Penelope could see Lonergan’s purpose. He was a gambler and playing at his game. He told everything that would occupy time, knowing that at any minute some of the men would be returning from Red Oak. He was betting that the masked man could never use that information.
She saw the tall stranger apparently considering the offer to join the gang. Why, in the name of Heaven, couldn’t this masked man realize what Lonergan was doing? Why didn’t he come here with some concrete plan instead of bungling in to find himself so helpless, even though he held a gun on the others?
“You have a pretty well-greased machine for stealing cattle,” the Lone Ranger said in admiration, “and as you say, it would be almost impossible for me to do much in fighting against you.”
“That’s right,” agreed Lonergan. “Now put up that gun and take off the mask, an’ we’ll talk.”
“But first tell me who I’m taking orders from.”
“Sawtell.”
The masked man shook his head.
“There’s someone giving him orders; who is that?”
A crafty look came into Lonergan’s cadaverous face.
“You mentioned his name a while ago.” He glanced at Penny, and said, “Yuma.”
Hoofs clattered close outside the house. Penny felt that now there surely would be a climax of events, and she was right. The masked man’s manner changed abruptly. He listened for a moment as the hoofbeats stopped. A trace of a smile showed on his lips. His uncertainty gave way to grim and vigorous speech.
“You’ve wondered and asked,” he snapped, “what I was going to do here. Now you’ll find out.”
Something about the transformation in the masked man made Penny want to shout. She felt that her trust in him had not been misplaced after all. The Lone Ranger shoved the table back, then kicked a hooked rug away from its place on the plank floor.
“This house has stood here a good many years,” he said. “Before Bryant came here, it was used as a hiding place for army supplies when the Indians were bad. I’ve been told by a lot of old timers that there’s a vault beneath this floor.”
Penny knew about the vault. The trap door in the floor that led to it had been hidden by the carpet, but now it was exposed.
“That vault,” continued the masked man, “was also used to hold prisoners when it wasn’t convenient to move them. Well, it’s going to be used to hold prisoners again.”
Watching the men, still holding his gun on them, he threw back the trap door with a bang.
Lonergan’s poker face was changed. Baffled fury showed in his black, snapping eyes. Lombard swore and Sawtell squinted grimly while his lips compressed to a thin line.
“Get down there,” commanded the masked man. “All of you.”
Lonergan went first, very slowly, dragging his steps until the masked man prodded him hard with his gun, after disarming him.
“You two can take those men you’ve tied up,” the Lone Ranger told Sawtell and Lombard, as he drew their guns from the holsters and tossed them aside.
Despite their pleas, Vince and Jeb were hauled down the steep and rotting ladder to the damp windowless vault, walled in by stone, beneath the floor.
“At least untie us,” cried Vince.
“Your pals can do that.”
“It’s unholy,” cried Jeb. “Yuh can’t put me with them killers. This ain’t the will o’ the Lord fer me tuh suffer sech company.”
“At least,” yelled Lombard from the depths, “give us a light down here.”
The Lone Ranger dropped the door in place and bolted it.
“It’ll be hard for them to open it from down below,” he told Penelope, “but just to make sure they stay there for the time being, we’ll brace it.”
He moved the heavy table over the trap door, and on this piled a chair. Five-foot lengths of firewood were stacked near the fireplace, and one of these reached from the chair to the rafter of the room.
“If they want to push their way out of that,” commented the masked man, “they’ll have to push the roof off this house.”
“But Yuma, I know he isn’t—”
The Lone Ranger gripped the trembling hand of the girl firmly.
“Please don’t jump to conclusions,” he admonished her. “We’re not going to take a thing for granted.”
“But everything else they said was true. That must be what they’ve been doing to steal the cattle. The stock here haven’t increased in numbers a great deal. Lonergan told the truth about everything else.”
“We’ll see.”
“And that horse that came up. Someone has returned from Red Oak.”
The masked man shook his head. “No one has come from Red Oak yet. That horse you heard was Silver. I sent him after my friend.”
“Me come.”
Penny turned sharply and saw Tonto standing in the doorway.
The Indian looked troubled. “You come quick,” he told the Lone Ranger. “There plenty trouble. Tonto tell you.”
The man in the mask nodded quickly. “Remember that bullet,” he told Penny. “Don’t worry and take good care of those kids upstairs. You have plenty of loaded weapons here. If those men below make trouble, shoot a warning through the floor.”
The Lone Ranger left the room and went outside with Tonto.
CHAPTER XIX
Announcement Extraordinary
Tonto was visibly agitated by something that had happened while he lay hidden in the darkness near the clearing. The Lone Ranger glanced over his shoulder at Penelope, on guard in the house, then closed the door.
“Plenty happen,” said Tonto.
The Lone Ranger interrupted, “Just a minute.” He looked toward the bunkhouse, still brilliantly lighted, and then at his prisoner. Yuma was regaining consciousness, and squirming about uneasily in his uncomfortable position.
“Could you hear what was said inside, Tonto?”
The Indian nodded, and once more started to speak.
“Before you tell me what happened in the clearing, let me tell you about a murder down here.”
The Lone Ranger hurriedly sketched the recent grim events, making no effort to soften his voice so that his prisoner couldn’t hear. He didn’t mention the document taken from Penny, but he did tell about locking the killers in the cellar.
“Now,” he finished, “tell me, did that man who passed me find Rangoon?”
Tonto said, “That right. Him come to clearing. Rangoon call. Him stop.”
The Lone Ranger noticed that Yuma had stopped squirming. He seemed to be listening intently to what the Indian said. Tonto explained how the unknown rider had dismounted and had talked for a few moments in an undertone to Rangoon. Their voices were too soft for the Indian to get the gist of the conversation, and he dared not move closer for fear of detection. The unknown rider had then untethered Rangoon’s horse. A moment later a shot was fired and hoofbeats signified the fast departure of both horses, one ridden by the killer, the other led.
It had been too dark for Tonto to distinguish anything. He didn’t even know which man had been shot until he struck matches and identified Rangoon.
When Tonto finished his narration, Yuma broke in impatiently.
“Look here, stranger, how long d’yuh figger on leavin’ me like this? My belly’s fit tuh meet my spine.”
The masked man, with Tonto’s help, untied the big prisoner, and slid him from his horse.
“You all right?” he asked.
“My head’s achin’ fit tuh split. What in hell did yuh hit me with?”
“You tripped, and your head rapped the floor.”
“Oh!”
Yuma made no resistance as he was retied, his hands behind his back. He obediently climbed into his saddle when ordered to do so.
“Who,” he asked, “are you?”
“If I wanted you to know, I’d take this mask off.”
“Would I know yuh then?”
“I doubt it—I don’t remember ever having seen you before tonight. Now listen
to me, I’m letting you sit in the saddle so that you’ll be more comfortable. I’m not going to gag you unless you start yelling. There are a few things I want to talk to you about, and you’ll save yourself a lot of trouble if you’ll answer my questions.” While he spoke, the Lone Ranger connected Yuma’s feet with a rope tied to each ankle and drawn beneath the belly of his horse.
“If you try to run away, I’ll lasso you and you’ll find yourself in a bad way, because you can’t get out of the saddle.”
“I ain’t no damn fool,” retorted Yuma in a sulky voice.
“Get going,” said his captor.
Yuma heeled his horse obediently and started ahead. The Lone Ranger rode about ten feet behind, next to Tonto, whispering softly. Tonto frowned heavily at everything that was said, and tried several times to persuade the white man to relax for at least an hour and rest. The day and night thus far had been punishing for any man, and especially so for one who had still a great deal of his strength and endurance to regain.
“I’m going to ride into Red Oak,” the Lone Ranger told Tonto, “and that’s a good two hours in the saddle. I can doze on the way. Silver knows the trail back there.”
Tonto countered with a comment, but the masked man explained that he was quite used to spending days and nights on end in the saddle, sleeping there quite easily. “And, anyway,” he finished, “I think we’re right on the verge of discovering who the leader of those outlaws is. Lonergan said it was the same man that Gimlet mentioned, but I don’t think so.”
“Tonto at door, then. Hear-um name, ‘Yuma.’”
“That’s what Lonergan said. I think he lied.”
“Who you think leader?”
“I’m not sure yet, Tonto. I’ve been doing a little thinking while we’ve been riding.” The masked man slowed Silver, and Tonto followed suit. Yuma continued on at the same gait. When the distance had widened so that it was unlikely that conversation would be heard by the captured man, the Lone Ranger outlined what he wanted Tonto to do.
“Turn back,” he whispered in a voice that was husky with fatigue. “I’ll take care of the prisoner. I’ll leave him in the cave, and then ride on to Red Oak.”
He spoke rapidly, and Tonto’s head bobbed comprehension and approval of the plans. “—the man who rode uphill—” was one of the points the masked man emphasized, “—slimy ground on the mountain, different from that of the gravel-bottomed Gap—” As he talked, the Lone Ranger kept an eye on the big cowpuncher he had captured.
The level Basin ended in steep walls divided by Bryant’s Gap. It was here that Tonto halted, lifted his right hand high in a parting gesture, and wheeled Scout about. The Lone Ranger watched his friend sweeping across the Basin on a back trail toward the ranch house. Then he turned, and in the light of an ascending moon, three-quarters grown, he saw that Yuma too had halted and was waiting in the Gap.
It took but a moment for the Lone Ranger to join the prisoner, and then the two rode side by side. After a period of silence, Yuma spoke.
“Can’t git it tuh save me,” he growled.
“What’s that?”
Yuma looked across the space between the horses. “What in hell’s yore part in things around here?”
“Why?”
“First yuh ride here like one of the killers. I figger you’ve murdered Gimlet, yuh knock hell outen me. Then, yuh lock them skunks in the cellar!”
The Lone Ranger liked the outspoken manner of the man.
“I reckon, from what I heard, you ain’t the gent that finished Gimlet.”
“No.”
“Yer huntin’ the leader o’ them outlaws. Ain’t that so?”
The masked man said, “Stop here for a minute.”
Yuma reined up.
“Take a look over there,” the Lone Ranger said.
Yuma saw six mounds of stone and earth at the base of a sheer cliff. A crude cross surmounted each of those piles. He nodded grimly.
“I know about ’em. Texas Rangers, ain’t they? I heard about the shootin’, then a couple of the boys said someone had buried ’em.”
“Someone buried them,” repeated the Lone Ranger.
“A redskin, or someone wearin’ moccasins.”
“An Indian,” the masked man agreed softly.
After a thoughtful pause, Yuma said, “That pard of yores?”
“That’s right.”
“Um-h’m.” Yuma pondered further while the Lone Ranger waited. “Yuh figger I got somethin’ more tuh say?”
“Have you?”
“Reckon so I have. As I size it up, yore out tuh do fer the ones that ambushed those men.”
“That,” said the other, “is the whole thing in a nutshell. Whatever else may happen, the most important thing to me is to avenge the men who fill those graves.”
“You wasn’t especial interested in shootin’ up some of the skunks that done it,” reflected Yuma with regret in his voice.
“They can be picked up later.”
“Not if the rest of the pack get back. They’ll let ’em out an’ then all hell is goin’ tuh break loose till you an’ that Injun are fillin’ a couple more graves.”
“I’m interested in the leader of this outfit.”
“What about that purty girl?”
“What about her?”
“Holy smoke!” exploded Yuma, “Can’t yuh see the spot the poor girl’s in? Or maybe yuh don’t savvy. She’s got four cousins, an’ not one of ’em has the guts tuh protect her. Every skunk in the Basin would like to make a play fer Miss Penny, an’ it ain’t nothin’ exceptin’ Bryant Cavendish that keeps ’em from it. Yuh figger Bryant’s the leader, don’t yuh? Wal, maybe so he is. But I’d a damn sight sooner he kept on orderin’ them crooks around in cattle-stealin’ an’ sellin’ than tuh see him jailed an’ Penelope left without him.”
“I was told that the leader was a man called ‘Yuma.’”
“I heard that. I heard what you told the redskin.”
“Gimlet mentioned the same name just before he died.”
“But that’s a blasted—” Yuma broke off, leaving his speech suspended.
“We’ll push ahead now,” the Lone Ranger said.
When they were on their way again, the masked man noticed that his prisoner was deep in thought. There were furrows across his forehead; his eyes were half-shut in heavy concentration.
“You haven’t told me who you are yet,” the Lone Ranger said finally.
“Tain’t none of yer business,” was the reply. Yuma went on as if simply voicing the thoughts that had been broken by the speech. “Don’t make sense at all,” he muttered. “Bryant wouldn’t let Penny git hurt.” The volume of his speech increased a bit. “Dammit all tuh hell an’ gone, I never seen a man like you. I bet by gosh, yuh would drill Bryant if yuh thought he bossed the murderin’ o’ them Rangers.”
“Don’t you think that would be justified?”
“Yuh wouldn’t jest take him tuh the law. You’d deal with him personal, eh?”
“That would all depend. Unless I could find witnesses it would be pretty hard to prove a case against him. I understand that he fired at this fellow called Yuma.”
The clump of horses’ hoofs was the only sound for several moments. The Lone Ranger saw the stream of water shimmering in silver light ahead. Just beyond, he knew, was the cave.
“Suppose,” muttered Yuma, “Bryant wasn’t the leader of the pack?”
“Who else could be? Certainly Cavendish wouldn’t let those outsiders run his ranch for him, and I don’t think any of the nephews could pull such thick wool over his eyes.”
“Jest suppose that what Lonergan told yuh was the truth.”
“What was that?”
“That Yuma was the boss an’ that he had a hold on Bryant an’ Bryant had tuh do what he wanted? Suppose that was the case, what’d you do?”
“Naturally, I’d hunt for Yuma.”
“Bryant went tuh town. Now he couldn’t have got back in time tuh have kille
d old Gimlet, then rid away up that mountain trail yuh mentioned, an’ drilled Rangoon like yer Injun pardner told of. Now could he?”
“If he went to Red Oak, he couldn’t have been there and back in time, but we don’t know that he did go to Red Oak.”
“But this gent called Yuma—didn’t Miss Penny tell yuh he was still around after Bryant left?”
“Yes.”
“So ain’t it logical tuh think he might o’ kilt Gimlet, jest like Gimlet said, then rid up the mountain, an’ killed Rangoon?”
The Lone Ranger could scarcely suppress a smile at the thorough reasoning of his companion. He urged the blond man to continue. “What are you getting at?” he said.
“Me, I ain’t nothin’ but a cowhand an’ ain’t been in here long. I ain’t had much of anything tuh do yet. I ain’t no way important tuh you. Now, if I was tuh tell yuh where you could locate this Yuma yer huntin’, would yuh let me go free?”
“But it’s Bryant I want.”
Yuma became confidential. “Yer wrong.”
“Wrong?”
The other nodded. “That’s what I said. ’Tain’t Bryant yuh want at all. It’s Yuma is the leader of the bunch, just like Lonergan said.”
The Lone Ranger took this announcement calmly. Yuma, having thought the thing over from all angles, felt that it was vitally important for Penny’s sake to keep this masked rider, whose resolute purpose was to capture Bryant, from doing so, since Bryant was the only living man who could protect the girl. He pressed arguments on the Lone Ranger, using everything that Penny had previously told him in her uncle’s behalf.
“The old man don’t know what’s goin’ on about the place no more,” he said. “He can’t walk around no more, can’t ride much, can’t even see good. Yer barkin’ up the wrong tree, stranger, an’ I’m agoin’ tuh put yuh right.”
The irony of it. If only Yuma, in the misdirected chivalry of his glib lies, could have known that it was he, and not the uncle she felt had proved faithless, that the girl wanted. But Yuma didn’t know. He went on at great length.
“I’ll tell yuh jest where you c’n find Yuma,” he concluded, “if you’ll promise tuh turn me loose.”
The Second Western Megapack Page 148
