Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  The girl spoke from a full measure of bitter experience. She realized what it might have meant to her had there been some man like this to come to her when she had needed the strong arm of a clean love to drag her from the verge of the mire. She would have gone away with such a man — gone back home, and thanked God for the opportunity. If Grace loved Custer, and was encountering the malign forces that had arisen from their own corruption to claw at Shannon’s skirts, she would come back with him.

  “You really think I ought to go?” Custer asked. “You know she has insisted that none of us should come. She said she wanted to do it all on her own, without any help. Grace is not only very ambitious, but very proud. I’m afraid she might not like it.”

  “I wouldn’t care what she liked,” said Shannon. “Either you or Guy should run down there and see her. You are the two men most vitally interested in her. No girl should be left alone long in Hollywood without some one to whom she can look for the right sort of guidance and — and — protection.”

  “I believe I’ll do it,” said Custer. “I can’t get away right now; but I’ll run down there before I go on to Chicago with the show herds for the International.”

  As a small boy, it had been Custer’s duty, as well as his pleasure, to “ride fence.” During his enforced idleness, while recovering from his burns, the duty had devolved upon Jake. On the first day that Custer took up the work again, Jake had called his attention to a matter that had long been a subject of discussion and conjecture on the part of the employees.

  “There’s something funny goin’ on back in them hills,” said Jake. “I’ve seen fresh signs every week of horses and burros comin’ and goin’. Sometimes they trail through El Camino Largo and again through Corto. An’ they’ve even been down through the old goat corral once, plumb through the ranch, an’ out the west gate. But what I can’t tell for sure is whether they come in an’ go out, or go out an’ come in. Whoever does it is foxy. Their two trails never cross, an’ they must be made within a few hours of each other, for I’m not Injun enough to tell which is freshest — the one comin’ to Ganado or the one goin’ out. An’ then they muss it up by draggin’ brush, so it’s hard to tell how many they be of ‘em. It’s got me.”

  “They head for Jackknife, don’t they?” asked Custer.

  “Sometimes, an’ sometimes they go straight up Sycamore, an’ again they head in or out of half a dozen different little barrancos comin’ down from the east; but sooner or later I lose ’em — can’t never follow ’em no place in particular. Looks like as if they split up.”

  “Maybe it’s only greasers from the valley coming up after firewood at night.”

  “Mebbe,” said Jake; “but that don’t sound reasonable.”

  “I know it doesn’t; but I can’t figure out what else it can be. I found a trail up above Jackknife last spring, and maybe that had something to do with it. I’ve sure got to follow that up. The trouble has been that it doesn’t lead where the stock ever goes, and I haven’t had time to look into it. Do you think they come up here regularly?”

  “We got it doped out that it’s always Friday nights. I see the tracks Saturday mornings, and some of the boys say they’ve heard ’em along around midnight a couple of times.”

  “What gates do they go out by?”

  “They use all four of ’em at different times.”

  “H-m! Padlock all the gates tomorrow. This is Thursday. Then we’ll see what happens.”

  They did see, for on the following Saturday, when Custer rode fence, he found it cut close by one of the padlocked gates — the gate that opened into the mouth of Horse Camp Canyon. Shannon was with him, and she was much excited at this evidence of mystery so close to home.

  “What in the world do you suppose they can be doing?” she asked.

  “I don’t know; but it’s something they shouldn’t be doing, or they wouldn’t go to so much pains to cover their tracks. They evidently passed in and out at this point, but they’ve brushed out their tracks on both sides, so that you can’t tell which way they went last. Look here! On both sides of the fence the trail splits.

  It’s hard to say which was made first, and where they passed through the fence. One track must have been on top of the other, but they’ve brushed it out.”

  He had dismounted, and was on his knees, examining the spoor beyond the fence.

  “I believe,” he said presently, “that the fresher trail is the one going toward the hills, although the other one is heavier. Here’s a rabbit track that lies on top of the track of a horse’s hoof pointed toward the valley, and over here a few yards the same rabbit track is obliterated by the track of horses and burros coming up from the valley. The rabbit must have come across here after they went down, stepping on top of their tracks, and when they came up again they crossed on top of his. That’s pretty plain, isn’t it?”

  “Yes; but the tracks going down are much plainer than those going up. Wouldn’t that indicate that they were fresher?”

  “That’s what I thought until I saw this evidence introduced by Brer Rabbit — and it’s conclusive, too. Let’s look along here a little farther. I have an idea that I have an idea.” He bent close above first one trail and then another, following them down toward the valley.

  “I think I’ve got a line on it,” he said presently. “Two men rode along here on horses. One horse was shod, the other was not. One rider went ahead, the other brought up the rear, and between them were several burros. Going down, the burros carried heavy loads; coming back, they carried nothing.”

  “How do you know all that?” she asked rather incredulously.

  “I don’t know it, but it seems the most logical deduction from these tracks. It is easy to tell the horse tracks from those of the burros, and to tell that there were at least two horses, because it is plain that a shod horse and an unshod horse passed along here. That one horse — the one with shoes — went first is evident from the fact that you always see the imprints of burro hoofs, or the hoofs of an unshod horse, or both superimposed on his. That the other horse brought up the rear is equally plain from the fact that no other tracks lie on top of his. Now, if you will look close, and compare several of these horse tracks, you will notice that there is little or no difference in the appearance of those leading into the valley and those leading out; but you can see that the burro tracks leading down are more deeply imprinted than those leading up. To me that means that those burros carried heavy loads down and came back light. How does it sound?”

  “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “It is all that I can do to see that anything has been along here.”

  “There is nothing very remarkable about it. Just look at the Apache’s hoofprints, for instance. See how the hind differ from the fore.” Custer pointed to them as he spoke, calling attention to the fact that the Apache’s hind shoes were squared off at the toe.

  “And now compare them with Baldy’s,” he said. “See how different the two hoofprints are. Once you know them, you could never confuse one with the other. But the part of the story that would interest me most I can’t read - who they are, what they were packing out of the hills on these burros, where they come from, and where they went. Let’s follow down and see where they went in the valley. The trail must pass right by the Evanses’ hay barn.”

  The Evanses’ hay barn! A great light illuminated Shannon’s memory. Allen had said, that last night at the bungalow, that the contraband whiskey was hauled away on a truck, that it was concealed beneath hay, and that a young man named Evans handled it.

  What was she to do? She dared not reveal this knowledge to Custer, because she could not explain how she came into possession of it. Nor, for the same reason, could she warn Guy Evans, had she thought that necessary — which she was sure it was not, since Custer would not expose him. She concluded that all she could do was to let events take their own course.

  She followed Custer as he traced the partially obliterated tracks through a field of barley stubble. A
hundred yards west of the hay barn the trail entered a macadam road at right angles, and there it disappeared. There was no telling whether the little caravan had turned east or west, for it left no spoor upon the hard surface of the paved road.

  “Well, Watson!” said Custer, turning to her with a grin. “What do you make of this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Watson, I am surprised. Neither do I.” He turned his horse back toward the cut fence. “There’s no use looking any farther in this direction. I don’t know that it’s even worth while following the trail back into the hills, for the chances are that they have it well covered. What I’ll do is to lay for them next Friday night. Maybe they’re not up to any mischief, but it looks suspicious; and if they are, I’d rather catch them here with the goods than follow them up into the hills, where about all I’d accomplish would probably be to warn them that they were being watched. I’m sorry now I had those gates locked, for it will have put them on their guard. We’ll just fix up this fence, and then we’ll ride about and take all the locks off.”

  “You’ll not wait for them alone?” she asked, for she knew what he did not — that they were probably unscrupulous rascals who would not hesitate to commit any crime if they thought themselves in danger of discovery.

  “Why not?” he asked. “I only want to ask them what they are doing on Ganado, and why they cut our fence.”

  “Please don’t!” she begged. “You don’t know who they are or what they have been doing. They might be very desperate men, for all we know.”

  “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll take Jake with me.”

  “Why don’t you get Guy to go along, too?” she suggested, for she knew that he would be safer if Guy knew of his intention, since then there would be little likelihood of his meeting the men.

  “No,” he replied. “Guy would have to have a big camp fire, an easy chair, and a package of cigarettes if he was going to sit up that late out in the hills. Jake’s the best for that sort of work.”

  “Guy isn’t a bit like you, is he?” she asked. “He’s lived right here and led the same sort of life, and yet he doesn’t seem to be a part of it, as you are.”

  “Guy’s a dreamer, and he likes to be comfortable all the time,” laughed Custer.

  “But perhaps Guy would like the adventure of it,” she insisted. “It might give him material for a story. I’m going to ask him.”

  “You won’t mention it to him, please?” Custer insisted.

  “Not if you don’t wish it,” she said.

  They were silent for a time, each absorbed in his or her own thoughts. The girl was seeking to formulate some plan that would prevent a meeting between Custer and Allen’s confederates, who she was sure were the owners of the mysterious pack train; while the man indulged in futile conjectures as to their identity and the purpose of their nocturnal expeditions.

  “That trail above Jackknife Canyon is the key to the whole business,” he declared presently. “I’ll just lay low until after next Friday night, so as not to arouse their suspicions, and then, no matter what I find out, I’ll ride that trail to its finish, if it takes me clear to the ocean!”

  CHAPTER 19

  Shannon Burke did not ride to her home after she left Custer. She turned toward the west at the road above the Evans place, continued on to the mouth of Horse Camp Canyon, and entered the hills. For two miles she followed the canyon trail to El Camino Largo, and there, turning to the left, she followed this other trail east to Sycamore Canyon. Whatever her mission, it was evident that she did not wish it known to others. Had she not wished to conceal it, she might have ridden directly up Sycamore Canyon from Ganado with a saving of several miles.

  Presently she found what she sought — a trail running north and south across the basin. She turned Baldy into it, and headed him south toward the mountains. She was nervous and inwardly terrified, and a dozen times she would have turned back had she not been urged on by a power infinitely more potent than self-interest.

  She had found what she sought, but the fear that rode her all but sent her panic-stricken in retreat. It was only the fact that she could not turn Baldy upon that narrow trail that gave her sufficient pause to gain mastery over the chaos of her nerves and drive them again into the fold of reason. It required a supreme effort of will to urge her horse onward again, down into that mysterious ravine, where she knew there might lurk for her a thing more terrible than death. That she did it bespoke the greatness of the love that inspired her courage.

  After what seemed a long time she rode out among splendid old oaks, in view of a soiled tent and a picket line where three horses and a half dozen burros were tethered. Nowhere was there sign of the actual presence of men, yet she had an uncanny feeling that they were there, and that from some place of concealment they were watching her. She sat quietly upon her horse for a moment, waiting. Then, no one appearing, she called aloud.

  “Hello, there! I want to speak with you.”

  Her voice sounded strange and uncanny in her ears.

  For what seemed a long time there was no other sound than the gently moving leaves about her, the birds and the heavy breathing of Baldy. Then, from the brush behind her, came another voice. It came from the direction of the trail down which she had ridden. She realized that she must have passed within a few feet of the man who now spoke.

  “What do you want?”

  “I have come to warn you. You are being watched.”

  “You mean you are not alone? There are others with you? Then tell them to go away, for we have our rifles. We have done nothing. We’re tending our bees — they’re just below the ridge above our camp.”

  “There is no one with me. I do not mean that others are watching you now, but that others know that you come down out of the hills with something each Friday night, and they want to find out what it is you bring.”

  There was a rustling in the brush behind her, and she turned to see a man emerge, carrying a rifle ready in his hands. He was a Mexican, swarthy and ill- favored, his face pitted by smallpox. Almost immediately two other men stepped from the brush at other points about the camp. The three walked to where Shannon sat upon her mount. All were armed, and all were Mexicans.

  “What do you know about what we bring out of the hills? Should we not bring our honey out?” asked the pock-marked one.

  “I know what you bring out,” she said. “I am not going to expose you. I am here to warn you.”

  “Why?”

  “I know Allen.”

  Immediately their attitude changed. “You have seen Allen? You bring a message from him?”

  “I have not seen him. I bring no message from him; but for reasons of my own I have come to warn you not to bring down another load next Friday night.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The pock-marked Mexican stepped close to Shannon and took hold of her bridle reins.

  “You think,” he said in broken English, “we are damn fool? If you do not come from Allen, you come for no good to us. You tell us the truth, damn quick, or you never go back to tell where you find us and bring policemen here!”

  His tone was ugly and his manner threatening.

  “I have come to warn you because a friend of mine is going to watch for you next Friday night. He does not know who you are, or what you bring out of the hills. I do, and so I know that rather than be caught you might kill him, and I do not want him killed. That is all.”

  “How do you know what we bring out of the hills?”

  “Allen told me.”

  “Allen told you? I do not believe you. Do you know where Allen is?”

  “He is in jail in Los Angeles. I heard him telling a man in Los Angeles last July.”

  “Who is the friend of yours that is going to watch for us?”

  “Mr. Pennington.”

  “You have told him about us?”

  “I have told you that he knows nothing about you. All he knows is that some one comes down with burros from the hills, and that
they cut his fence last Friday night. He wants to catch you and find out what you are doing.”

  “Why have you not told him?”

  She hesitated.

  “That can make no difference,” she said presently.

  “It makes a difference to us. I told you to tell the truth, or—”

  The Mexican raised his rifle that she might guess the rest.

  “I did not want to have to explain how I knew about you. I did not want Mr. Pennington to know that I knew such men as Allen.”

  “How did you know Allen?”

  “That has nothing to do with it at all. I have warned you so that you can take steps to avoid discovery and capture. I shall tell no one else about you. Now let me go.”

  She gathered Baldy and tried to rein him about, but the man clung to her bridle.

  “Not so much of a hurry, senorita! Unless I know how Allen told you so much, I cannot believe that he told you anything. The police have many ways of learning things — sometimes they use women. If you are a friend to Allen, all right. If you are not, you know too damn much for to be very good for you health. You had better tell me all the truth, or you shall not ride away from here — ever!”

  “Very well,” she said. “I met Allen in a house in Hollywood where he sold his ‘snow’, and I heard him telling the man there how you disposed of the whiskey that was stolen in New York, brought here to the coast in a ship, and hidden in the mountains.”

  “What is the name of the man in whose house you met Allen?”

  “Crumb.”

  The man raised his heavy brows.

  “How long since you been there — in that house in Hollywood?”

  “Not since the last of July. I left the house the same time Allen did.”

  “You know how Allen he get in jail?” the Mexican asked.

  The girl saw that a new suspicion had been aroused in the man, and she judged that the safer plan was to be perfectly frank.