by J. T. Edson
‘Miss Stevie offered to let me clean up a mite,’ Dusty told him. ‘Cousin Sarah would sure rawhide me cruel if I’d showed up at the ranch shedding street dust—’
‘The barber’s playing faro, so Ed couldn’t get a bath there,’ Stevie went on. ‘I thought, him being new in town, that you’d want for me to be neighborly.’
Towcester looked at the girl and Dusty could see her appear to cringe back into herself as if afraid. Having drawn his conclusions from the magnificence of the girl’s quarters, Dusty decided that she must be close to Towcester and scared of his jealousy.
‘I reckon that I’d best be going back to the bar,’ he said.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Stevie said hurriedly. Although she appeared to have regained control of herself, Dusty sensed her fear. ‘Those Rocking Rafter boys’ll be drinking like the well’s gone dry. Or if they’re not, I’d best see they start.’
While walking towards the door, Dusty saw the Metropolitan revolver on the table. Picking it up, he turned towards the saloonkeeper.
‘Have you ever seen this before?’
‘I can’t say I have,’ Towcester answered. ‘Hell, nearly everybody in the county wears or owns a Colt of one kind or another.’
‘What kind do you favor, Mr. Towcester?’ asked Dusty, giving the man a quick but searching glance and failing to see any sign of a hidden weapon.
‘A Remington Double Derringer,’ the saloonkeeper replied, slapping his right side jacket pocket. ‘I don’t often need a gun and the Remington’s all I need.’
‘Sure,’ Dusty admitted, not asking to see the gun.
Since its appearance on the market in 1866, the Remington Double Derringer had rapidly gained favor with gamblers and others who wanted an easily concealed weapon which offered power enough to knock the fight out of an enemy with one shot, yet did not send the bullet through his body and endanger the lives of anybody stood close behind him.
‘Let’s go have us a drink, Ed,’ suggested the girl, taking Dusty’s arm.
‘Let’s do that,’ Dusty agreed. ‘I surely hope that you come along and let me buy you one, friend.’
‘I’ve never refused a drink yet,’ smiled Towcester, although the joviality did not reach his eyes. ‘Especially when I also get the profit on it being sold.’
With that Towcester turned and walked from the room. Followed by Stevie and Dusty, he went to the front door, opened it and stepped out. A voice called the saloonkeeper’s name as he crossed the porch. Looking in the direction of the speaker, Dusty saw the land agent approaching with two sheets of paper clutched in his hand. At the same moment Corlin became aware of Dusty’s presence, slowing down his pace and slipping the papers into his jacket pocket.
‘Would Señor Cordova be in the saloon, Mr. Towcester?’ Carlin asked.
‘No,’ the saloonkeeper answered. ‘He rode out of town. Did you want to see him about something?’
‘Some business with his ranch,’ Corlin affirmed. ‘It’ll wait though.’
Watching the land agent turn to depart, Dusty decided to put a thought into practice. Just why, he could not understand; but he went ahead for all that.
‘Say, Mr. Corlin,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about that letter Sandy sent to tell you he was coming—’
‘Like I said,’ the land agent interrupted. ‘It never arrived.’
‘Sure,’ agreed Dusty. ‘But if it had, there’d’ve been an easy way to find out if he was Sandy or not.’
‘How?’
‘All you’d needed to do was look at the letter and compare the writing with that on the receipt Sandy signed and you’d be able to see if he was who he claimed to be.’
‘It’s a pity that the letter never reached you then, Mr. Corlin,’ Towcester remarked. ‘I know how bad the mail service is, so it doesn’t surprise me.’
‘Still, everybody knows that Sandy really is Sandy now,’ Dusty went on, watching Corlin’s face. ‘Don’t they?’
‘He proved it pretty conclusively,’ Towcester said.
‘There’s no doubt about it,’ Corlin continued. ‘I’d best go see if any of Cordova’s men are at the cantina. My business with him is pretty important.’
Watching the land agent scuttle away, Dusty felt sure that the man knew something. Before he could find an excuse to leave the others and follow Corlin, Stevie caught his arm and headed him towards the saloon. Towcester stood for a moment looking after Corlin, then followed the girl and Dusty into the Golden Goose once more.
Chapter Thirteen
Although Dusty spent an enjoyable afternoon with Mobstell’s ranch hands, he learned nothing to help locate the man behind the attempts on Sandy’s life. Long practice had taught Dusty to drink sparingly and yet give the appearance of keeping up with his companions’ consumption. So he remained sober while the rest of his male companions grew more drunk and talkative. Dusty learned much about local conditions and certain items of gossip, but could not find a thing to either prove or disprove Mobstell’s connection with the events that brought the three cousins to San Garcia.
He did learn that Towcester bore a reputation for being bad medicine. After taking one drink with the celebrating group, the saloonkeeper disappeared into his office. Among other items of local gossip, the cowhands warned Dusty not to make any attempt to damage the more lavish fittings of the room. On three occasions, as Stevie hinted to Red earlier, drunken cowhands had tried to smash the chandelier and each time Towcester handed them a beating out of all proportion to the value of his property.
‘Mind you, though,’ Avon told Dusty confidentially. ‘I reckon you could take him, Ed.’
‘I don’t even feel like trying,’ Dusty replied and passed the word for the glasses to be filled again.
Collecting his horse from the livery barn later that evening, Dusty rode out of San Garcia. By following the directions Mobstell had given to him, Dusty easily located the Lazy M’s headquarters. Night had fallen as Dusty rode towards the cluster of small buildings, but he could see well enough to locate the barn. Unlike the main house, this proved to be made of wood and with sufficient accommodation for half-a-dozen horses. The house, bunkhouse and cook shack were all adobe-built, small and set out to offer each other mutual defense; a vital point in the days when marauding Indians and bad Mexicans posed a threat to the lives of people on isolated ranches. Three pole corrals, a small store cabin and a backhouse completed the ranch’s living quarters. All in all, the buildings struck Dusty as being just what a small ranch needed to supply comfort for its owners.
With the big paint stallion settled in a stall, Dusty carried his saddle to the main house. Cactus and Rache had come out on hearing his arrival, telling him that the boss lady wanted to see him. Knowing what to expect, Dusty prepared his defenses even before reaching the house. Beating Betty to the punch, Dusty immediately launched into a description of the happenings in town. While the girl had intended to make known her views on his behavior—having already told Red what she thought of him—she decided to leave it until later.
‘Who do you think hired Damon?’ she asked as they sat at the table in the living room.
‘The same man who hired Murphy,’ Red put in. ‘Could be Mobstell, Cordova, the land agent, the saloonkeeper, he’s been seen riding around the spread, that lard-gutted marshal—’
‘Or somebody we’ve not met yet and don’t know about,’ Dusty interrupted.
‘How do we find out, Dusty?’ Betty inquired. ‘I’d say wait until they make another move, but we can’t stay here indefinitely.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘With Lon, Mark and Billy Jack all away; I want to get home as soon as I can. Even without Sandy champing on the bit to get here and start running his spread.’
‘Then what’re we going to do?’ Red wanted to know.
‘I’ve already started doing it. Unless I’m wrong, that land agent’s in this game up to his skinny lil neck. So I prodded him a mite, maybe we’ll have some result. I hinted tha
t comparing the signature on that receipt you signed and the letter that never came would have proved who you are, Red.’
‘So?’ Red asked.
‘I think he already had compared them,’ Dusty replied.
‘You mean that the letter reached him?’ Betty said.
‘I’d say so. He looked kind of startled when he saw your signature, was going to say something and didn’t. Then later this afternoon he was coming towards the back of the saloon. Called out to Towcester and had two papers in his hand. But he stuffed them away pronto and asked for Cordova.’
‘You reckon he had Sandy’s letter and my receipt?’ asked Red.
‘I’d bet on it.’
‘Who was he going to tell?’
‘That’s the big question, Betty gal,’ Dusty replied. ‘Maybe Towcester, only when he saw me he figured to make me think he wanted Cordova.’
‘What’re we going to do, Dusty?’ demanded Red, always eager to go into some kind of action.
‘Let them stew for a couple of days,’ Dusty replied. ‘Then we’ll ride into town and see what we can make pop.’
The following morning Dusty and Red started a tour of the Lazy M range, acting as a new owner would be expected to do. Nothing Dusty saw helped him to understand why anybody would go to such extremes to gain possession of the property. It was good grazing land, yet no more so than the surrounding country. Returning to the house on the second day, Dusty learned that the ranch had a certain historical significance. As they rode towards the creek which watered the buildings, Cactus indicated it with a touch of pride.
‘That was where old Jim Bowie and his boys held off the Kaddo and Kiowas, and done sent ole Tres Manos to the Happy Hunting Grounds.’
‘You can see the bullet holes in the trees and find rusted up arrer heads,’ Rache went on. ‘That’s mebbe what that Mexican jasper’s looking for.’
‘Which Mexican?’ Dusty asked.
‘There’s one been watching us both yesterday and today,’ the old timer answered calmly. ‘I’ve seed him a couple of times, back there a fair piece.’
‘Why didn’t you say something?’ Dusty growled.
‘Warn’t no point. He could see us and’d’ve run afore we could get close enough to say “Howdy”.’
‘Want for us to take out after him, Dusty?’ Red said hopefully.
‘He’s pulled out already,’ Rache commented. ‘Might be able to follow his sign though.’
‘Make a try,’ Dusty ordered. ‘I’ll go on down to the house.’
Half an hour later Red and the old timers returned to tell how they had lost the mysterious watcher’s tracks on some rocky ground, but when last seen the trail headed towards Cordova’s ranch.
‘Which proves something,’ Red finished. ‘Only what, I don’t know.’
‘Either he works for Cordova and’s been sent to watch us,’ Dusty said, ‘or wants us to think he works for Cordova. Say, Red, you remember when that fight Bowie had with the Kaddos happened?’
‘On that horse-hunting trip when he was supposed to have found the silver mine,’ Red replied. ‘And Murphy was talking about Jim Bowie’s lost mine. Aw hell, Dusty, you don’t reckon somebody thinks it’s around here?’
‘I reckon we’d best ride into town tomorrow,’ Dusty replied.
Shortly before noon the next day Dusty and Red rode into San Garcia. Passing the Paraiso cantina, they saw a bunch of horses standing at its hitching rail. Judging by the large-horned ‘dinner-plate’ saddles the horses carried, Cordova’s men were in town. Two of the horses caught the eye, both big, fine-looking animals with costly rigs. However Dusty and Red did not stop, but left their own horses at the livery barn.
Corlin looked up from the papers on his desk as his office door opened.
‘Howdy, Mr. Corlin,’ Red greeted, entering the room alone.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. McGraw,’ the agent replied. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I was wanting to know something about the mineral rights to my spread.’
‘Mi-mineral rights?’
‘Sure. You know, like supposing gold’s discovered on my range is it mine no matter who finds it—’
For a moment Corlin did not reply, but his face worked nervously. Then he made an effort and regained control of himself.
‘I hardly think it’s likely—’ he began.
‘Maybe not,’ Red drawled. ‘But I’d sure like to know.’
‘Mineral rights are a tricky subject,’ Corlin told him. ‘I’d have to read up the various rulings before I can give you a clear explanation. The books are in my room at the saloon. It may take some considerable time.’
‘I’ll be around for a spell,’ Red assured him; ‘Say, does the general store sell blasting powder, picks and shovels?’
‘I believe they may have, a keg in—’
‘I’ll need a whole lot more than one keg. Got a whole slew of tree stumps around the place that want clearing off.’
Red said the second sentence in the manner of an afterthought as if he suddenly realized that the first gave too much information. Nodding to the land agent, he walked from the office, his whole attitude that of a man wishing to avoid answering inconvenient questions. Although he did not look back, Red guessed that Corlin watched him from the office window and so headed straight for the general store.
A short time later Corlin left the small building which housed his office. He darted a nervous glance in each direction before hurrying off along the street. Stepping out of the alley where he had been standing to avoid being seen, Dusty followed Corlin to the Golden Goose saloon. Looking through one of the front windows, Dusty was in time to see the agent going upstairs.
Stevie rose from the table where she sat with a couple of the girls as Dusty entered the barroom. Crossing the floor, she smiled a greeting.
‘Hey there, Ed,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.’
‘I’ve been busy out at the spread,’ Dusty replied. ‘Come and have a drink.’
‘That’s what I’m here for,’ she answered.
‘Say, Stevie,’ Dusty said as they stood at the bar with their drinks. ‘I’ve been thinking about moving into town. Where can I find a room?’
‘Here. It’s as near to a hotel as this one-hoss town’s got.’
‘Many folks use it?’
‘The marshal, the land agent, folks passing through.’
‘I reckon I’ll see Towcester about it,’ Dusty said. ‘Where is he?’
‘In his office,’ the girl replied, then went on as Dusty put his glass down, ‘Tony’s busy just now. You’ll have to see him later.’
‘Sure,’ Dusty said. ‘Say. Was I to come and live here, could I get out of my room without using the stairs there—I mean if I wanted to meet somebody private like.’
‘Only by climbing down the fire rope in your room,’ the girl replied. ‘And who would you be wanting to see private like?’
‘A real pretty lil gal I know,’ Dusty told her with a wink. ‘Have another drink.’
‘I’ve never refused. Hey, here’s your boss.’
Entering the saloon, Red walked across to the bar. ‘I’ve got it all ordered like you said, Ed. Man, oh man, just think. All those years and ole Uncle Seth never knew about it. You figured it out mighty slick from what that dying gunny told—’
‘You’ve got a big mouth, Sandy!’ Dusty growled.
‘What’s wrong, Ed?’ Stevie asked.
‘Nothing,’ Dusty answered, throwing a scowl at Red.
‘Will you be able to afford to come and live in town?’ she inquired.
‘He sure will after we—’ Red began.
‘Get the spread going!’ Dusty interrupted. ‘Don’t you want to see the land agent, Sandy?’
‘Sure. Which room’s he in, Stevie?’
‘The third on the left at the front.’
Dusty and Stevie carried on a conversation while Red disappeared upstairs, but the girl made no further reference to the h
ints given by the cousins. After a short time Red returned.
‘He’s not there. Or if he is, he’s deaf. I knocked hard.’
‘Maybe Stevie can help us,’ Dusty remarked. ‘Do you know anybody around here that’s done any mining?’
‘Mi-mining?’ she gasped. ‘I can’t think of anybody. What do you want with a miner?’
‘If this ranch business doesn’t pay off I aim to go up north to the gold camps and try my luck,’ Dusty told her. ‘Figured I might as well learn something about the game afore I sat in on it.’
‘Oh!’ she said in the kind of tone women always use when being told a lie.
All the time they talked Dusty had a feeling of being watched. Years of riding danger trails developed in him an instinct for such things. Unless he missed his guess, somebody was studying the three of them with hostile eyes. Yet he could not locate the watcher. Before he could set about discovering who took such an interest in them, Dusty saw Corlin come down the stairs. Without a glance at the cousins, Corlin walked from the saloon.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Red said. ‘He was up there all the time.’
‘He may have been with Vinnie, one of the girls,’ Stevie answered. ‘They see a lot of each other.’
‘Reckon I’ll go have a talk with him,’ Red drawled. ‘Coming, Cousin—Ed?’
‘I reckon I’ll stay here and talk to Stevie instead,’ Dusty replied.
Although Red left the saloon soon after Corlin, he made no attempt to catch up to the man. Instead he tagged along at a short distance behind Corlin until the land agent entered the Paraiso cantina. Walking along, Red glanced through the window and saw Corlin join Cordova. On the land agent’s arrival, the two vaqueros seated at the rancher’s table rose and walked over to their companions at the bar. Standing by the side of the window, Red watched Corlin sit down and start to talk with Cordova.
‘Why don’t you go in, gringo, instead of standing outside and spying?’ said a voice.
