by Noel Loomis
“All you’ve got to do is be honest,” the deputy replied. “Just don’t pull any hostage stunt, and see that Gospel gets back safe and sound.”
“Look, mebbe he better stay right here with you fellows,” Tabor suggested. “I can’t guarantee anything about Curly Brown’s gang, and I’ve troubles of my own!”
“You’ll have more if anything happens to Gospel,” Saint John promised sternly.
“I can take care of myself,” Cummings interrupted before Tabor could speak. “And I just might be needed to read a service over the body of Curly Brown. Let’s go, Jude.”
“I’ll do what I can to round up my riders,” Tabor promised. “And like we all know, Gospel is a man of peace.”
“Yeah, but don’t crowd him too much,” the tall deputy warned. “One other feller made that mistake, and that feller is nursing two broken shoulders right now!”
Jude Tabor flushed with anger and then controlled himself. He turned his horse and rode up the trail, and Gospel Cummings waved a hand and neck-reined old Fred to follow. When they were out of sight, Saint John turned eagerly to Jim Waggoner.
“What did Gospel tell you?” he asked.
“Let’s ride aways first,” Waggoner hedged. “Some of Tabor’s men might be hiding in the brush.”
The three men rode a piece, and Ace Fleming asked the question: “What message did Gospel leave for me?”
“We’re to round up our two crews and ride around to the Saint George Trail tonight,” Waggoner answered without hesitation. “The Brown gang will be moving some of our shippers tonight!”
“Now how did that old son know about that?” Saint John asked quickly.
“That’s all we need to know for right now,” Waggoner said firmly. “Gospel usually knows what he is doing, and we want to get back those steers!”
“I’ll get most of my crew,” Fleming agreed. “You do the same, Jim, but leave a couple to guard headquarters.”
“So I’ll ride with you tonight,” the deputy growled. “Funny that old sin buster didn’t tell me!”
“He was afraid you’d spoil everything by asserting your authority,” Ace Fleming said with a smile. “After all, you’re the law!”
Back in the badlands, Jude Tabor rode across the shelf where Lost River took to the underground channel. He looked closely at Cummings and spoke carelessly.
“There’s a big cave back here,” he began. “Must be all of a quarter-mile deep. I found it one day while chasing a bear.”
“Lost River cave,” Cummings said quietly. “I holed up there once for three days after a flash flood in a rain storm!”
“You’ve been back there on Rafter T range?” Tabor demanded suspiciously.
“Been back there many’s the time,” Cummings answered evenly. “I’ve rode just about every range in these parts.”
“You were warned to stay away from Rafter T range,” Tabor said, and he showed his nervousness. “If something should happen to you, I’d get blamed.”
“You’ve been blamed for worse, and you’re still healthy,” Cummings answered carelessly. “I wonder just what did happen to Curly Brown’s body?”
“Mebbe it got up and walked off,” Tabor said viciously.
“Stranger things have happened,” the gaunt plainsman agreed again.
Jude Tabor glared and tried to read what was going on behind those inscrutable brown eyes. Finally his curiosity got the best of him.
“When was you back in that cave?” he asked, and he tried to make his voice sound careless.
“Must have been all of ten years ago since I first found the cave,” Cummings explained. “Long before you came up here from the Arivaca country.”
“Snake Hollister should be waiting there,” Tabor said slowly. “Snake won’t cut down on you!”
“Let’s hope he don’t cut down on either one of us,” Cummings added. “I wonder why he carried off Brown’s body?”
“That’s what I mean to find out,” Tabor answered dryly. “When I kill a man, it don’t matter much where they bury the corpse.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Cummings asked suddenly.
Jude Tabor jerked and glared at Cummings. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.
Gospel Cummings shrugged his wide shoulders. “Just making talk,” he murmured. “There used to be talk about Lost River cave being haunted, and I wonder if you’d ever seen any.”
“Not up to now,” Tabor answered sullenly.
Gospel Cummings stopped and turned off the trail. He reached for his bottle, turned his back, and drank a deep draft. He stopped the bottle and replaced it without offering the bottle to Tabor.
“Man never knows when he might see a ghost,” Cummings muttered, as if to himself.
“What did you have to tell Jim Waggoner?” Tabor asked curiously.
“My business, and none of yours,” Cummings answered shortly. “I’m not asking you about your business.”
“We slide through this screen of brush here,” Tabor said, and rode through a tall stand of dense growth.
“Then we climb a fairly steep trail to the cave,” Cummings said spitefully.
“You want to take the lead?” Tabor asked angrily.
“You’re doing all right,” Cummings answered with a shrug.
He reached for his bottle and drank deeply as his horse climbed the trail. Jude Tabor rode straight into the cave, and called loudly:
“It’s Jude, Snake. No fireworks!”
Snake Hollister came from behind a thick stalactite, a rifle in his brown hands. His eyes narrowed when Gospel Cummings followed Tabor, and Cummings nodded at the Rafter T cowboy carelessly.
“Gospel came back here to make medicine,” Tabor explained. “He’s been here before, found this cave ten years ago.”
“The devil he did!” Hollister blurted, and the rifle swung up in his hands. “Elevate, you mealy-mouthed snooper!” he said briefly. “I’m coming to empty your holster!”
Gospel Cummings had dismounted, and he went into a crouch. “I rode back here under a white flag,” he said slowly. “Tell your hired man, Jude!”
“After we take your hardware,” Tabor said with a smile. “You’re too touchy on the trigger, and I don’t want you to get hurt!”
“Stand back!” Cummings warned savagely. “No man takes my iron while I’m conscious!”
“We can fix that if you insist,” Jude Tabor said with an oily smile. “Better do it the easy way, Gospel!”
“You heard my wau-wau,” Cummings declared grimly. “I took your word, when I should have known better. Saint John took your word, and it ain’t worth the breath it took to make it.”
“Stand still for a shake-down!” Snake Hollister warned.
“You heard me,” Cummings repeated, and he reached for the six-shooter on his long right leg.
He reeled as a heavy blow struck him in the head from behind. Gospel Cummings moaned and slid to the hard limestone floor. Snake Hollister took the gun from the fallen man’s holster and stuck it into his own belt.
“Now while he’s unconscious,” he sneered, “we’ll see if that sin buster believes in ghosts!”
Chapter 12
Curly Brown moved with the stealth and grace of a hunting cat as he came from behind the shoulder of rock where he had concealed himself. He placed one of his pistols on half-cock, spun the cylinder to make sure the mechanism was working after using the gun for a club on Gospel Cummings, and then reseated the heavy weapon in the half-breed holster on his right leg.
“I’m sorry you took his cutter, Snake,” he told Hollister. “I’ve heard this old sin buster can shade the gambling man in a game of draw!”
“The time ain’t right for a killing of that kind,” Jude Tabor said coldly. “We’d have every cowman in the Strip banging at that front door, if harm was to come to Cummings!”
“We’d be long gone by then,” Brown said carelessly.
“You would,” Tabor corrected. “Sam and me run a more or les
s legitimate spread, and we’ve got to stay on until we sell out.”
“So you got to stay,” the little outlaw accepted the correction. “Me and my boys will high-tail after we move those shippers.”
“I had little choice in this go-around,” Jude Tabor said resentfully. “Just because you had something on Sam, I had to play along with you.”
“I still have something on Sam,” Brown said. “And I’ve got something on you, Jude. I’m not forgetting that little act we put on for the benefit of the Ballard filly, and you’ll do well to remember that it was just an act!”
“I didn’t do so bad,” Tabor said with a scowl. “I beat you to the draw, and I beat you to the shot!”
Curly Brown exchanged glances with Snake Hollister. Both men laughed shortly, and Jude Tabor thrust out his jaw.
“Mebbe I don’t see the joke that tickles you two jiggers,” he said hoarsely. “This might be a good time to let me in on the fun!”
“I rode in here and found you going crooked,” Brown explained. “So it looks like I’ve got something on you too.”
“But you won’t be in a position to talk,” Tabor reminded the little outlaw.
“Some of my boys might talk if they were took alive,” Brown said bluntly. “That’s why we saved Joe Slade from standing trial. If any of my boys talked, they’d also talk about Sam, and him in the hospital with two busted wings!”
“Cummings kept talking about ghosts while we was riding back through the lavas,” Tabor changed the subject. “Said this cave was haunted.”
“So we’ll serve him up a ghost,” Brown said with a chuckle.
There were many peculiarities about the waspy outlaw. Not more than five-feet-five in his high-heeled boots, but his deep chest and thin legs gave him endurance and agility. His feet were small, but his hands should have belonged to a six-foot blacksmith. Short powerful arms and shoulders which carried most of his weight, a well-shaped head marred only by small eyes set too close together. His nose was like the beak of a bird of prey, and his mouth was a thin gash of cruelty.
He reached down and removed the quart bottle from the right tail of the unconscious man’s coat. He tilted back his head, pulled the cork, and took a deep draught. Then Brown made a wry face and returned the bottle to its hiding place.
“He’s stirring,” Snake Hollister warned in a low voice. “It won’t be long now. He has the vitality of a mule!”
“Do a fade for a minute,” Tabor said to Brown. “I want to see his face when you sneak out from behind one of those limestone pillars.”
Curly Brown grinned and stepped behind a thick stalagmite. Gospel Cummings groaned and tried to sit up. He came up to his elbows, focused his swimming vision on a pair of rusty boots, and pushed up to a sitting position.
“What happened, Tabor?” he asked, and his deep voice trembled.
“You just dropped like a log,” Tabor answered, and he did not smile. “We thought mebbe you had a stroke or something.”
“I had a stroke,” Cummings muttered bitterly. “I rode back here under a sacred flag of truce, when I should have known better.”
“So you bumped into one of those limestone rocks,” Tabor growled. “You know I was standing in front of you!”
“I was struck down from behind,” Cummings muttered, and he rubbed a growing lump on his head with his left hand. His right hand slid to his holster, passed lightly over, and then Cummings staggered to his feet.
“Safe conduct, eh?” he said to Tabor. “The boys ain’t going to like this any.”
“You will be our guest for a few days until you recover your strength,” Tabor answered soothingly. “We’ll treat you to the best.”
“Start right in treating,” Cummings invited, and now he had recovered his balance. “You might begin by telling the ghost to come out from behind that column, and I’ll bet my gun against yours I can call his name!”
Jude Tabor stiffened and glanced at Hollister. “What ghost?” he asked, with simulated surprise.
“The ghost of Curly Brown,” Cummings answered without hesitation. “You and Snake were in front of me, and it’s always the little jaspers who act the biggest. They feel inferior because they are runts, so they make up for it by acting important!”
He moved swiftly to the side and made a half-turn as he finished speaking. Something swished past his head, and then he was facing the enraged Curly Brown who had leaped out with his gun clubbing down.
“Give that sinner back his hog-leg!” he growled at Hollister. “The man don’t live and keep on living who talks about Curly Brown that away!”
“The late Curly Brown,” Cummings corrected. “Molly Ballard said she saw Jude beat you to the gun, and rub you out.”
“Tabor never saw the day he could match my cutter,” Brown boasted.
“Then you ain’t a ghost?” Cummings asked innocently.
“Do I look like a ghost?” Brown asked. “Did I feel like one when I buffaloed you between the horns with my six-shooter?”
“Pay no mind to him, Curly,” Tabor said quickly. “We need him alive, and he’s trying to get you to kill him.”
“I’ll save the son,” the little outlaw muttered, but he holstered his weapon.
“How about a drink, Gospel?” Tabor asked quickly. “A drop to settle your nerves after that fall you took.”
“You might have been a real preacher if you could have left the bottle alone!” Snake Hollister sneered.
“Did you find that card I planted on Joe Slade?” Curly Brown asked with a leer.
“Yeah, I found it,” Gospel admitted readily. “I thought at first you were crossing Tabor, and then I reasoned differently. Seemed to me it was a lure to get me back here.”
“What card?” Tabor asked suspiciously.
“A map of Lost River Cave,” Cummings spoke up quickly.
“He’d hide it in that Bible,” Curly Brown surprised Cummings. “Hands high, you whiskered old son!”
There was nothing else to do under the threatening gun, and Cummings raised both hands. Curly Brown circled and took the worn Book, thumbed through the pages, and found the little slit in the back cover. When he did not find the card, he made as though to tear the binding.
“Don’t tear that Book, Brown!”
Gospel Cummings lowered his hands and crouched toward the vicious little killer. Curly Brown stepped back, and this took his attention away from the old Bible.
“The card is not there anymore, but your guess was good,” Cummings said more quietly. “I gave it to another man before I came back here with Jude!”
“You fool!” Brown cursed Jude Tabor. “Why didn’t you search the old soak before you let him loose?”
“That’s enough from you, Curly,” Tabor said coldly. “With Ace Fleming, Saint John and Jim Waggoner backing up Cummings, even you and your gang couldn’t have made that one stick! Right now we better find out how much Cummings told the law.”
“That card,” Brown said to Cummings. “What did you do with it?”
Gospel Cummings shrugged his wide shoulders. “You’ve done a fair job so far at guessing,” he replied. “Guess again.”
“I know!” Jude Tabor spoke up eagerly. “You passed it to Jim Waggoner when you rode off for that talk!”
Gospel Cummings smiled like a boy. “That’s right good guessing, Jude,” he praised. “You might not be as fast as Curly, but you’ve got a good head!
“The way I see it, Brown, you drifted in here, and after you skim the cream, you’ll drift out again,” Cummings continued. “On the other hand, Jude Tabor figures to stay here and take over. Now the law won’t stop until it has its man, and sooner or later, Jude Tabor will have to provide that man! Saint John wants to see your corpse, Curly.”
“Meaning he’d double-cross me,” Brown said, and he eyed Jude Tabor narrowly. “But he won’t have a chance,” he assured Cummings. “You should have seen his fingers stutter on the draw when me and him was staging that act for Molly Ballard!”
“I saw it,” Cummings said quietly.
Curly Brown came out of his crouch, and his jaw sagged. Jude Tabor stared with one hand on a pistol, and even Snake Hollister showed surprise.
“You’re a liar!” Brown barked.
“Well, let’s go over this play-acting again,” Cummings said with a smile. “Miss Molly was seated yonder with her hands tied behind her back, and fastened to that glistening pillar. You was telling it scary to the gal, and Jude came sneaking in from the front of the cave. Jude played it big to rescue the gal, but his fingers stuttered on the draw. So you, Curly, waited and held your hand until Jude finally cleared leather. Then you shot over Tabor’s head as you dropped to the floor. No blood,” he ended with a shrug.
“Where was you?” Tabor demanded.
“Who, me?” Cummings asked innocently. “Like Curly here, I was playing ghost!”
“You snoopy old wart hog!” the little outlaw shouted angrily. “You’ve talked yourself right into an open grave!”
“You mean the one Snake and his pard dug down by the Lost River graze?” Cummings asked quietly. “I’d rather be buried in Hell’s Half Acre where I’d feel more to home!”
Curly Brown reached to the back of his belt and his hand came out holding the murderous skinning knife. He held the blade for an upthrust like an experienced knife-fighter, and he faced Gospel Cummings in a crouch with his knees slightly bent.
“This time you’ll be a sure-enough ghost!” the little outlaw threatened viciously.
“Hold it, Curly!”
Jude Tabor spoke in a snarling husky voice, and he had a cocked six-shooter in his right hand. Curly Brown stopped his advance and glared at Tabor.
“So you grabbed a sneak,” he sneered. “You knew I had you faded!”
“I know I promised Cummings safe conduct,” Tabor said thickly. “You can’t do this and ride out to leave me holding the bag!”
“I can do it,” Brown said confidently.
“He can do it, Jude,” Snake Hollister said in a rasping whisper. “I play segundo to Curly, I’ve got you covered, and my cutter ready to go!”
Jude Tabor stared at Brown as he listened to Snake Hollister. Then he lowered the hammer of his six-shooter, and slowly holstered the weapon.
