The Collected Westerns of William MacLeod Raine: 21 Novels in One Volume

by Unknown

  "Don't forget you're in Arizona," she warned.

  He understood what she meant. In the ranch country no man could with impunity insult a woman.

  Standing defiantly before him, her pliant form very straight, the underlying blood beating softly under the golden brown of her cheeks, one of the thick braids of her heavy, blue-black hair falling across the breast that rose and fell a little fast, she was no less than a challenge of Nature to him. He looked into a mobile face as daring and as passionate as his own, warm with the life of innocent youth, and the dark blood mantled his face.

  "Saddle the horses," she commanded.

  "When I get good and ready."

  "Now."

  "No, ma'am. We're going to have a talk first."

  She walked across to the place where her pony grazed, slipped on the bridle, and brought the animal back to the saddle. Norris watched her fitting the blankets and tightening the cinch without a word, his face growing blacker every moment. Before she could start he strode forward and caught the rein.

  "I've got something to say to you," he told her rudely. "You're not going now. So that's all about it."

  Her lips tightened. "Let go of my horse."

  "We'll talk first."

  "Do you think you can force me to stay here?"

  "You're going to hear what I've got to say."

  "You bully!"

  "I'll tell what I know--Miss Hold-up."

  "Tell it!" she cried.

  He laughed harshly, his narrowed eyes watching her closely. "If you throw me down now, I'll ce'tainly tell it. Be reasonable, girl."

  "Let go my rein!"

  "I've had enough of this. Tumble off that horse, or I'll pull you off."

  Her dark eyes flashed scorn of him. "You coward! Do you think I'm afraid of you? Stand back!"

  The man looked long at her, his teeth set; then caught at her strong little wrist. With a quick wrench she freed it, her eyes glowing like live coals.

  "You dare!" she panted.

  Her quirt rose and fell, the lash burning his wrist like a band of fire. With a furious oath he dropped his hand from the rein. Like a flash she was off, had dug her heels home, and was galloping into the moonlight recklessly as fast as she could send forward her pony. Stark terror had her by the throat. The fear of him flooded her whole being. Not till the drumming hoofs had carried her far did other emotions move her.

  She was furious with him, and with herself for having been imposed upon by him. His beauty, his grace, his debonair manner--they were all hateful to her now. She had thought him a god among men, and he was of common clay. It was her vanity that was wounded, not her heart. She scourged herself because she had been so easily deceived, because she had let herself become a victim of his good looks and his impudence. For that she had let him kiss her--yes, and had returned his kiss--she was heartily contemptuous of herself. Always she had held herself with an instinctive pride, but in her passion of abandonment the tears confessed now that this pride had been humbled to the dust.

  This gusty weather of the spirit, now of chastened pride and now of bitter anger, carried her even through the group of live-oaks which looked down upon the silent houses of the ranch, lying in a sea of splendid moon-beat. She was so much less confident of herself than usual that she made up her mind to tell her father the whole story of the hold-up and of what this man had threatened.

  This resolution comforted her, and it was with something approaching calmness that she rode past the corral fence and swung from the saddle in front of the house.

  CHAPTER X

  JACK GOES TO THE HEAD OF THE CLASS

  She trailed the bridle reins, went up the porch steps, and drew off her gauntlets. Her hand was outstretched to open the door when her gaze fell upon a large bill tacked to the wall. Swiftly she read it through, and, having read it, remained in suspended motion. For the first time she fully realized the danger and the penalty that confronted her.

  ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS Will Be Paid By Thomas L. Morse For the arrest and conviction of each of the men who were implicated in the robbery of the Fort Allison stage on April twenty-seventh last. A further reward of $1000 will be paid for the recovery of the bullion stolen.

  This was what she read, and her eye was running over it a second time when she heard the jingle of a spur approaching.

  "We're red-hot after them, you see, Miss Lee," a mocking voice drawled. "If you want to round up a thousand plunks, all you've got to do is to tell me who Mr. Hold-up is."

  He laughed quietly, as if it were a joke, but the girl answered with a flush. "Is that all?"

  "That's all."

  "If I knew, do you suppose I would tell for five thousand--or ten thousand?"

  For some reason this seemed to give him sardonic amusement. "No, I don't suppose you would."

  "You'll have to catch him yourself if you want him. I'm not in that business, Mr. Flatray."

  "I am. Sorry you don't like the business, Miss Lee." He added dryly: "But then you always were hard to please. You weren't satisfied when I was a rustler."

  Her eyes swept him with a look, whether of reproach or contempt he was not sure. But the hard derision of his gaze did not soften. Mentally as well as physically he was a product of the sun and the wind, as tough and unyielding as a greasewood sapling. For a friend he would go the limit, and he could not forgive her that she had distrusted him.

  "But mebbe you'd prefer it if I was rustling stages," he went on, looking straight at her.

  "What do you mean?" she asked breathlessly.

  "I want to have a talk with you."

  "What about?"

  "Suppose we step around to the side of the house. We'll be freer from interruption there."

  He led the way, taking her consent for granted. With him he carried a chair for her from the porch.

  "If you'll be as brief as possible, Mr. Flatray. I've been in the desert two days and want to change my clothes."

  "I'll not detain you. It's about this gold robbery."

  "Yes."

  She could not take her eyes from him. Something told her that he knew her secret, or part of it. Her heart was fluttering like a caged thrush.

  "Shall we begin at the beginning?"

  "If you like."

  "Or in the middle, say."

  "If only you'll begin anywhere," she said impatiently.

  "How will this do for a beginning, then? 'One thousand dollars will be paid by Thomas L. Morse for the arrest and conviction of each of the men who were implicated in the robbery of the Fort Allison stage on April twenty-seventh last.'"

  She was shaken, there was no denying it. He could see the ebb of blood from her cheeks, the sudden stiffening of the slender figure.

  She did not speak until she had control of her voice. "Dear me! What has all that to do with me?"

  "A good deal, I'm afraid. You know how much, better than I do."

  "Perhaps I'm stupid. You'll have to be a great deal clearer before I can understand you."

  "I've noticed that it's a lot easier to understand what you want to than what you don't want to."

  Sharply a thought smote her. "Have you seen Phil Norris lately?"

  "No, I haven't. Do you think it likely that he would confess?"

  "Confess?" she faltered.

  "I see I'll have to start at the beginning, after all. It's pretty hard to say just where that is. It might be when Morse got hold of your father's claim, or another fellow might say it was when the Boone-Bellamy feud began, and that is a mighty long time ago."

  "The Boone-Bellamy feud," echoed the girl.

  "Yes. The real name of our friend Norris is Dunc Boone."

  "He's no friend of mine." She flamed it out with such intensity that he was surprised.

  "Glad to hear it. I can tell you, then, that he's a bad lot. He was driven out of Arkansas after a suspected murder. It was a killing from ambush. They couldn't quite hang it on him, but he lit a shuck to save his skin from lynchers. At that time he was a boy. Coul
dn't have been more than seventeen."

  "Who did he kill?"

  "One of the Bellamy faction. The real name of T. L. Morse is----"

  "--Richard Bellamy."

  "How do you know that?" he asked in surprise.

  "I've known it since the first day I met him."

  "Known that he was wanted for murder in Arkansas?"

  "Yes."

  "And you protected him?"

  "I had a reason." She did not explain that her reason was Jack Flatray, between whom and the consequences of his rustling she had stood.

  He pondered that a moment. "Well, Morse, or Bellamy, told me all about it. Now that Boone has recognized him, the game is up. He's ready to go back and stand trial if he must. I've communicated with the authorities in Arkansas and I'll hear from them in a day or two."

  "What has this to do with the hold-up?"

  "That's right, the hold-up. Well, this fellow Boone got your father to drinking, and then sprung it on him to rob the stage when the bullion was being shipped. Somehow Boone had got inside information about when this was to be. He had been nosing around up at the mine, and may have overheard something. O' course we know what your father would have done if he hadn't been drinking. He's straight as a string, even if he does go off like powder. But when a man's making a blue blotter of himself, things don't look the same to him. Anyhow he went in."

  "He didn't. I can prove he didn't," burst from Melissy's lips.

  "Be glad to hear your proof later. He ce'tainly planned the hold-up. Jim Budd overheard him."

  "Did Jim tell you that?"

  "Don't blame him for that. He didn't mean to tell, but I wound him up so he couldn't get away from it. I'll show you later why he couldn't."

  "I'm sure you must have been very busy, spying and everything," she told him bitterly.

  "I've kept moving. But to get back to the point. Your father and Boone were on the ground where the stage was robbed either at the time or right after. Their tracks were all over there. Then they got on their horses and rode up the lateral."

  "But they couldn't. The ditch was full," broke from the girl.

  "You're right it was. You must be some observing to know when that ditch is full and empty to an hour. I reckon you've got an almanac of tides," he said ironically.

  She bit her lip with chagrin. "I just happened to notice."

  "Some folks are more noticing than others. But you're surely right. They came up the ditch one on each side. Now, why one on each side, do you reckon?"

  Melissy hid the dread that was flooding her heart. "I'm sure I don't know. You know everything else. I suppose you do that, too, if they really did."

  "They had their reasons, but we won't go into that now. First off when they reach the house they take a bunch of sheep down to the ditch to water them. Now, why?"

  "Why, unless because they needed water?"

  "We'll let that go into the discard too just now. Let's suppose your father and Boone dumped the gold box down into the creek somewhere after they had robbed the stage. Suppose they had a partner up at the head-gates. When the signal is given down comes the water, and the box is covered by it. Mebbe that night they take it away and bury it somewhere else."

  The girl began to breathe again. He knew a good deal, but he was still off the track in the main points.

  "And who is this partner up at the canal? Have you got him located too?"

  "I might guess."

  "Well?"--impatiently.

  "A young lady hailing from this hacienda was out gathering flowers all mo'ning. She was in her runabout. The tracks led straight from here to the head-gates. I followed them through the sands. There's a little break in one of the rubber tires. You'll find that break mark every eight feet or so in the sand wash."

  "I opened the head-gates, then, did I?"

  "It looks that way, doesn't it?"

  "At a signal from father?"

  "I reckon."

  "And that's all the evidence you've got against him and me?" she demanded, still outwardly scornful, but very much afraid at heart.

  "Oh, no, that ain't all, Miss Lee. Somebody locked the Chink in during this play. He's still wondering why."

  "He dreamed it. Very likely he had been rolling a pill."

  "Did I dream this too?" From his coat pocket he drew the piece of black shirting she had used as a mask. "I found it in the room where your father put me up that first night I stayed here. It was your brother Dick's room, and this came from the pocket of a shirt hanging in the closet. Now, who do you reckon put it there?"

  For the first time in her life she knew what it was to feel faint. She tried to speak, but the words would not come from her parched throat. How could he be so hard and cruel, this man who had once been her best friend? How could he stand there so like a machine in his relentlessness?

  "We--we used to--to play at hold-up when he was a boy," she gasped.

  He shook his head. "No, I reckon that won't go. You see, I've found the piece this was torn from, and I found it in your father's coat. I went into his room on tiptoe that same hour. The coat was on the bed. He had gone downstairs for a minute and left it there. Likely he hadn't found a good chance to burn it yet." Taking the two pieces, he fitted them together and held them up. "They match exactly, you see. Did your father used to play with you too when he was a boy?"

  He asked this with what seemed to her tortured soul like silken cruelty. She had no answer, none at least that would avail. Desperately she snatched at a straw.

  "All this isn't proof. It's mere surmise. Some one's tracks were found by you. How do you know they were father's?"

  "I've got that cinched too. I took his boots and measured them."

  "Then where's the gold, if he took it? It must be somewhere. Where is it?"

  "Now I'm going up to the head of the class, ma'am. The gold--why, that's a dead easy one. Near as I can make out, I'm sitting on it right now."

  She gave a startled little cry that died in her throat.

  "Yes, it's ce'tainly a valuable wash-stand. Chippendale furniture ain't in it with this kind. I reckon the king of England's is ace high against a straight flush when it bucks up against yours."

  Melissy threw up her cards. "How did you find out?" she asked hoarsely.

  The deputy forced her to commit herself more definitely. "Find out what?"

  "Where I put the box."

  "I'll go back and answer some of those other questions first. I might as well own up that I knew all the time your father didn't hold up the stage."

  "You did?"

  "He's no fool. He wouldn't leave his tracks all over the place where he had just held up a stage. He might jest as well have left a signed note saying he had done it. No, that didn't look like Champ Lee to me. It seemed more likely he'd arrived after the show than before. It wouldn't be like him, either, to go plowing up the side of the ditch, with his partner on the other side, making a trail that a blind man could follow in the night. Soon as I knew Lee and Boone made those tracks, I had it cinched that they were following the lateral to see where the robber was going. They had come to the same conclusion I had, that there wasn't any way of escape except by that empty lateral, assuming it had been empty. The only point was to find out where the hold-up left the lateral. That's why they rode one on each side of it. They weren't missing any bets, you see."

  "And that's why they drove the sheep down to water--to hide the wheel-tracks. I couldn't understand that."

  "I must 'a' been right on their heels, for they were jest getting the trotters out of the corral when I reached the place where your rig left the water. 'Course I fell back into the brush and circled around so as to hit the store in front."

  "But if dad knew all the time, I don't see--surely, he wouldn't have come right after me and made plain the way I escaped."

  "That's the point. He didn't know. I reckon he was sort of guessing around in the dark, plumb puzzled; couldn't find the switch at all at first. Then it come to him, and he thought of
the sheep to blind the trail. If I'd been half a hour later he would have got away with it too. No, if he had guessed that you were in the hold-up, him and Boone would have hiked right out on a false trail and led us into the Galiuros. Having no notion of it at first, he trails you down."

  "And the gold--how did you find that?"

  "I knew it was either right around the place or else you had taken it on with you when you went to the head-gates and buried it up there somewhere. Next day I followed your tracks and couldn't find any place where you might have left it. I knew how clever you were by the way you planned your getaway. Struck me as mighty likely that you had left it lying around in plain view somewhere. If you had dumped it out of the box into a sack, the box must be somewhere. You hadn't had time to burn it before the stage got back. I drifted back to your kindling pile, where all the old boxes from the store are lying. I happened to notice a brass tack in one near the end; then the marks of the tack heads where they had pressed against the wood. I figured you might have substituted one box for another, and inside of ten minutes I stumbled against your wash-stand and didn't budge it. Then I didn't have to look any further."