Chapter Fifteen
In the street the members of the committee hurried toward the hotel in a bewildered, flustered state of mind, able to comprehend only two things: Cromer didn’t intend to protect them for water when they needed it, and Bannister had disclosed the fact that Cromer had hired an infamous gunfighter—and had routed that gun artist in a way, which, if it got about, would make him the laughingstock of Marble range.
“Boy,” said John Macy, “you sure made him look like something a coyote had left on the prairie. I’m right proud to shake your hand.”
“You do not quite understand what I did,” said Bannister slowly. “Of course this won’t happen for a time . . . but it will come. I made it absolutely impossible for Le Beck not to meet me in a gun play. He has to do it to redeem himself, don’t you see? And don’t you ever get it into your heads that he’s not fast. He’s one of the fastest gunfighters north of the Missouri River, and I don’t care how far north you go. But I wanted to establish, before reliable witnesses, the fact that Cromer had hired a gunman.”
“Well, son,” said one of the others, “if anybody was to ask me, I’d say you sure enough did it.”
They laughed at this—all save Bannister. He did not laugh. In his case, it wasn’t so much Le Beck as it was the look on the faces on the cattlemen when Cromer had announced he would sell water to them. He knew that look and he knew full well its portent. It was the last appeal they would make to Cromer. They meant to fight. A water war would certainly involve the Half Diamond. That meant it would involve Florence Marble. He didn’t like that idea. He knew—and it worried him not a little—that Florence was heavily involved in Marble Dome Land and Irrigation Company stock. She stood to lose unless . . . His lips closed in a fine, white line. He might be able to carry out what he had in mind and he might not. But he’d try. Bannister told himself that he would do anything for Florence. And before he would see Florence marry Cromer, he would kill him.
“What do you think of it all?” asked John Macy as they entered the hotel dining room for supper before their return.
“I think he’s a crook,” said Bannister abruptly.
“An’ that’s the end of it,” Macy agreed. “What do you intend to tell Miss Marble?”
“I’ll tell her what happened and what the conference amounted to and that’s all . . . which will be enough, I reckon,” replied Bannister with a grim smile.
“Are you going to make any suggestions?” asked Macy, curious.
“Yes,” replied Bannister. “I’m going to suggest that she keep out of it as far as possible. And in making the suggestion, I know danged well she can’t keep out of it. But I want you to remember, Macy, that I like you and all that, but I’m following Miss Marble’s orders. So don’t count me in on any of your schemes unless you have her sanction.”
“Schemes?” said Macy. “We have no schemes.”
“But you will have them,” said Bannister with sinister conviction. “I know your breed like a book. You mean to fight. And, while I won’t come right out with it and embarrass us both, I’ll say that I know your first move. I’d bet my life on it.”
They were silent after this.
Soon after the meal the stockmen made their preparations to return. But Bannister lingered. He wanted to encounter Le Beck to ascertain if Cromer had given Le Beck orders to get him. In such an event Le Beck would draw on sight. Bannister, while he had the advantage of the little gunman in weight and muscle, realized that he had a worthy opponent in that same small man when it came to the expert use of shooting irons. Le Beck was as dangerous as dynamite. He had notches on his gun from butt to front sight and was not averse to filing in a few more.
So Bannister wandered in and out of the resorts of the town until finally, in a large tent, he saw his man. He passed close to him, stood and drank near him, gave him every opportunity to promote hostilities. But Le Beck did not notice him. This showed, in Bannister’s mind, that Cromer was not ready to start things, that he had another card up his sleeve. But if Cromer was not prepared to start anything at that time, Sheriff Gus Campbell was.
When Bannister returned to the hotel, he found Sheriff Campbell and Deputy Van Note awaiting him. Campbell greeted him civilly and invited him into the little parlor of the small, new structure.
“Bannister,” he said briefly, “I’m being criticized.”
“No doubt.” Bannister scowled. “All men in public office are criticized.”
“But I’m being criticized on your account,” Campbell said.
“Yes?” drawled Bannister. “Through the good offices of our friend Cromer, I suppose. And you have to listen to Cromer because he doubtless commands a lot of votes. Is that it?”
The sheriff flushed. “No, that’s not it,” he declared. “And I’m not up here catering to votes. In fact, none of these men working here, except a very few, vote. The criticism started in Prairie City. There are a lot of people there who insist that you’re this Maverick and a dangerous person to have around.”
“So that’s it again,” said Bannister, with a smile that was very much like a sneer. “I suppose when the people around here get a thing in their heads, it can’t be pried out with a crowbar.”
“It isn’t a question of what the people think,” said the sheriff with a show of irritation, “it’s a question of what I think, and I’ve come to think pretty strongly that you’re The Maverick.”
“There’s two or three things I want to ask you, Sheriff,” said Bannister with a cold gleam in his eyes. “First of all, it looks pretty much to me as if Cromer was urging you on my trail and dictating to you in general. Is that so?
“Absolutely not,” insisted Campbell in indignation, while Van Note also murmured a denial.
“Then why is it,” Bannister demanded, “that you pick on me and let this Le Beck, who is Cromer’s hired gunman . . . and you know it . . . run loose?”
“The minute I get anything on him he’ll be roped in,” the sheriff asserted.
“Have you got anything on me?” asked Bannister mildly.
“If you’re the man I think you are, there are people who’ve got plenty on you,” the sheriff replied grimly. “That’s the difference.”
“Another thing,” said Bannister, leaning forward in his chair. “Do you like Florence Marble, owner of the Half Diamond?”
“I think the world of her,” Campbell declared. “Her father was one of the best friends I ever had.”
“Then I suppose you’d be willing to help her in an emergency,” said Bannister. “Well, let’s see . . . no, I’ve no more questions.”
“Well, I don’t know what you were getting at,” growled the sheriff, “but I know one thing. You look enough like this Maverick, and you’ve shown enough of his characteristics to warrant being arrested on suspicion. Bannister, I’ve got to take you in.”
“No, Sheriff,” said Bannister, smiling and shaking his head. “You can’t do that.”
“And why not?” Campbell snapped out angrily, while Van Note moved in his chair.
Bannister was on his feet like lightning. His right hand flickered and held his gun. His face was a different face, cold and stern; the eyes were narrowed, shot with a steel-blue light. “Because,” he said in a voice of ice, “I am The Maverick.”
Campbell and Van Note sat motionlessly, staring at him. It was as if an altogether different person had suddenly been put into the place of Bannister. Here was a man who fairly radiated menace. The sheriff, who had encountered many bad men, almost shivered as he looked into the eyes of The Maverick—reputed to be the worst of them all.
“Now, Sheriff”—The Maverick’s words fairly crackled in the little room—“you and I are going to make a deal. Are you willing to talk it over?”
Sheriff Campbell considered. “Yes,” he said finally, seeing there was no way out of it.
The gun went back into its holster and the face changed like magic. Again the man Bannister sat down before them.
“Fi
rst of all, Sheriff,” came the old, smooth voice, “my real identity must be kept a secret among us three, and I’ll continue to be known as Bannister . . . which, by the way, is my real name. Now, Sheriff, you can’t take me. There isn’t a chance in the world for you to take me unless I’m willing. Maybe you don’t know it, or believe it, but I’m as safe right here with you as if I was fifty miles out on the prairie. I just won’t be taken, and there’s plenty that know that.” He paused and looked steadily at the sheriff, who grunted. “But there is a way you can take me,” Bannister went on. “Now Miss Marble is going to have trouble. There’s no doubt of it. The irrigation forces and the stockmen’s forces are going to clash. I went to the conference between the two here today as her representative, and I know it. Also she has Hayes against her. And while she may not realize it, she has Cromer against her. And the Half Diamond is directly between the two factions. Do you see what I am getting at?”
The sheriff nodded thoughtfully.
“Now Miss Marble has hired me, not so much a companion to Howard, as most people think,” Bannister continued, “but to keep an eye out and protect her in this dangerous situation. That is what I want to do, Sheriff. It’s the first big thing in my life, this helping Florence Marble, and I’ll be absolutely loyal. Look into my eyes, Sheriff, and tell me if you believe me.”
Sheriff Gus Campbell knew men. “I believe you,” he replied readily.
“Good,” said Bannister in a satisfied tone. “Now here is my proposition, Sheriff, made in all sincerity. I want to be of what assistance I can to Florence Marble during this trouble. I’ll serve her faithfully and will indulge in no activities of any kind or description outside of those required in her interests. I’m not The Maverick, understand, but Bannister of the Half Diamond. Lay off of me and permit me to do this and I give my word and promise that, when the trouble is over, I’ll come in and lay my gun on your desk.”
Sheriff Campbell sat silently for a space of fully two minutes. Not once did he take his eyes from Bannister’s. Finally he looked away, out the window into the fading light. He turned quickly. “It’s a deal!” he said, holding out his hand.
Chapter Sixteen
On the ride back to the Half Diamond, Bannister had much to occupy his thoughts. He did not start until the purple twilight was flooding the land and the first brave stars were swinging in the darkening sky. It was cool, with a sweet-scented breeze blowing gently. Everything about him—the shadowy land, the great arch of the sky—signified freedom. And Bannister was going to give up his freedom, which was his very heart’s blood, for Florence Marble. But he was resolved that she should not learn his true identity. Sometime she would know, of course, and that would be soon enough.
Bannister loved to ride at night, with the sweet wind in his face, and a canopy of stars overhead. He was something of a dreamer, but this night there were no dreams. Outside of his service to Florence Marble his world was empty. He was stirred by resentment as he thought of the many acts that had been laid at his door though he had been blameless. Every misdeed in the southern country during the past two years had been attributed to him until his manufactured reputation was a thing to conjure with. All through one mistake, he thought bitterly. And then he exulted. He was doing a genuine service in a good cause. It is easy to dampen the spirit of youth, but it recovers rapidly. He hummed snatches of range songs as he rode at a leisurely pace across the dim stretches of the plain. He took his time. Consequently it was past midnight when he arrived at the Half Diamond, put up his horse, and started for the bunkhouse. He was surprised to see a light in the windows. When he entered, he received another surprise. Old Jeb White rose from a bunk.
“I figured you’d be gettin’ home late,” said the old man in his cracked voice, “so I waited up. Now don’t be ornery, fer I’m boss tonight. I know you young buckaroos, an’ don’t fergit it. You’ve had a long ride from town an’ you’re hungry. I’ve got something ready an’ you’re goin’ to eat it if I have to cram it down your throat with a stove poker. Take off your coat an’ hat an’ gun an’ mosey along into the kitchen.”
Bannister laughed in delight as the old fellow passed through the door into the kitchen. He was hungry, and above all things he craved companionship this night.
When he entered the kitchen, he saw that Jeb had prepared a most palatable lunch. Cold chicken and salad, which undoubtedly had come from the house, jelly and cold biscuits, pickles, and on the stove the coffee pot was emitting a savory odor. He fell to eagerly enough.
“What went on up in Marble?” Jeb asked in what he meant to be a casual tone.
Bannister told him most of it, between mouthfuls. But he made no mention of Le Beck; why, he didn’t know. Somehow he felt that it would be just as well if Le Beck’s part in the affair did not get around the ranch and thus into Florence Marble’s ears if it could be helped. She would probably hear of it, but not from him.
“Just what I thought,” was Jeb’s comment. “That feller Cromer just ain’t on the square. He put up that job of the men leaving an’ I’ll bet anything he’s kept big Hayes away for some evil purpose of his own . . . or else Hayes has got something up his sleeve on his own hook.”
“Have you got any idea what it might be?” Bannister asked curiously.
“Wal, yes . . . in a way,” said Jeb, peering at Bannister out of his watery blue eyes. “But it might sound silly, and it’s a serious charge, one I wouldn’t want it to get around that I even hinted of.”
“You can depend on me, Jeb,” said Bannister. “A clam is noisy when it comes to me telling secrets.”
“Wal . . . wal . . .” old Jeb considered, “I’ll tell you, Bannister, because . . . wal, you see, I kinder like you, an’ I more’n like Miss Flo, an’ I reckon by the way you’ve acted that you’re a loyal cuss. Now, I’ll say one thing, an’ I’ll say no more. I won’t tell you why I think what I do or anything else. There’s no use asking me any questions, none a-tall. I don’t know where this hunch came from, but I’ve got a powerful lot of faith in hunches. You know, I believe this Hayes has designs on Half Diamond cattle. That’s all. No more. Don’t ask any questions.”
Bannister started, and stared at the old man for some time. The nature of Jeb’s hunch was positively astounding. It left him stunned. He said to himself: Could there be a conspiracy to steal Florence Marble’s stock as well as get her money into Marble Dome Land and Irrigation Company stock? “All right, Jeb,” he said, when he finally found his voice. “I won’t ask any questions about your hunch. But I’ll ask one question that has nothing to do with it. Something about past doings. I understand some stock has been reported stolen. Do you think Hayes had anything to do with that?”
“I don’t know a god-damn thing about it,” Jeb replied. “Now have another cup of coffee an’ then go to bed. Miss Flo will be wantin’ details in the morning.”
Bannister found it hard to sleep with old Jeb’s intimation on his mind. He thought and thought and at last decided it was nothing more than a vague conjecture on Jeb’s part, the wandering of a senile mind. Men of age lean toward the dramatic. At last he fell asleep. He woke with Jeb shaking him and saying he had hot cakes for breakfast and not to bother going to the house. So Bannister obliged him.
Howard was over soon after to make sure Bannister had returned all right, and later the two of them went to the ranch house and entered the living room, where Florence Marble was waiting.
“How does it look, Bannister?” she asked, coming to the point at once.
“None too good,” he confessed. “I reckon there’s going to be some trouble.”
“I expected it,” she said with a troubled look in her eyes. “Well, tell me about the meeting.”
Bannister recited in detail what had happened, being interrupted at times by ejaculations from Florence. He avoided reference to the appearance of Le Beck on the scene. When he had finished, Florence spoke indignantly.
“I think John Macy and the others lose their heads too easily,�
� was her comment. “Calling the project a fake. Why, the idea. They’ll get water. Why, I’m a stockholder up there and I need water down here as well as they do.”
“But you have a creek flowing past the Dome,” Bannister pointed out.
“What of it?” Florence flashed. “I can use water in the river, too. They’ll get their water, of course. Why, Sydney Cromer told me so himself.”
“Don’t you think perhaps there might be a reason for him telling you that?” Bannister suggested mildly.
This question only served to annoy Florence the more. “I don’t like these veiled hints directed at Mister Cromer,” she said with a toss of her head.
“An’ I wouldn’t trust Cromer any farther than I could throw a bull by the tail!” Howard blurted.
Florence turned on him in surprise. “Why, what’s the matter with you, Howard? You’ve never said anything against him before. Why are you against him all of a sudden?”
“Because Bannister don’t take to him much, for one thing. I’ll back Bannister’s judgment any day. And I’ll tell you something else that I didn’t intend to tell you and that’s this. When I was gambling my head off, Cromer was always glad to lend me money and take my I.O.U. and egg me on to get more. What was his idea in doing that?”
“Howard,” said the girl sternly, “I’m ashamed of you. He loaned you that money because of me, probably.” She flushed slightly. “Anyway, he thought he was doing the Half Diamond a favor. Don’t you ever borrow another cent from him and we’ll pay this money back at once.”
“No chance of my ever borrowing any more from him,” growled the boy. “And he’s been paid back.”
“Paid back? Where’d you get the money to pay him back . . . gambling?”
“From Bannister,” said Howard almost in triumph, despite Bannister’s signal to him to keep still. Florence looked at Bannister queerly. “Why did you do it?” she asked quietly.
“Because it didn’t look exactly right to me for Howard to be owing Cromer money,” Bannister answered. “I hadn’t the slightest idea in the world that you’d ever hear of it.”
Marble Range Page 10
