Brand Blotters

by Raine, William MacLeod

  CHAPTER V

  A PHOTOGRAPH

  On the third morning Beauchamp Lee returned to Mesa—unshaven, dusty, and fagged with hard riding. He brought with him a handbill which he had picked up in the street. Melissy hung over him and ministered to his needs. While he was eating breakfast he talked.

  “No luck yet, honey. He’s hiding in some pocket of the hills, I reckon; and likely there he’ll stay till the hunt is past. They don’t make them any slicker than Dunc, dad gum his ugly hide!”

  “What is that paper?” his daughter asked.

  Lee curbed a disposition toward bad language, as he viewed it with disgust. “This here is bulletin number one, girl. It’s the cheekiest, most impudent thing I ever saw. MacQueen serves notice to all the people of this county to keep out of this fight. Also, he mentions me and Jack Flatray by name—warning us that, if we sit in the game, hell will be popping for us.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Do? I’ll get back to my boys fast as horseflesh will get me there, once I’ve had a talk with that beef buyer from Kansas City I made an appointment to see before this thing broke loose. You don’t allow I’m going to let any rustler dictate to me what I’ll do and what I won’t—do you?”

  “Where do you reckon he had this printed?” she asked.

  “I don’t reckon, I know. Late last night a masked man woke up Jim Snell. You know, he sleeps in a room at the back of the printing office. Well, this fellow made him dress, set up this bill, and run off five hundred copies while he stood over him. I’ll swan I never heard of such cheek!”

  Melissy told what she had to tell—after which her father shaved, took a bath, and went out to meet the buyer from Kansas City. His business kept him until noon. After dinner Melissy’s saddle horse was brought around, and she joined her father to ride back with him for a few miles.

  About three o’clock she kissed him good-bye, and turned homeward. After she had passed the point where the Silver Creek trail ran into the road she heard the sound of a galloping horse behind. A rider was coming along the trail toward town. He gained on her rapidly, and presently a voice hailed her gayly:

  “The top o’ the mornin’ to you, Miss ’Lissie.”

  She drew up to wait for him. “My name is still Miss Lee,” she told him mildly, by way of correction.

  “I’m glad it is, but we can change it in three minutes at any time, my dear,” he laughed.

  She had been prepared to be more friendly toward him, but at this she froze again.

  “Did you leave Mrs. O’Connor and the children well?” she asked pointedly, looking directly at him.

  His smile vanished, and he stared at her in a very strange fashion. She had taken the wind completely out of his sails. It had not occurred to him that O’Connor might be a married man. Nor did he know but that it might be a trick to catch him. He did the only thing he could do—made answer in an ironic fashion, which might mean anything or nothing.

  “Very well, thank you.”

  She saw at once that the topic did not allure him, and pushed home her advantage. “You must miss Mrs. O’Connor when you are away on duty.”

  “Must I?”

  “And the children, too. By the way, what are their names?”

  “You’re getting up a right smart interest in my family, all of a sudden,” he countered.

  “One can’t talk about the weather all the time.”

  He boldly decided to slay the illusion of domesticity. “If you want to know, I have neither wife nor children.”

  “But I’ve heard about them all,” she retorted.

  “You have heard of Mrs. O’Connor, no doubt; but she happens to be the wife of a cousin of mine.”

  The look which she flashed at him held more than doubt.

  “You don’t believe me?” he continued. “I give you my word that I’m not married.”

  They had left the road, and were following a short cut which wound down toward Tonti, in and out among the great boulders. The town, dwarfed to microscopic size by distance, looked, in the glare of the sunlight, as if it were made of white chalk. Along the narrow trail they went singly, Melissy leading the way.

  She made no answer, but at the first opportunity he forced his horse to a level with hers.

  “Well—you heard what I said,” he challenged.

  “The subject is of no importance to me,” she said.

  “It’s important to me. I’m not going to have you doing me an injustice. I tell you I’m not married. You’ve got to believe me.”

  Her mind was again alive with suspicions. Jack had told her Bucky O’Connor was married, and he must have known what he was talking about.

  “I don’t know whether you are married or not. I am of the opinion that Lieutenant O’Connor has a wife and three children. More than once I have been told so,” she answered.

  “You seem to know a heap about the gentleman.”

  “I know what I know.”

  “More than I do, perhaps,” he suggested.

  Her eyes dilated. He could see suspicion take hold of her.

  “Perhaps,” she answered quietly.

  “Does that mean you think I’m not Bucky O’Connor?” He had pushed his pony forward so as to cut off her advance, and both had halted for the moment.

  She looked at him with level, fearless eyes. “I don’t know who you are.”

  “But you think I’m not Lieutenant O’Connor of the rangers?”

  “I don’t know whether you are or not.”

  “There is nothing like making sure. Just look over this letter, please.”

  She did so. It was from the governor of the Territory to the ranger officer. While he was very complimentary as to past services, the governor made it plain that he thought O’Connor must at all hazards succeed in securing the release of Simon West. This would be necessary for the good name of the Territory. Otherwise, a widespread report would go out that Arizona was a lawless place in which to live.

  Melissy folded the letter and handed it back. “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant O’Connor. I see that I was wrong.”

  “Forget it, my dear. We all make mistakes.” He had that curious mocking smile which so often hovered about his lips. She felt as though he were deriding her—as though his words held some hidden irony which she could not understand.

  “The governor seems very anxious to have you succeed. It will be a black eye for Arizona if this band of outlaws is not apprehended. You don’t think, do you, that they will do Mr. West any harm, if their price is not paid? They would never dare.”

  He took this up almost as though he resented it. “They would dare anything. I reckon you’ll have to get up early in the mornin’ to find a gamer man than Black MacQueen.”

  “I wouldn’t call it game to hurt an old man whom he has in his power. But you mustn’t let it come to that. You must save him. Are you making any progress? Have you run down any of the band? And while I think of it—have you seen to-day’s paper?”

  “No—why?”

  “The biggest story on the front page is about the West case. It seems that this MacQueen wired to Chicago to Mr. Lucas, president of one of the lines on the Southwestern system, that they would release Mr. West for three hundred thousand dollars in gold. He told him a letter had been mailed to the agent at Mesa, telling under just what conditions the money was to be turned over; and he ended with a threat that, if steps were taken to capture the gang, or if the money were not handed over at the specified time, Mr. West would disappear forever.”

  “Did the paper say whether the money would be turned over?”

  “It said that Mr. Lucas was going to get into touch with the outlaws at once, to effect the release of his chief.”

  A gleam of triumph flashed in the eyes of the man. “That’s sure the best way.”

  “It won’t help your reputation, will it?” she asked. “Won’t people say that you failed on this case?”

  He laughed softly, as if at some hidden source of mirth. �
�I shouldn’t wonder if they did say that Bucky O’Connor hadn’t made good this time. They’ll figure he tried to ride herd on a job too big for him.”

  Her surprised eye brooded over this, too. Here he was defending the outlaw chief, and rejoicing at his own downfall. There seemed to be no end to the contradictions in this man. She was to run across another tangled thread of the puzzle a few minutes later.

  She had dismounted to let him tighten the saddle cinch. Owing to the heat, he had been carrying his coat in front of him. He tossed it on a boulder by the side of the trail, in such a way that the inside pocket hung down. From it slid some papers and a photograph. Melissy looked down at the picture, then instantly stooped and picked it up. For it was a photograph of a very charming woman and three children, and across the bottom of it was written a line.

  “To Bucky, from his loving wife and children.”

  The girl handed it to the man without a word, and looked him full in the face.

  “Bowled out, by ginger!” he said, with a light laugh.

  But as she continued to look at him—a man of promise, who had plainly traveled far on the road to ruin—the conviction grew on her that the sweet-faced woman in the photograph was no loving wife of his. He was a man who might easily take a woman’s fancy, but not one to hold her love for years through the stress of life. Moreover, Bucky O’Connor held the respect of all men. She had heard him spoken of, and always with a meed of affection that is given to few men. Whoever this graceless scamp was, he was not the lieutenant of rangers.

  The words slipped out before she could stop them: “You’re not Lieutenant O’Connor at all.”

  “Playing on that string again, are you?” he jeered.

  “I’m sure of it this time.”

  “Since you know who I’m not, perhaps you can tell me, too, who I am.”

  In that instant before she spoke, while her steady eyes rested on him, she put together many things which had puzzled her. All of them pointed to one conclusion. Even now her courage did not fail her. She put it into words quietly:

  “You are that villain Black MacQueen.”

  He stared at her in surprise. “By God, girl—you’re right. I’m MacQueen, though I don’t know how you guessed it.”

  “I don’t know how I kept from guessing it so long. I can see it, now, as plain as day, in all that you have done.”

  After that they measured strength silently with their eyes. If the situation had clarified itself, with the added knowledge of the girl had come new problems. Let her return to Mesa, and he could no longer pose as O’Connor; and it was just the audacity of this double play that delighted him. He was the most reckless man on earth; he loved to take chances. He wanted to fool the officers to his heart’s content, and then jeer at them afterward. Hitherto everything had come his way.

  But if this girl should go home, he could not show his face at Mesa; and the spice of the thing would be gone. He was greatly taken with her beauty, her daring, and the charm of high spirits which radiated from her. Again and again he had found himself drawn back to her. He was not in love with her in any legitimate sense; but he knew now that, if he could see her no more, life would be a savorless thing, at least until his fancy had spent itself. Moreover, her presence at Dead Man’s Cache would be a safeguard. With her in his power, Lee and Flatray, the most persistent of his hunters, would not dare to move against the outlaws.

  Inclination and interest worked together. He decided to take her back with him to the country of hidden pockets and gulches. There, in time, he would win her love—so his vanity insisted. After that they would slip away from the scene of his crimes, and go back to the world from which he had years since vanished.

  The dream grew on him. It got hold of his imagination. For a moment he saw himself as the man he had been meant for—the man he might have been, if he had been able to subdue his evil nature. He saw himself respected, a power in the community, going down to a serene old age, with this woman and their children by his side. Then he laughed derisively, and brushed aside the vision.

  “Why didn’t the real Lieutenant O’Connor arrive to expose you?” she asked.

  “The real Bucky is handcuffed and guarded at Dead Man’s Cache. I don’t think he’s enjoying himself to-day.”

  “You’re getting quite a collection of prisoners. You’ll be starting a penitentiary on your own account soon,” she told him sharply.

  “That’s right. And I’m taking another one back with me to-night.”

  “Who is he?”

  “It’s a lady this time—Miss Melissy Lee.”

  His words shook her. An icy hand seemed to clamp upon her heart. The blood ebbed even from her lips, but her brave eyes never faltered from his.

  “So you war on women, too!”

  He gave her his most ironic bow. “I don’t war on you, my dear. You shall have half of my kingdom, if you ask it—and all my heart.”

  “I can’t use either,” she told him quietly. “But I’m only a girl. If you have a spark of manliness in you, surely you won’t take me a prisoner among those wild, bad men of yours.”

  “Those wild, bad men of mine are lambs when I give the word. They wouldn’t lift a hand against you. And there is a woman there—the mother of one of my boys, who was shot. We’ll have you chaperoned for fair.”

  “And if I say I won’t go?”

  “You’ll go if I strap you to your saddle.”

  It was characteristic of Melissy that she made no further resistance. The sudden, wolfish gleam in his eyes had told her that he meant what he said. It was like her, too, that she made no outcry; that she did not shed tears or plead with him. A gallant spirit inhabited that slim, girlish body; and she yielded to the inevitable with quiet dignity. This surprised him greatly, and stung his reluctant admiration. At the same time, it set her apart from him and hedged her with spiritual barriers. Her body might ride with him into captivity; she was still captain of her soul.

  “You’re a game one,” he told her, as he helped her to the saddle.

  She did not answer, but looked straightforward between her horse’s ears, without seeing him, waiting for him to give the word to start.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VI

  IN DEAD MAN’S CACHE

  Not since the start of their journey had Melissy broken silence, save to answer, in few words as possible, the questions put to her by the outlaw. Yet her silence had not been sullenness. It had been the barrier which she had set up between them—one which he could not break down short of actual roughness.

  Of this she could not accuse him. Indeed, he had been thoughtful of her comfort. At sunset they had stopped by a spring, and he had shared with her such food as he had. Moreover, he had insisted that she should rest for a while before they took up the last stretch of the way.

  It was midnight now, and they had been traveling for many hours over rough mountain trails. There was more strength than one would look for in so slender a figure, yet Melissy was drooping with fatigue.

  “It’s not far now. We’ll be there in a few minutes,” MacQueen promised her.

  They were ascending a narrow trail which ran along the sidehill through the timber. Presently they topped the summit, and the ground fell away from their feet to a bowl-shaped valley, over which the silvery moonshine played so that the basin seemed to swim in a magic sea of light.

  “Welcome to the Cache,” he said to her.

  She was surprised out of her silence. “Dead Man’s Cache?”

  “It has been called that.”

  “Why?”

  She knew, but she wanted to see if he would tell a story which showed so plainly his own ruthlessness.

  He hesitated, but only for a moment.

  “There was a man named Havens. He had a reputation as a bad man, and I reckon he deserved it—if brand blotting, mail rustling, and shooting citizens are the credentials to win that title. Hard pressed on account of some deviltry, he drifted into this country, and was made welcome
by those living here. The best we had was his. He was fed, outfitted, and kept safe from the law that was looking for him.

  “You would figure he was under big obligations to the men that did this for him—wouldn’t you? But he was born skunk. When his chance came he offered to betray these men to the law, in exchange for a pardon for his own sneaking hide. The letter was found, and it was proved he wrote it. What ought those men to have done to him, Miss ’Lissie?”

  “I don’t know.” She shuddered.

  “There’s got to be law, even in a place like this. We make our own laws, and the men that stay here have got to abide by them. Our law said this man must die. He died.”

  She did not ask him how. The story went that the outlaws whom the wretched man had tried to sell let him escape on purpose—that, just as he thought he was free of them, their mocking laughter came to him from the rocks all around. He was completely surrounded. They had merely let him run into a trap. He escaped again, wandered without food for days, and again discovered that they had been watching him all the time. Turn whichever way he would, their rifles warned him back. He stumbled on, growing weaker and weaker. They would neither capture him nor let him go.

  For nearly a week the cruel game went on. Frequently he heard their voices in the hills about him. Sometimes he would call out to them pitifully to put him out of his misery. Only their horrible laughter answered. When he had reached the limit of endurance he lay down and died.

  And the man who had engineered that heartless revenge was riding beside her. He had been ready to tell her the whole story, if she had asked for it, and equally ready to justify it. Nothing could have shown her more plainly the character of the villain into whose hands she had fallen.

  They descended into the valley, winding in and out until they came suddenly upon ranch houses and a corral in a cleared space.

  A man came out of the shadows into the moonlight to meet them. Instantly Melissy recognized his walk. It was Boone.

  “Oh, it’s you,” MacQueen said coldly. “Any of the rest of the boys up?”