Mystery Ranch

by Arthur Chapman

  CHAPTER XIII

  Sheriff Tom Redmond sat in Lowell's office at the agency, staring grimlyacross at the little park, where the down from the cottonwood treesclung to the grass like snow. The sheriff had just brought himself to avirtual admission that he had been in the wrong.

  "I was going to say," remarked Tom, "that, in case you catch Jim McFann,perhaps the best thing would be for you to sort o' close-herd him at theagency jail here until time for trial."

  Lowell looked at the sheriff inquiringly.

  "I'll admit that I've been sort of clamoring for you to let me bring abig posse over here and round up McFann in a hurry. Well, I don'tbelieve that scheme would work."

  "I'm glad we agree on that point."

  "You've been taking the ground that unless we brought a lot of men over,we couldn't do any better than the Injun police in the matter ofcatching this half-breed. Also you've said that if we _did_ bring asmall army of cattlemen, it would only be a lynching party, and JimMcFann'd never live to reach the jail at White Lodge."

  "I don't think anything could stop a lynching."

  "Well, I believe you're right. The boys have been riding me, strongerand stronger, to get up a posse and come over here. In fact, they got sostrong that I suspected they had something up their sleeves. When I sorto' backed up on the proposition, a lot of them began pulling wires atWashington, so's to make you get orders that'd let us come on thereservation and get both of these men."

  "I know it," said Lowell, "but they've found they can't make anyheadway, even with their own Congressmen, because Judge Garford's standis too well known. He's let everybody know that he's against anythingthat may bring about a lynching. So far as the Department is concerned,I've put matters squarely up to it and have been advised to use my ownjudgment."

  "Well, I never seen people so wrought up, and I'm free to admit now thatif Jim McFann hadn't broke jail he'd have been lynched on the very daythat he made his getaway. The only question is--do you think you can gethim before the trial, and are you sure the Injun'll come in?"

  "I'm not sure of anything, of course," replied Lowell, "but I've stakedeverything on Fire Bear making good his word. If he doesn't, I'm readyto quit the country. McFann's a different proposition. He has been tooclever for the police, but I have rather hesitated about having PlentyBuffalo risk the lives of his men, because I have had a feeling thatMcFann might be reached in a different way. I'm sure he's been gettingsupplies from the man who has been using him in bootlegging operations."

  "You mean Talpers?"

  "Yes. If McFann is mixed up in anything, from bootlegging to biggercrimes, he is only a tool. He can be a dangerous tool--that'sadmitted--but I'd like to gather in the fellow who does the planning."

  "By golly! I wish I had you working with me on this murder case," saidRedmond, in a burst of confidence. "I'll admit I never had anythingstump me the way this case has. I'm bringing up against a blank wall atevery turn."

  "Haven't you found out anything new about Sargent?"

  "Not a thing worth while. He lived alone--had lots of money that he madeby inventing mining machinery."

  "Any relatives?"

  "None that we can find out about."

  "Have you learned anything through his bank?"

  "He had plenty of money on deposit; that's all."

  "Did he have any lawyers?"

  "Not that we've heard from."

  "Does any one know why he came on this trip?"

  "No; but he was in the habit of making long jaunts alone through theWest."

  "What sort of a home did he have?"

  "A big house in the suburbs. Lived there alone with two servants. Theyhaven't been able to tell a thing about him that's worth a cuss."

  "Would anything about his home indicate what sort of a man he was?"

  "The detectives wrote something about his having a lot of Indianthings--Navajo blankets and such."

  "Indians may have been his hobby. Perhaps he intended to visit thisreservation."

  "If that was so, why should he drive through the agency at night and bekilled going away from the reservation? No, he was going somewhere in ahurry or he wouldn't have traveled at night."

  "But automobile tourists sometimes travel that way."

  "Not in this part of the country. In the Southwest, perhaps, to avoidthe heat of the day."

  "Well, what do you think about it all, Tom?"

  "That this feller was a pilgrim, going somewhere in a hurry. He was heldup by some of your young bucks who were off the reservation and feelinga little too full of life for their own good. A touch of bootleg whiskeymight have set them going. Mebbe that's where Jim McFann came in. Theymight have killed the man when he resisted. The staking-out was probablyan afterthought--a piece of Injun or half-breed devilment."

  "How about the sawed-off shotgun? I doubt if there's one on thereservation."

  "Probably that was Sargent's own weapon. He had traveled in the West agood many years. Mebbe he had used sawed-off shotguns as an expressmessenger or something of the sort in early days. It's a fact that thereain't any handier weapon of _dee_fense than a sawed-off shotgun, nomatter what kind of a wheeled outfit you're traveling in."

  "It's all reasonable enough, Tom," said Lowell reflectively. "It maywork out just as you have figured, but frankly I don't believe theIndians and McFann are in it quite as far as you think."

  "Well, if they didn't do it, who could have? You've been over the groundmore than any one else. Have you found anything to hang a whisper ofsuspicion on?"

  Lowell shook his head.

  "Nothing to talk about, but there are some things, indefinite enough,perhaps, that make me hesitate about believing the Indians to beguilty."

  "How about McFann? He's got the nerve, all right."

  "Yes, McFann would kill if it came to a showdown. There's enough Indianin him, too, to explain the staking-down."

  "He admits he was on the scene of the murder."

  "Yes, and his admission strengthens me in the belief that he's tellingthe truth, or at least that he had no part in the actual killing. If hewere guilty, he'd deny being within miles of the spot."

  "Mebbe you're right," said the sheriff, rising and turning his hat inhis hand and methodically prodding new and geometrically perfectindentations in its high crown, "but you've got a strong popular opinionto buck. Most people believe them Injuns and the breed have a guiltyknowledge of the murder."

  "When you get twelve men in the jury box saying the same thing," repliedLowell, "that's going to settle it. But until then I'm considering thecase open."

  * * * * *

  Jim McFann's camp was in the loneliest of many lonely draws in thesage-gray uplands where the foothills and plains meet. It was not a campthat would appeal to the luxury-loving. In fact, one might almost fallover it in the brush before knowing that a camp was there. A "tarp" bedwas spread on the hard, sun-cracked soil. A saddle was near by. Therewas a frying-pan or two at the edge of a dead fire. A pack-animal andsaddle horse stood disconsolately in the greasewood, getting whatslender grazing was available, but not being allowed to wander far. Itwas the camp of one who "traveled light" and was ready to go at aninstant's notice.

  So well hidden was the half-breed that, in spite of explicit directionsthat had been given by Bill Talpers, Andy Wolters had a difficult timein finding the camp. Talpers had sent Andy as his emissary, bearing gruband tobacco and a bottle of whiskey to the half-breed. Andy had turnedand twisted most of the morning in the monotony of sage. Song had diedupon his lips as the sun had beaten upon him with all its uncloudedvigor.

  Andy did not know it, but for an hour he had been under the scrutiny ofthe half-breed, who had been quick to descry the horseman moving throughthe brush. McFann had been expecting Talpers, and he was none toopleased to find that the trader had sent the gossiping cowpuncher in hisstead. Andy, being one of those ingenuous souls who never can catch theundercurrents of life, rattled on, all unconscious of the effect oflight
words, lightly flung.

  "You dig the grub and other stuff out o' that pack," said Andy, "while Ihunt an inch or two of shade and cool my brow. When it comes to makin' asuccess of hidin' out in the brush, you can beat one of them renegadesteers that we miss every round-up. I guess you ain't heard about therobbery that's happened in our metropolis of Talpersville, have you?"

  The half-breed grunted a negative.

  "Of course not, seein' as you ain't gettin' the daily paper out here.Well, an expert safe-buster rode Bill Talpers's iron treasure-chest to afrazzle the other night. Took valuable papers that Bill's all fussed upabout, but dropped a wad of bills, big enough to choke one of themprehistoric bronks that used to romp around in these hills."

  McFann looked up scowlingly from his task of estimating the amount ofgrub that had been sent.

  "Seems to me," went on Andy, "that if I got back my money, I wouldn'tgive a durn about papers--not unless they was papers that established myrights as the long-lost heir of some feller with about twenty milliondollars. That roll had a thousand-dollar bill wrapped around theoutside."

  The half-breed straightened up.

  "How do you know there was a thousand-dollar bill in that roll?" hedemanded, with an intensity that surprised the cowboy.

  "Bill told me so himself. He had took a few snifters, and was feelin'melancholy over them papers, and I tried to cheer him up by tellin' himjest what I've told you, that as long as I had my roll back, I wouldn'tcare about all the hen-tracks that spoiled nice white paper. He chirkedup a bit at that, and got confidential and told me about thisthousand-dollar bill. They say it ain't the only one he had. The storyis that he sprung one on an Injun the other day in payment for a buncho' steers. There must be lots more profit in prunes and shawls and theother things that Bill handles than most people have been thinkin', withthousand-dollar bills comin' so easy."

  The half-breed was listening intently now. He had ceased his work aboutthe camp, and was standing, with hands clenched and head thrust forward,eyeing Andy so narrowly that the cowboy paused in his narrative.

  "What's the matter, Jim?" he asked; "Bill didn't take any of themthousand-dollar things from you, did he?"

  "Mebbe not, and mebbe so," enigmatically answered the half-breed. "Go onand tell me the rest."

  When he had completed his story of the robbery at Talpers's store, Andytilted his enormous sombrero over his eyes, and, leaning back in theshade, fell asleep. The half-breed worked silently about the camp,occasionally going to a near-by knoll and looking about for some sign oflife in the sagebrush. He made some biscuits and coffee and fried somebacon, after which he touched Andy none too gently with his moccasinedfoot and told the cowboy to sit up and eat something.

  After one or two ineffectual efforts to start conversation, the visitorgave up in disgust. The meal was eaten in silence. Even the obtuse Andysensed that something was wrong, and made no effort to rouse thehalf-breed, who ate grimly and immediately busied himself with thedish-washing as soon as the meal was over. Andy soon took his departure,the half-breed directing him to a route that would lessen the chances ofhis discovery by the Indian police.

  After Andy had gone the half-breed turned his attention to the bottlewhich had been sent by Talpers. He visited the knoll occasionally, butnothing alive could be discerned in the great wastes of sage. When theshadows deepened and the chill of evening came down from the highaltitudes of the near-by peaks, McFann staked out his ponies in bettergrazing ground. Then he built a small camp-fire, and, sittingcross-legged in the light, he smoked and drank, and meditated upon theperfidy of Bill Talpers.

  McFann was astir at dawn, and there was determination in every move ashe brought in the horses and began to break camp.

  The half-breed owned a ranch which had come down to him from his Indianmother. Shrewdly suspecting that the police had ceased watching theranch, Jim made his way homeward. His place was located in thebottom-land along a small creek. There was a shack on it, but no attemptat cultivation. As he looked the place over, Jim's thoughts became morebitter than ever. If he had farmed this land, the way the agent wantedhim to, he could have been independent by now, but instead of that hehad listened to Talpers's blandishments and now had been thrown down byhis professed friend!

  Jim took off his pack and threw his camping equipment inside the shack.Then he turned his pack-animal into the wild hay in the pasture he hadfenced off in the creek bottom. He had some other live stock roamingaround in the little valley--enough steers and horses to make abeginning toward a comfortable independence, if he had only had senseenough to start in that way. Also there was good soil on the upland. Hecould run a ditch from the creek to the nearest mesa, where the land wasred and sandy and would raise anything. The reservation agriculturisthad been along and had shown him just how the trick could be done, butBill Talpers's bootlegging schemes looked a lot better then!

  The half-breed slammed his shack door shut and rode away with his greasyhat-brim pulled well over his eyes. He paid little attention to thedemands he was making on horseflesh, and he rode openly across thecountry. If the Indian police saw him, he could outdistance them. Thething that he had set out to do could be done quickly. After that,nothing mattered much.

  Skirting the ridge on which Helen and Lowell had stood, Jim made adetour as he approached the reservation line and avoided the GreekLetter Ranch. He swung into the road well above the ranch, and,breasting the hill where the murder had taken place on the Dollar Sign,he galloped down the slope toward Talpers's store.

  The trader was alone in his store when the half-breed entered. Talpershad seen McFann coming, some distance down the road. Something in thehalf-breed's bearing in the saddle, or perhaps it was some inner stir ofguilty fear, made Talpers half-draw his revolver. Then he thrust it backinto its holster, and, swinging around in his chair, awaited hispartner's arrival. He even attempted a jaunty greeting.

  "Hello, Jim," he called, as the half-breed's lithe figure swung inthrough the outer doorway; "ain't you even a little afraid of the Injunpolice?"

  McFann did not answer, but flung open the door into Bill's sanctum. Itwas no unusual thing for the men to confer there, and two or threeIndians on the front porch did not even turn their heads to see what wasgoing on inside. Talpers's clerk was out and Andy Wolters had justdeparted, after reporting to the trader that the half-breed had seemed"plumb uneasy out there in the brush." Andy had not told Bill the causeof McFann's uneasiness, but on that point the trader was soon to beenlightened.

  "Bill," said the half-breed purringly, "I hear you've been having yoursafe cracked."

  Something in the half-breed's voice made the trader wish he had notshoved back that revolver. It would not do to reach for it now. McFann'shands were empty, but he was lightning in getting them to his guns.

  The trader's lips seemed more than usually dry and cracked. His voicewheezed at the first word, as he answered.

  "Yes, Jim, I was robbed," he said. Then he added, propitiatingly: "ButI've got a new safe. Ain't she a beauty?"

  "She sure is," replied McFann, though he did not take his eyes offTalpers. "Got your name on, and everything. Let's open her up, and seewhat a real safe looks like inside."

  Talpers turned without question and began fumbling at the combination.His hands trembled, and once he dropped them at his side. As he did soMcFann's hands moved almost imperceptibly. Their movement was toward thehalf-breed's hips, and Talpers brought his own hands quickly back to thecombination. The tumblers fell, and the trader swung the door open.

  "Purtier 'n a new pair of boots," approved the half-breed, as a bravearray of books and inner drawers came in view. "Now them inside boxes.The one with the thousand-dollar bill in it."

  "Why, what's gittin' into you, Jim?" almost whined Talpers. "You know Iain't got any thousand-dollar bill."

  "Don't lie to me," snapped the half-breed, a harsh note coming into hisvoice. "You've made your talk about a thousand-dollar bill. I want tosee it--that's all."

  Slowly Talpers u
nlocked the inner strong box and took therefrom a rollof money.

  "There it is," he said, handing it to McFann. A thousand-dollar bill wason the outside of the roll.

  "I ain't going to ask where you got that," said McFann steadily,"because you'd lie to me. But I know. You took it from that man on thehill. You told me you'd jest found him there when I come on you prowlingaround his body. You said you didn't take anything from him, and I wasfool enough to believe you. But you didn't get these thousand-dollarbills anywhere else. You double-crossed me, and if things got too warmfor you, you was going to saw everything off on me. Easy enough when Iwas hiding out there in the sagebrush, living on what you wanted to sendout to me. I've done all this bootlegging work for you, and I covered upfor you in court, about this murder, all because I thought you was onthe square. And all the time you had took your pickings from this man onthe hill and had fooled me into thinking you didn't find a thing on him.Here's the money, Bill. I wouldn't take it away from you. Lock it inyour safe again--if you can!"

  The half-breed flung the roll of bills in Talpers's face. The trader,made desperate by fear, flung himself toward McFann. If he could pinionthe half-breed's arms to his side, there could be but one outcome to thestruggle that had been launched. The trader's great weight andgrizzly-like strength would be too much for the wiry half-breed toovercome. But McFann slipped easily away from Talpers's clutching hands.The trader brought up against the mailing desk with a crash that shookthe entire building. The heat of combat warmed his chilled veins.Courage returned to him with a rush. He roared oaths as he rightedhimself and dragged his revolver from the holster on his hip.

  Before the trader's gun could be brought to a shooting level, paralysisseemed to seize his arm. Fire seared his side and unbearable painradiated therefrom. Only the fighting man's instinct kept him on hisfeet. His knees sagged and his arm drooped slowly, despite his desperateendeavors to raise that blue-steel weapon to its target. He saw thehalf-breed, smiling and defiant, not three paces away, but seemingly inanother world. There was a revolver in McFann's hand, and faint tendrilsof smoke came from the weapon.

  Grimly setting his jaws and with his lips parted in a mirthless grin,Talpers crossed his left hand to his right. With both hands he tried toraise the revolver, but it only sank lower. His knees gave way and heslid to the floor, his back to his new safe and his swarthy skin showinga pale yellow behind his sparse, curling black beard.

  "Put the money away, Bill, put it away, quick," said McFann's mockingvoice. "There it is, under your knee. You sold out your pardner forit--now hide it in your new safe!"

  Talpers's cracked lips formed no reply, but his little black eyes glowedbalefully behind their dark, lowering brows.

  "You're good at shooting down harmless Indians, Bill," jeered McFann,"but you're too slow in a real fight. Any word you want to send to theIndian agent? I'm going to tell him I believe you did the murder on theDollar Sign road."

  A last flare of rage caused Talpers to straighten up. Then the paralysiscame again, stronger than before. The revolver slipped from the trader'sgrasp, and his head sank forward until his chin rested on his broadchest.

  McFann looked contemptuously at the great figure, helpless in death.Then he lighted a cigarette, and, laughing at the terror of the Indians,who had been peeping in the window at the last of the tragedy, thehalf-breed walked out of the store, and, mounting his horse, rode to theagency and gave himself up to Lowell.