XII
PARDNERS
From without came the low murmur of men's voices. Judith laid her bookaside and drew her rifle across her knees, her eyes bright and eager.At infrequent intervals for perhaps three or four minutes the twovoices came indistinctly to those in the cabin. Then silence for aslong a time. And then a voice again, this time quite near the door,calling out clearly:
"Hey, you in there! Pitch the money out the window and we'll let yougo."
"There's a voice," said Judith quietly, "to remember! I'll be able toswear to it in court."
Certainly a voice to remember, just as one remembers an unusual facefor years, though it be but a chance one seen in a crowd. A voicemarkedly individual, not merely because it was somewhat high-pitchedfor a man's, but rather for a quality not easily defined, which gave toit a certain vibrant, unpleasant harshness, sounding metallic almost,rasping, as though with the hiss of steel surfaces rubbing. Altogetherimpossible to describe adequately, yet, as Judith said, not to beforgotten.
Judith noticed a puzzled look on Bud's face. He called out: "What didyou say out there?"
Word for word came the command again:
"Pitch the money out of the window and we'll let you go."
Lee turned triumphantly to Judith.
"I've got his tag!" he whispered to her. "I played poker with thatvoice one night not four months ago in Rocky Bend!"
"Who is he?" Judith whispered back. "With Crowdy down, if we know whoone of these men is, the rest will be easy. Who is he?"
"A bad egg," Lee told her gravely. "He's done time in the State pen.He's been out less than a year. Gunman, stick-up man, convicted oncealready for manslaughter . . ."
"Not Chris Quinnion, Bud Lee!" she cried excitedly. "Not ChrisQuinnion!"
"Sh!" he commanded softly. "There's no use tipping our hand off tohim. Yes; it's crooked Chris Quinnion. You don't know him, do you?"
He had never seen her eyes look as they looked now. They were as hardand bright as steel; no true woman's eyes, he thought swiftly. Ratherthe eyes of a man with murder in his heart.
"Then, thank God!" whispered Judith, her voice tense. "Can you keep asecret with me, Bud Lee? Were it not for the man calling to us now,Luke Sanford would be here in our stead. Crooked Chris Quinnion servedhis time in San Quentin because my father sent him there. And he hadnot been free six months before he kept his oath and murdered my poorold dad!"
"Well?" came the interrupting snarl of Quinnion's voice, like theominous whine of an enraged animal. "What's the word?"
"Give us five minutes to think it over," returned Lee coolly. And,incredulous eyes on Judith's set face, he said gently: "I was on theranch when the accident happened. He must have driven that heavy car alittle too close to the edge of the grade. The bank just naturallygave way."
Judith, her lips tightly compressed, shook her head.
"You didn't find him under the car, did you? And the blow that killedhim might have been dealt with some heavy weapon in the hands of a manstanding behind him, mightn't it? I know, Bud Lee, I know!"
"How do you know?" he demanded intently. "You weren't here even."
"No. I was in San Francisco. But the day before I had a letter fromfather. He expected me home very soon. He was going out, he said inhis letter, to look at the road over the mountain. He wrote that thegrade was dangerous, especially at the very place where the car wentover! He wanted me to know so that in case he could not get the workdone on it before I came, I would be careful. On top of that would hego and run his car into such danger as that? Oh, I know!" she criedagain, her hands hard upon her rifle. "I know, I tell you! From thefirst I suspected. I knew that Chris Quinnion had threatened a dozentimes to 'get' father; I knew that soon or late he would try. I wroteEmmet Sawyer, our county sheriff, and told him what I believed, askedhim to go to the spot and see what the signs told. A square man isEmmet Sawyer and as sharp as tacks."
"And he told you that you were mistaken?"
"He did nothing of the kind! He reported that the tracks of the carshowed that it had kept well away from the bank, that evidently it hadstopped there, that again it had gone on, swerving so as to run closeto the edge! I know what happened: Father got out to look at thedangerous spot and to put up the sign he had brought with him and thatwas found in the road. Chris Quinnion had followed him, perhaps toshoot him down from behind, Chris Quinnion's way! Then he saw a saferway. He came up behind poor old dad and struck him in the head withsomething, rifle-barrel or revolver. He started the car up and let itrun over the bank. He--"
She broke off then. Bud Lee felt that he knew what she would say ifshe could bring herself to go on; that she would tell how crooked ChrisQuinnion had thrown the unconscious man down over the bank to lie,bruised and broken, by the wrecked car.
"You've got to be almighty sure before you make a charge like that," hereminded her. "If Quinnion had done it, why didn't Emmet Sawyer getthe dead-wood on him?"
"Because," she whispered quickly, "a man fooled Sawyer! Yes, andfooled me! Quinnion established an alibi. A man whose word there wasno reason to doubt said that Quinnion was with him at the time of themurder. And that man was--Bayne Trevors!"
"Trevors?" muttered Lee. He shook his head. "Trevors is a hard man,Judith. And he's a scoundrel, if you want to know! But frame up amurder deal--plan to murder Luke Sanford--No. I don't believe it!"
"Is he the man to miss a chance that lay at his hand? The main chancefor him? The chance to hold a man like Chris Quinnion in the hollow ofhis hand, to make him do his bidding, to set him just such work as heis doing now? Answer me! Is Bayne Trevors above a deal like that?"
Bud Lee's answer was silence.
"And there is one other thing," went on Judith swiftly, "known to noone but Emmet Sawyer, whom I told, and me and Chris Quinnion: Infather's letter he told me that a man had paid him some money the daybefore, and that he was going to drive to Rocky Bend to bank it.'There are some tough customers in the country,' he wrote, 'and it'sfoolhardy to have too much money in our old safe.' That money, severalhundred dollars, was never banked. It was not found on his body.Where did it go?"
"Even that doesn't incriminate Quinnion, you know."
"No. The rest is pure guesswork on my part. Guesswork based on what Iknow. Not enough to hang Chris Quinnion, Bud Lee. But enough to makeme sure. He's working at Trevor's game right now. If we can provethat it is Trevors's game, it will go to show how worthless his alibiwas."
"Well?" called Quinnion, the third time. "What about it? We ain'tgoin' to wait all night."
"Tell him," whispered Judith, her hand on Lee's arm, "to come and getit if he wants it! One of us can hold the cabin against the two ofthem while the other slips out in the dark and rides back to theranch-house for help. If we're in luck, Bud Lee, we'll corner thebunch of them before daylight!"
Lee stood a moment looking down into her face, his mind filled withuncertainties. With all his soul he wished that Judith had not comewith him to-night, that he had only himself to think of now. Quinnion,not to be further put off, called again, the snarl of his voice risinginto ugly threat. Still Lee, thinking of Judith, hesitated.
"It's the only way," she insisted. "If we gave them the money they'dwant Bill Crowdy next. If they got Crowdy away with them into themountains I am not sure that they could not hide until they got himsafe in Trevors's hands. Then we'd have the whole fight still to make,sooner or later. It's our one bet, Lee!"
And Bud Lee, seeing no better way ahead for them, blew out the candle,forced Judith to stand close to the rock chimney of the fireplace, tookhis station near her, and answered Quinnion, saying shortly:
"Come ahead when you're ready. We're waiting."
Quinnion's curse, the crack of his rifle, the flying splinters from thecabin door, came together like one implacable menace.
"And now, Bud Lee," cried Judith quickly, "I don't mind telling you,not seeing the end of the string
we are playing, that you are a man tomy liking!"
"My hat's off," said Lee, with grave simplicity. "And in any old kindof a fight a man wouldn't want a better pardner than I can reach now,putting out my hand. He'd want--just a thoroughbred! And now, littlepardner, let's give them--fits!"
Judith, even as Quinnion's second shot tore into the door, laughedsoftly.
"Finish it as you began it, Bud Lee! Even George Washington swore atMonmouth, you know!"
So Bud Lee amended his words and spoke his thought:
"Then, pardner, let's give 'em hell!"
Crouching in the dark, reserving their own fire while they waited forsomething more definite than the bark of a rifle to shoot at, theirhand met.
Judith of Blue Lake Ranch Page 12
