Bob looked up suddenly, aware that save for himself the room was empty. The bartender had stepped outside to speak to a friend. Bob got to his feet and crossed the room to the door which opened into Haslam’s office. It was unlocked. Bob entered, closed the door behind him, and shot the bolt. Crossing swiftly to the one which opened into the dining room, he tried it. Locked. To be sure, he drew the bolt, then went to the desk and seated himself before it. One by one he pulled out the drawers and looked over their contents. He found account books and records covering the operation of hotel and saloon, canceled checks, stationery, odds and ends.
The pidgeon holes before him contained trifles: scratch pads, pencils, pens, erasers. A cigar box occupied one of the larger compartments. Bob removed it in order to look behind it, noticed a bit of letter paper projecting from beneath the lid, opened it. Not cigars, but papers. He went through them quickly. Nothing he wanted. And then, at the very bottom, a picture.
He took it up and studied it. Two young men, standing side by side, one of them Duke Haslam of perhaps a decade before. The face of the other was vaguely familiar. Bob turned over the photograph, read the inscription on the back, then swore in amazement. Thrusting the picture into a pocket, he finished his search, then quietly unbolted both doors and left by means of the window.
Circling the building, he entered the saloon. Several men were at the bar, talking. One of them was Ace, and at sight of Bob the tall cowboy hastened to join him. His face was tight, his eyes glinted with excitement.
“You heard the news? Bleek just appointed Duke Haslam actin’ sheriff!”
“Haslam!”
“Yeah. The danged double-crossin’ rattler!”
Bob told Ace he’d see him later, and went out of the Paris. This was the last straw. Duke Haslam, the biggest rascal of them all, parading as sheriff of the county! Duke Haslam hanging a man who had served him loyally, and who, but for him, would this day have been a respected member of the community instead of a convicted thief and potential killer!
Bob went into the hotel and bought a sheet of paper and an envelope. At a desk in the corner he penned a short note, which, together with the photograph, he sealed within the envelope. By the time he had finished the supper gong had sounded and men were trooping into the dining room.
Bob joined Ace at the table, and when the meal was over led the tall cowboy into the lobby and found chairs. “Charley,” he said, “we’ve been partners for a long while. Maybe what I’m goin’ to do won’t stack up with what you think is right. If so, just holler. I want you to ride to the Tumblin’ T and tell Miss June to have a saddled horse waitin’ at the point where the trail to her father’s spread joins the one to the Kady. Make it ten o’clock tonight.”
“That ain’t askin’ so much. But why Miss June? I can bring the horse there myself.”
“I want her to be there. I think she’d like to. Somebody might have a message for her. If you’d like to ride with her—well, I’d be a heap obliged.”
Ace nodded soberly. “Shore I’ll ride with her. But mebbe I’d better come back after deliverin’ yore message. You might—uh—get lonely, or need help, or somethin’.”
“I’ll be all right; you stay with her. And, Ace,” he fished the envelope from his pocket, “I wish you’d keep this until mornin’. If I’m not at the Tumblin’ T by daylight, open it and read what’s inside, then lay the whole thing before Frank Enright and tell him to go to the Governor with it.”
Ace accepted the envelope and put it in his pocket. “I shore wish you’d take me in on this, Bob.”
Bob smiled. “You can help best by doin’ just as I say. You’d better start now.”
They got up, and for a long moment looked into each other’s eyes. “Be seein’ you,” said Ace, and reluctantly turned away.
Bob waited until he heard the drum of hoofs which told of Ace’s departure, then went into the saloon and sat down at a corner table. An hour passed. Men came in and went out again, but Duke Haslam was not among them. Bob waited another hour or so, then got up and sauntered from the place.
For several minutes he stood on the sidewalk, smoking. Presently he ground the cigarette butt beneath his heel and walked swiftly along the passage at the side of the building to the alley behind. At the building adjoining the courthouse he halted. There was a light in the jail section, and another farther forward, near the head of the stairs. That would be Poole’s office.
Bob gazed thoughtfuly at the jail light. No chance to duplicate Duke Haslam’s trick with the ball of cord, for Dick occupied a cell without a window. Only one thing to do: walk in there and take him out by force.
Bob made his way to the corral, caught Dick’s horse and saddled him, leaving the animal tied beneath the shed. Making his way along the side of the building, he waited at the corner until he was certain there was no one near to observe him, then removed his spurs and slipped quietly up the steps to the portico and entered the open front doorway.
At one side of the corridor and directly ahead of him were the stairs. He mounted them silently, mentally condemning the upstairs hall light which made his movements plain to anybody who happened to be passing. The building was inordinately silent.
At the top of the flight he paused, listening. A short distance ahead and to his right was the open doorway to Poole’s office. He heard a dry cough. Judge Bleek. Bob tiptoed to the far side of the corridor, inched along the wall. He could see, diagonally through the doorway, the back of a chair and part of the body in it. A foot farther. The occupant was Judge BIeek. He was studying the board before him. Bob inched forward another foot—two. The bloated features of Thaddeus Poole came into view. He, too, was intent on the game of chess. The judge reached out a skinny hand, moved a piece, chuckled drily as he captured one of Poole’s bishops. Poole uttered a fervent “Damn!” and Bob leaped as lightly as a shadow across the bar of light from the room.
He wheeled, gun in hand, listening. The two were talking; he had not been seen. Crossing the corridor he turned down the wick of the wall bracket lamp. The flame sputtered and went out. Ahead of him was the door to the cell room, closed.
Bob reached it, grasped the knob, turned. The door was locked. Undecided, he stood there debating his next move. From down the hall came a guffaw of glee as Poole engineered a coup against his opponent. The judge’s voice rose in protest, and under cover of the sound Bob rapped sharply on the panel.
The door opened a crack and a gun barrel was thrust through. Above it appeared the suspicious face of the night jailer. Bob reached out swiftly, grasping the gun so that his left thumb was wedged between cocked hammer and chamber. He felt the firing pin pierce his flesh as the fellow squeezed the trigger. Pushing against the door with his whole weight, Bob leaped after the surprised jailer and brought the barrel of his Colt down on the fellow’s bare head. As the man wilted he caught him and eased him to the floor. Quickly he closed the door and bolted it.
He heard Dick’s surprised voice. “Bob! What are you doin’?”
Lee found the keys and unlocked the cell door. Dick stepped out. Again he asked, “Bob, what are you doin’?”
Bob turned to him. “Not so loud. If those boots squeak, take them off. We’ve got to get past Poole’s door. Take the jailer’s gun. Yore horse is saddled and waitin’ under the shed. Get on him and fork it along the Kady trail. June is waitin’ at the branch leadin’ to the Tumblin’ T with a fresh mount. Take it and head for the Bottle Neck. Keep on until you’re across the border. Come on.”
As silently as two shadows they stole along the corridor. They had reached a point some ten feet from the lighted doorway of Poole’s office when they heard the scrape of a chair.
“That lamp’s gone out,” came Poole’s heavy voice. “I’ll have to light it. Some of Markley’S friends might try a jail delivery.”
“Friends?” came Bleek’s sour voice. “Didn’t know he had any, except our ex-sheriff, and he’s too honest to try a trick like that.” There was a sneer in Ble
ek’s tones. “Upright member of the Cleanup Party, you know.”
Bob pushed Dick before him and motioned to the stairs. Dick stood stubbornly where he was. Again Bob gestured, and risked a fierce whisper.
“For God’s sake go! I’ll take care of them.”
The whispered answer came back to him, equally fierce. “No, by God!”
Then Thaddeus Poole stepped into the corridor.
Bob leaped forward and his left fist came up in an arc which landed exactly on the point of Poole’s jaw. The man went over backwards and landed like a wet dishrag on the office floor. Leaping after him, Bob leveled his gun at the astonished Bleek. The judge had half risen from his chair, his hands on the edge of the table before him.
“Keep them there!” snapped Bob. “And don’t let out a single yap. I’m honin’ to settle yore hash, Bleek; just you give me the chance!”
“Why, you—”
“Shut up!” Bob thrust his gun into its holster and, leaping forward, grasped the man by the throat and forced him back into the chair. Circling his neck with a strong arm, Bob pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and stuffed it into Bleek’s mouth; binding it in place with his neckerchief. Raising the skinny man from the chair, Bob threw him, rolled him on his face and, despite his desperate struggles, tied his hands behind him with his own necktie. It was a crude job, but the tie was strong and the knot tight.
Dick was standing in the doorway. “Get out of here,” Bob commanded curtly. “You can’t help me one bit.”
“Not without you.”
“I’ll follow in a minute. If anybody comes in here you won’t stand a chance. You’re simply endangerin’ both of us by stayin’.”
The argument was effective; Dick turned toward the stairs.
Bob found some heavy twine in a desk drawer and made a more thorough job of it, binding and gagging both men securely. Then, dousing the light and locking the door behind him, he made his way to the street. Ducking back to the alley, he heard the faint drum of hoofs in the distance. Dick had gone.
Bob walked swiftly to the Paris and looked over the half doors of the saloon. Duke Haslam was not in sight. He nodded grimly and turned to his horse. Duke was at the Kady. Well, now that he had started he might as well see the thing through. He knew Haslam was guilty, and if there was a God in Heaven, He knew it too. Somehow he’d force his way into Duke Haslam’s presence, brand him for what he was, slap his face, dare him to draw. Then if it pleased that same God, he’d down this maker of murderers and follow Dick to the border. If not—well, Ace and Frank Enright would see that Haslam got his just deserts.
He swung into the saddle and reined away from the rack. Once out of town he put his horse to a steady lope along the trail over which Dick had already sped. When he neared the junction of the Kady and Tumbling T trails, he angled off to the right, circling at such a distance that June and Ace, if they were still there, would not hear the hoofbeats. Presently he cut into the Kady trail once more and put his horse to a sharper gait.
June and Ace were still there. They had been there since long before the appointed hour. June had listened to Ace’s terse message, face pinched, violet eyes wide.
“Of course I’ll do it,” she said. “Oh, Ace, what is it all coming to?”
“I don’t know. Dang it all, Bob just couldn’t stand seein’ you suffer the rest of yore days. Neither could I. Miss June, he’d turn Duke Haslam himself loose if it would make you happy.”
“He’d do that—for me?” she faltered.
“Yes’m. I been watchin’ Bob a long while. Reckon he loves you, ma’am. That’s why he’s freein’ Dick. He knows it would break yore heart to—to have them do what they figgered on doin’ to him.”
“But, Ace, it isn’t Dick I care for! Are you blind too? It’s—it’s Bob!”
Ace stared at her. “Bob! You—you love Bob! Oh, my gosh!”
They waited at the intersection of the trails for more than an hour before the drum of hoofs notified them of the approach of a horseman. They were standing in the shadows, but as the horseman drew up Ace stepped into the moonlight.
“Who is it?” came Dick’s voice.
“Me—Ace. Miss June has a horse for you. Where’s Bob?”
Dick swung from the saddle. “He said he’d be right behind me. Where’s June?”
“Back there by them trees. I’ll change yore rig for you.” Ace took the horse in charge, leaving Dick to make his way to the girl.
“Dick,” said June quietly, “Bob saved you again, probably at the risk of his own liberty if not his life. He did it because of his love for you, and because he believes that I care for you.”
Dick groaned. “I wish to God you did! I tell you, it’s drivin’ me mad! I think of you every—”.
“Hush!” she admonished softly. “It’s so useless, Dick. From the first I have cared for Bob. Ace just told me that Bob loves me. Neither of us has ever mentioned the subject; and now perhaps he will never know.”
Dick could see the misery in her eyes. “I want to think this out,” he told her hoarsely. For a long while he paced up and down, hands locked behind him, chin on breast.
Ace came up, leading the fresh horse. “If Bob was comin’ he’d be here by now. You better not wait, Dick. If they’ve caught Bob they’ll be after you, and you need all the start you can get. You fork it away from here.”
Dick looked up then, and in the moonlight they saw that his face was set in hard, determined lines. “You’re right. So long, both of you.” He sprang into the saddle and spurred away.
June and Ace sat down on a rock and waited for another five minutes. Ace was restless.
“Dang it!” he exclaimed at last. “This waitin’ gets me. June, Bob gave me a letter to be opened in the mornin’ if he didn’t show up. I may be doin’ wrong, but I’m goin’ to open it now.” When she nodded approval he produced the envelope and ripped open the flap.
“We’ll need some light for this,” he said, and, gathering some dry brush, started a little fire. Heads together they studied the picture, then read the carefully written note. It detailed the various circumstances whereby Bob was convinced that Duke Haslam was the prime mover behind Dodd’s gang, including the conversation with Dick. From there on the letter read as follows:
The enclosed picture is another and final link in the chain. It shows two men, brothers according to the inscription on the back. One is Duke Haslam; the other Kurt Dodd Haslam. Using only his first two names, the latter established himself near Lariat and undoubtedly worked hand in glove with his brother, Duke supplying the brainwork, Kurt the physical force necessary in bank and payroll robberies, cattle theft, and murders.
By the time you read this, the issue will be definitely settled. Where the law has failed I trust I shall not. I intend to force my way into Haslam’s presence and settle the thing man to man. If I do not return, I ask that this photograph and letter be placed in the hands of the Governor.
Robert Lee.
Ace swore. “He’s goin’ out there to face Haslam! And Duke with six bad hombres to protect him! June, wait here in case he comes along. If he does, for gosh sake hold him. I’ll get yore father’s crew and come a-runnin’.” He was gone before she could utter a word.
June stood listening until the drumming hoofbeats died in the distance. Despite the furious pounding of her heart, the blood had drained from her face. Something told her that Bob had already passed; that her waiting here was in vain.
With a little desperate cry she turned, sprang into the saddle, and, wheeling her pony into the trail, set him at a thundering gallop toward the Kady.
CHAPTER XX
PAID IN LEAD
WHILE still a mile from the Kady buildings Bob dismounted and led his horse. When at last he rounded the corrals, it was to see a dim light in the bunkhouse and another shining through the windows of the ranch house parlor.
Tying the reins loosely to a rail, Bob stood searching the shadows about the house for a full five minutes, the
n hitched his gun belt and strode quickly across the moonlit space. Silently mounting the steps he traversed the gallery and slipped through the open doorway into the room. Immediately he stepped one pace to the left, putting the wall at his back.
Haslam was seated at a table, a lighted lamp at his elbow. Before him were spread books and papers which he appeared to be studying. Bob considered him steadily: the smooth black hair, thinning at the top; the heavy jowls; the sensuous lips, curled as ever around a cigar; the short thick hands, well-kept and soft. Bob thought of a plump, lazy grub; a blood-sucking, flesh-consuming grub.
Perhaps it was the intensity of his stare which caught Haslam’s attention. He looked up suddenly and Bob saw his face contort in a tiny spasm, his eyes widen, then go narrow. The hand which gripped a pen tensed, relaxed.
“You invited me over to see you,” said Bob softly. “I’m here.”
“What do you want? Nothing important, is it? I’m right busy now.”
“You’ll be busier in a minute. Duke, I’ve done my best to pin the deadwood on you in such a way that the law would handle you as you deserve. I couldn’t do it. I know you’re a liar, a thief, a murderer at heart. I have the proof, but not the kind that a court will consider. So I’m here to try you myself, and I’m actin’ as judge, jury, prosecutin’ attorney, and executioner all in one.”
“You must be crazy,” Haslam told him coldly enough; but there was a hint of panic in his eyes.
“You know I’m speakin’ the truth. You caused Rutherford to be murdered in the hope of beatin’ the Cleanup Party. One of Shab Cannon’s men did it, and Shab worked for Kurt Dodd. Kurt, Duke, was yore brother.”
Haslam’s eyes went wide again, this time in surprise. Bob went on:
“I found that photograph in yore desk. It told me a lot. It told me that the two of you were workin’ together to rob the community, you through yore political influence, Kurt through his gang of thieves and killers. Deuce killed Shab, Ace killed Bradshaw, and I killed Dodd. The only one left to connect you with the outfit is Dick. Bradshaw told Dick you double-crossed him, and urged him to talk; but in spite of that Dick kept quiet. So you escaped the law again. This time, Duke, you’re not goin’ to escape.”
Texas Men Page 18
