by Short, Luke;
Cole shook his head. He told them of his meeting with Juck and recognizing the anchor tattooed on his hand. He skipped any mention of the fight, merely saying that he used his recognition of Juck to blackmail the money out of his uncle.
When he was finished Celia said swiftly, “But you had a job! Will he give it to you now?”
“He couldn’t give it to me. I wouldn’t take it from a coyote like him,” Cole said quietly.
“Tell us the rest of it,” Ted Wallace said suddenly. “You’ve been in a fight.”
“I had an argument with Juck.”
Neither Ted nor his sister spoke, and Cole shifted his feet. “Well, I’ll be goin’,” he said.
“Wait a minute,” Ted Wallace said. “You’re through with that outfit of your uncle’s then?”
Cole nodded.
Celia said, “What are you going to do?”
“Find a job.”
Celia looked at Ted, and he looked at her. Something passed between them, something that didn’t need speech to be understood. And then Ted Wallace smiled, and it was the first time Celia had seen him smile since she got here.
Ted said, “You aren’t goin’ to have to look very far for a job, Armin. How would you like to throw in with Western Freight?”
Celia was watching Cole, a deep pleasure in her green eyes. Cole’s face was a study; surprise and bewilderment were there, and embarrassment too.
“You don’t understand,” Cole stammered. “This money ain’t mine. It’s yours. I just—”
“Returned it,” Ted Wallace supplied. “You threw over a good job, rowed with your uncle, licked his plug-uglies and returned the money. That’s enough for me. It’ll save my life. I can get four more wagons now and more mules and teamsters and move into a new wagon yard and whip Craig Armin. I can use a man like you, and you can use a man like me. What about it? I mean it!”
Cole looked over at Celia and surprised an expression of eagerness on her face. She flushed a little and her glance dropped, but Cole knew she wanted him to say yes. But was it sensible? They were grateful to him now, this moment. Tomorrow they might regret their impulse. He didn’t know anything about freighting. He was a cowman. He wasn’t bringing anything—not even knowledge—to the business.
He said slowly to Ted, “But you don’t know me, Wallace. And I reckon I don’t savvy much about the business. I—”
“Forget it. I’ll take a chance on the partnership if you will. What about it?”
Cole’s unshaven face broke into a slow smile then, and his eyes were friendly. He liked Ted Wallace and Celia Wallace—and he needed a job. He was a stranger in a strange land, and these were his kind of people. He put out his hand and Ted took it warmly.
“Partners then?” Ted asked.
“I reckon we are,” Cole said quietly. “If you want it that way.”
There came a heavy knock on the door then, and Celia glanced at the money. Cole put his hand inside his coat and pulled out a gun and then looked over at Ted Wallace.
“Come in,” Ted said.
The door opened, and a towering bulk of a man entered the room. It was Juck, hat in hand. His nose was swollen, his big mouth cut, and one eye was purple and closed. With the other he glanced at the three people there and his gaze settled on Cole.
“Friend Juck,” Cole said dryly. “Come in and meet the girl you robbed.”
Celia started in surprise and Juck came into the room, closing the door sheepishly after him. He was dusty and his shirt was stiff with dried blood, but there was no belligerence in his manner.
“I don’t rightly know how to say this,” he began, looking at Cole and then at Wallace. “I’m after a job, Wallace.”
“Well, I’m damned!” Ted Wallace exploded. “You’ve got more gall than the mules you drive!”
“I know,” Juck said. “Still, I’m a good teamster. I been fired from Monarch, kicked out. I—I can tell you, too, how I come to pull that robbery, if you’ll let me talk.”
“Let him talk, Ted,” Celia said. “After all, he was nice to me—as nice as a stage robber can be, I suppose. He let me go into the bushes and take off my money belt when he found me after I’d run away.”
“All right, talk!” Wallace said curtly. Cole just watched.
Juck shifted his feet. “Ain’t much to say, I reckon. Armin told me if I’d do this holdup he’d give me Billings’ job. Told me it was just a joke he was playin’ on a woman friend of his. Said it didn’t mean nothin’ and that it was just for fun. When I told him I didn’t like the idee he threatened to fire me. I got to figurin’ if it was just for fun then there wasn’t no sense in losin’ my job over it. When I done it and give him the money he never fired that coyote Billings. He give me a bottle of whisky and told me to forget it.” He glanced at Cole and fumbled with his hat. “I never knowed what it was all about until this here Texas man jumped me today. When I come to, Billings throwed me out in the street and kicked me.”
Ted glanced over at Cole, and Cole knew that already, as his duty in a partnership less than ten minutes old, he was being consulted and had to give his advice. He thought of something then and said, “Juck, you’ve got to have work, haven’t you?”
“I sure do. I can work,” Juck said.
“There’s another freightin’ outfit in town, I heard Craig Armin say. Name of Acme. Why don’t you hit them for work?”
Juck fumbled with his hat some more. “I—well, I wanted to work for Western.”
“But why? If Miss Wallace wanted to she could get you tossed into jail for months.”
“I know that. Still—well, I just want to work for Western. Acme is done for. They’ll fold up. Western kin fight Monarch. Ted Wallace, well, he don’t take it like Acme does. He fights. And I’m honin’ to get a crack at Monarch,” Juck added grimly.
Cole looked over at Ted, and Juck, seeing that look, shook his head. “Well, thanks for listenin’ anyway. I don’t s’pose I can do nothin’ if you want to arrest me.”
“Wait a minute, Juck,” Cole said. To Ted he said, “I think you’ve got a good teamster if you can use him.”
Ted nodded and said, “Juck, can you drive a ten-team hitch down from the Glory Hole mine? Remember the road now before you answer.”
“I know the road. I’ll do it in the dark. Better ’n that, I’ll take a ten-team hitch with an eighteen-ton load down from the China Boy.”
Ted Wallace laughed. “You’re braggin’, Juck.”
“All right, call my bluff then to prove it. From the China Boy.”
Ted looked over at Cole, who was grinning. Ted came around the table and put out his hand. “Juck, you’re hired. And you’ll get the toughest trick in Piute to drive, too, for that holdup.”
“Suits me,” Juck said. He grinned through swollen lips and glanced over at Cole. “I know mules, mister. And them roads don’t come too tough for me. I’ll be at work at six and you’ll git that ore hauled from me, never you worry.”
He turned to the door and opened it. Going out, he paused and looked back at Celia. “I’m right sorry about that rough handlin’, Miss Wallace. You want any mountains moved or mines dug or armies licked you just call on me.”
Celia laughed, and Cole knew then that she was not the kind of a girl who could ever harbor vindictiveness. “All right, Juck. I’ll remember. Good night,” Celia said.
Juck gone, Ted Wallace came over to the table and looked at the money. Then he glanced up at Cole and Celia, and his eyes were excited.
“Think of it,” he said softly. “We can get contracts now that we couldn’t get before, because we’ll have the wagons. Cole, we’re goin’ to take the tough ones—the high mines like the Glory Hole and Swampscott—and the toughest of all, the China Boy. Armin won’t touch ’em with a big wagon, and he doubles his rates when the going gets tough. We’ll haul those mines with the big wagons and underbid him by a third. And when the rest of these mines hear about it they’ll change outfits. Money is money, and they’ll save it if th
ey can.”
“There’ll be a fight,” Cole said quietly. “I only met Craig Armin, but he hates like an Indian.”
Ted Wallace’s face sobered, and he nodded. “So do I.” He looked at Cole and his gaze was level. “And so do you, partner, unless I’m blind.”
Celia said matter-of-factly, “Then you two Indians put that money in the bag and sleep on it. I’m going to bed.” She came up to Cole and put out her hand. “Thanks—for everything. If I’d known you better last night I would have known that your promise is really a promise and not talk.”
Cole blushed and murmured something, and Celia turned to Ted. “You and Cole can sleep in the middle room on the cots. I’ll sleep here on the couch. We can talk all this over in the morning.”
Cole accepted the invitation, and Celia, the bag of money still in her hand, showed him into his and Ted’s bedroom. It was a tiny affair partitioned off the corridor that connected the kitchen and the living room. She lighted the lamp and he saw two rough cots with clean blankets on them and a battered old dresser by the open window.
“And you can sleep on the money,” Celia said, handing him the sack and smiling up at him. “You earned it.”
He was just going to protest when there was a loud knock on the outside door and a voice shouted, “Open up!”
Celia stood motionless, staring at Cole. Cole was staring at her. They heard Ted unlock the door and the heavy scuffle of boots.
Then a voice said, “Put ’em up, Wallace! You’re arrested! You’d better not make a move!”
And then, on the heel of that rough voice, came Sheriff Linton’s silky drawl.
“You made a mistake, Wallace—a bad mistake. If you wanted to blow the Monarch’s safe and steal ten thousand dollars you shouldn’t have announced your plans to the sheriff. Where’s the loot you got?”
4
For one brief instant Cole stood there, baffled. And then he was suddenly aware that he held ten thousand dollars in his hand—the ten thousand they would accuse Ted Wallace of stealing from the Monarch safe. He heard the swift tramp of feet coming toward them and Linton’s voice saying, “Search the place!”
Cole moved then. He lunged for the window, swinging his leg over the sill. The noise he made was heard in the other room, for those feet began to run. “Be careful, Cole!” Celia cried.
In one desperate second Cole tried to remember what was below him, and he couldn’t. He didn’t know. He rammed the bag of money in his waistband, then swung outside, hanging from the sill. Then shoving himself away from the building with his foot, he dropped. It was only a six-foot drop to the sloping roof of the next building. He hit it, fell and started to roll down the roof to the passageway between the two buildings. He clawed wildly at the shake shingles and could not stop, and then he dropped off into space.
He hit the ground with a grunt and fell and rolled over on his back. A man’s head appeared in the window above, and Cole lay motionless. The man put out a gun and shot, not down, but toward the rear of the passageway. Then he bawled, “He got away! Out the back stairs and you’ll catch him!” And he poured three more shots toward the rear of the compound.
Cole came to his feet and ran for the street. He stepped out into the crowd that jammed the boardwalk and drifted with it for five minutes, until he was two blocks away. Whatever alarm they could raise now would take time. Besides, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. He was unknown here, save by a few people, and his description would be that of a tall man in a black suit who needed a shave.
He could fix that part of it up soon enough and give himself some time to think in the bargain. He drifted downstreet past the saloons where the barkers were standing, yelling in hoarse voices about the quality of the whisky and the girls inside, until he came to a barbershop. Spotting an empty chair, he went in, took it and asked the barber for a shave. The money bag against his belly was heavy, and it reminded him that he had to do something and do it fast. Once his face was lathered and the hot towel over it he knew he was as well hidden as if he were in the next state. And he considered.
This had all come so fast. In a few brief hours he had tossed one job overboard and won a partnership in Western Freight. He had learned that his uncle was crooked and bold as sin and that Celia Wallace and Ted Wallace were generous people. It embarrassed him and made him grateful at the same time. And before he had a chance to understand it all the law had broken into Ted’s room to arrest him. Cole didn’t understand much of it, only he was sure Ted Wallace hadn’t blown the Monarch safe. And knowing Craig Armin the short time he had, he was willing to bet that Armin blew his own safe. Craig Armin wasn’t wasting any time. He was going to ruin Western at the first chance, and this chance had come. Ted Wallace had unwisely made a brag and a protest to the sheriff, as Craig Armin knew he would. And now he would be jailed—the only man who could run Western Freight.
Cole’s brain worked tirelessly while the barber shaved him. He wished savagely that he knew this town better, knew its people and its customs and the way it worked. Nothing he had learned in Texas applied to Piute. He couldn’t break Ted out of jail, for that would outlaw them both and Western Freight would vanish. He knew one friendly man in this whole town—Juck. And he must work through him—and keep the money safe.
By the time the barber was finished Cole thought he had a plan. It was to match Craig Armin’s gall with the same kind of coin.
“The saloons are doin’ a right nice business tonight,” he observed idly to the barber as he came out of the chair.
The barber, a mild little man with the face of a lugubrious undertaker, said, “They always do. Take all our money.”
“Funny thing,” Cole said, putting on his coat. “All these people—Mexicans and Irish and Germans—mixing together in one saloon. You’d think they’d fight all night.”
“They don’t mix,” the barber said gloomily. “They each got their own favorite saloon.”
“That a fact?” Cole said, looking in the mirror and putting on his hat. “I suppose they all like their own kind of people. Teamsters all hang out in one saloon, timbermen in another, hostlers in another, like that, eh?”
The barber nodded and said nothing. But Cole knew he was on the right track.
“What’s the teamsters’ bar, for instance?” he asked.
“The Desert Dust. Up a block and turn to your right.” The barber made a face. “Phooey! It smells like they were servin’ drinks in a stable. They’re a tough lot too.”
Cole smiled, waited until he was finished and then stepped out into the street. He let the crowd, which had thinned out somewhat on this edge of the business district, carry him along to the end of the block. Then he crossed the street, passed a second-rate saloon that was jammed to the doors and went up the side street. It was dark here, with a faint shaft of light up ahead.
When he reached that light he found that it was the Desert Dust. Its windows were dirty, and when he shouldered through the batwing doors into a bedlam of noise and smoke the stench of the stable hit him like a pillow. Squinting against the smoke, he walked down past the bar, crowded with rough and boisterous men in tattered clothes, and observed the drinkers. No luck. He passed on to the gambling tables in the rear then. And there, watching a faro game, was Juck, just as he had hoped he would be. He walked up to Juck and touched his arm. When Juck turned around he started with surprise at sight of Cole. Cole didn’t say anything, only tilted his head toward the rear. Juck followed him out into the alley without a word.
Once outside and his eyes adjusted to the dark, Cole said, “Juck, I got ten thousand dollars in this bag. Can you hide it for me?”
“Sure,” Juck said slowly, then added, “I don’t get it, Armin. You mean you’re trustin’ me?”
“You’re part of the company, Juck, and it’s Western’s money. You don’t look like a man that’d steal.”
“Give it here,” Juck said roughly. “If I ain’t got it when you want it I’ll hang myself.”
> “That’s only part of it. Now listen.” He told Juck of the sheriff’s visit, the arrest of Ted Wallace for blowing the Monarch’s safe and his hunch that Craig Armin had blown his own safe to trap Ted Wallace with the money. Juck agreed that it was probable.
“All right, Juck. Now listen careful. I’ve thrown in with Ted Wallace. We’re partners in Western. But I’m green in this town; I don’t know anybody.”
Juck nodded.
“I’m playin’ a hunch now—shootin’ in the dark. And you got to help me.”
“What kin I do?”
“Before you promise to help me, Juck, there’s something I want to tell you. You might go to jail for it.”
“It’s rough, hunh?” Juck asked.
“No. It’s blackmail, Juck. Are you willin’ to go to jail for that stage robbery of Celia Wallace?”
“Oh.” Juck didn’t say any more, and then Cole said quietly, “I don’t think you’ll have to, Juck. But you might. It’s a risk.”
“That’s a long haul for robbin’ a stage. You can’t figure no other way?”
“No,” Cole said. “There it is, Juck. If you don’t want to take the chance say so.”
Juck thought a moment and then said, “You take care of my family if I go?”
“I will,” Cole said. “I’ll promise it.”
“Okay, then. Whut do I do?”
Cole smiled in the dark at this big man. He was simple and loyal, a good man.
Cole said, “Hide that money first. Then meet me at the Cosmopolitan House in fifteen minutes. That enough time?”
“Plenty,” Juck said and vanished.
Fourteen minutes later Juck and Cole walked into the lobby of the Cosmopolitan House and inquired at the desk for Craig Armin’s suite. It was 2-B on the second floor, and the clerk didn’t think Mr. Armin wanted to be disturbed.
Cole ignored him and they went upstairs and found 2-B. They were let into the foyer by a Chinese servant. Cole gave his name, knowing it would serve to draw Craig Armin from the party that was obviously going on in the rooms beyond. They were shown into a room off the foyer that was Craig Armin’s elegantly paneled study.
