The day after the news of Munro’s confession reached Arizona Richard Bellamy called upon Flatray to invite him to his wedding. As soon as his name was clear he had asked Ferne Yarnell to marry him.
PART II
DEAD MAN’S CACHE
* * *
CHAPTER I
KIDNAPPED
As a lake ripples beneath a summer breeze, so Mesa was stirred from its usual languor by the visit of Simon West. For the little Arizona town was dreaming dreams. Its imagination had been aroused; and it saw itself no longer a sleepy cow camp in the unfeatured desert, but a metropolis, in touch with twentieth-century life.
The great Simon West, pirate of finance, empire builder, molder of the destinies of the mighty Southwestern Pacific system, was to touch the adobe village with his transforming wand and make of it a hive of industry. Rumors flew thick and fast.
Mesa was to be the junction for the new spur that would run to the big Lincoln dam. The town would be a division point; the machine shops of the system would be located there. Its future, if still a trifle vague, was potentially immense. Thus, with cheerful optimism, did local opinion interpret the visit of the great man.
Whatever Simon West may have thought of Mesa and its prospects, he kept behind his thin, close-shut lips. He was a dry, gray little man of fifty-five, with sharp, twinkling eyes that saw everything and told nothing. Certainly he wore none of the visible signs of greatness, yet at his nod Wall Street trembled. He had done more to change the map of industrial America than any other man, alive or dead. Wherefore, big Beauchamp Lee, mayor of Mesa, and the citizens on the reception committee did their very best to impress him with the future of the country, as they motored out to the dam.
“Most promising spot on earth. Beats California a city block on oranges and citrons. Ever see an Arizona peach, Mr. West? It skins the world,” the big cattleman ran on easily.
The financier’s eye took in the girl sitting beside the chauffeur in the front seat, and he nodded assent.
Melissy Lee bloomed. She was vivid as a wild poppy on the hillsides past which they went flashing. But she had, too, a daintiness, a delicacy of coloring and contour, that suggested the fruit named by her father.
“You bet we raise the best here,” that simple gentleman bragged patriotically. “All we need is water, and the Lincoln dam assures us of plenty. Yes, sir! It certainly promises to be an Eden.”
West unlocked his lips long enough to say: “Any country can promise. I’m looking for one that will perform.”
“You’re seeing it right now, seh,” the mayor assured him, and launched into fluent statistics.
West heard, saw the thing stripped of its enthusiasm, and made no comment either for or against. He had plenty of imagination, or he could never have accomplished the things he had done. However, before any proposition appealed to him he had to see money in the deal. Whether he saw it in this particular instance, nobody knew; and only one person had the courage to ask him point-blank what his intentions were. This was Melissy.
Luncheon was served in the pleasant filtered sunlight, almost under the shadow of the great dam.
On the way out Melissy had sat as demure and dovelike as it was possible for her to be. But now she showed herself to be another creature.
Two or three young men hovered about her; notable among them was a young fellow of not many words, good-humored, strong, with a look of power about him which the railroad king appreciated. Jack Flatray they called him. He was the newly-elected sheriff of the county.
The great man watched the girl without appearing to do so. He was rather at a loss to account for the exotic, flamelike beauty into which she had suddenly sparkled; but he was inclined to attribute it to the arrival of Flatray.
Melissy sat on a flat rock beside West, swinging her foot occasionally with the sheer active joy of life, the while she munched sandwiches and pickles. The young men bantered her and each other, and she flashed back retorts which gave them alternately deep delight at the discomfiture of some other. Toward the close of luncheon, she turned her tilted chin from Flatray, as punishment for some audacity of his, and beamed upon the railroad magnate.
“It’s very good of you to notice me at last,” he said, with his dry smile.
“I was afraid of you,” she confided cheerfully.
“Am I so awesome?”
“It’s your reputation, you know. You’re quite a dragon. I’m told you gobble a new railroad every morning for breakfast.”
“’Lissie,” her father warned.
“Let her alone,” the great man laughed. “Miss Lee is going to give me the privilege of hearing the truth about myself.”
“But I’m asking. I don’t know what the truth is,” she protested.
“Well, what you think is the truth.”
“It doesn’t matter what we think about you. The important thing to know is what you think about us.”
“Am I to tell you what I think of you—with all these young men here?” he countered.
She was excited by her own impudence. The pink had spilled over her creamy cheeks. She flashed a look of pretended disdain at her young men. Nevertheless, she made laughing protest.
“It’s not me, but Mesa, that counts,” she answered ungrammatically. “Tell me that you’re going to help us set orchards blossoming in these deserts, and we’ll all love you.”
“You offer an inducement, Miss Lee. Come—let us walk up to the Point and see this wonderful country of yours.”
She clapped her hands. “Oh, let’s! I’m tired of boys, anyhow. They know nothing but nonsense.” She made a laughing moue at Flatray, and turned to join the railroad builder.
The young sheriff arose and trailed to his pony. “My marching orders, I reckon.”
They walked up the hill together, the great man and the untutored girl. He still carried himself with the lightness of the spare, wiry man who has never felt his age. As for her, she moved as one on springs, her slender, willowy figure beautiful in motion.
“You’re loyal to Mesa. Born and brought up there?” West asked Melissy.
“No. I was brought up on the Bar Double G ranch. Father sold it not long since. We’re interested in the Monte Cristo mine, and it has done so well that we moved to town,” she explained.
At the first bend in the mountain road Jack had turned in his saddle to look at her as she climbed the steep. A quarter of a mile farther up there was another curve, which swept the trail within sight of the summit. Here Flatray pulled up and got out his field glasses. Leisurely the man and the maid came into sight from the timber on the shoulder of the hill, and topped the last ascent. Jack could discern Melissy gesturing here and there as she explained the lay of the land.
Something else caught and held his glasses. Four riders had emerged from a little gulch of dense aspens which ran up the Point toward the summit. One of these had with him a led horse.
“Now, I wonder what that means?” the sheriff mused aloud.
He was not left long in doubt. The four men rode swiftly, straight toward the man and the girl above. One of them swung from the saddle and stepped forward. He spoke to West, who appeared to make urgent protest. The dismounted rider answered. Melissy began to run. Very faintly there came to Flatray her startled cry. Simultaneously he caught the flash of the sun on bright steel. The leader of the four had drawn a revolver and was covering West with it. Instantly the girl stopped running. Plainly the life of the railroad president had been threatened unless she stopped.
The man behind the weapon swept a gesture in the direction of the led horse. Reluctantly West moved toward it, still protesting. He swung to the saddle, and four of the horses broke into a canter. Only the man with the drawn revolver remained on the ground with Melissy. He scabbarded his gun, took a step or two toward her, and made explanations. The girl stamped her foot, and half turned from him.
He laughed, stepped still closer to her, and spoke again. Melissy, with tilted chin, seemed to be unaware that he e
xisted. Another step brought him to her side. Once more he spoke. No stone wall could have given him less recognition. Then Jack let out a sudden fierce imprecation, and gave his pony the spur. For the man had bent forward swiftly, had kissed the girl on the lips once—twice—three times, had swept his hat off in a low, mocking bow, and had flung himself on his horse, and galloped off.
Pebbles and shale went flying from the horse’s hoofs as the sheriff tore down the trail toward Melissy. He cut off at an angle and dashed through cactus and over rain-washed gullies at breakneck speed, pounding up the stiff slope to the summit. He dragged his pony to a halt, and leaped off at the same instant.
Melissy came to him with flashing eyes. “Why didn’t you get here sooner?” she panted, as if she had been running; for the blind rage was strong in her.
His anger burst out to meet hers. “I wish I had!” he cried, with a furious oath.
“He insulted me. He laughed at me, and taunted me—and kissed me!”
Jack nodded. “I saw. If I had only had my rifle with me! Who was he?”
“He wore a mask. But I knew him. It was Dunc Boone.”
“With the Roaring Fork gang?”
“I don’t know. Is he one of them?”
“I’ve been thinking so for years.”
“They must have known about our picnic. But what do they want with Mr. West?”
“He’s one of the world’s richest men.”
“But he doesn’t carry his money with him.”
“He carries his life.”
“They must mean to hold him for a ransom. Is that it?”
“You’ve guessed it. That’s the play.” Jack considered, his eyes on the far-away hills. When he spoke again it was with sharp decision. “Hit the trail back to town with your motor. Don’t lose a minute on the way. Send a dispatch to Bucky O’Connor. You’d ought to get him at Douglas. If not, some of his rangers will know where to reach him. Keep the wires hot till you’re in touch with him. Better sign my name. I’ve been writing him about this outfit. This job is cut out for Bucky, and we’ve got to get him on it.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I can’t do much—I’m not armed. First time I’ve been caught that way since I’ve been sheriff. Came out to-day for a picnic and left my gun at home. But if they’re the Roaring Fork outfit, they’ll pass through the Elkhorn Cañon, heading for Dead Man’s Cache. I’m going to cut around Old Baldy and try to beat them to it. Maybe I can recognize some of them.”
“But if they see you?”
“I ain’t aiming to let them see me.”
“Still, they may.”
His quiet eyes met hers steadily. “Yes, they may.”
They were friends again, though he had never fully forgiven her doubt of him. It might be on the cards that some day she would be more to him than a friend. Understanding perfectly the danger of what he proposed, she yet made no protest. The man who would storm her heart must be one who would go the limit, for her standards were those of the outdoor West. She, too, was “game” to the core; and she had never liked him better than she did at this moment. A man must be a man, and take his fighting chance.
“All right, Jack.”
Not for years before had she called him by his first name. His heart leaped, but he did not let even his look tell what he was feeling.
“I reckon I’ll cut right down from here, Melissy. Better not lose any time getting to town. So-long!” And with that he had swung to the saddle and was off.
Melissy ran swiftly down to the picnic party and cried out her news. It fell upon them like a bolt out of a June sky. Some exclaimed and wondered and deplored; but she was proud to see that her father took instant command, without an unnecessary word.
“They’ve caught us in swimming, boys! We’ve got to burn the wind back to town for our guns. Dick, you ride around by the Powder Horn and gather up the boys on the ranch. Get Swain to swing around to the south and comb the lower gulches of the Roaring Fork. Tell him to get in touch with me soon as he can. I’ll come through by Elkhorn.”
Lee helped his daughter into the machine, and took his place beside her.
“Hit the high spots, Jim. I’ve got an engagement in the hills that won’t wait, prior to which I’ve got to get back to town immediate,” he told the chauffeur cheerfully; for he was beginning to enjoy himself as in the old days, when he had been the hard-riding sheriff of a border county which took the premium for bad men.
The motor car leaped forward, fell into its pace, and began to hum its song of the road as it ate up swiftly the miles that lay between the dam and Mesa.
* * *
CHAPTER II
A CAPTURE
Flatray swung around Old Baldy through the sparse timber that edged its roots. He knew this country well; for he had run cattle here, and combed the draws and ridges on the annual spring and fall round-ups.
There was no trail to follow. Often the lay of the land forced him to a detour; for it was rough with washes, with matted cactus, and with a thick growth of netted mesquite and underbrush. But true as the needle of a compass, he turned back always to the direction he was following. He had the instinct for direction, sharpened almost to infallibility by the experience his work had given him.
So, hour after hour, he swung forward, pushing his horse over the ground in a sort of running walk, common to the plains. Sunset found him climbing from the foothills into the mountains beyond. Starlight came upon him in a saddle between the peaks, still plodding up by winding paths to the higher altitudes that make the ridge of the continent’s backbone.
The moon was up long before he struck a gulch spur that led to Elkhorn Cañon. Whether he would be in time or not—assuming that he had guessed aright as to the destination of the outlaws—he could not tell. It would be, at best, a near thing. For, though he had come more directly, they had followed a trail which made the going much faster. Fast as the cow pony could pick its way along the rock-strewn gulch, he descended, eye and ear alert to detect the presence of another human being in this waste of boulders, of moonlit, flickering shadows, of dark awesome peaks.
His quick ear caught the faintest of sounds. He slipped from the saddle and stole swiftly forward to the point where the gulch joined the main cañon. Voices drifted to him—the sound of careless laughter, wafted by the light night wind. He had missed the outlaws by scarce a hundred yards. There was nothing for it but to follow cautiously. As he was turning to go back for his horse the moon emerged from behind a cloud and flooded the cañon with a cold, silvery light. It showed Jack a man and a horse standing scarce twenty yards from him. The man had his back to him. He had dismounted, and was tightening the cinches of his saddle.
Flatray experienced a pang of disappointment. He was unarmed. His second thought sent him flying noiselessly back to his horse. Deftly he unloosed the rope which always hung coiled below the saddle horn. On tiptoe he ran back to the gulch mouth, bearing to the right, so as to come directly opposite the man he wanted. As he ran he arranged the lariat to his satisfaction, freeing the loop and making sure that the coil was not bound. Very cautiously he crept forward, taking advantage for cover of a boulder which rose from the bed of the gulch.
The man had finished tightening the girth. His foot rose to the stirrup. He swung up from the ground, and his right leg swept across the flank of the pony. It did not reach the stirrup; for, even as he rose, Jack’s lariat snaked forward and dropped over his head to his breast. It tightened sharply and dragged him back, pinioning his arms to his side. Before he could shake one of them free to reach the revolver in his chaps, he was lying on his back, with Flatray astride of him. The cattleman’s left hand closed tightly upon his windpipe, while the right searched for and found the weapon in the holster of the prostrate man.
Not until the steel rim of it pressed against the teeth of the man beneath him did Jack’s fingers loosen. “Make a sound, and you’re a dead man.”
The other choked and gurgled. He was not
yet able to cry out, even had he any intention of so doing. But defiant eyes glared into those of the man who had unhorsed and captured him.
“Where are your pals bound for?” Flatray demanded.
He got no answer in words, but sullen eyes flung out an obstinate refusal to give away his associates.
“I reckon you’re one of the Roaring Fork outfit,” Jack suggested.
“You know so darn much I’ll leave you to guess the rest,” growled the prisoner.
“The first thing I’ll guess is that, if anything happens to Simon West, you’ll hang for it, my friend.”
“You’ll have to prove some things first.”
Flatray’s hand slid into the man’s coat pocket, and drew forth a piece of black cloth that had been used as a mask.
“Here’s exhibit A, to begin with.”
The man on the ground suddenly gave an upward heave, grasped at the weapon, and let out a yell for help that echoed back from the cliff, while the cattleman let the butt of the revolver crash heavily down upon his face. The heavy gun came down three times before the struggling outlaw would subside, and then not before blood streamed from ugly gashes into his eyes.
“I’ve had enough, damn you!” the fellow muttered sullenly. “What do you want with me?”
“You’ll go along with me. Let out another sound, and I’ll bump you off. Get a move on you.”
Jack got to his feet and dragged up his prisoner. The man was a heavy-set, bowlegged fellow of about forty, hard-faced, and shifty-eyed—a frontier miscreant, unless every line of the tough, leathery countenance told a falsehood. But he had made his experiment and failed. He knew what manner of man his captor was, and he had no mind for another lesson from him. He slouched to his horse, under propulsion of the revolver, and led the animal into the gulch.
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