She came back, to find him sitting with a gloomy look on his face. “You look like the start of a rainstorm,” she observed. “What’s the matter? Don’t worry about Hayes. Or maybe it’s something about your work?”
“No, it’s neither,” he returned, “although, goodness knows, I have enough responsibility on that job up there. No, it’s something else, Florence, but the trouble is, if I tell you, I know you’ll think I’m trying to edge in on your affairs.”
“Not at all, Mister Cromer,” Florence declared, intrigued by his hesitant manner.
“I’m not so sure,” he said dubiously. “No, I don’t believe I better speak of the matter in my mind.” He looked at her as if he had suddenly become imbued with a fresh idea. “Why, certainly I’ll tell you,” he said loudly. “It’s my duty to warn you. I hadn’t thought of that angle of the case before.”
“Do tell me,” she said, very much interested.
“Well, Florence, did you ever hear of an outlaw called The Maverick?”
“I . . . think so,” she answered. “I don’t pay much attention to such things.”
“Well, all I need to say is that he’s a bad man. Bandit, gunfighter, and a killer. A deceiving cuss in the bargain, as you’d never know what his . . . er calling was to look at him. He’s notorious and dangerous.”
He paused just long enough to permit his words to make their impression upon her. When he saw by the look in her eyes that his end had been accomplished, he resumed: “A short time ago a young man . . . this gunman is young . . . arrived in Prairie City. Deputy Van Note spotted him first and saw that his description tallied perfectly with that of the outlaw. He told Sheriff Campbell, and the sheriff scoffed at him because Van Note had sent him on so many false clues. But then something happened that caused the sheriff to sit up and take notice. He sent for him to interview him and the fellow . . . with just such sheer audacity as The Maverick would have . . . sent back word that, if the sheriff wanted to see him, he was at the hotel.” Cromer paused again as if he were getting his narrative all straight in his brain. Then he continued: “This fellow baffled the sheriff, evaded his questions in a clever manner, and finally told him in a menacing way that, if he thought he was this Maverick, before he did anything, he’d better be sure first . . . or words to that effect. He was bold, insolent, and exceedingly clever. As the sheriff didn’t want to put the wrong man in jail, having been fooled before, and perhaps get himself in a mess of some kind, he let him go. The fellow then proceeded to gamble and he made the most accomplished professionals in Prairie City . . . and there are some good ones there . . . look like abject beginners. That was another point. The Maverick is a notorious gambler.”
Again Cromer hesitated. He wanted the gambling point to sink deep.
“His next step was to drift out into the country, and after a bit he showed up in Marble. Sheriff Campbell was up there and looked him over again. Now he is almost sure he is the man known as The Maverick . . . a ruthless killer with a price on his head.”
He stopped, nodding his head.
“But what has all this got to do with me or the Half Diamond?” asked the interested but perplexed girl.
“Now we come to the point,” said Cromer earnestly, leaning forward in his chair. “This is what I must tell you. He is the man who drew on Le Beck that night when Howard got into the mix-up. His very lightning draw showed him up, and he didn’t draw so much on Howard’s account as to get Le Beck into a gun play, for gun play is his very heart’s blood. You know what he has done since, and you can bet he has had an object in every act he has done. That man is the man right here on your ranch who calls himself Bannister.”
Florence held her breath. Horror, perplexity, fear were all commingled in the look in her eyes.
“You . . . you think . . . ?”
“We all have reason to believe that Bannister is none other than this Maverick,” said Cromer soberly. “Now, why would he take this job here when he can make so much at the green tables? Undoubtedly he has a money belt containing thousands. I’ll tell you, Florence, why I think he’s here. He’s masquerading as an honest person, but he’s just hanging around until we open that bank up there, and you know we are going to carry an enormous amount of cash. Do you see?”
“Why . . . doesn’t . . . the sheriff take him then?” she asked.
“He’s not an easy man to take, and he has to be taken through a ruse,” was Cromer’s reply. “I got most of this from the sheriff last night. He has a plan, and we’re keeping him on ice so to speak. Oh, he won’t touch any of us till he sees he can make a big haul. But there’s no question but that he shot Link. He didn’t like him. It was just luck . . . dim light . . . that he didn’t get him.”
“This is awful,” said Florence. “What should I do? Here he’s going around with Howard and . . .”
“Fire him,” said Cromer sternly. “Give him no reason, or think up a reason, anything . . . but let him go. He’ll probably head straight for Marble, and there’s where we’re going to get him.”
“He doesn’t look like such a man as you describe,” said Florence, the first flicker of doubt showing in her eyes.
Cromer shrugged and stood up. “As you wish, Florence. I’ve only told you because, as I said, I considered it my duty.”
“But, Mister Cromer, he has a good pair of eyes, and he stopped Howard from drinking, and Howard worships him. Wouldn’t he show his true self in some way to Howard?”
“Perhaps he has and Howard hasn’t noticed it,” replied Cromer. “Anyway, think it over, Florence. Great guns, girl, you don’t think I’d lie to you, do you? And I’m all-fired hungry.”
“No, I don’t think you’d lie to me,” said the girl. “And I’ll see if dinner is ready. I believe it is.”
When they came into the yard after dinner, Bannister, who had eaten in the kitchen and listened to every word Cromer had spoken, had the latter’s horse ready.
“Pretty work,” said Bannister as Cromer mounted.
“What’s that?” snapped Cromer.
“I say, pretty work,” Bannister repeated.
“Meaning just how much?” demanded Cromer with a scowl.
“I mean pretty work up on your irrigation project,” said Bannister. “I’ve a notion to buy some more stock.” With that he walked toward the bunkhouse.
Cromer nodded to Florence, gave her his hand and a significant look, and rode away. Florence hadn’t looked at Cromer in farewell, but had stared, awed, fascinated, and fearful at the broad shoulders of the retreating Bannister.
Chapter Fourteen
For some length of time Florence remained standing in the yard after Bannister had entered the bunkhouse. She was stunned, bewildered, half afraid. In her present state of mind she would never have talked to Bannister. Indeed, if he had come out at that moment, she would have fled precipitately into the house. And now she did start for the house, but as she neared the porch, Howard came thundering in from the east.
He brought up near her. “Where’s Bannister?” he asked eagerly.
“He’s in the bunkhouse,” she replied.
“Good!” cried the boy. “I was afraid he might have run off somewhere without me. The bunch is back on the Dome range. I guess he told you that. Hayes isn’t with ’em. They didn’t need me an’ I came back. I’m coming in to get something to eat soon’s I can put up my horse. Old Jeb’s following, but he don’t ride very fast.”
He rode on to the barn and Florence went into the house. She’d clear up one or two items, anyhow. Howard must be some kind of a judge of character. She decided to question him. But when he sat down at the table, she found it hard to start. She asked him some questions about the conditions over at the Dome. Howard then said that Bannister had called him a reckless rider.
“Why, he’s one himself, isn’t he?” Florence queried.
“He’s everything,” said Howard enthusiastically.
This gave Florence the opportunity she desired. “Everything!” she
said incredulously. “I suppose he’s an outlaw, too.”
“Nope. He isn’t that. But I’ll tell you what, Florence, if he ever started out to be one, he’d be a terror.”
“Listen, Howard,” said the girl in an earnest voice, “we don’t know much about Bannister. In fact, we don’t know anything about him. And he’s a stranger who is being talked about. I’ve heard hints . . . I won’t tell you where or from whom . . . that he is an outlaw and came up here to get away . . . things were getting too hot for him and . . .”
Howard had put down his knife and fork. “That’s enough,” he insisted. “Tell me who’s been saying these things, an’ I’ll put a slug of hot lead into him. It’s a danged lie. Don’t you think I’d know if there was anything wrong, me being with him so much? I know a little about men if I am underage. He’s clean as a whistle. He’s faster than a bat out of the hot place with his gun, but that doesn’t make him an outlaw. Just you tell whoever made these statements to ask Bannister if they’re true. Ever think of that? Sneaking around behind a woman. An’ you listening. They’re afraid of Bannister, an’, what’s more, the big thing, they’re jealous of him. Now please don’t talk any more such nonsense to me. You’ll spoil my digestion.”
Florence left him at the table and went into the living room. She felt a little thrill as she realized that she believed every word Howard had said.
Came a clatter of hoofs—many hoofs—a shout or two. Florence hurried out on the porch to see six men—stockmen they were, for she knew every one of them. They were led by John Macy, who was dismounting.
“Howdy, Miss Half Diamond,” he boomed facetiously. “An’ how’s the world treatin’ you?”
“Can’t complain,” she answered, smiling and taking his hand as he came up on the porch. She had always liked John Macy better than any rancher in the Marble River district. “Won’t you come in?”
“Wal, we haven’t much time, Miss Flo. I reckon this will do. We’re a committee from the Cattlemen’s Association on our way to Marble to interview the great high-lord of this here irrigation project, Mister Sydney Cromer. We want to find out how we’re going to be used on this water question this summer. You were named as a member of the committee with full power to talk, vote, take drinks, and sech. Will you go along?”
“John Macy, I can’t,” she said earnestly. “And I wouldn’t be any good anyway.”
“All right,” boomed Macy, “that’s just what I expected you to say. We had you pegged right an’ we provided for it. This being a committee, an’ not an association meeting, we decided you could send a proxy. Now who do you want to send?”
Florence’s heart leaped. In the space of seconds she made up her mind. “I’ll send Bannister,” she said. And then to Howard, who had heard them and was at her back: “Go tell Bannister to get his horse and ride up here.”
Macy and Florence chatted a few minutes until Bannister appeared on his mount. John Macy stared at him intently and slapped his knee.
“Why, I know you,” he roared. “You stopped at my place on your way up here an’ wouldn’t take a job from me on a bet. Then you come on up here an’ Miss Flo here hooks you. Wal, I can’t say I blame you, young feller.”
“Bannister,” said Florence, her face flaming, “these men represent a committee from the Cattlemen’s Association to confer with Mister Cromer as to the water rights in the south. I was named as a member but do not wish to go. You are to go as my proxy, do you understand?”
“I reckon so,” Bannister drawled.
“Then let’s go,” John Macy thundered, clambering into his saddle.
They rode northward at a fast pace, Macy riding with Bannister, kidding the life out of him, and Bannister shooting it back at him. “But I’ll bet you’d make a danged good man to run thet ranch,” was Macy’s parting shot as they trotted into town.
They put up their horses and sought Cromer’s office in the little building of the Marble Dome Land and Irrigation Company. As they approached it, Bannister, who was well to the right of the others, saw a figure behind the office. He was so startled on the instant that he stopped. Then he hurried on with the rest, his lips pressed firmly together, a cold, hard look in his eyes—a complete change of countenance that vanquished the cheerful, youthful lines and the clear, frank eyes. He was glad he had been accorded the opportunity to attend this meeting.
They entered the front office and the clerk there called Cromer, who came out with a cold smile on his face.
John Macy explained who they were, what they represented, and why they had come.
Cromer actually bowed. “I’d been expecting you gentlemen,” he said courteously, although there was a certain hard reserve about his manner. “Let’s go into my office, where there is more room.”
They passed into the rear office and Bannister saw at once that Cromer had anticipated their visit. He had moved his desk to the rear, near the rear door. There was a screen about the wash basin on one side of him and a coat rack on the other. In front there were several chairs.
Cromer went around behind his desk. “Sit down, gentlemen. I guess there are enough chairs.”
They all seated themselves, Bannister keeping near Macy, as seemed natural since he was the only one present he knew to any extent. And now Macy rose and addressed Cromer.
“As you know, we represent the Cattlemen’s Association, and you represent the Marble Dome Land and Irrigation Company. This meeting needn’t be long. All we want to know, Mister Cromer, is what protection us ranchers south and southeast along the Indian River are to have for water this summer.”
“That will depend,” Cromer answered vaguely.
“Depend on what?” asked John Macy, while the others stirred in their chairs.
“It will depend on the season,” said Cromer. “We shall take our stipulated allowance under our acquired water rights in any event for our project. If it’s a wet season, you people will get more. If it’s a dry season, you’ll get less. So you see it really isn’t in our hands. It depends on the weather, and we cannot control the weather.”
There was more stirring in chairs and faint mutterings at this, and John Macy turned a warning eye on the other members of the committee.
“You mean there is no provision for a certain amount of water to come down Indian River to us?” he asked.
“None whatever,” replied Cromer coldly.
A committeeman rose at this, but Macy waved him down.
“Thet’s one thing the Cattlemen’s Association wanted to find out,” he said. “Now, according to that, there could be such a thing as Indian River going dry?”
“That’s highly improbable and you know it.” Cromer scowled. “Now, listen here, we know you people are sore. We know also that you are hostile to our enterprise. We know other things. You don’t like the idea of farms in here and you won’t recognize the fact that this project will increase the value of your land . . .”
“It can’t increase the value of our land when there isn’t enough water to go ’round, can it?” Macy broke in.
“Of course it can,” Cromer declared angrily. “On natural principles it will to begin with, or, at least, within a year. But the water supply can be increased. We haven’t tapped all the streams in the hills and . . .”
“You talk like a fool,” Macy scoffed. “How much water could you get out of those little streams? Middle of August, when we need it most, you couldn’t get a hatful. You don’t talk like a practical irrigation engineer an’ you’re not one. Just the same we want to know one thing. Are you going to protect water for us?” Macy, using his very best English, striving to keep himself in control, looked Cromer straight in the eye. The others leaned forward in their chairs. Bannister himself was tense.
“To a certain extent,” said Cromer sharply, “but we’re going to protect ourselves first, you can lay to that. However,” he added in softer tones, “if things get too bad we . . . I’m not saying we would, understand, for we pay good for our water . . . but we might
sell you some.”
Every member of the committee was on his feet in a second.
“Sell us some!” shouted Macy, pounding a fist on Cromer’s desk. “You’d take our water . . . the water we’ve always had . . . and sell it to us, eh? Or let our cattle starve? You’re a dirty, rotten skunk an’ I believe your damned company is a fake!”
“Don’t say any more,” said Cromer loudly, his face white.
But Macy’s anger had gotten beyond his control. “You’ll give us our share, you sneaking scoundrel, or we’ll take it!” he shouted.
“You threaten violence, do you?” said Cromer with an evil look. “There’s a law in this country . . . don’t forget that.”
“Law, hell!” cried Macy. “The only law you know about is the two hundred rifles you’ve got stored up here.”
“You’re a liar!” shouted Cromer.
Bannister leaped to Macy’s side and struck his hand from his weapon, and it was into the bore of Bannister’s gun that Cromer looked.
“Drop it!” Bannister commanded sharply.
Cromer’s gun clattered on the floor and Bannister made a flying leap for the curtain about the washstand. He ducked low just as a shot rang out, jerked the curtain down from below, and had the right hand of a small, dark-faced man in his grip in an instant. Another gun clattered on the floor. He thrust his own in its holster. Macy was covering Cromer.
“You see this man?” cried Bannister. “Why was he there? Why did he fire at me? Because he’s Cromer’s gunman, just imported.” He shook the smaller man, whose eyes were darting pinpoints of light. “This, gentlemen, is the notorious Le Beck.”
Cromer was shaking like a leaf with rage and chagrin.
Then Bannister deliberately caught up Le Beck, rushed him across the room, and sent him hurtling through the window as though he were a sack of wheat.
“Out!” cried John Macy, pointing with his gun toward the front office and the door to the street. “Out! The meeting is over!”
Marble Range Page 9
