldn't even see what went on. They felt secure in doing whatever they pleased, so they organized a regular crime ring here in the Basin. They replaced all of your former hands with crooks whom they selected. They let it be known in the right places that this Basin would be a safe hideout for men the law was looking for. You couldn't see what your cowhands looked like, so you had no cause to distrust them. You wouldn't go to a doctor and have your eyes treated and your sight improved, because you wanted to conceal your condition."
Wallie reasoned that inasmuch as neither of the two beyond the door was to survive much longer, he might as well hear what else this incalculable masked man knew.
"Penelope tried her best to find reasons for your unconcern over the ways things were going here. She thought more of you than you deserved. She tried to convince herself that you were not aware of things, and tried to find out if blindness was the reason. She defendedyou when Yuma turned against you; and what was her reward for that loyalty? You turned against her, the same as you did against those graceless cousins. She was made to sign away her rights just as they were. Don't interrupt, Cavendish—I've more to say. Yuma felt that as long as you were alive, that girl would be guarded and protected. How wrong he was! But that was what he thought, and when I captured him he tried to convince me that he was the leader of these Basin killers. He was ready to spend the rest of his life as a fugitive in hiding, and keep the law off your neck. When I showed him the document that Penelope had been made to sign, he realized that he'd made a mistake. He saw then that the girl he loved could look for little enough happiness or security through you. Who, in the name of Heaven, is this Andrew Munson? What do you owe him that you'd deprive Penelope of any future comfort, in his favor?"
Wallie strained to hear what Bryant's reply would be, but there was none. In the brief pause, he heard the heavy, emotional breathing of the masked man.
"It wasn't until this morning that I learned some truths," the masked man continued. "I knew that someone had slipped into this Basin and murdered Gimlet, because the killer rode within ten yards of me, but I didn't know who he was. Tonto was halfway up Thunder Mountain when this same man went by. It was too dark there for the Indian to identify him when he killed Rangoon. Then he went on to Red Oak, where he let Mort out of jail with instructions to kill you in your hotel room. You know what happened there. I told you how I shothim in the leg, and how he was later stabbed to death. Since then, I've learnedwho the killer is!
"I told you about Tonto. He was here, waiting for the riders to come back from Red Oak. The trail from Red Oak is on hard ground, as you know. The trail over Thunder Mountain is marshy in a lot of places. The loam there is soft and black, and different from anything that could be found on the trail through the Gap. Well, Tonto watched when each horse came into the corral. He found one, just one horse, Cavendish, that had black loam caked to the fetlocks. He gave me the name of the man who rode and owned that horse, in a note which he left at the cave.That man is your nephew, Wallie!"
Wallie, listening, frowned heavily, and thanked his lucky stars that this man with such a keen and logical mind was to be killed. He would prove a dangerous adversary if left alive.
"You don't believe me," the masked man said, "you won't let yourself believe, or trust anyone, but I'llproveWallie is what I've told you. If I can prove that, will you talk?"
Wallie had heard enough. "Come on!" he cried, and threw the door wide open.
Lombard and Sawtell plunged into the room, and dropped to one knee while they opened fire. Lonergan and Vince were close behind, firing over them, while Wallie remained in back. Guns crashed deafeningly in the confines of the room. The white hat near the bed became a thing alive, leaping across the room in crazy circles. The mound of blankets on the bed became ashaking mass as bullet after bullet bored deep. A score of shots roared in the blink of an eye.
Then, back talk, in the voices of six-shooters, came from a corner of the room.
Sawtell's gun jumped from his hand as if by magic. His fingers were suddenly a bloody mass, at which the killer stared in stupefaction. More flames lanced from the corner, and Lombard's extended gun arm snapped as a forty-five slug tore through flesh and bone between the wrist and elbow. Sawtell felt no pain in the heat of battle. Instinctive gunman that he was, he fell flat upon his belly, jerking out a second revolver with his left hand. Loud snarls and curses came from pain-maddened Lombard, while Sawtell took careful aim. He steadied his weapon at a point directly between the eyeslits of the mask. His finger tensed upon the trigger.
Then, suddenly, his arm dropped, his gun unfired. He went limp and slumped. In his forehead there was a tiny hole, but the back of his head was an awful sight where a soft-nosed bullet had gouged out his skull.
Half-blind Bryant Cavendish fired at sounds with an instinct that was supersensitive. Somehow the old man had found one of his guns, and cried aloud in savage hate as he rocketed shot after shot toward the doorway. "They're all ag'in me," he cried out. "I'll show 'em I don't need sight! I can locate skunks by smell." His gun whammed again, and death spat at the doorway.
Wallie screamed his orders. "In the corner—shoot 'em—drill 'em!" He pushed from behind at the instant that the lawyer Lonergan took a bullet from the masked man's gun on the hand, and one from Bryant's big revolver inthe belly. He pitched forward, and fell across the writhing form of Lombard. Shrill yells and cries of pain rose far above Wallie's livid curses.
The Lone Ranger snatched the gun from Bryant's hand. "No more shooting," he cried.
He leaped toward the doorway, head low, and charged. Vince had swung to face the surprise counterattack. His gun blazed, but the Lone Ranger was beneath the slug. He crashed into Vince with such force that the runty killer was fairly lifted off his feet and tossed across the room, while his gun was jarred out of his hand.
Wallie, knowing his life depended on the fight, scrambled up from the floor. The thought of losing made him frantic as he swung his empty gun in a vicious blow at the Lone Ranger. The blow struck the Lone Ranger on the bandaged shoulder. A sudden stab of pain like a white-hot iron gripped his side as Wallie followed up his advantage. Still clutching the heavy revolver, he rammed it muzzle first into the masked man's chest.
The Lone Ranger couldn't breathe. The blow must have broken at least one rib, possibly more. He felt his legs caving beneath him, while his brain fought valiantly against the dizziness that threatened to engulf him. He threw both arms about Wallie and locked his hands behind his adversary's neck. He was falling, and helpless to prevent it. He was barely conscious of the fact that Wallie kept driving more blows to his stomach; blows that were too short to have much power behind them. Close to his ear, he heard the other's voice as a meaningless jumble of hissing syllables.
Somehow the Lone Ranger's weight threw Wallie offhis balance too. The masked man had the fighter's heart that dictates action after the mind has ceased functioning. A mighty heave—a wrench that split the half-healed wound wide open. Still falling—it seemed that time stood still—and split seconds were like hours—and then a crash.
The masked man's fall was padded by the body of the man he fell on. His superhuman effort had thrown Wallie beneath him as the two went down. Wallie's head smacked hard against the floor.
Now Vince had a gun, was on his feet and coming close. His ugly face looked like a leering demon's as he raised his gun. The Lone Ranger rolled, and as he did so, drew his extra weapon. Two guns spoke as one, their muzzles so close that the flames were intermingled. To the Lone Ranger, close to acrid fumes and scorching flame, it seemed that hell had burst into the room. And then—oblivion.
WALLIE LEADS AN ACE
"—another gun full-loaded with six soft-nosed slugs that'll blast yer brains clean outen the back of yer blasted head if yuh so much as make a move."
These were the first words the Lone Ranger heard as he recovered consciousness. His body was a mass of pain, and each breath brought a stabbing sensation in his chest. He realized, but dimly, that Bryant Cavendish was speaking. He didn't know to whom.
"Yer stayin' right here till Yuma's had aplenty o' time tuh git here with the law an' if he ain't come by sundown I'm blastin' the livin' hell out of yuh anyhow!"
Obviously Bryant had the situation well in hand. Themasked man edged painfully to one side and tried to focus his eyes on the scene about him. The bedroom air was heavy with the smoke of gunfire, and the light was dim.
The floor resembled a battlefield. Wallie lay where he had fallen, still unconscious. A pool of red surrounded Sawtell's lifeless body. Lonergan rolled upon the floor, clutching his stomach and moaning hideously. The lawyer was dying, that was obvious, but dying in the most horrible and painful way a man can die by bullets. Lombard sat in a chair, his right arm hanging limp and dripping red. His face was drawn with pain, but he was silent. Vince alone seemed to have escaped lightly. He had a handkerchief, a dirty blue one, wrapped about one hand, but this didn't prevent his holding both hands above his shoulders.
The masked man struggled to his feet and almost staggered his way to the washstand. He somehow managed to splash water from a pitcher to the basin, then scooped handfuls of it to his face.
"Yuh all right?" Bryant Cavendish demanded.
"I—I'm all right. I don't know just why—I—I thought—"
"Save yer breath till yuh got enough of it tuh talk with. I c'n see good enough tuh keep these skunks covered. Yuh shot Vince's gun outen his hand. I thought fer sure you was a goner."
The Lone Ranger heard a soft moan and turned to see Wallie recovering from the blow he sustained when his head struck the floor. Still unsteady on his feet, the masked man carried water in the cup and threw it on theother's face, then he joined Bryant Cavendish after regaining his guns. He sat on the floor and reloaded.
For the first time he was aware of the freshly opened shoulder wound. The blood was soaking through his shirt. His chest, too, bothered him, but there were other things of far greater importance than his personal condition.
Wallie was sitting up with a dazed look in his face.
"You," barked Bryant, "git over there an' stand close tuh Vince."
Wallie obeyed slowly. Meanwhile Lonergan had ceased his cries. The Lone Ranger knew by looking at him that the man was dead. Then he heard Bryant scolding.
"I had two guns," the old man complained. "I'd o' wiped the lot o' them out, if you hadn't messed intuh things so's I couldn't shoot without prob'ly hittin' you!"
"That's just it, Bryant. I didn't want them all killed. We want them alive to talk! There are a lot of other men on this ranch and everyone has been working with these."
"Where they at now?"
"Outside the house, figuring that you and I are dead."
"Skunks," growled Bryant.
Wallie appeared to have regained his composure. "What," he asked, "are your plans now?"
"Shut up an' you'll find out," snapped Bryant. "This masked man told me about you, yuh dirty double-dyed rat, but I wouldn't believe him! He told me that he'd said jest enough tuh you so you'd figger the two of us had tuh be wiped out. Then he dragged me outen my bed an' packed me in this yere corner of the room an' waited till yuh showed yer hand. By God, I never gottalked to in my hull damned life like I been talked to by this critter. Now he's showed you up fer what yuh are I reckon I'm due tuh do some talkin'!"
"I ain't interested," growled Wallie.
"Now lookut here," broke in Vince, "I'm yer own blood relative, Uncle Bryant. I—"
"Don't 'uncle' me, yuh weasel-faced runt! You was in on everything that took place. Only thing I don't savvy is where's Jeb?"
"You'd better be interested in where Penelope is," suggested Wallie. "You don't give a damn what happens to Jeb, but if you're interested in that girl, you'd better be willin' to talk things over reasonable."
"She's in the care of that Indian," retorted Bryant, "an' a damn sight safer than she was around here with you crooks."
Wallie nodded. "Suit yourself."
The Lone Ranger said, "You were going to say something, Cavendish."
"I was," said Bryant, "an' still am."
The Lone Ranger rose again, feeling slightly stronger, and while Bryant talked, did what he could to dress the broken arm of Lombard.
"I got aplenty tuh explain," said Bryant. "It's as you said, I didn't want tuh let on that my eyes was bad because I knew I'd be took advantage of by everyone, so I tried tuh hide it. I told Mort that I wanted a good lawyer tuh come here an' help me make up my will. I didn't know anything about this Lonergan, except that he talked like he knew law."
"He did," said the Lone Ranger.
"I had him make out my will an' I signed it. When he read it tuh me, it sounded like I wanted it. The lyin' crook didn't say anything about anyone called Munson."
"You don't know anyone by that name?"
"No. When I told yuh I'd never heard the name, I told the truth."
"What about that other document?"
"I had Lonergan write that up, too. It's just like you said it was. I planned tuh have all these no-good nephews sign that paper. Penelope wasn't never supposed tuh sign it."
"She wasn't?" asked the Lone Ranger quickly.
"No, she wasn't supposed tuh sign that any more than a man named Munson was supposed tuh inherit my ranch. I left all I own tuh Penelope. That's how the will was supposed tuh read an' that's how Lonergan read it tuh me. When I took Mort into Red Oak last night, these skunks seen their chance tuh make Penny sign that damned paper. I savvy what their dirty double-crossin' scheme was. I ain't no fool. Them crooks knowed that none o' them could be named in my will without arousin' a hell of a lot of suspicion, so they put in the name of Munson. If yuh want my opinion there ain't an' never was no Andrew Munson."
"That," said the Lone Ranger, "is about the way they planned it. They knew the claimant to the Basin would never appear and they'd go on running the place in accordance with the terms of the will and using it as they have been for the past weeks in their cattle business."
Wallie yawned in feigned boredom. "When you get through with all this talk, you'd better spend a little time deciding whether you want Penelope to live—or die!"
The Lone Ranger said, "There's one more thing we haven't learned." His voice grew flinty. "Who was in the party that ambushed those Texas Rangers?"
"What's the difference?"
"Answer me!"
"An' if I don't?" replied Wallie in a bantering tone.
The masked man stepped back a pace and drew his gun. He held it at a hip, the muzzle pointing at the stomach of the other. "You saw how Lonergan died," he said softly. "It wasn't easy to watch."
Wallie glanced at the gun, then at the masked man's face. He saw something in those steady eyes behind the mask that made him almost feel the frightful drilling of a slug in the pit of his stomach. "I—I didn't know anything about it," he said. "Mort an' Vince planned it by themselves an'—"
"Yuh damned squealer!" yelled Vince.
"Go on."
"Rangoon bossed the job—"
"You'd o' done it yer ownself," bellowed Vince, "if yuh hadn't been so damned yeller. All of us all the time had tuh take orders from you while you strutted around in fancy clothes!"
"That's what I wanted to know," the masked man said, holstering his weapon.
"That's a confession," shouted Bryant, "an' I heard it. I'll witness that in court."
"But wait," fairly shouted Wallie. "You've nothin' to gain by hangin' us! It'll just mean that Penelope dies too! You don't understand."
One of the windows in the room looked out across the Basin to the Gap. The masked man had glanced toward this frequently throughout the conversation. Now he saw horsemen coming from the canyon.
"Yuma will be here in a few minutes," he said. "He's crossing the Basin now."
"Then you've got damned little time to decide. I made arrangements in Red Oak, like I told you last night." Wallie addressed himself to Bryant. "There's a woman there that's agreed to take care of Penny an' those kids. I didn't say how she was goin' to take care of her! It's Breed Martin's wife!"
"Breed Martin!" Bryant roared the name. "A skunk that'll do anything includin' murder fer the price of a drink! Why you—" The old man was trembling in rage, struggling to get on his feet; his hands were working as if his fingers itched to feel Wallie's thick throat.
"That's just it," said Wallie. "I admit all you've said here, I admit it tuh prove that I was willin' to go to any lengths to have my way! I planned to be the richest man in this part of the country!" Wallie's voice was shrill and getting shriller. "I wanted every killer in this state takin' orders from me. I was goin' to control the state an' I wouldn't let the life of one girl stand between me an' what I wanted. I told that Redskin where tuh take Penelope. I described the house! He can't miss it! Two hours after she gets there, Breed an' his woman'll have everything all set to take her an' the kids south of the border,an' that'll be the last of 'em! You know damned well what'll happen to a girl as pretty as Penelope in some of them outlaw greaser dives!
"I told Breed an' his wife to get her out of Red Oak an' go in hidin' till they heard from me! They'll do just that! If I don't show up, they'll go on south with her."
"Where's that hidin' place?" barked Bryant. "Where is it? Answer me, yuh louse!"
"Answer you an' then go an' get hanged? What d'ya take me for, Bryant, a damned fool? Not on your life! You've got to make your mind up quick!"
Hoofs clattered outside the house. Wallie glanced through the window and saw a score of horsemen coming close with Yuma in the lead. "Quick," he cried. "It's us or Penelope! You can put all the blame on the dead men! If me an' Vince an' Lombard can ride out of here, we'll promise that Penelope comes home before dark! Turn us over to the law an' I swear you'll never see that girl again!"
Bryant raged and stormed. His fury broke all past attainments. The louder the old man shouted, the more he said, the more poised Wallie became. During the furor the Lone Ranger made no comment.
The hoofs clattered in halting, and men's voices carried to the room. The Lone Ranger saw with satisfaction that the men with Yuma were not weak-willed deputies like Slim. They were grim man-hunters—Texas Rangers—and they lost no time in herding the men of the Basin into a close-packed group with hands upraised. A door was opened downstairs, and heavy boots clattered on the stairs.
Bryant Cavendish, sweat dripping from his face, looked beaten. He cast an appealing glance toward the masked man.
"I," he said, "don't have no choice. You gotta stand behind me. That girl's life means more 'n these crooks' death! That skunk has played an ace."
AN ACE IS TRUMPED
The Lone Ranger closed the door. Wallie looked at him and smirked. "Now yer showin' good judgment," he said. "I've got a story all fixed up. It'll put us in the clear an'—"
A shout outside the door.
"Come in alone, Yuma," the masked man replied, stepping back against the wall. There was a hurried conversation in the hall, then Yuma came in. His face was red and sweaty. His eyes went wide with surprise at the scene before him.
"Close the door," said the masked man softly.
Yuma slapped it closed and then exclaimed, "What inhell's been goin' on?" He saw Bryant, then the others with their hands still held slightly lifted.
"Yuma," the masked man said, "Jeb is about the house some place. You might have a couple of the men look beneath the living-room floor."
"But what's been goin' on here?" repeated the big cowboy. "Has that old buzzard confessed?"
"Bryant is in the clear. Get the story briefly. Wallie led the gang. Bryant's half-blind, but I know of a doctor who can help him. Bryant didn't know what went on here. Penelope is supposed to inherit everything, but I have an idea that she and Bryant will be together for a good many years before there's any inheritance to talk about."
Yuma nodded, still wide-eyed. He looked from Bryant to Wallie, then at the men on the floor. He said, "There'll be a nice hunk o' reward money comin' fer the capture o' these critters."
"I won't be here to collect any reward, Yuma. You helped capture them. Perhaps you and Bryant can split the rewards."
Yuma looked surprised. "Yuh mean tuh say yuh don't want the reward money?"
The masked man shook his head. Then Yuma saw his drawn face and the blood-soaked shirt.
"Look here, yore hurt bad. Yuh need some patchin' up." He stepped to the door. "I'll call the Rangers in here tuh take things in hand an' see about you."
"No, no," the Lone Ranger said quickly. "Tonto will be here and he'll fix the wound. It doesn't amount to much."
"The hell it don't."
"There's something more important. Wallie was just trying to buy his freedom. He had Penelope taken to Breed Martin in Red Oak."
"Breed Martin!" howled Yuma, following the name with a string of invectives. "Why that—"
"Wallie said that Breed was to take the girl to a hiding place and if he didn't hear from Wallie to go on to Mexico with her."
Yuma's face lost color. His eyes flashed angry fire in a look toward the erstwhile bandit leader. "An' so he wants tuh be let go free," said Yuma with terrible coldness in his voice. "Where is this hidin' place?"
Wallie spoke. "D'you think I'm fool enough to tell you? Not me. You let me go an' you'll see Penny back here soon."
"I think," said Yuma slowly, "yore agoin' tuh tell where at that place is." He took one step forward, swinging his right hand in a wide arc. It landed open-palmed with a resounding slap on Wallie's cheek. "That," cried Yuma, "ain't even the start!" He brought his left around to slap the other side of Wallie's face, and then began a dazzling sequence of open-handed slaps, each one delivered with a force that bounced Wallie's head from one side to the other. A blow with a closed fist would have knocked the killer out, and Yuma didn't want this. He slapped until the other's face became a livid mass of swollen flesh. He would have gone on until exhaustion made him stop, but the Lone Ranger halted him.
"That's enough, Yuma—enough," the masked mancalled above cries of "give 'im hell!" that came from Bryant.
Yuma, breathing hard, stepped back. "That's just the start, yuh ornery rat," he gasped. "Now you speak up or I'll wade in with more o' the same!"
Wallie was reeling, clutching at a table for support. His eyes were red, and blood drooled from a corner of his mouth.
"I didn't intend to let you go that far," the masked man said. "There is no need of trying to make him reveal this hiding place."
"No need?" demanded Yuma.
"No. Tonto didn't take Penelope to Martin's. He went to Red Oak and then followed you and the Texas Rangers back here."
"I ain't seen him or that girl," argued Wallie.
"Look out the window." The buckboard with its team still hitched was near the corral. The children were still on board.
"Where at," cried Yuma, "is my girl?"
"She and Tonto came into the house."
Wallie had slumped to the floor and sat there completely beaten and wearing a dazed, bewildered expression.
"Now listen to me carefully," the masked man told Yuma. "If the Texas Rangers see me here, with this mask on, they'll ask no end of questions. I don't want that. I want to slip out of this house by the rear stairs. You can turn these men over to the law, and Bryant will tell the entire story."
There was a hammering upon the bedroom door. "The Rangers," said the masked man softly. "Tell them to go back downstairs."
Yuma shouted through the door, "Vamoose, I'll be down tuh meet yuh in a minute!"
"Don't you tell me to vamoose in my own house," a girl's voice retorted.
"Penny!" breathed the big cowboy.
"See if she is at the door alone," the masked man said while he still held the latch of the door.
Penny's voice gave the answer. "Open up, you big galoot. Tonto is here with me! I've got to see that masked man in a hurry!"
The Lone Ranger told Yuma to stay in the room and bind the hands of the three prisoners. Then he stepped out to the hall.
Tonto said, "Me watch for Ranger. Girl want talk with you." The Indian took a place at the head of the stairs to give a sign in case the Texans came up the stairs.
Penelope clutched the masked man's arm. "Please," she said with intensity in her eyes and voice, "don't let them take Uncle Bryant away. I'm sure there must be some reason for—for everything. He's been like a father to me, he's been honest and good all his life. If he's changed it must be for some reason. You promised me—"
Penny held a silver bullet toward the Lone Ranger. "You gave me your word!"
The Lone Ranger took the girl's small hand in his and closed her fingers about the bit of precious metal. "Keep that," he said. "Your Uncle Bryant isn't going to jail. He's going to a doctor and have his eyes fixed up."
"Then—then I was right in the first place!" Penelope's face lighted up with the announcement.
"The worst crime of your uncle was his refusal to let friends help him."
A new note came into the confusion of voices on the first floor. Tonto explained that Jeb had been found and was telling everything he knew about the others. The masked man listened for a moment to the heavy voice that told how Wallie planned to place the murder guilt on the masked man and Bryant.
Then the bedroom door jerked open. Yuma came out like a charging bull and halted abruptly at the sight of Penny. Bryant, leaning against the edge of the door, stood right behind him. "Yuh can't leave here yet," Yuma told the Lone Ranger. "I got them critters roped so's they won't make no more trouble; now yuh got tuh wait an' listen tuh what Bryant's got tuh say."
Yuma looked at Penny; then his old confusion overcame him. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and barely raised his eyes above the floor.
Bryant Cavendish went to the point at once. "You," he said to the Lone Ranger, "have gotta stay here an' run this ranch."
The masked man shook his head slowly.
"I won't take 'no' fer an answer. I've got tuh go an' take a trip tuh git my eyes fixed up an' I cain't leave this place with no one tuh run it an' no cowhands tuh run it with. We've gotta git all new men an' weed out the cattle that's been stolen, an' see that the folks that lost their cattle are paid back in full fer it an' no end of other things. Now you stay here an' name yer own price."
"I can't do it, Bryant. Tonto and I must leave here."
Penelope clutched the masked man. "Please," she said. "Please stay." She looked into his eyes in a way that made big Yuma squirm.
"Doggone," he said softly and wistfully, "if she ever said that tuh me a span o' wild hosses couldn't drag me off this ranch. I'm damned if—"
Penny turned quickly. "You!" she said. "If you're to stay here, you've got to stop that cussing."
"Huh? M-me stay? I been fired!" Yuma looked at Bryant. "Y-yore uncle told me tuh git the hell—"
"More swearing," snapped Penelope.
Bryant broke in. "You look here, you big sidewinder, you was tryin' tuh tell me how this outfit should be run. Yuh did a heap of braggin' an' boastin' on how much yuh knowed an' now yore goin' tuh make good. I'd like tuh have that masked man stay an' do the bossin', but I'd have to have you as well. If he won't stay, then it's you that'll have to do the bossin'. I can't stop the masked man from leavin', but, by damn, ifyourun out on me, I'll make yuh wish yuh hadn't."
"Yuh-yuh mean that I ain't fired then?" Yuma blinked at Bryant, then looked at Penny and his face fell. "A-w-w hell, Cavendish, I cain't stay around here. That doggone purty girl jest ain't no use fer me, an' every time I speak tuh her I rile her more. I reckon I—"
"Yuma!" said Penny sharply. "It's bad enough for you to swear like a—like a mule skinner. Are you going to fib as well?"
"M-me fib?"
"Blamingmebecause you won't stay here! Trying tosay that it is my fault, and that I have no use for you!"
"I—I—er uh ... that is...."
"That's an out 'n' outfib!"
Yuma's jaw dropped and he stared. Comprehension came to him slowly. It was incredible, unthinkable! "Y-you—youwantme tuh stay?" he faltered.
Penelope looked at him and spoke softly. "Please." She took one of his big hands in both of hers. "At least stay for a little while so I can tell you what I mean."
Yuma let out a wild yell that rang throughout the house. "I'm astayin'," he roared. "She wants me tuh stay. I'm drunk—I'm adreamin', an' I'll drill the critter that wakes me up."
"Blast yuh," bellowed Bryant. "If yer goin' loco, git those men downstairs first; then I don't care what yuh do! Clear out my room an' after that yer runnin' this place on yer own!"
"I'm adoin' it!" cried Yuma, dashing through the door. In an instant he was back with Wallie under one arm, Vince beneath the other, both kicking their legs and crying at their undignified position. At the stairs, big Yuma met the Rangers coming up. "Hyar yuh are, boys," he called heartily. "Thar's a couple o' yore prisoners an' the rest are comin' pronto." He let go his grip, and the captive pair dropped to the stairs and rolled down part way, where the Texas Rangers caught them.
It was then that Penny realized it: the Lone Ranger and Tonto were not there. Sometime during the conversation with big Yuma, the two had slipped away. They hadn't gone down the front stairs; the Texas Rangers had been in that part of the house. Penny hurried downthe hall to her own bedroom and looked out the window. It faced the same as Bryant's window did. There were two horses at the corner of the house: Tonto's paint horse and the big white stallion. She saw the masked man in the saddle, Tonto about to mount. The girl watched as the two rode out across the Basin toward the distant Gap. She felt that something vital left her as that masked man rode away, and yet she wouldn't have called him back. "Good-by," she breathed, "good-by, my friend."
The Gap yawned in the distance, a colorful opening under a westering sun. Penelope's eyes were bright as she finally saw the two horsemen disappear beyond the bend.