Texas Men

by Paul Evan Lehman

  Dick’s horse was as fresh as a daisy, but Bob could see that the saddle had recently been stripped from a very wet animal. Bob left the rack hurriedly and started for the house as Ace and Joe rounded the corner.

  He found June, her father, and Dick in the living room, and slanted a searching glance at his friend. Dick was talking gaily, and Bob decided that if he were really guilty he was very skillful at playing a part. As Joe and Ace entered, the three looked up and greetings were exchanged all around.

  “Bob,” said Dick, “you ought to get after yore deputies about the way they mistreat their horses. Joe has just about ridden his into the ground.”

  “Yore own saddle is pretty wet,” said Bob tightly.

  “But the horse is dry. I do change before I kill my mount.”

  “Been ridin’ hard?”

  “I’ll tell a man I have. We rounded up the wildest bunch I ever tangled with. Back in the hills; strays. You work some of those draws and slopes and you’ll find it takes the pepper out of a horse right now.”

  Bob turned to Tomlinson. “Joe has been trailin’ the stage in and out of Lariat. This mornin’ five bandits held it up. Joe arrived in time to save the strong box, and chased them into the hills back of the Kady.”

  Deuce, just awake after his morning nap, spoke from the doorway. “Good work, Joe!”

  “Yeah, Joe, it shore was,” said Dick carelessly. “You fellas are playin’ hob with that bunch; but don’t get careless. They’re not used to set-backs.”

  June glanced at him quickly. “You should join them, Dick. With high, low, jack, game, and the joker in one hand, they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Dick grinned at her. “Maybe when I convince Bob that Kurt Dodd is not in on this I will.”

  “Huh!” grunted Ace skeptically. “Accordin’ to you, all that slab-sided boss of yores needs is a harp in his paws and a crown on his head. Any time I get to believin’ that Kurt Dodd is a lily white angel I want somebody to tap me on the coco and put me out of my mis’ry.”

  Dick shrugged. “Where was Kurt when this holdup occurred?”

  “He was in town,” Bob answered. “And so was Bradshaw.”

  “Seems like they’re gettin’ the habit of bein’ in Lariat whenever anything happens,” said Deuce. “It’s so reg’lar it’s suspicious.”

  Bob got to his feet. “Well, I’m ridin’ back to town. Joe, you pick up the stage as usual. Ace, stick to this side of the valley. Deuce, you’d better mosey over on the other side. So long, folks.”

  He raised an arm in farewell and went out to his horse. His eyes fell again on the wet saddle of Dick Markley. The explanation given by his friend was entirely logical. Bob swore savagely as he swung into the saddle. It was just possible that both Ace and Joe were wrong, but he realized that his own judgment was tempered by friendship for Dick. Markley had been closer than a brother to him, and he would have trusted his life in the boy’s bands.

  It was late afternoon when he reached Lariat. He found the town seething. The news of the holdup had been broadcast, and men surrounded him almost before he had alighted to slap his back and congratulate him on his foresight in having the stage trailed. Both Trumbauer and Enright were in town.

  “Py golly, dot vas fine!” declared Dutch. “Maybe now dey learn dot it don’t pay, dis monkey-pusiness.”

  “You’ve got ’em on the run, Bob,” Enright told him. “Come into the Paris and I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Bob compromised on a cigar and finally managed to escape on the plea of official business. He went to his office, cleaned up what desk work remained, then visited the jail, which was located in the rear of the second floor of the courthouse. There were five cells, two on each side of the central corridor and one at its end, all unoccupied at the present time. The jailer had an office here, and Bob found him yawning over a solitaire layout.

  “I shore wish you’d bring in some prisoners,” he complained. “This doin’ nothin’ is the hardest work I ever run across.”

  “You’ll make up for it presently,” Bob promised.

  On his way through the corridor he passed the prosecuting attorney’s office. Glancing through the open doorway he beheld Thaddeus Poole and Judge Bleek absorbed in a game of chess. The county’s legal machinery, with the exception of the sheriff’s office, seemed utterly at a standstill.

  Bob ate supper in company with Enright and Trumbauer, then spent an hour or two in a circuit of the town. He was uneasy and apprehensive for some reason or other, and even after he had gone to bed he rolled about restlessly until long after the sounds of Lariat’s night life had quieted.

  The same feeling persisted when he arose the next morning. He ate at the hotel, walked about town a bit, then finally returned to the office. Here he forced himself to the task of checking over Pete Grubb’s records and attempting to install some sort of system for himself. By mid-morning this task was finished and he found himself at loose ends again.

  The sound of hoofs took him to the window in time to see Dick Markley ride by. Bob reached for his Stetson and made his way to the street. Dick halted at the Paris hitching rack and, swinging to the ground, passed through the doorway into the saloon.

  Bob continued leisurely down the street and entered the place a. minute or so after Dick. For a moment he stood just within the doorway looking about. Four men sat a a table playing poker, and two more lounged against the bar. Dick was not in sight, and neither was Haslam.

  Bob went outside, and, after a moment’s indecision, crossed the street and entered the Cattleman’s Bank. This was a low brick building with iron-barred windows and heavy door. There was a desk near the front window, and, after exchanging greetings with the teller, Bob picked up a pen and did some idle scratching on a pad of deposit slips, keeping, at the same time, an eye on the entrance to the Paris.

  A half hour passed, then he saw a man in the hotel entrance and a moment later recognized Dick. Markley stood just within the lobby, looking through the doorway. Assured that he was not noticed, he strode quickly to the sidewalk and flung himself into the saddle.

  Bob tossed the paper into the waste paper basket and started out the door; but Dick rode by without even glancing at him, and Bob could see that the young fellow’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes glinting. He stood on the sidewalk looking after Dick until Markley disappeared from view, then shook his head worriedly and crossed the street. As he passed the saloon he glanced over the half doors. Haslam was leaning against the bar, smoking.

  Noon brought the south-bound stage, and Bob walked down to the station. He watched the agent and a helper carry the strong box to the bank, the messenger strolling after them with his shotgun at the ready. The following day was pay-day, and the bank had shipped in specie to meet the cattlemen’s demands.

  Dinner, then a long afternoon. Towards evening June Tomlinson drove in to make some purchases, and Bob’s face lighted in anticipation. The girl had been much in his thoughts, a fact which annoyed him at times because he knew Dick loved her and believed that she cared for Markley. The less he dreamed about her, he told himself, the better for his peace of mind; yet to banish her entirely from his thoughts was as impossible as to still the beating of the ocean waves.

  He started toward her, but before he was anywhere near, Duke Haslam stepped out of the saloon and spoke to her. While Bob watched, they strolled away together. Later he saw them coming from a store, Haslam’s arms laden with packages. Duke placed the purchases in the buckboard and helped June to the seat. Bob, remembering Haslam’s expression when he had first met the girl, swore under his breath as Duke raised his forty-dollar Stetson in a farewell salute.

  He ate his supper alone, the uncomfortable feeling of apprehension gripping him anew. There was trouble brewing; he could feel it in his bones just as he could detect the approach of bad weather. He made a short circuit of the town and went to bed at an early hour.

  He fell asleep almost immediately, only to awake late in the night as refreshed as thoug
h it were morning. He struck a match and looked at the big octagonal clock on the wall. Nearly two. He composed himself and tried to sleep again. It was utterly impossible. He sat up and smoked a cigarette, then dressed with the intention of taking a walk.

  A sullen, smothered boom shook the courthouse windows. Bob sat erect, listening, then hurriedly finished dressing, buckled his sixgun belt about him, and, grabbing his hat, ran from the office. As he came out on the sidewalk he saw a glimmer of light in the bank building.

  He ran into the road where the dirt would silence the pound of his boots, and angled across the street toward the bank. The moon was just coming up, and as he drew near he could discern a group of horses held by one man. The fellow must have seen him at the same instant, for his gun blazed and Bob heard the whine of the slug as it cut the air above his head. He threw himself down behind the plank sidewalk and opened fire.

  Men were streaming from the rear of the bank now, and the horses were milling about as each sought his mount and flung himself into the saddle. One of the animals broke away, running along the side of the bank toward the street. As its owner started after it, cursing in fear of being left afoot, Bob shot him. He stumbled on for a few yards then plunged forward on his face.

  The others were mounted and reining away. One of them turned in Bob’s direction and a ray of moonlight struck him. It was the short, red-headed man! In his eagerness Bob left the protection of the planks and started running toward him. The red-headed man flung a hurried shot at him, then wheeled his horse and spurred after his companions.

  The hammer of Bob’s Colt fell on an empty shell, and he hurriedly holstered the weapon. His horse was in the corral back of the courthouse, and precious minutes would be required to catch and saddle him. Bob glanced swiftly about. The horse of the dead outlaw had caught the reins in a crack in the sidewalk and was standing passively. He hurried to the animal, flipped the rein free and flung himself on his back. Kicking the animal into motion, he sped down the street on a course parallel with that taken by the outlaws.

  When he finally passed the last straggling buildings, he caught sight of them. They rode in a compact group of four. Bob dug the spurs deep and sent the horse in swift pursuit.

  Across the rangeland they sped, headed for the hills beyond the Kady. Bob reloaded his gun, wishing at the same time that he had a rifle. Gradually he gained on them; then one of the group swung off at a tangent. Presently another left the band and shot off to the right; then a third. Bob continued after the remaining man.

  For an hour they rode as fast as their horses could travel, Bob slowly but surely closing the distance between them. He called to the other to halt and when he was not obeyed raised his gun to its highest angle of fire and flipped the hammer. He thought he saw the horse ahead of him falter, then surge forward with a renewed burst of speed.

  The pound of solid ground beneath his horse’s hoofs told Bob he was on the trail which led to the Tumbling T. Presently Tomlinson’s buildings loomed up ahead of them, vague and shadowy in the faint moonlight. The bandit was heading directly for them, probably hoping to lose his pursuer in the gloom. The fellow cut between bunkhouse and corrals and for awhile was lost to view. Bob continued his course, passed the out-buildings, then rounded the corrals. Bandit and horse had disappeared.

  Bob drew rein, glancing about him alertly. Back in the bunkhouse he could hear the Tumbling T punchers’ excited voices as they sought the reason for the disturbance. Then he caught sight of movement close to the ground and some hundred feet ahead. He rode forward cautiously. It was the bandit’s horse, down and evidently breathing his last.

  Bob wheeled and headed for the ranch house, for a light had flared in the living room. He stopped at the hitching rack and, dropping to the ground, ran across the gallery. The door opened and he found himself gazing at June Tomlinson. She held a kimona about her and was carrying a lamp.

  “Bob! What is it?”

  “Bank holdup,” he explained hurriedly. “I chased one of the outfit out here and shot his horse. The fellow’s on foot somewhere.”

  “He’s inside,” she said. “I heard him open a window.”

  Bob raised his voice. “You Tumblin’ T men! Surround the house!”

  Shouts from the bunkhouse answered him, and men began streaming from the squat building. Bob stepped inside the room, gun in hand, and glanced about him. Quite suddenly the dining-room door was thrown open, revealing a man in the entrance.

  He was crouched, level gun extended before him. In the lamplight his face showed white and strained, the lips tight, the eyes burning. Bob stood staring at him, his gun pointed toward the floor.

  “Dick!” cried the girl, stark agony in her voice.

  “Yeah, it’s me!” Dick’s voice was harsh, grating. “You, Bob, get outa my way! You hear me? I won’t be taken! Get outa my way!” His hand had tensed about the gun and a loud double click sounded as the hammer was drawn back.

  “Don’t! Dick—please!” cried June, and flung herself at him.

  The paralysis which had gripped Bob left him. June was rushing toward this mad, cornered youth who was about to let the hammer slip from beneath his rigid thumb. June, the girl Bob loved more than life itself! He uttered a hoarse warning shout and bounded forward, intending to push her out of the line of fire.

  And then, immediately before him, the gun spat red!

  Bob never heard the sound of the explosion. A mighty weight struck him and he sank down—down—down into abysmal darkness.

  CHAPTER IX

  DICK’S PROMISE

  IT was noon of the next day when Bob opened his eyes and gazed at the ceiling rafters in one of the Tumbling T ranch house bed rooms. He was aware of a certain stiffness which seemed centered in his neck, and found that the lower part of his head was bandaged. With an effort he lowered his eyes to find himself looking into the face of June Tomlinson. Her anxious gaze was fixed on him almost pleadingly, and she was holding his hand tightly between both her own.

  “Miss—June,” he said weakly. He found it an effort to speak.

  “Bob! I’m glad you’re awake. Don’t move; you’ve been hurt.”

  His brain puzzled over this for a moment, and gradually the details of that calamitous meeting in the ranch house living room came back to him. At first the most vivid recollection was that flash of fire before his eyes. It was from a gun; a gun in the hands of—

  June saw his face suddenly cloud. “Dick!”

  “Yes. Oh, Bob, it was dreadful! Dick, your friend.”

  He gazed at her almost fiercely. “Did they get him?”

  “No. He ran through the front doorway, jumped on the horse you left at the rack, and got away before the boys could saddle up.”

  “Do they know, who it was?”

  “No. I didn’t tell them. I said I didn’t know.”

  The strained look left his face. “Don’t ever tell, June. He was cornered, desperate. He had to shoot his way out. It was my fault; I reckon he thought I was goin’ to tackle him. Don’t tell.”

  “I won’t.” The tears came to her eyes and she blinked and caught her lip between her teeth.

  “Where am I hit?”

  “Through the neck. You were unconscious last night and all this morning. It’s just a little past noon. I’ll give you some medicine the doctor left, and then you must sleep.”

  She raised his head and held the glass to his lips. Things were becoming hazy. Bob swallowed the stuff and dropped back on the pillows. His last waking memory was one of a fair face with deep violet eyes and an aura of golden hair in which the sunbeams danced.

  When he awoke again she was gone, but he could hear voices in the next room. His brain was dear; he felt much stronger. And he was hungry.

  The door opened noiselessly and June looked in at him. He grinned.

  “If you’ll fetch my clothes, ma’am, I’ll be gettin’ out of here.”

  She came in quickly then, her eyes wide with delight. “You’ll do nothing of the sor
t,” she told him severely. “Don’t you realize that you are badly hurt? Why, it will be days before you can leave that bed.”

  The grin persisted. “Shucks! That slug didn’t hit anything vital; just stunned me, like they crease a wild horse at a water hole.”

  “Just the same you stay in bed until the doctor orders otherwise. Now take some more of this medicine.”

  A swarthy face appeared at the doorway. “Ees all right? He can spik weeth us?”

  “Yes; you can come in, Joe.”

  The Mexican, followed by the towering Ace, tiptoed into the room. June administered the medicine and left them.

  “Ees good to see you mak the smile,” said Joe, his dark face beaming.

  “Bet yore boots!” Ace echoed heartily. “Bob, I shore thought you’d drawed yore number. Who was it?”

  “One of the five that robbed the bank. I heard them blow the safe and broke up the party. One of them rode into the moonlight and I recognized him as the red-headed jigger. How about that fella I winged?”

  “They planted him this mornin’. Nobody seemed to know who he was.” Ace jerked his head toward the door. “Frank Enright and Dutch Trumbauer are in the livin’ room with Tomlinson. They want to see you. Reckon Frank is anxious to turn his boys loose.”

  “Don’t let him do it until I’m up again,” urged Bob. “He’ll go in there all spraddled out and mess things up.”

  “You’re right as rain.” Ace craned his neck to look through the doorway. “Here they come now.”

  June entered with a bowl of broth, the two cattlemen behind her.

  “I’m not sure that you should have so many visitors,” she said, “but Mr. Enright and Mr. Trumbauer have come some distance to see you. I told them they could talk while you ate your broth.” She assisted him to sit up in bed, propping pillows behind his shoulders. The two cattlemen shook his hand gravely.

  “Glad to see you sittin’ up, anyhow,” said Enright.