“For God’s sake pull yourself together! As you hope for salvation, sign this!”
Frothingham was rolling his head and moaning, evidently making a great effort to obey. His face contorted, his fingers closed on the pencil, he half raised himself from Barry’s supporting arm. Calling quickly in Spanish to the staring Mexican, Barry ordered him to hold Frothingham erect. Placing the paper against the banker’s leg, he seized his right hand and attempted to steady it while Frothingham wrote; but the man had exhausted every atom of strength he possessed. Abruptly he collapsed, the hand slipping from Barry’s grasp, the whole frame of him going lax. His head lolled to one side and hung there.
The Mexican swore and released his hold. “It is of no use,” he said in Spanish. “The man is dead.”
Barry got slowly to his feet. Surely the devil was on Moley’s side. With that confession he could have put the lawyer behind the bars and saved the Basin to its original owners; but Frothingham had sighed out his last breath in the very act of signing the accusing statement.
People were milling about the door now, and a pompous little man in the uniform of a policeman was asking questions in rapid-fire Spanish. The man who had ventured upstairs after Barry, and whom Barry gathered was the proprietor of the hotel, answered as rapidly. Weston, meanwhile, hunted for the black satchel. It was not in the room.
His gaze found the open window, and he crossed to it. Within six feet of the opening was the flat roof of an adobe one-story building. To this Tug had leaped and thus reached the street.
Barry pushed through the crowd at the doorway and ran down the stairs. He met Nip and Tuck at the bottom.
“The horses—you have them?”
“Outside. Clay’s holdin’ them. What happened?”
Barry explained tersely while they raced for the street. As they reached it a horseman rounded the corner of the hotel and went racing along the road to the north. It was dark, but Barry recognized the big figure of Tug Groody.
They flung themselves on their horses and flashed in pursuit. Once clear of the town they spread out, determined to prevent the man doubling on his trail; but after a while Barry called them together again. This murder had been committed in Mexico; Tug’s only hope of safety lay in crossing the Border. Occasionally the purusers halted their horses to listen, and always was flung back to them the steady beat of hoofs that told of Tug’s flight.
“If we can stick with him until daylight we have him!” shouted Barry.
The stars began to fade. One by one they disappeared as the faintest of gray lights appeared in the east. The light became tinged with rose, and finally the sun ushered in a new day. Once more Barry halted his men. From far ahead of them and to their left came the faint sound of hoofbeats.
“He’s off the trail,” said Clay, and pointed to the road which, at this point, turned to the right. It was the first short-cut Tug had attempted.
Their horses were nearing exhaustion, but they urged them in pursuit once more. Tug could not keep up that pace much longer. The earth beneath them began to change character; patches of sand appeared, and presently the horses were struggling through great areas of it. The vegetation had dwindled to greasewood and mesquite.
At last they topped a long rise to look down a slope which ended at the edge of a wide, shallow river. And at the foot of the incline rode Tug Groody, his quirt rising and falling, his face turning at intervals to watch the pursuers who had clung to him so tenaciously through the night.
They thundered down the grade, gaining on Tug at every jump. They saw him reach the edge of the river, saw the horse falter and try to swerve. With a strong arm Groody held him to his course, cursing and punishing him with lash and spur. The water flew as the animal struck it; he surged into it with huge leaps—leaps which gradually became weaker. In the middle of the stream he stopped, settled to his withers. Tug was screaming, what it was they did not know.
At the last moment Barry saw the danger and sawed his mount to a squatting stop. “Don’t go in!” he called sharply. “Quicksand!”
From the edge of the treacherous shoal they watched, unable to help. Tug was far beyond reach of the strongest rope thrower. The water had covered the horse’s back, and Tug had turned in the saddle to untie something he carried behind the cantle. A moment later they saw it was a black satchel. With it in his grasp, the outlaw slipped from his horse. The water must have been shallower than he thought, for they plainly saw the look of consternation which crossed his face as his boots sank in the soft, gripping sand. He floundered about helplessly, his despairing cry reaching them. The horse had been squealing in terror ; now, as though resigned to its fate, it was silent, only its head above the placid water. Tug, still gripping the bag, had sunk to his shoulders.
“He’s a goner,” said Clay tightly. “Barry, ain’t there anything we can do for him?”
Barry shook his head, his own face white. There was nothing about them but sand; not a standing bit of timber from which they might break a limb, not a bit of driftwood within range of their vision. Moving to a favorable place, Barry raised his six-gun, took deliberate aim, and fired. The horse gave one convulsive surge, then its head disappeared beneath the surface.
“Shoot me too!” cried Tug. “For Gawd’s sake shoot me! Don’t let me die like this! Here! Take the damned money. All of it. You can have it all!” He flung the satchel from him. It dropped to the water within six feet of him, floated sluggishly, half submerged. Only Tug’s face with its staring, desperate eyes remained above the surface.
Barry, sick at heart, turned his back, and the others did likewise. Clay had closed his eyes and was holding his hands over his ears. Nip and Tuck were pacing back and forth, swearing monotonously.
Tug screamed frantically. “Don’t go away! Don’t leave me, boys! Shoot me; for Gawd’s sake shoot mer Do somethin’! For Gawd’s sake do somethin’!”
“Tie your ropes together,” snapped Barry. “I’m goin’ to where it’s solid footin’ and try floatin’ down to him. If I can get a rope around him maybe we can drag him out.”
“Better not try it,” advised Nip. “He’ll drag you down with him.”
“I won’t go near him. I’ll let the end of the rope drift down to him. Come on; we haven’t much time.”
They got the ropes and ran upstream as they knotted them together. When at last they found a place where the footing was firm, Barry removed his clothes, waded to the middle, and lay on his back. Slowly he floated down stream, Tug’s shrieks ringing in his ears. Abruptly they ceased.
“He’s gone,” came Clay’s voice from the bank. “Tie the rope around you and we’ll pull you in.”
Barry turned on his side. “I’ll make a try for that satchel first.”
“It’s gone too.”
Barry rolled over on his stomach and drifted over the spot where the unfortunate horse and its rider had disappeared. Keeping his eyes open, he scanned the blue bottom. Not a trace of horse, man, or satchel could he perceive; nothing but blue silt waiting to grip him in its implacable clutch. Presently he saw by the nature of the bottom that the footing was safe, so he stood erect and waded ashore.
“We’ll try for the satchel farther down stream,” he told them. “It might have drifted clear of the quicksand.”
“You gain’ to try to recover Maley’s money for him?”
“Not for him,” said Barry bitterly. “After what he has done he sure isn’t entitled to recover it. If we find it we will use it to redeem those notes he holds.”
They started at a point two miles below the quicksand bar, stripping and wading back and forth across the shallow river, gradually working up-stream. It was slow work, and they consumed the whole day at it. Defeated, they finally abandoned the search and rode back to the nearest town to replenish their supplies. Dejectedly they started for home. Nearly four weeks had passed since they had left the Basin.
For fully half a day they rode almost in silence; then Nip swore fervently and delivered himself.<
br />
“What’s the use of bein’ downhearted? Dang it, there’s a sun in the sky somewhere, and I ain’t never met up with a rascal yet that didn’t git his just deserts in the long run. Come on, Tuck; let’s sing.
Four days later they rode wearily up the trail to the Cinchbuckle ranch house to find Barbara awaiting them. Her face was pale, but she held her head high. They dismounted slowly, and Barry told her of their experiences.
“Always too late,” he finished bitterly. “Too late to hear Slater’s story, too late to get Frothingham’s confession, too late to recover the money from Tug. And our hands are tied. Frothingham confessed to me; we know Moley is behind the whole thing, but we can’t even begin to prove it. Barbara, I reckon I’ve failed you; nothin’ but a miracle can save the Cinchbuckle now.”
She came over to him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“Don’t think of the Cinchbuckle, Barry. Oh, I wish that were all we had to worry about! But it isn’t. Barry, it hurts me to tell you, but you must know. While you were gone your mother deeded the Flying W to Horace Moley.”
He started as though stung. “My mother—deeded the Flyin’ W ?”
“Yes. Lola told me about it. Maley presented a note your step-father had executed before he disappeared. It wasn’t binding on your mother, but she declared it would be honored, that she had taken her oath before God to share with her husband poverty or wealth.”
“How much was the note for?” asked Barry dully.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
He turned away and stared for a moment over the rolling rangeland.
“Thanks, Barbara,” he said, and abruptly left them.
CHAPTER XVII
THE BLUFF THAT WORKED
IT was a thoroughly dejected Barry Weston who rode to the Flying W that evening. This was the crowning blow. Had the Flying W remained, he had intended to ask Barbara to share it with them; now it seemed that he and his mother would be as homeless as she.
Lola saw him ride into the yard and came running to meet him. There was a smile of welcome on her lips, but the lovely eyes were clouded.
“Oh, Bar-ree!” she cried, and flung herself into his arms. He held her absently, patting her shoulder.
“How is ma?”
“She ees not well, but brave. Ah, Bar-ree, she ees won’erful! Ees break her ’eart to let go the rancho, for she ees theenk of you all the tam; but she say she can not do anything else. These step-father of yours, he ees a peeg! I’m lak to scratch hees eyes out.”
“Lola, I reckon I could watch you do it and feel right happy about it. But the thing’s done, and we mustn’t let her see how badly we feel.”
“You ’ad no luck weeth the man you ’unt?”
“No.” He told her about it while he off-saddled and cared for his tired horse. They walked to the house together.
“Me, I’m feex you nice dinner. You go to your madre; she weel be glad to see you. Bar-ree, these ’Orace Moley ees mak her all upset.”
He nodded and went into her room. She had heard his voice and was waiting for him. Kneeling, he let her take him in her arms and cry over him for a little while, then disengaged himself and looked at her severely.
“Doctor Barry Q. Weston back on the job again,” he told her. “No more tears, young lady! How’s the appetite? and have you been takin’ your exercise?”
She smiled through her tears. “Lola has been very kind to me, Barry; but, oh, Barry! we’ve lost our home. I had to give up the one thing I had been saving so carefully for you.”
“Shucks, that’s nothin’ to worry about. What’s a few hundred acres of dry land and a hatful of skinny cows? Forget it, lady. You’ve spent most of your life in the Basin as it is; it’s time you had a change. I’m goin’ to take you up into Montana—let you see some new country. Now dry those eyes. Shame on you, carryin’ on like this, and you a pioneer! Get that chin up.”
Although the heart within him was sick, he stayed with her joking and laughing until the sparkle came back to her eyes, the faint color to her cheeks. Lola brought a tray with her supper, and added her smile and word of cheer. Deftly and tenderly she arranged the covers, then seated herself by the bed.
“Your supper ees on the table,” she told Barry. “Go eat eet; I weel stay weeth your madre. We are ver’ good frien’s, madre and me; no?”
Barry’s mother laid a white hand on Lola’s brown one. “She has been very sweet, Barry; she has cared for me as though she were my own daughter.”
“See?” cried Lola. “Barbara, she ees my sister, and ’ere I’m fin’ a madre. All I’m need now ees w’at you call father and I’m got ’ole fam’ly.”
“Where do I come in?” asked Barry.
For an instant she sobered, regarding him from her big eyes with a look that he could not fathom; then she laughed again and answered gaily.
“You are my bro-ther; my nice, beeg bro-ther. I’m ver’ proud of heem.”
Their banter, together with the excellent supper Lola had prepared, helped to dispel to a great extent his dejection. As he ate, he thought. Moley had triumphed; the Basin spreads were his even to the Flying W. Deceit, treachery, fraud—all had been combined to bring about his victory; yet, with all this double-dealing, Moley must have left a loophole. Man is by no means a perfect creature; somewhere there must have been a slip. But where?
Steve, of course, would know things; but Steve was in the game and he would not talk. Tug Groody and Frothingham were gone. So was Sam Hodge. There remained his step-father and possibly Ace Palmateer. The former had disappeared, although Barry did not believe he had gone far. Chet Lewis was too timid and entirely unused to depending upon himself.
Ace and his gunmen? The former might know something, but Barry did not credit the two bouncers with Horace Maley’s confidence. One thing they did know, and that was the truth about Garth’s killing. This angle was brought more strongly to his mind when Nip and Tuck arrived at the ranch.
“Barry,” said Nip, “Clement’s trial comes up tomorrow. Barbara didn’t say anything to you, but she’s worried sick. Seems like Horace Moley made her some kind of a proposition whereby he’d git Clement off if she deeded the ranch over to him. Said somethin’ about witnesses bein’ mistaken. She turned him down cold.”
“Now that Sam Hodge is dead, Ace and his bouncers are the ones who will convict him.” For a short space Barry stood looking at the darkening horizon; then he made a sudden gesture and spoke shortly. “Get Lola to fix you some supper, then saddle up fresh horses. We’re goin’ to Mescal.”
As they were about to enter the house, Lola came to the door. Tuck nodded and tipped his hat; Nip walked swiftly to her and stood looking down into her pert face.
“Lola! Ain’t you glad to see me?”
She permitted a look of puzzlement to cross her face. “Who he ees? He spik to me lak he know me. Ah! I ’ave eet! Ees the beeg vaquero who work for Bar-ree Wes-ton. Lemme see; ees eet Neep or Tuck?”
“Aw, Lola, quit your funnin’. You know who I am. Gosh; I’d hoped you would miss me like I missed you.” He appeared so crest-fallen that Lola relented. Her eyes softened and she placed a hand on his arm.
“Of a certainty I know. You are Neep, my ver’ good frien’. And I’m mees you ’ole, ’ole lot. Now you come een, and we feex the supper, no?”
An hour later Barry and the two cowboys were riding slowly towards Mescal. As they rode he outlined his plan. It was a desperate one, but they adopted it without protest.
“Ace and his gunmen, Cliff Bender and Doug Pell, are the ones who know about that holstered gun. As sure as they testify Clem will be convicted. I aim to prevent their testifyin’. Nobody in town knows we have returned, and I told Lola to ride to the Cinchbuckle and warn Clay to keep out of sight. What we must manage to do is to get the three of them and take them to that line cabin on the Cinchbuckle south range and keep them there. If we’re lucky we can force an adjournment or a postponement of the trial.”
Tuck swore.
“And if we apply a couple of hot irons in the right place, mebbe we can force the truth from one of them.”
“I’ve half a mind to try. The whole deal has been a crooked one from the start, and one way of fightin’ fire is with fire.”
They talked it over, holding their horses to a walk. When they finally picked up the lights of the town they halted and dismounted. They were in no hurry to reach Mescal. It was close to one in the morning when they resumed their way. Circling the town, they approached it from the west, halting again in the darkness behind the hotel stable. Barry advanced on foot and investigated, finding the stable deserted save for the horses which were kept there. Among these were two belonging to Bender and Pell. Working silently, he found saddles and bridles, and, after adjusting them, led the two animals to where their own mounts were waiting. Returning to the barn, he selected a horse and outfit for Ace Palmateer.
“We better get to work,” he told his companions as he rejoined them. “The lights are out except for a couple in the rear. Tie those horses good.”
As silently as three shadows they stole past the barn and along the side of the hotel. At the front corner was the room of the two gunmen. Is was the only bedroom on the first floor, and was used by them in order that they might be near the safe where Ace locked the day’s receipts.
The routine followed by Palmateer each night was well enough known to them. At closing time the bouncers shook the sleepers into life and sent them staggering on their way. The doors were locked and they remained with Ace while he checked with his gamblers and counted the contents of the till. The three then walked to the hotel where Ace put the money in the safe and ascended the stairs to his room on the second floor.
At a window of the gunmen’s room they halted.
“Open,” said Barry, and lifted himself to the sill. Nip and Tuck followed, and, according to their plan, remained in the dark room. Barry peered through the front doorway. The clerk had gone to bed, leaving a lamp burning on the counter. Swiftly and noiselessly Barry slipped into the lobby and ascended the stairs. Ace’s door was locked, so he lowered the wick of the corridor lamp until it gave only the feeblest of glows, then stationed himself at the end of the hall nearest the stairs.
Wolves of the Chaparral Page 16
