by Noel Loomis
“So I was bait for a trap!” Waggoner said slowly. “If Snake triggers his long gun, I’ll take Tolliver with me!”
“Might as well come out, Snake,” Cummings shouted. “We saw you on the ridge, and this time you can’t get away with murder!”
The brush crackled and Snake Hollister walked into the clearing with a .45-70 Winchester in his lean brown hands. He covered Gospel Cummings with the rifle and spoke arrogantly.
“Your bluff won’t work, Cummings. If Waggoner don’t holster up and step back, I’ll bore a hole through your back big enough to throw a dog!”
“O Death, where is thy sting?” Cummings murmured softly. “I’m not afraid to die,” he told Hollister. “You are.”
“Just make a pass for your belt-gun,” the lean gunman taunted.
“I never anger none with a full house,” Gospel Cummings said quietly. “I had an Ace-in-the-hole, and his last name is Fleming. You still want to gamble, Snake?”
“So I’m calling your bluff!” Hollister sneered.
He moved his head from side to side, and the rattles on his hatband began to talk. A six-shooter roared savagely, and the worn Stetson leaped from Snake Hollister’s head. He threw his rifle to the sand and hastily elevated both hands.
“Your hand beats mine,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t shoot again, gambler!”
Ace Fleming stepped out from the brush with the smoking pistol ready for a follow-up. “I never bluff in a game like this,” he told Hollister. “You was saying, Gospel?”
“Where’s Jude Tabor?” Cummings asked Hollister.
“Back on the Rafter T,” Hollister answered without hesitation. “Jude knows that long-jointed deputy has nothing on him, so he came on back home!”
“So you two shag back to your hosses and hit out for the same place,” Cummings ordered sternly.
“Not this one!” Jim Waggoner contradicted stubbornly. “I got him dead to rights, and I’m taking him for the law!”
“Are you the law?” Cummings asked curiously.
“Any man is the law when he catches a law-breaker!” Waggoner declared angrily. “I’ve got you and Ace for witnesses!”
“Nuh uh,” the plainsman said slowly. “This wasn’t really a rustling, Jim. That calf was bait to lure you into a trap. Then Snake Hollister meant to smoke you down. Jude Tabor is the brains behind this frame, and the law will take care of Jude in good time.”
“I’ll tell Jude what you said,” Snake Hollister remarked, and stooped to retrieve his rifle.
“Leave it lay,” Ace Fleming ordered sternly. “I should have killed you for what you meant to do, but Gospel is rodding this play. I’ll back him up, and you wide-loopers heard his day orders. Just to keep you honest, I’ll see you on your horses!”
Jim Waggoner stepped back and allowed Ned Tolliver to walk from under his gun. Ace Fleming escorted the two Rafter T men back into the brush after searching them both for hidden weapons. He smiled crookedly as he returned to Cummings and Waggoner, and the young Wagon Wheel cowboy faced the gaunt plainsman angrily.
Chapter 3
Jim Waggoner tightened his lips, glared at Cummings, and spoke bitterly.
“Now you tell me, you old sin buster! Why did you let those two rustlers get away?”
“Fighting fire with fire,” Cummings answered quietly.
“Stop fighting your head, Jim. You’ve got too much to lose. They put Ned Tolliver down here to bait a trap, and you walked into it like a pilgrim, I’m telling you!”
He stared at Waggoner, who lost some of his truculence. “You said something about fighting fire with fire,” he muttered.
“So we bait a trap of our own,” Cummings answered. “Let’s get out of this clearing before those two hit the high ridge. They might have a rifle stashed out for just such an emergency like this, and they’d get us like ducks on a pond!”
He moved back into the brush as he spoke, and his two companions followed. Jim Waggoner leaned down and pulled the hoggin’ string to free the calf, and he waited for Cummings to explain his strategy.
“Wait here!” Cummings ordered gruffly, and stepped deeper into the dense brush. When Jim Waggoner started to follow him, Fleming touched him and shook his head. He made a motion with hand and head, and Waggoner stopped and nodded his understanding.
Gospel Cummings crackled through the brush and reached into the right tail of his long coat. He sighed deeply as he stoppered his bottle and returned it to the hiding place. Now he was once more calm and relaxed as he rejoined the two men, and he jerked his head toward the waiting horses.
“Let’s ride back a way,” he said lazily. “I came out here to cut sign, and I mean to do it.”
Cummings removed the saddle-string from the sorrel’s nose, climbed his saddle, and started away without another word. Ten minutes later he rode into another deep draw, waited for the other two to ride up and dismount. He handed his reins to Fleming and spoke to Jim Waggoner.
“Light down and come along with me afoot, Jim. Yonder’s the fire where Tod Ballard was killed. I don’t want the sign clouded until I get a good look. You wait here, Ace!”
The gambler nodded and held the two horses. Jim Waggoner followed close behind the gaunt plainsman. Gospel Cummings was tracing the tracks of three horses, and he began to speak in a low quiet voice.
“Tod rode in here, and the other two followed. You can see where Tod’s horse came back at a high lope; tracks are farther apart, and the hoofprints are deeper.”
“Yeah, that’s plain,” Waggoner agreed.
“So don’t go any closer to the dead fire,” Cummings warned. “Those Rafter T men set a pattern; it should be the same. We’ll circle around and search that brush yonder, coming down off yonder ridge!”
Jim Waggoner nodded his understanding. He remembered Snake Hollister riding down from the hog-back, while Ned Tolliver kept him talking about the rustled calf. Gospel Cummings skirted the brush and walked through where a broken branch had dried. He pointed to a trampled spot which faced the fire. Then he backtracked toward the ridge and stopped at some old horse sign.
“Here’s where Jude Tabor tied up his horse,” Cummings told Jim Waggoner. “Then he sneaked down on foot to that nest we found.”
“He didn’t even deny killing Tod,” Waggoner said impatiently. “Where does this get us?”
“It might teach a hand not to make the same mistake twice,” Cummings said dryly.
“I’m sorry, Gospel,” Waggoner growled, remembering how he had walked into the same kind of trap. “Now what?”
“Tod’s gun was fired once,” Cummings said thoughtfully. “Jude Tabor claimed that Tod shot first, and just missed him. We know Tabor was lying, but let’s prove it now!”
Cummings was thinking of Jude Tabor and his brother Sam, comparing their natural traits with the reconstructed crime. Neither played any game to lose, and the stakes were high.
Jude Tabor had hidden in the brush to shoot Tod Ballard. He would do the same thing again if it would serve his selfish purposes, and when he heard about his brother Sam, the Rafter T boss would cast off all restraints. As though he had read the tall plainsman’s thoughts, Jim Waggoner spoke gruffly.
“If we fight fire with fire, we’d get Jude Tabor and his crowd before they get us,” he told Cummings grimly.
“Thou shalt not kill,” Cummings reproved gently. “Now let’s get back there to the starting place and make sure of all our facts.”
They retraced their steps and studied the brush surrounding the killer’s hiding place. Then Gospel Cummings walked directly to the dead fire and hunkered down to study the trampled ground. He leaned forward and spoke jerkily.
“You can see where Tod dropped his stamp iron, Jim. Yonder’s the place where he bled out after he was shot. Six feet over you can see the marks of Tod’s boot-heels, but look close and you’ll see two other pairs. Stay where you are!” he jerked savagely, as Jim Waggoner started forward.
Waggoner sank back biting his lip.
Cummings pointed with a steady hand. “That little hole there,” he whispered. “Where a .45 slug drilled the ground. Fired straight down, like where a gent would stand beside the body to build up a case. They took Tod’s six-shooter and fired it into the ground to make it look like he shot first at Tabor.”
“You can’t prove it in court,” Waggoner said fiercely. “Jude Tabor admits he killed Tod, but he claims self-defense, and he can prove rustling!”
“I don’t aim to prove it in court,” Cummings said quietly. “Just wanted to prove it to myself and to you. A man can do his best fighting when he knows he’s right, and now we know. Jude Tabor is a cold-blooded killer, and for some reason, he’s out to make trouble for the Wagon Wheel!”
“My boys will be glad to know,” Jim Waggoner said with a cold smile. “We’ll take the fight to them!”
“Do you want to lose the fight?” Cummings asked slowly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you can work better with the law on your side,” Cummings reminded. “Saint John ain’t afraid of man nor beast, and he won’t protect his friends if he knows they are wrong. Better let Saint handle this thing, and for a time, you better make a defensive fight!”
“A good offense is the best defense!” Waggoner argued hotly. “They killed Tod, and they were all set to do the same for me!”
“So you owe me a favor, me and Ace. And I like Molly Ballard a heap,” Cummings added softly.
Jim Waggoner jerked up his head and stared at Cummings. Then he sighed and turned his face away.
“You and me both,” he whispered. “I counted a lot on Tod, was going to cut him in for a share of the Wagon Wheel later. Tod and me were like brothers!”
“Yeah, I know,” Cummings said gently. “Molly is a mighty fine girl.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t go yammering at me like a half-growed kid!” Cummings retorted grimly. “I mean that Molly Ballard is a mighty fine gal, and Tod was her brother. Anything wrong about that?”
“Sorry I got to fighting my head, Gospel,” Waggoner murmured. “Just riles me up because you ride around and see most everything. You know I love Molly!”
“That’s right,” Cummings agreed. “But does Molly know?”
“Look, Gospel, don’t prod me too far!” Waggoner burst out. “You know this ain’t the time to tell her!”
“Never said it was,” Cummings answered evenly. “But a man with a lick of sense could let a gal know without saying a word at a time like this. Now see if you can make something out of that, you young firebrand!”
“You got me riding in circles, Gospel,” Jim Waggoner confessed humbly. “You rescue me from a trap, you prove Tod Ballard was murdered, you admit you can’t prove it in court, and you know what I think of Molly. Now tell me to sit down and twiddle my thumbs, and not to start anything!”
“There’s more to it than that,” Cummings reminded slowly. “Most times, the thief steals from himself!”
Waggoner showed his resentment. “The Tabors rustle our stock, and you say they steal only from themselves,” he argued sullenly. “Mebbe I’m not good at reading sign, the way you leave it laying around!”
“Lay your hackles,” Cummings said soothingly. “I’m just trying to read it the way the Tabors left it. They made it, and we’ve got to put ourselves in their places to get a line on what they intend to do.
“It all leads up to something bigger, Jim. They are making certain moves, all of which will lead to the big thing. I admit I am not quite sure what that is, but I’m trying to find out.”
“You should have been a lawyer, Gospel,” Waggoner said glumly. “You could take either side of the case and prove a point.”
“How’s the Wagon Wheel calf tally?” Cummings asked abruptly, and he smiled at the startled look on Waggoner’s face.
“Not more than forty percent, and you knew all the time,” Waggoner answered slowly. “I believe I see what you mean. The Tabors are playing a game of some kind, and there must be a reason!”
“There’s a reason,” Cummings answered grimly. “You can tell how a man’s mind works by watching what he does. This is twice hand-running that the Tabors have set a sure-fire rustling trap. What does that tell you?”
“Tells me they must be thinking of rustling,” Waggoner answered promptly. “Say! I never thought of that. With our calf tally so short, they must be rustling us blind!”
Gospel Cummings sighed and moved toward Ace Fleming and the horses. “That’s reading sign, cowboy,” he said heartily. “Now all you have to do is get the proof, and call in the law.”
“Even I can see through a brick wall when someone makes a hole big enough,” Jim Waggoner said, and his voice was subdued. “You’ll help me get that proof?”
“I’ll do what I can in my own way,” Cummings assured the Wagon Wheel cowboy.
“What did you find by the fire?” Ace Fleming asked curiously. “I saw you and Jim making medicine, and it looked like an argument to me.”
“Tod Ballard was murdered in cold blood!” Waggoner said slowly. “Then his gun was fired one time into the ground right near where he lay bleeding out. Jude Tabor admits to the killing, but claims self-defense. Gospel tells me not to do anything about it!”
“What’s your reason, Gospel?” the gambler asked.
“Give a thief rope enough and he’ll hang himself,” Cummings said brusquely. “Jude Tabor seems to have a one-track mind, and he makes the same mistake more than once. He’ll do it again, and the law will have something to work on!”
“What law?” Fleming asked lazily. “Oh yes, you mean John Saint John!”
“And he’s a mighty good law-dog,” Cummings defended the absent deputy. “Well, speak of the devil!”
John Saint John rode up to the three men and spoke sternly. “Hold up your right hands and be sworn in!” he boomed. “I hereby swear you in as special deputy sheriffs.”
“Not me,” Ace Fleming contradicted quickly. “I’ve got other business like you know.”
“Likewise,” Gospel Cummings murmured. “Sorry, Saint!”
The tall deputy glared at the three men, trying to control his anger. Saint John was a domineering man when he thought he was right, which was most of the time.
“You’ll serve,” he told Cummings grimly. “Or I’ll put you where the sun won’t shine on you, for obstructing justice!”
“But I’m not obstructing justice,” Cummings denied quietly. “Not only that, but I’ve got two witnesses to prove it. All you have is your own word. Think that over, my long-jointed friend.”
Saint John sat back in his saddle and stared angrily at Cummings. Several times he started to speak, but each time his anger tied his tongue. At last he burst out in a torrent of abuse.
“You threw me off the trail back in town, Gospel. Then you ride out here with Ace Fleming, and his guns primed for war. Now you refuse to aid the law!”
“Nuh-uh,” Cummings contradicted quietly. “You can ask Jim Waggoner.”
The deputy turned to the Wagon Wheel boss. “What did he say?” he demanded arrogantly.
“Not that you deserve it, but Cummings sold me a bill of goods to help the law,” Waggoner answered bluntly. “Gospel was trying to get proof that would stand up in court. He was going it the law-way, to help the law, and you’re what law we have in these parts!”
“Well, that’s different,” Saint John said with a smile. “Hold up your hand and we will make it legal, Gospel. I’ll swear you in as a special deputy.”
“Like I said before,” Cummings repeated. “I’ll work on my own, or I won’t help. Sorry, Saint John.”
“Don’t tell me your sorrows,” the tall deputy said grimly. “I just got the word that Jude Tabor is back on the Rafter T, and I’m riding out there with a posse to arrest him, or kill him one!”
“Thou shalt not kill!” Cummings said sternly. “And you said you didn’t need any help!”
“Circumstances alter cases
, and I’ve changed my mind,” Saint John answered importantly. “Right now I need help to take in a killer, and you three are deputized whether you like it or not!”
“The way it would look in court, Jude Tabor caught Tod Ballard dead to rights,” Ace Fleming pointed out. “Tabor would be acquitted, and we all know it. I won’t serve as a deputy!”
“You’ll serve if I say so!” Saint John bellowed. “And I say so!”
“So you can shoot me in the back for interfering with an officer in the discharge of his duty,” Ace Fleming said with a smile, and turning his thoroughbred, he rode rapidly away from the law.
“You can shoot me too,” Gospel Cummings said, and followed the gambler.
Saint John started to draw his six-shooter and then seated it with an angry thrust. “You’ll sign the complaint?” he asked Jim Waggoner.
Waggoner shook his head. “I’ll kill Jude Tabor if I meet him, but I won’t sign a complaint!” he said thinly, and he rode after his two companions.
The tall deputy stood up in his stirrups and roared at the departing trio.
“Come back here, you connivers. I’ll take all three of you in for creating a conspiracy!”
Jim Waggoner turned in the saddle and made a derisive sound with his puckered lips. Then he thumbed his nose at the angry deputy and nudged his horse with blunted spurs.
“You’re the law,” Waggoner’s voice came back. “So do the work you get paid for doing. Be seeing you around, Saint!”
Saint John stared at the galloping trio and rubbed his stubbled chin. Then he squared his shoulders and rode in the opposite direction, toward the Rafter T. An hour later he rode into the Rafter T yard just at sundown, tied up at the rail, and walked up to the rambling ranch house.
Chapter 4
John Saint John knew the risk he was taking, but there is a peculiar feeling of confidence which comes only to those who wear the mantle of authority. There is also an added strength which is unknown to those who oppose the duly constituted law, and Saint John was not only courageous, but stubborn by nature.
The tall deputy scrutinized the yard closely. Not a man was in sight, but he had the peculiar feeling that he was being watched. He could feel the short hairs rising on the back of his neck, but Saint John shrugged off the warning. He allowed his eyes to wander to a long bam, but aside from some horses munching hay at the feed racks, there was no other sign of life. Where was Jude Tabor?
