“Locked in my office, with three deputies in the hall.”
“Well, we can get along without your assistance, Sheriff. Your deputies may need you to help guard such a dangerous character.”
The sneer decided Bob, as he afterward learned it was intended to do. He leaned against the railing. “I’ll stick around and watch.”
Absently he glanced out over the audience. Pop Purvis occupied a front seat, having gone without breakfast to secure it. Enright was there, as was Dutch Trumbauer and practically every cattleman within a radius of fifty miles. He saw Cole Bradshaw and the Kady crew. Dick was not with them, although Bob had seen him enter town in their company.
A group near the middle of the room caught his attention. It consisted of Tomlinson and his crutches, June, and Duke Haslam. Duke was carefully groomed and appeared serenely indifferent to the trial and its consequences. Occasionally he leaned over and spoke to June in an undertone. Bob could not judge whether or not his presence beside her was welcome. Tomlinson waved a huge hand at him, June smiled and nodded, and Haslam ignored him altogether.
The jury box was finally filled, the court called to order, and Thaddeus Poole, dignified, pompous, and considerably inebriated, turned to the bench.
“May it please the Court, since the indictment was returned an unexpected development has occurred in this case. The sheriff has informed me that one of the defendants, Peter Grubb, has expressed a desire to make a statement before this court. It is presumed that this statement will be in the nature of a confession. I am free to admit that without such a confession the County has no case. All the evidence which we are prepared to submit is circumstantial in its nature or based on the unsupported word of one man.”
“I don’t have to instruct you how to proceed,” snapped Judge Bleek, who was suffering one of his “spells.” “Have the sheriff bring in the defendants, read the charge against them, and put Grubb on the stand.”
Poole turned to Bob. “Bring in your prisoners, Sheriff.”
Outside the courthouse a volley of shots thundered and echoed, followed by the sound of voices raised in altercation. Bob, instantly apprehensive, ran through the doorway and down the corridor to the front entrance. Men swarmed about him, impeding his progress, shouting questions.
He reached the portico of the courthouse in time to see a body of horsemen riding down the street. Two of them appeared to be arguing violently, while some half-dozen others attempted to placate them. Bob recognized Shab Cannon and several others who had been in the park the day he was captured. The group appeared to be without evil intent; they rode slowly, and away from the jail. His fear of an attempted rescue vanished. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked to the stairs which led to the second floor. Ace and Deuce were standing at the top, drawn sixguns in hand.
“What’s goin’ on down there?” asked the former.
“Some sort of argument. Don’t know what about. Where’s Joe?”
“We sent him back to reinforce the jailer in case anybody got the idea they were goin’ to turn Kurt and Pete loose.”
“Tell him to get Dodd and bring him to the courtroom.”
He found the key to his office, unlocked the door and flung it open. Then he stood on the threshold staring. A neat hole had been sawn in the board floor, and the prisoner was gone!
Bob swore and turned swiftly to Deuce. “Get Ace and come downstairs. Leave Dodd in the cell. Quick!”
The room immediately below his office was a store room. The door was locked, but they broke it down. Leading from it was a door opening into the Recorder’s office, which, because of the trial, was deserted. From this another door opened on the alley behind the building. This door stood wide.
Bob reached it, stared out at the line of trees which fringed the creek, then turned to the crowd of men who had followed at his heels. “Get yore horses,” he told them tersely, and ran toward the stable.
Despite his precautions they had bested him. For the past week men must have been working on the storeroom ceiling, removing the lath and plaster at times when he and his prisoner were out of the office. The diversion before the courthouse had been staged to draw the guards to the head of the stairs at the far end of the corridor in order that the sound of a saw would not reach them. It had been very easy. One man could have liberated Grubb.
Bob swore softly. Haslam had been in the court room. So had Bradshaw. Shab was among the men in the street. The only absentee of any importance was Dick Markley. As Bob rode to the front of the building he saw Dick lounging against the door frame. He might have been among the spectators who could not get inside the building, or he might have gone from the store-room into the alley and circled the courthouse during the excitement.
Bob swiftly gathered his posse and divided it into several bands, dispatching them in different directions. The task was hopeless from the start. He returned to town that night weary and dejected. The other parties had already come in, equally unsuccessful. Frank Enright met him and clapped him on the back.
“It’s just too bad,” he said soberly. “None of us are blamin’ you, Bob. Kurt is free. With most of the ones interested in convictin’ him out lookin’ for Pete, Thad Poole told the court the County was willin’ to drop the case. They just turned Dodd loose.”
Bob nodded and turned away to care for his tired horse. As he was riding to the stable, Duke Haslam and June came from the hotel. Duke was smiling, and blandly tipped his hat to Bob as they passed.
Bob dismounted at the stable and was loosening his latigo when Kurt Dodd came from the barn leading his horse. He stopped at sight of the sheriff, and Bob straightened in the savage hope that Dodd would go for his gun. Kurt’s malevolence, however, manifested itself only in the flaming eyes and the words which rumbled from his heavy black beard.
“I told you I’d make you hard to find in this neck of the woods if I was turned loose, and by Godfrey! I meant it. Look to yoreself from now on, Bob Lee. There won’t be no delay next time.”
“Suits me,” snapped Bob. “You’re a liar and a thief and a killer. So are the rest of yore gang includin’ Duke Haslam. I aim to put every one of you where you’ll be quiet a long time.”
At mention of Haslam’s name, Dodd’s eyes went wide, then narrowed again. He spoke through tight lips. “Now I know yore goose is cooked!”
He stared at Bob for several seconds, then nodded jerkily, stepped into his saddle, and rode away.
CHAPTER XIV
THE PROPOSAL
BOB ate a late supper and walked to the office. Ace, Deuce, and Joe were playing coon can, but stopped the game when he came in.
“Bob,” asked Deuce, “who sawed that good-for-nothin’ shrimp out?”
Bob shrugged and dropped into a chair. “Quien sabe?”
“Look here, Bob,” said Ace seriously. “There ain’t no use beatin’ around the bush. You know who I figger done it? The same fella that Joe declares held up the stage, and the same one who lied when he said there was no fire in that park. Haslam was in the court room, and so was Bradshaw. Dodd was in jail, and you seen that red-headed Shab in the street; but where was Dick?”
“I saw him outside the courthouse right after I got my horse.”
“Was he in the court room when the shootin’ broke out?”
“No, but he might have been in the hall. A lot of men were.”
“Uh-huh. But you didn’t see him. Well, I figger he was the carpenter on the sawin’ job. And I figger that he got Pete down the ladder we found in the store-room and hustled him out the back door and onto a horse.”
Bob answered gloomily, “I hope for june’s sake that you’re wrong.”
“I do too. Sometimes I wonder if she turned him down and soured him on the world.”
“I don’t think so. I believe she cares a lot for him.”
“Then what in time does he want to go actin’ like this for?” asked Deuce angrily. “Dang it! With a gal like that in love with a fella he shouldn’t be able to do anything bu
t go straight. Why, if it was me I’d—I’d—”
“Aw, go blow yore nose!” Ace told him. “You ain’t got nerve enough to go crooked.”
“If I ever do, my first act will be to ventilate a long-legged giraffe named Ace Talbot!”
“Me, I’m theenk Deek ees need money,” said the sagacious Joe. “Haslam ’as bought heem, and now Deek ees w’at you call too deep from get out.”
Bob stared at the Mexican; the same idea had occurred to him more than once. He dismissed the subject with a shrug. “Well, that’s all water over the dam. The thing to do is plan for the next battle. Everyone of that rustlin’ outfit is free today, walkin’ the streets, except Pete Grubb and they’re takin’ care of him. Like Deuce said, he’s the weak sister of the outfit, and they saved him to prevent his squealin’ on the stand.”
“Well, what can we do?”
“Watch the range without letup. I heard them talkin’ about a man named Vandervort who wants a thousand head of rustled cows. They’ll make an effort to find them for him.”
Deuce was skeptical. “After the way we busted up the other drive?”
“Yes. Kurt Dodd and Haslam are both tied to Lariat; they cain’t change their field of operations. In the past they have done well. They just licked us in a court trial and are feelin’ right cocky. Maybe they won’t go at it on such a large scale, but you can bet they’ll still rustle stock.”
“But if we’re watchin’ them all the time—”
“We cain’t watch every spread in the valley. And they’ll work their cattle fast, handling them in small bunches. Tomorrow I’m goin’ up county to look the ground over at Redrock. Pete had a deputy there and I don’t know whether he’s in the ring or not. I’ll see him and talk with him. At the same time I’ll try to get a line on this Vandervort. Ace, suppose you stay in town while I’m gone. Deuce, ride the north side of the valley, with headquarters at the Tumblin’ T. Joe, you patrol the south side. We’ll have to let the stage go for awhile.”
They went outside, and while his deputies went after their horses, Bob strolled down to the Paris. Duke Haslam was seated at a table idly fingering a glass and smoking. Bob dropped into a chair opposite him and regarded him calmly.
Haslam smiled. “You had tough luck today, Lee. My condolences.”
“Keep them. You’re slick, Duke, but I aim to camp on yore trail until I get you dead to rights.”
“Me? What have I to do with it?”
“Just about everything, I reckon. I’ve heard enough and seen enough to convince me that it was yore hand that downed Rutherford, yore brain that planned the stage and bank robberies, and yore decision that condemned me to death in the hills. I’m out to get you, Duke. I aim to dig up enough evidence against you so that even yore own besotted prosecutin’ attorney and dyspeptic judge will have to hand you over to me to hang.”
Haslam’s face blackened. “It seems to me you’re talking too much with your mouth, young fellow. The first thing you know you’re going to make me mad, and then you’ll be sorry you didn’t take my advice about those wide-open spaces to the north, east, south, and west.”
Bob got to his feet. “I’m hopin’ that some day I’ll make you mad enough to come out in the open and quit operatin’ through men and boys that yore money has corrupted.”
He left Haslam fuming and went over to the bar where he had espied Dick Markley. Dick eyed him apprehensively as he slipped in beside him, but Bob spoke pleasantly and ordered two bottles of beer. When they had finished drinking he said, “Dick, I wish you’d come up to the office with me a minute. I got a proposition I want to talk over with you.”
He saw the young man’s eyes waver in Haslam’s direction. “What’s it about, Bob?”
“Can’t talk it over here; somethin’ that will benefit us both.”
Dick eyed him doubtfully, then shrugged. “All right. Lead on, Macduff.”
They walked to Bob’s office, and Lee lighted the lamp on the desk. Both sat down and rolled cigarettes.
“Let her rip,” said Dick.
Bob puffed thoughtfully for a minute. “Dick, I’ve been thinkin’ about gettin’ back into the cattle business.”
Markley, who had expected the subject of the conversation to be along quite different lines, looked up interestedly. “Yeah?”
“Yes. The money I got from Tomlinson is lyin’ idle in the bank. I want to put it to work. But as it is I’m tied up with this sheriff job for some time to come. So I got to thinkin’ that if I could buy into some good outfit I might find somebody to look after my end for a share in the profits.” Dick gave a start, but Bob hurried on. “For instance, suppose I gave you twenty thousand dollars with which to buy an interest in the Tumblin’ T. You’d make out you were buyin’ for yoreself, me bein’ what you might call a silent partner. You’d keep half the profit, and I’d give you the option of buyin’ me out when you’d made enough money to carry it alone. How does that strike you?”
Dick’s voice was slightly choked. “Say that again, Bob.”
“Shore. I give you twenty thousand and you buy an interest in the Tumblin’ T. Half the profit is yores. Nominally you are Tomlinson’s partner. When you save enough to swing the deal, you buy me out. That sets you up in business and lets me put my idle money to work. Easy enough, isn’t it?”
“Too easy.” Dick’s eyes were bright. He got up and walked back and forth. “A share in the Tumblin’ T; a chance to run my own iron and boss my own men; a decent livin’ so that I can—” He broke off and came over to where Lee sat watching. “Bob, you old son-of-a-gun, I know why you’re doin’ this.” His voice broke and for a moment he fought for control. “I know why you’re doin’ it, and I’m goin’ to take yore offer. I’m ridin’ out to the Tumblin’ T tonight—now. Where’s my hat?”
Bob grinned. “On yore head. I’m glad, Dick. And don’t think I’m givin’ you all the best of it. You’ll make things hum on that spread.”
When Dick had gone, Bob leaned back in his chair and relaxed. He had given the boy his chance. Dick would surely cut himself off from his vicious associates now, would plunge into the work of the ranch, would be in a position to ask June to marry him.
The light in Bob’s eyes died, the softened lines of his face ironed out. Dick would marry June. That hurt; hurt like the devil. And yet, what else could he expect? Dick loved her and she loved him; they would be very happy together. And Bob, loving June as he did, could do no less than assure her the happiness to which she was entitled. But God! how it hurt.
The cigarette in his fingers burned out. He pinched it absently and dropped it on the floor. Slowly he got up and threw back his shoulders. He forced a grin. It was the only way. At least he had cheated Haslam; Dick was beyond his power now. The thought brought some measure of comfort.
Outside the Paris, Dick, about to swing into the saddle, stopped, removed his foot from the stirrup, and, glancing quickly about, pulled out his shirt and unbuckled Cole Bradshaw’s money belt. With it doubled up in his hand he walked steadily into the saloon. Haslam was still at the table.
Dick strode quickly to him and dropped the money belt before him. “It’s all there but thirty dollars,” he said tersely. “I’ll pay you that in a few days. I’m through, Duke, and this time neither you nor yore liquor can change me.”
Duke looked up at him, his lip curling. “You’ll squeal, I suppose?”
“I ought to slap yore face for that!”
“How about that confession?”
“Use it, and I’ll drop you in yore tracks the first time I see you.” He turned on his heel and walked out.
The distance to the Tumbling T never seemed longer; in reality, he covered it in probably quicker time than on the night of the bank robbery. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the light in the living room. As he swung off his horse, the door opened and June stood revealed in the yellow rectangle of light. Dick sprang up the steps and took both her hands.
“June, I got the greatest news for you
! Bob told me to keep it to myself, but I got to tell you. Come over here and sit down.” He urged her to a shadowed end of the gallery and almost forced her into a rocker. Dropping into a chair he hitched it close to hers, bent forward earnestly.
“June, he just made me an offer that almost bowled me over. He wants me to invest the money he got from yore dad for the ranch. Offered to let me have it to buy into yore dad’s spread. Half the profit it to be mine. It means independence, a future, a chance to—to tell you somethin’ that otherwise I would have to keep to myself.”
“Dick, that’s wonderful. What a friend he is!”
“Ain’t he, though! June, I don’t know what to do. I’ve been wild and wicked and everything else, all because I needed money. I’ve stolen, I’ve double-crossed Bob, I’ve been everything I shouldn’t. But that’s past. That night I promised to go straight I went to—to the boss and told him I was through. He had somethin’ he held over me, and talked me out of it. He cain’t do it again. I told him so; dared him to do his worst.”
“Dick, I’m proud of you. I knew you could do it. I wanted you to so much. Bob has stood by you staunchly, loyally. You’ll never have another friend like him.”
“I know it, and I feel very mean and awfully little. But that’s gone now. I’m through. And June, all I did, wrong as it was, was for you. No, don’t stop me! I loved you, June; loved you from the first moment I saw you in your father’s camp with the firelight shinin’ in yore hair. I knew then that I’d never be able to do without you. But as the days went by and I realized how little I had to offer you, I began to worry how I could make some money quick. I let this man I called the boss talk me into joinin’ up with him. I was to get ten thousand dollars at the end of the year, and then I was to be free. June, I had to take it! Ten thousand dollars meant everything to me. And it was to be only for a year.”
“Did you believe that? Did you believe he would release you?”
“What else could he do?”
“A moment ago you said he held something over you. Something that made you go on. Don’t you see that at the end of the year he’d have had just that much more?”
Texas Men Page 13
