Moaning in pain from his burned hands and face, Evenas struggled to get up. Tredway kicked him again, then helped him erect. “Get on your horse!” he said violently. “Hurry it up!”
“I can’t!” Evenas cried. “I’m burned! Get me a doctor!”
Tredway shoved him. “Get up in that saddle or I’ll kill you!” he said. “I want those papers and I want them now! Understand me?” His lips thinned down. “You don’t get a doctor until I get those papers! Now get started!”
Blindly Evenas crawled into the saddle. Pain seared his face and his hands were raw. All thought of money was gone. All he wanted was to escape the pain, the awful pain.
CHAPTER 9
BLACKMAILER’S CACHE
HOPALONG CASSIDY RODE through the woods toward their old camp on the Picket Fork. For some distance he had been aware of the utter silence around him, and yet it was not until he came within sight of the corral that he understood why. The cattle were gone!
Riding forward at a lope, he swung down and studied the ground. Near the gate and close to the corral fence he found a boot print. Mounting up, he swung into the trail of the cattle and soon realized that the herd had been driven off by at least four riders. They were headed straight across country toward the Box T.
Tredway had wasted no time in claiming the cattle. Had he by some chance discovered the larger herd hidden in the chaparral? From the size of this herd, Cassidy doubted it. There was no time now to look and see. He would follow this herd until he was sure it was proceeding toward the Box T, and then he would ride to Kachina. It was time for a showdown.
Topper was in fine fettle. The white gelding had always been a horse that loved to travel, and all he needed to recoup his strength was a few hours of rest, water, and a little feed. He was tugging impatiently at the bit, wanting to go.
Hopalong removed his bone-handled guns from their black holsters and wiped them carefully, checking the loads as he always did. Then, returning the guns to their holsters, he pushed on, squinting his eyes toward the far-off smoke of Kachina and then back toward the parched range. There was no dust column and everything indicated the cattle had been moved on the previous day. Yet there was little chance they would be taken beyond the Box T itself. There had been something more than three hundred head in that corral by final count, while in the inner corral there were many more.
Turning off the Box T trail, Hopalong started toward Kachina. He was under no illusions about what faced him. Tredway had not gotten where he was, outlaw or not, without being a man of ability. He would not be defeated by any simple means, or without a fight.
He was turning from the trees near the trail and no more than a mile from town when a sorrel horse raced across the road and headed him off. It was Cindy Blair. “Don’t go into town, Hoppy! They are going to arrest you!”
“What do you mean?” Hopalong demanded, catching her bridle. “For the stagecoach robbery?”
“And murder! They already have Rig and Pike! They arrested Pike for possession of stolen money, and they arrested Rig for the killing of Evenas!”
For an instant the name Evenas meant nothing to him, and then he recalled the sign on the hotel desk. “The hotel clerk?”
“Nobody knows what happened. They found him on the trail this morning, his face, hands, and coat burned, and he had been shot three times in the back.”
“Evenas?” Hopalong scowled. “Where did he fit in?”
“I don’t know. Rig was scouting around town. He’d heard they were moving our cattle, and he was seen near where the body was found.”
“Did he see anybody?”
“I haven’t talked with him. He’s in jail and I just found out about it. Pike got word to me through Sarah, and I was to stop you before you were arrested, too. It looks,” she added bitterly, “like Tredway is trying to get rid of all of us!”
Briefly she recounted all that had taken place, including the finding of the money and the trouble at the store. “We told Tom Burnside,” she concluded, “or, rather, I did.”
“You couldn’t have done a better thing.” Hopalong considered the situation. Tredway had the cattle and there was no way they could protest without being picked up by the law, and if they were picked up, Tredway was sure to see there was evidence enough to get convictions. He was cunning, and he knew this country. Above all, many of the people in Kachina were dependent on him for their livelihood.
Whatever was to be done would have to be done fast. Burnside might discover something, but they could not afford to wait on that.
“Go back into town,” he said, “and file a claim against those cattle that Tredway drove off. Get Buck Lewis to block any sale of them until this matter is settled.”
“I can do that, I think,” she agreed, “but what then? Rig and Pike are in jail.”
“I’ve a hunch,” he said, “but I’d better get busy on it.” He had suddenly recalled the details of his conversation with Evenas. The comment that he had made—that he had wealth at hand. And he had just been talking of Tredway. It might mean nothing at all, but it was curious the way the man had turned and dropped to his knees on the floor as Hopalong left. Suppose there was something concealed there that in some way affected Tredway?
Suppose—and he realized he had nothing on which to rely as evidence—that Evenas had discovered something about Tredway and had attempted blackmail? Had Tredway managed to get the hiding place from Evenas? If there was any evidence and if there was a hiding place.
Circling the town, Hopalong dismounted and picketed Topper well back in a nest of trees. There were other horses close by and the grass was good, so there was no chance that he would be hungry or restless. Watching from the edge of town, Hopalong took a chance and moved into an abandoned building. From within it he studied the street.
Buck Lewis came out of the Elk Horn and walked up to the Mansion House, then on to his office. He had paused briefly before the Mansion House, talking with someone on the porch. A moment later Hopalong saw Tredway come down the steps and walk toward the Elk Horn.
Then Cindy Blair appeared, riding her sorrel. She rode up to the marshal’s office and entered. After a bit they came out together and met Tredway almost in front of Hopalong’s hideaway. Listening, he could hear every word of their conversation.
“Colonel,” Lewis began, “Miss Blair has asked me to stop you from makin’ any sale of those cows you got from the Picket Fork until this case is settled.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Tredway replied tartly. “They are my cattle. Anyway, you have no such authority.”
“Reckon I do,” Lewis drawled composedly. “I can impound ’em as evidence. You’re not to sell the herd or any cow in it.”
“What?” Tredway was furious. He needed money badly. “Don’t be a preposterous fool! Of course I’ll sell them!”
“Sorry, Colonel.” Lewis’s voice grew stern. “But you won’t. If you do, I’ll have to arrest you.”
Tredway glared at Cindy, then he looked back at Lewis. “Just who are you supporting here? This passel of crooks or the townspeople?”
“I’m supportin’ the law,” Lewis replied easily, “like I was appointed to do. I aim to keep on supportin’ it. You know, Tredway, there ain’t but durned little evidence against these here folks. Mighty little. I’m holdin’ ’em, but I’m huntin’ more clues. It may be they ain’t the right parties.”
“There’s no evidence that’s worth paying attention to!” Cindy said. “I believe you stole my ranch, Colonel Tredway, and I think you were involved in the holdup of the stage.”
“You accusing me?” He stared at her, his eyes malignant.
“Yes,” she replied, “and when the case comes to court, we’re going to have some evidence of our own to present. One of the best sources of evidence—an eyewitness to the thieves meeting someone just after the robbery. I think he will identify both you and Bill Saxx!”
Tredway’s face flushed, then turned pale. Buck Lewis was staring at him, then lookin
g at Cindy. “That’s a serious charge, miss,” he warned. “Can you prove it?”
“The witness,” she said coolly, “was one of the Brothers from Babylon Mesa.”
Tredway stiffened and he turned white as death. He stared at Cindy, only his eyes alive in the dead white of his face. “Woman, you are making wild accusations, and I’ve had about enough of it. Marshal Lewis would be very foolish to base any charges against me on the testimony of any one of that group of madmen.”
Buck Lewis interrupted. “The order stands, Colonel. You sell none of those cattle until this thing is settled.”
“But Cameron, Cassidy, whoever he is, failed to get the five hundred head before quitting. The cattle are mine according to the terms of the contract.”
“We have the cattle,” Cindy said calmly. “You owe Hopalong that money. He hid several hundred head in another corral—and you will live up to your contract!”
“To a lot of thieves?” Tredway demanded furiously.
“They might have got you there, Colonel,” Lewis replied amiably. “The question of whether they are thieves ain’t settled, but that don’t make any difference, anyway. If they’ve got the cattle, they can collect—even if they are proved to be thieves.”
Tredway relaxed slowly. If they did have more cattle and they could produce them, they could demand payment—and he did not have the money. But if they didn’t have the cattle—
Suddenly he felt better. He smiled confidently. “Well, perhaps I overreacted. I’ll admit I don’t like the way these men have conducted themselves. If they have the cattle, naturally they will be paid. Sorry, Marshal, and you, too, Miss Blair, for my outburst.”
They watched him walk away, and Lewis shook his head. “Now, what d’you think of that?” he demanded. “One minute he’s mad enough to bite a cougar an’ the next thing he’s smooth as oil.”
After they had departed, Hopalong sat very still in the abandoned building and considered what he had overheard. The answer was no puzzle to him, for the logical way to avoid payment was to send his riders out to move the cattle to some hideout that would not be known to Cassidy or his friends. Then, even if freed, they would fail to deliver and lose all claim to any money from Tredway.
By the way in which Tredway left, he was about to get things rolling to do just that, and Hopalong dared not leave. He could hear someone working behind the adjoining building, so escape that way was impossible. And the front opened on the street, where there were at least a dozen people within a hundred yards.
There was only one solution. He would wait and carry on as he had started. He would gain access to the hotel, and once inside, he would have a look for the hidden evidence. If he found it, then he would move against Tredway’s men. There was nothing to do but sit and await darkness.
The hours dragged by, but finally dusk began to gather in the street. Anxiously he tried to calculate the time required to ride to the hidden corral in the pear forest. There was every chance they did not know where it was despite Tredway’s previous knowledge of the vicinity, and they would lose time searching. Yet there were enough tracks if they could find them—but they could not see them at night! That was his best chance.
He dozed, and finally slept. He awakened with a start to find it completely dark. There were no lights in the hotel, none down the street except in one distant cabin and the lantern kept burning over the livery-stable door. Stiff from sleeping in his awkward position, Hopalong got to his feet and eased the bone-handled guns to an easier position on his hips. He moved to the door. A hinge creaked slightly, and then he was in the deep shadow of the doorway.
The street was empty. Down in front of the Elk Horn was a black spot that might be a sleeping dog. There was nothing else. For several minutes Hopalong studied the building fronts, their deepest shadows, their windows and doors. He detected no movement. It would do nothing but harm to be seen now and arrested. In jail he would be helpless. Thankful for his dark clothing, he moved from the shadows and crossed the street.
He did not run, knowing how a moving and especially a swiftly moving object draws the eye. When he was under the awning in front of the hotel, he paused again. The lobby was dark and empty. A light burned over the desk on which there was a bell to ring for the night clerk. He eased open the door and stepped in.
Swiftly Hopalong moved behind the desk and squatted on his haunches, studying the floor. The space was no more than six by six and framed by the counter behind him, the desk, safe, and pigeonholes for keys. On the floor there was nothing loose but the wastebasket. With a struck match he studied that floor with care, and found nothing.
The boards were even and smooth and dust filled all the cracks. Had he found one with less dust, he would have suspected it, but there was nothing here that offered a clue. He felt beneath the desk, under the safe, hoping the papers or whatever they were might be pasted to the bottom of one or the other, but he found nothing. He was about to give up when he saw something else. It was a break in the strip of molding that covered the crack where the floor and wall joined.
Kneeling, Hopalong inserted the point of his knife, and the piece lifted out easily. Below and behind it the crack had been widened with a sharp knife, and hanging to a nail was a string. Lifting it, Hopalong found at the end several long manila envelopes. Hastily he stuffed them inside his shirt and behind his belt. Then he straightened to his feet and stepped from behind the counter. As he did so he came face-to-face with Bill Saxx.
The big blond man stared from Hopalong to the counter, his eyes suspicious. “What’re you doin’ back there?”
“Checking the register,” Hopalong replied quietly.
“Yeah?” Saxx had his hands on his hips, and he stared hard at Hopalong. “Wonder what the marshal will think of that? He’s huntin’ you for that holdup.”
Cassidy never moved his eyes from Saxx. He was in for trouble and he could see no way to avoid it, although right now trouble was the very last thing he wanted.
“Whatever you got back there,” Saxx said coolly, “I want it. Hand it over.”
Hopalong smiled easily. “Now, that’s foolish talk,” he said, “for if I got anything, it is something I want and intend to keep.”
Saxx swung from the hip, balling his fist as his hand shot out. The punch was hard and fast, thrown with all of his great strength. It was wrong only in one thing. It was a swing, and the straightest line is just that, a straight line, not a curved one. Hoppy’s left leaped out in a stiff jab that caught Bill Saxx on the mouth and set him back on his heels. Instantly Hopalong stepped in and smashed a heavy right to the ribs and, rolling, hooked a hard left to the midsection. Hurt, Saxx staggered and hit the steps leading to the second floor. He came up with a lunge, swinging hard. Hopalong threw a right, missed, and the two men fell into a clinch. His left hand on Saxx’s biceps, Hopalong caught the back of Saxx’s right elbow and thrust his leg quickly behind the legs of the larger man and threw him to the floor. He hit with a thud that shook the building.
Furious, he lunged to his feet and hurled himself at Hopalong, who met him coming in with a smashing left. Saxx was a powerful man and he had been hurt, and suddenly all his innate viciousness came to the fore. Toe to toe they stood in the dim light of the lobby and slugged it out. Hopalong was lighter but faster, and he hit with the jarring force of a trip-hammer. Saxx took the punches coming in and smashed back, his heavy fists rocking Hopalong’s head and jarring him clear to his heels. Slipping a wicked right, Hopalong smashed a left to the teeth, then whipped a right to the midsection and then slammed both hands to the head. Saxx ducked lower and bored in, but Hopalong uppercut hard and straightened him. Trying with a left for the face, Hopalong missed and fell into a right to the chin.
Lights seemed to explode, and the room spun. He felt himself falling, felt the smashing of blows to the head and body, and then he went down hard and rolled over. Hurt though he was, he knew he had to get to his feet, that on the floor he would be helpless before the boots of the
big ranch foreman. Rolling over, Hopalong lunged to get up and moved just in time to miss the full force of Saxx’s first kick. He went down again, however, and Saxx came after him. Helpless to rise fast enough, Hopalong rolled up to his shoulders, bracing his hips with both hands, and kicked out with both spurred heels. The first one raked Saxx across the face and the second ripped his shirt and drew blood on his arm. Saxx sprang back, cursing with pain, and Hopalong rolled over and came to his feet. Saxx charged, and Hopalong Cassidy met him with a left fist that loosened four front teeth. The foreman stopped in his tracks, and Hopalong whipped over a right that laid open the bigger man’s face for three inches.
Shouts and inquiring yells rang out from all over the hotel and footsteps pounded on the hall floor upstairs. Hopalong was desperate. To be found here now meant arrest. He saw Bill Saxx boring in, his eyes ugly with pain and fury, and then Saxx swung hard with his left. Catching the blow on his forearm, Hopalong chopped wickedly at the Box T foreman’s jaw. It was a short, vicious punch, and it hurt. Stopped in his tracks, half off balance, Saxx shook his head and started to lift his hands when Hopalong hit him, one-two on the chin. He went back, and Hopalong followed up with a looping, lifting bolo punch to the wind. With a grunt, Saxx folded and Hopalong uppercut hard with both hands. Footsteps sounded on the steps. Hopalong glanced once at the fallen man, then went through the door with a jump.
Disregarding the steps, he hit the street running, went between the buildings across the street, and gasping for breath, his lungs stabbing with pain, he raced for his horse. Behind him came yells and much loud talk. Slowly he eased his pace. His heart was pounding, his chest heaving. Somehow he had managed to grab up his hat, although he had no memory of it, and both guns were still in place. Glancing back, he saw no pursuit, and walked on, stones rolling under his boots occasionally. Sweat trickled into his eyes and they smarted with the salt.
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