by Noel Loomis
Quist glanced around. Ahead, curving up around the Devil’s Drum, lay more steep grades. He said, “Looks like we got our work cut out for us.” To the right ran a long straight ridge. “Too bad,” he laughed, “that we’re not headed in that direction.”
“That’s the way we go,” Kate said.
“But that ridge leads directly away from the Drum,” Quist pointed out.
Kate nodded calmly. “I know. But it swings in a big curve, back to the Drum and climbs higher. Oh, a horse can make the steeper way all right, but it’s a job, as you thought. Most people don’t know the easier way. Naturally, they’re not inclined to swing away from the Drum. The way I’m taking you now, a team and wagon could make it, though it’s a hard pull in places.”
“Ah,” Quist put in, “it’s beginning to fit.” Kate asked a question. Quist explained, “A certain hunch I had about the Devil’s Drum. Did you ever take Lloyd Porter up here?”
Kate nodded. “One time when we were first married. There’s a big cave up there and any number of smaller ones. Tunnels have been carved through the rock—I don’t know whether by some prehistoric people, or if they’re due to a freak of nature. What’s your hunch, Greg?”
“I’ve picked up information here and there. Those missing cans of ‘strawberry jam’ contain opium. Somebody killed two teamsters to steal the cans. Whoever it was, needed a place to hide the cans until the storm blew over. He didn’t dare drive the wagon into town. I couldn’t think of a better place to hide anything like that than the Devil’s Drum. Lish Corliss had already told me about the caves and tunnels.”
“The idea seems reasonable,” Kate agreed. “Whoever took the opium had to get it to a hiding place fast. If he’d headed for another town or some other ranch, he might have been caught, for all he knew. And no matter where he went, he was on Rocking-T holdings over this way, and there was always a chance he might be discovered by someone from our place. So actually the Devil’s Drum was the closest hiding place.” She paused. “And you think the man who killed the teamsters and stole the cans of opium was Lloyd Porter?”
Quist nodded. “I’m fairly sure of that.”
Kate sighed. “I’m not surprised in a way. He was always a schemer. And the Devil’s Drum would be convenient. He wouldn’t have to haul the whole load down at once. Living at our house he could make trips up here from time to time and just bring a few cans back with him. I understand opium is really quite valuable.”
Quist nodded. “Porter was playing for big stakes. Well, these ponies have rested about enough. Ready to show me more of the route?” Kate nodded and they spurred their mounts along the wide high ridge to the right. For the most part the footing was gravelly sandstone of a greyish-yellow color, spotted here and there with stunted brush and cactus, whose roots clung with stubborn tenacity to cracks in the sandy earth. Now and then the horses were swerved aside to avoid small boulders and outcroppings of rock. The wind blew steadily warmer. Quist glanced at the sky. Tumbled clouds were piling high in the north. His gaze was continually on the girl riding ahead, admiring the erect back and good shoulders tapering to waistband of her riding skirt. Like an Indian arrowhead, Quist mused.
The route ascended gradually. On either side of the ridge, far below, were blind canyons and lower ridges, choked with scrub oak and scraggly cedar. From this high vantage point he could look across a sea of canyons and tumbled rock, some of which had been eroded by centuries of rain and wind, to queer formations, appearing at a distance to be spires and castles. By this time they were nearly to the level of the Devil’s Drum which now was situated east of the riders. Once or twice Quist had wanted to take ridges running more directly toward the big Drum, but Kate vetoed that.
“You’ll only get into trouble that way and find yourself at a dropping-off spot with no where else to go. This whole section is criss-crossed with canyons and ridges, and its mighty deceiving if you don’t know the way. Golly, it’s hot, but there isn’t much farther to go. Looks like a rain making up too. Suppose it came on to storm and we had to spend the night in a cave?”
“I can imagine worse situations,” Quist chuckled. The girl made no reply.
The sky was completely overclouded now, and the wind was lifting. Quist could look back and see that the ridge they followed had described a great arc and was once again heading directly toward Devil’s Drum. The gravelly soil had taken on a reddish hue now, and the way became marked with wide patches of rock, streaked with brownish red. Quist was remembering now the red strata that patterned the surface of the Devil’s Drum. He remembered also the bit of red earth caked to the edge of Porter’s boot-sole he’d seen at the undertaker’s.
And then, quite suddenly, they had arrived on a wide apron of that same colored rock, at the foot of the great cylindrical formation, which showed the way to a cave with a high opening. Quist tilted his head back, gazing upward and saw the whole surface was perforated with openings of various sizes, reminding him of nests of bankswallows he’d seen in steep sand banks. He and Kate checked their ponies and dismounted on the rock apron several yards from the cave mouth which was some twenty-five feet high and wide. To left and right of the wide apron, the way sloped off to deep gullies grown with brush, cedar and scrub oak. Somehow a lonely pecan tree bad managed to survive and lifted its head above the lower growth.
“Well, here you are,” Kate said, as they moved toward the entrance to the cave. “You hadn’t figured to go to the top of the Drum, today, had you?”
“That can wait for some other time,” Quist said, walking at her side. “Today, I’m just interested in this cave.”
“I hope it’s cooler in there than out here,” Kate commented. “If this weather doesn’t bring a storm, I’ll be surprised.” She whipped off the heavy stiff-brimmed, flat-topped Stetson, and shook out her blond hair. “I should think, Greg, that you’d roast with that coat on.”
“It’s not as heavy as it looks,” Quist said. “I had it made up special to take care of the bulge from my gun harness.”
A drop of rain spattered down. By the time they entered the cave at a run, there came a rumble of distant thunder, and the rain increased.
CHAPTER 21
SHOWDOWN
The roof of the cave arched up. Plenty of light came in at the entrance. Once inside, they turned and glanced out. The rain was really pelting down now. “We should have brought the horses in too,” Quist observed. There came another rumble of thunder, nearer now, and Quist could feel the vibrations run through the rock. He tuned to examine the interior of the cave and almost at once saw a stacked pile of wooden boxes against one far wall where the course of the cave appeared to take a turn to the right.
Followed by Kate, he strode swiftly to the boxes. All those on top had been opened. Splintered covers lay about, and Quist judged the boxes in the lower tiers were loose as well. “Kate, I think we’ve hit it,” he exclaimed exultantly. “Look, there’s ten boxes. Forty-eight cans to a box—” He broke off. “That one box is badly splintered. That must be the one Pardee dropped.”
Kate stood watching him, her heavy Stetson in one hand, still mopping at her face with the bandanna. She laughed softly. “Better make sure it’s strawberry jam, Greg.”
He pushed aside the splintered pine top of one box and brought out a can, read the label. “Strawberry jam, as sure as you live—so it says. But now you and I know better than to believe labels.”
He turned, smiling, away from the boxes, and looked about. There were many footprints on the dusty floor of the cave, and at one point they were so jumbled as to indicate some sort of scuffle had taken place. Suddenly he moved to the opposite wall which lay in half shadow, stooped down and straightened up again, a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. “Look here, Kate.”
The girl came hurrying to his side. She looked over the gun a moment, then said, low-voiced, “That was Lloyd Porter’s shotgun.” Quist said, You’re sure?” The girl nodded. “I’ve seen it too many times to be mistaken.”
Quist broke the gun and discovered one shell had been fired. He said, “Hmmm…one more bit of evidence, I reckon.” He stood the weapon against the wall of the cave and glanced back toward the interior, where the cave started to narrow and turn to the right. “Probably,” Quist observed, “this cave closes down and turns into a tunnel. Think I’ll have a look-see around that shoulder of rock and learn if there’s any more evidence to be uncovered. Coming?”
The girl shook her head. “You’re right about its being a tunnel though. I followed back there years ago. You won’t go far, it narrows considerably.”
She stood watching him as the shadows closed in and his form began to fade. Behind her, rain spattered down at the cave mouth. She raised the Stetson in her left hand and began to fan herself. For an instant she took her eyes off the spot where Quist was lost in shadow. Then when she looked again, she saw him backing toward her, hands raised high above his head.
“Take it easy, Kate,” he spoke over one shoulder. “I walked right into it.” The tones sounded bitter.
What the girl said was lost in another rumble of low thunder. Quist came backing into the light, followed by another man who held a six-shooter level on Quist’s middle. Kate uttered a gasp of astonishment as the other figure emerged into better light. “Why—why—” she exclaimed, “it’s the Texas Ranger—Fred Arbuckle. What—?”
“Not Arbuckle,” Quist spoke again, voice steady. “The name’s Leftwick, Kate—Mead Leftwick, your late husband’s pardner in crime.”
Arbuckle-Leftwick slowed step so he could watch Kate as well as Quist. “Never mind the name,” he said coolly. “Just keep those mitts high. You, Mrs. Porter, lift that gun carefully from your holster, and drop it on the ground.”
Kate hesitated. The man spoke again in sharper tones. Quist said, evenly, “Better do as he says, Kate.”
Reluctantly, Kate drew the gun from her holster and let it drop, hoping the shock of the fall might explode it, and give her some opportunity.… The gun landed in the dust. There was no explosion.
“Want me to drop my gun too?” Quist asked genially, as though trying to cooperate.
Arbuckle-Leftwick chuckled coldly. “It don’t work, Quist. I don’t want your hand anywhere near that hideout gun. Fold your hands on top of your hat, and keep backing until you’ve reached the girl. Then stand where I can keep you both covered.” He came farther into the light from the opening. Low thunder vibrated through the cave. Rain drummed beyond the entrance.
Quist halted a couple of feet away from the girl, who stood helplessly holding the flat-crowned Stetson in both hands, not even daring now to fan herself.
Arbuckle-Leftwick also halted, several yards away. “Dammit,” he said irritably, “Why did you have to come snooping here?”
“The question is,” Quist said quietly, “how did you know we’d come here?” He was stalling for time, hoping for a break that would allow him to get his gun into action.
“That’s easy,” Arbuckle-Leftwick said. “I saw Lish Corliss a few minutes after you pulled out. Lish said that Sloan had regained consciousness and talked. Said you were heading for the Rocking-T. I knew the jig was up, if you’d talked to Sloan, so I saddled up and followed you. Wasn’t sure if you knew about the Devil’s Drum—”
“I guessed that part,” Quist put in.
“Anyway, while you were at the Rocking-T, I headed up here—just in case, you know. Hid my pony in one of those brushy gullies beyond the cave mouth. Lucky he didn’t make any noise when you arrived. And so I waited for you to stick your nose in where it wasn’t wanted. So now you know. You know something else? You’re not going back to Clarion City.”
Quist nodded. “Thought you might have some such idea about me. But you won’t dare shoot a woman.”
Arbuckle-Leftwick laughed harshly. “Use your head, Greg. There’s only one cache of opium like this. There are other women. Unless perhaps Mrs. Porter cared to make some sort of deal with me.” Kate shot him a look of contempt. The man shrugged. “How you could pass me up and at the same time fall for a yellow-belly like Porter—”
“Look here,” Quist interrupted, “you haven’t got a chance of getting away with this. Your Chicago and San Francisco pardners are under arrest. They talked plenty, and Federal men even now have a warrant out for one Mead Leftwick.”
“As to Uhlmann Company and Drumm & Tidwell, well maybe they had it coming. I was through with them sometime ago.” The man didn’t appear particularly surprised at news of his former pardners’ arrest. “They never did kick in with as much money as I should have had. One thing I don’t understand—how did you learn I was Leftwick instead of Arbuckle, the ranger man?”
Quist laughed coolly. “When you and Porter and the Lombardy crew were running dope up through Ventoso, a Mexican named Cubero saw a lot of you. Later when you trailed Porter there, he overheard your conversation. He has an excellent memory—”
“But I still don’t see—” Leftwick-Arbuckle frowned. Thunder vibrated through the cave.
“Look here,” Quist said, “you want information, so do I. Maybe we can make a trade. I’d like to know how right I was figuring things out. Is it a deal?”
“Stalling won’t help you, Quist, but go ahead.”
“As I see it,” Quist started. “You and Porter planned to highjack a shipment of opium. His part was to dynamite Shoulder Bluff and when the two teamsters got certain freight from the stalled train, he killed the teamsters, loaded such ‘jam’ as he wanted in a wagon and took off. Your part—remember I listened to Sloan’s confession—was to gel Sloan to send the message, signed with Tyrus Wolcott’s name, ordering the stationmaster at Clarion City to hire teamsters to drive out to a stalled train. You promised Sloan money for that job, and then hit him over the head to make it look good. You almost fractured his skull.”
“That was an accident,” Leftwick growled. “I hit him harder than I intended. Had a hell of a time squaring it with him too, when he came back to work. But I needed him to listen in on the wires and see what was being done about the missing teamsters and freight. I wanted to come to Clarion City, but at first I was a bit leery. Meanwhile, Porter the dirty crook, double-crossed me. He’d promised to meet me in Kingboro with the wagon and cans of stuff. I waited there two days for him, before it come to me that he was trying to keep all the opium for himself. Naturally I wanted to find him. Finally I figured he might have gone to Ventoso. I caught up with him down there—”
“Yes,” Quist nodded, “Cubero told me about that. He’d heard your talk, heard what was said when Porter left with you. It’s my guess—”
Leftwick broke in. “Mrs. Porter, quit fanning yourself with that Stetson. I don’t want any movement from you two, beyond talk.”
Kate stopped, and Quist went on, “It’s my guess you scared Porter into bringing you up here and showing you where he hid the cans.”
“That’s right.” Leftwick growled. “But I didn’t trust him a minute. When he thought I was looking over the cans, he raised the shotgun to kill me. I’d been expecting that sort of move, so I closed in fast, grappled with him. We struggled around here, and I finally jerked the gun from his grip. He let out a scream that I’d hurt his finger. I reckon it got twisted in the trigger guard somehow, and broken when I ripped the gun away from him.” Leftwick paused, shrugged his shoulders, said, “All right, so then I let him have a blast in the face. I was mad.”
“So you left the body here and headed back to see if Sloan had heard anything over the wires,” Quist prompted. Kate had started fanning herself again. Leftwick scowled at her but didn’t say anything.
He went on. “Again you guess right, Quist. Sloan had picked up word that a ranger stationed at Kingboro was to be sent to Clarion City. I didn’t want any rangers messing into things. They’re dynamite—nigh as bad as you. So I headed for the L-Bar-D, waited on the road until the ranger came riding along, knowing he had to come down from the north on that rail. I stopped him and borrowed the ‘makin
’s.’ We talked a few minutes and I learned for sure he was Fred Arbuckle. When he rode on, I shot him in the back—” He broke off, scowling, shrugged again. “All right, so I’m a murderer. After a first killing the next ones come easier—”
“And changed clothing with him and buried him,” Quist took up the story. “You took his credentials and left identification with your name on it, in the clothes you dressed him in. Probably some of the L-Bar-D crew helped you. It doesn’t matter now. All that mattered to you, Leftwick, was now you could come into town with ranger credentials, and who is in a better position than a ranger to hear what goes on?”
“You hit it right on the nose, Greg.” Leftwick sneered. “So there I was, chummy with the sheriff and hearing everything that went on. Folks had begun to wonder where Porter was about that time. I was leery for fear someone might come riding up this way and find the cans. So Porter’s body had to be found. I joined a hunt for him, riding by myself of course. Came up here, where I’d left Porter’s horse. Porter had turned the team and wagon loose after getting the cans unloaded, so I loaded his body on his horse. The damn’ bronc was thirsty I suppose and anxious to get back. He was hard to handle, but I got him down to the foothills all right, then the blasted animal had to take a spill and break his leg. I shot him. Never could stand to see a horse suffer. Humans are different. Loaded the body on my horse and brought it to town. Then you had to show up. I’d heard about you. I didn’t like it. Not any—”
Storm and wind swept in through the entrance. There came the sound of heavy thunder. Leftwick shifted uncomfortably.
“Afraid of storms, Leftwick?” Quist asked sarcastically.
“I don’t like ’em if that’s what you mean,” Leftwick snapped, with some irritation. “But to get back to Porter. With his face gone I figured there might be some doubt about identification, so I left his pockets intact. Just took the letter from one envelope, postmarked Albuquerque. It was from a woman over there. Porter had been fool enough to tell her about our business, and she commented on it.”
