by L. P. Holmes
IV
The ranch headquarters lay on the southern point of a little flat tucked back into the tawny flank of the Mineral Hills. Riding up to the layout and marking its well-remembered outlines, eagerness deepened and shone in Lee Cone’s eyes. It was good to be back.
Yet, in a moment, some of that first enthusiasm left him. For the place had taken on a run-down beaten look. There were only two horses in the cavvy corral. A thin spire of pale smoke seeped from the chimney of the main cabin, and Lee reined over that way.
A man stepped from the door of the place, a stringy-looking jasper with a straggly mustache and eyes as hard and unrevealing as a pair of glass beads. A belt gun sagged at one lank thigh and across his arm lay a Winchester carbine.
The fellow looked Lee over with deliberateness, spat, then spoke with a nasal drawl.
“Looking for somebody?”
“Yeah,” answered Lee. “I am. For Buck Theodore.”
The man with the carbine spat again. “Never heard of him.”
A stir of mingled anger and alarm ran through Lee. But caution whispered in his ear. Something was wrong here. It would pay to play it cagey.
“Two years ago,” said Lee, “a man named Buck Theodore lived here. I’ve been away. Thought I’d drop by and say hello.”
The man with the carbine turned his head and called over his shoulder. “Hey, Stump … you ever hear of a Buck Theodore?”
A second man crowded out the door. He was broad and squat, with a tangle of red hair above a round, pockmarked face. He also had a gun at his hip.
“What’cha want with Theodore?” he demanded.
“Knew him some time back,” said Lee. “Just thought I’d look him up while I was passing through.”
He underwent another close scrutiny by the pair of them. Lee looked as guileless and casual as he could.
Finally Stump spoke. “There’s an old coot holding down a cabin over on Laurel Creek. Heard his name was Theodore. That’s the creek, ain’t it, Pecos … the third one over to the west?”
The other nodded. “That’s right … Laurel Creek.”
Lee Cone nodded. “Obliged. I know the creek you mean. I’ll take a ride out there now.”
He reined away, back the way he had come, and it wasn’t until he was well beyond rifle shot of the place that the tension ran out of him. He kept thinking that that carbine held by the fellow called Pecos by Stump might be leveled at his back. He’d just left a pair of hard cases, that was for sure.
He couldn’t understand why Buck Theodore wasn’t at the old headquarters, but it was a relief to know that Buck was alive. He knew the cabin on Laurel Creek. It was a line camp cabin, shared equally in the old days by the Flat T and Pete Garland’s Lazy Dollar.
Lee set his horse straight for it and rode in there just at sunset.
At first glance the place looked deserted. Then Lee saw the horse in the pole corral out back. He sent a low call.
“Buck! Hey, Buck!”
He got his second shock of the day at sight of the man who stepped from the doorway. It was Buck Theodore all right, but a different man than Lee remembered. His hair was almost white, and he had gaunt, stooped shoulders and a seamed, weary face.
“Buck! It’s Lee … Lee Cone!” he called out almost hesitantly.
Buck Theodore straightened and stared, blinking, as though scarcely crediting his own eyes. When words came the voice was deep and hollow and somehow empty.
“Lee! I’ll be damned …”
Lee’s laugh was shaky as he dropped from his saddle to grip the old fellow’s hand.
“Buck! It’s great to see you again.”
“You ain’t seeing much, boy. Just a busted flush that’ll never rate another deal. Kid, where you been? Where you been?”
There was something almost like a plaintive cry in these last words, a cry that cut deep into Lee.
“Just drifting, Buck. I been away too long.”
The old fellow made an effort to straighten his shoulders. “Mebbe it wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d been here. Most likely Tasker Scott would have been too strong for both of us. Anyway, it’s gone … our ranch is gone. Scott’s got it. He took it away from me. I let you down, boy.”
Now Lee began to understand. “You didn’t let me down, Buck. I let you down. I ran like a whipped pup, when I should have stayed.”
Old Buck dropped a hand on Lee’s shoulder. “Ain’t blaming you, boy; ain’t blaming you a bit. In your shoes I’d have done the same … mebbe worse. No, it’s not your fault. I know all the fine plans you’d made. I remember how you used to talk them over with me. And then Lucy Garland left you flat and married Tasker Scott. A deal like that was enough to toss any man. And, while it’s no comfort to you, it’s pretty common knowledge that by this time Lucy realizes she made a damned poor choice.”
“I wonder,” muttered Lee. “Not that she knows, but that she cares.”
“Wouldn’t know,” said Buck. “Some women’s minds can run strange. But Pete Garland sure got what he asked for. Pete died last spring. I heard he died of shame, because his prize son-in-law plumb finagled him out of everything he had, including his shirt. But shuck that saddle, boy, and turn your bronc’ into the corral. I was just fixing to have some supper. Sure good to have you here again. Makes me feel it’s worthwhile to go on living.”
Buck turned back into the cabin, blowing his nose loudly.
In the gravest frame of mind he’d known in a long time, Lee Cone unsaddled and turned his horse into the corral. A blinding sense of guilt held him. He’d expected nothing like this in Maacama Basin. The ranch gone. Good old Buck reduced to living like an old pack rat in a tumbledown line cabin. And all because he himself had let a sultry, black-haired, dark-eyed girl make a fool of him.
When Lee went into the cabin, Buck Theodore had a fire going in the old stove and was banging pots and pans around. The old cabin was as clean and neat as it was possible to make it.
“About the ranch, Buck? Tell me how it happened,” Lee asked.
Buck stoked the fire again before answering. “Like I said, it was Tasker Scott. Slick hombre, that fellow, slick as grease. He rustled me blind. He kept hiring riders away from me. No matter what I’d pay a saddle hand, Scott would pay him more. So I had to try and hold things together on my own. I tried, all right. I worked twenty hours a day, but I couldn’t be everywhere at once. I’d miss a few cattle here and there and while I was trying to trail ’em down, another bunch would disappear somewhere else.” Buck paused and shrugged. “A year and a half of that kind of working over and I was all done.”
“And the ranch?” Lee asked.
Buck shrugged again. “Had to borrow money to keep going. Asa Bingham let me have three thousand dollars on a twelve-month note, with the spread as collateral. Not six months later, Scott showed up with that note, wanting the money. He’d bought the note from Bingham. I couldn’t rake up the money, which Scott well knew. Oh, I could have stalled him off, I reckon, until the due date. But I wouldn’t have had the money then, either. I was tired of fighting something I couldn’t stop. So I just got the hell out from under the whole damned mess. Had I been ten years younger, I’d have throwed a gun on Tasker Scott and shot his heart out.”
“The cattle he rustled … where did they end up?” asked Lee.
“God knows. I sure don’t. I’ve prowled this basin from end to end and I ain’t seen a single beef critter packing our old Flat T brand. Scott must have drove ’em out to the railroad. All water under the bridge now, boy.”
“Maybe,” said Lee softly. “Maybe.”
“You come in through Antelope, boy?”
“Yeah, I came through town.”
“Then,” said Buck, “you saw how things is changed. We got a land rush on in Maacama Basin. I’ve heard it said that Tasker Scott engineered that, so he coul
d clean up on all the property he bought up ahead of it. He just about owns everything in Antelope and roundabout. He’s even made his gamble on cashing in when the railroad comes to Maacama Basin.”
“How’s that?” Lee demanded.
Buck scooped flour into a pan, began mixing up some biscuit dough.
“There always has been talk that someday the railroad would build into Maacama Basin. Now with the country filling up with grangers, it’s more likely than ever. Only two ways a railroad could come in. Either by the river gap, or by Smoky Pass. And who do you think has got the property sewed up in both places? Why, Tasker Scott, of course. He bought out old Manuel Rojas down in the river gap before the land rush started, and got the property dirt cheap. And he holds most the land this side of Smoky Pass, where the railroad would have to cut through. I’m telling you, boy, that fellow Scott don’t miss a trick.”
“How did he get hold of the land at Smoky Pass?” asked Lee. “That was government land, open for homesteading, yes, but not for sale.”
“I dunno how he got it, but he’s got it,” said Buck. “I checked up in the Land Office and all that slope this side of the pass is blocked in solid … under Tasker Scott’s name.”
“But he couldn’t do that, Buck,” argued Lee. “He couldn’t take that land without going through all the homesteading rules, occupancy and improvements … all that sort of thing.”
“Boy,” said Buck gently, “in Maacama Basin, Tasker Scott does just about as he pleases. When he cracks the whip, even them in the Land Office dance. He’s as crooked as a broken-backed snake, but he’s the slickest article ever to hit these parts.”
Lee got out the makings and rolled a cigarette. He paced the short area of the cabin, sunk in thought. Half to himself, he murmured: “There never was a crook who didn’t overlook some angle. And I got one angle in mind I’m sure going to take a long look at.”
Buck Theodore came around to face him.
“Lee, you’ve come back to something mighty tough to swallow. But the best thing you can do is swallow and forget, because you can’t buck this fellow Scott. He’s got money, power, and guns behind him. Don’t you go getting any foolish ideas. You’re still young and got lots of time. You can make a new start somewhere else. There ain’t sense in running a chance of getting yourself killed for nothing.”
Lee showed a thin, tight smile. “I ran, Buck. But no more. I learned a few things while I was on the drift. Maybe I learned a trick or two Tasker Scott isn’t up to. Did you ever give Scott a bill of sale for anything?”
Buck stared. “Hell no! What’s that got to do with it?”
Lee’s grin widened. “Why that, Buck, is the angle Tasker overlooked. And it can hang him!”
V
Early morning sunup showed the town of Antelope only slightly less active than it had been the previous afternoon. Leaving his horse in front of Bingham’s store, Lee Cone headed for the Land Office. Three doors along, where a saloon front ran, Lee paused beside a lank figure hunkered down where the first sunlight struck.
“Get rid of that thirst, Jack?” Lee asked.
Jack Dhu’s head came up slowly and he stared at Lee for a moment out of bloodshot eyes. Then he grinned crookedly.
“Swapped it for a hell of a headache.”
“Reckless man,” commented Lee. “Had breakfast?”
Jack Dhu considered this for a moment, feeling cautiously of his pockets. Then he said: “Ain’t hungry.”
“A cheerful liar,” observed Lee. “Come along. I’m buying. And don’t go stiff necked on me.”
Jack Dhu pushed to his feet. “Have a good look at a damned fool,” he said wryly. “I’m taking you up on your offer because right now I need black coffee like a drowning man needs air.”
They turned into an eating house a little farther along.
Lee said: “We’ll eat first and talk later. I got a proposition that might interest you, Jack.”
When they emerged, half an hour later, Jack Dhu built a cigarette and said: “I’m beginning to live again. Short of walking on my hands, I’ll trail along on anything you want to do, Lee.”
“Then,” Lee responded, “let’s go over to the Land Office.”
The Land Office had just opened for business. Inside, Lee called for a map of the west end of the basin. He studied this for a time, then turned to the clerk.
“These blocked in areas show land already taken up?”
The clerk nodded. “That’s right.”
“And the map’s up to date?”
“To the minute. We got to keep them that way, or we’d have title arguments all over the place.”
Lee traced a forefinger over a certain area. “Who homesteaded these quarter sections?”
The clerk was sharp-featured and fancied himself as a dandy. When he glanced at the area Lee indicated, his manner underwent a subtle change. Officious haughtiness began to show.
“What’s it matter who homesteaded them?” he finally answered. “The map shows the land is taken up.”
Lee spread both hands on the counter, fixed the clerk with a chill glance. “Friend, I asked you a straight question. I expect a straight answer.”
“That’s right,” put in Jack Dhu as he moved closer to the counter. “We ain’t a couple of scared grangers who can be buffaloed by a ten-cent squirt like you. Talk up, and you’d better talk straight.”
The clerk’s haughty look became a harried one. These cowboys had a tough look to them, too tough for him to fool with.
“I’ll check,” he said hastily. “Take a couple of minutes.”
He turned and dug into a file case, came up with a couple of papers.
“These records show the land was taken up by Mister Scott … Mister Tasker Scott.”
Lee Cone grinned. “Knew that all the time, didn’t you? Now tell me … did Tasker Scott actually homestead that land strictly according to law? Did he fulfill the occupancy and improvement conditions?”
The clerk drifted from a harried condition to a confused and flustered one. “Why, I suppose. I mean I guess he did. You’d have to see Mister Wilkens about that. Mister Wilkens is the land agent. I only work here.”
Lee’s grin widened. “Thanks, friend. But from now on you better stick to the truth. Because you’re a damned poor liar.”
When they went out, Lee said: “Get your horse, Jack. I’ll wait for you in front of Bingham’s store.”
Jack Dhu nodded and angled off, and Lee went along to the store.
Asa Bingham was sweeping out the place when Lee walked in. He paused, a gaunt figure, rested on his broom, and fixed Lee with a not-too-friendly eye.
Lee said: “Hi, Asa. Long time no see.”
The storekeeper grunted. “High time you were showing back in Maacama Basin, Cone. You sure left Buck Theodore to take a hell of a beating.”
Lee met Bingham’s accusing glance steadily. “I did, didn’t I. But how about that note you sold to Tasker Scott? That didn’t help Buck any.”
The storekeeper flushed. “Biggest mistake I ever made in my life. I didn’t know Scott then like I know him now. He gave me his solemn word he wouldn’t press Buck. I was short of cash at the time, which is why I sold. I’ve felt like hell about it ever since it happened.”
Lee slapped the storekeeper on the shoulder. “Forget it, Asa. We all make mistakes. Buck will probably come out all right, after all.”
Bingham’s manner thawed a little as he leaned the broom by the door. “You back in Maacama Basin to stay?” he asked Lee.
“I’ve been thinking about,” Lee answered.
“Aiming to do anything special?”
“Yeah. I’m going to have one hell of a try at getting the ranch back.”
Bingham pinched his bony chin with thumb and forefinger. “Tough chore. Tasker Scott’s got this basin by the throat. But I s
ure wish you luck.”
While Lee and the storekeeper were talking, a man had been working his way down the street. It was Braz Boland. He came up on the far end of the store porch, and was well along it when Lee, hearing the steps, turned.
He found himself looking into the muzzle of Boland’s gun. Lee stiffened, rocked up on his toes.
“Easy does it, Cone!” growled Boland. “Don’t try and go for your gun. You’re under arrest!”
Lee went still, staring at the badge on Boland’s shirt front. “Under arrest! What for?”
“You know damned well what for. Robbery. Get your hands up!”
Lee lifted his hands slowly until they were level with his ears. “Just who did I rob? And when did this happen exactly?”
“Yesterday. You robbed me … you and that fellow Dhu. You went through my pockets and took my money.”
“Not your money, Boland,” stated Lee. “Mine! The wages you owed me and tried to get out of paying. Yeah, my wages and what you owed John Vail for damages. That wasn’t robbery, Boland.”
“It was robbery!” snapped Boland. “And you don’t get away with a thing like that here in Antelope. I’m taking you in.”
Lee spoke to Asa Bingham without turning his head. “Who appoints the town marshal, Asa?”
“First I knew that this town had one,” answered the storekeeper. “But since you asked me, I’d say this smells of some more of Tasker Scott’s high and mighty ways to me. And if Scott put this jigger in as marshal, then he’s sure to be a crook.”
“I think so, too, Asa,” Lee said softly. “Boland, you can’t get away with arresting me.”
“Can’t I, though?” jeered Boland. “Let’s see you stop me. I’m taking your gun, Cone … and I just hope you try and keep me from it. I hope you lower your hands just one short inch. Then I’ll fix you … and plenty! The way you deserve to be fixed.”
Boland came edging in, his gun bearing steadily on Lee’s body.
Lee read the look in Boland’s eyes, and knew that on the merest thread of an excuse, Boland would smoke him down.
Through the alley at the far end of the store, Jack Dhu came riding. As he turned into the street, he took in the threatening tableau on the store porch. Instantly a gun was in his hand and his words hit out in bleak harshness.
