The Pulp Hero

by Theodore A. Tinsley

  “Won’t yuh cut us loose?” pleaded Vince.

  “Where are the rest of the men who work here?” asked the masked man.

  “They went tuh town,” said Vince, “right after the buryin’. They made a sort o’ holiday of it. They’ll be comin’ back.”

  The masked man turned slightly toward Penny, still however watching the others. He would ask later about the burial.

  “How many of those other men are wanted by the law?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know but the whole pack of them are crooked. They must be. If they weren’t, they’d get out, like Yuma did.”

  “Yuma?”

  “He tried to persuade me to leave here. I wish to Heaven I could have. I thought I could depend on Uncle Bryant, but now—” Penny broke off in doubt.

  The Lone Ranger, realizing that the girl could add a great deal to his understanding of events, pressed her for more details.

  “There’s time to talk later,” she said.

  “Talk now. Tell me more about this man, Yuma.”

  Penny explained how she had trusted her uncle in spite of all that had been said, how she had tried to account for his unconcern in the face of events, by thinking that his eyes must be failing. Yuma, she explained, had tried to tell her that she was mistaken in her trust. Yuma had been fired at by Bryant; had fought with him, and finally had left the Basin. She explained that it was Bryant’s belief in Mort’s thin alibi for murdering Rebecca that had finally showed her her mistake, and now the clincher was the paper Bryant had left for her to sign.

  The Lone Ranger broke in from time to time with questions that brought out the story of Rebecca and the children upstairs. Penny told him that she felt compelled to remain for the sake of the children until Wallie returned. Gimlet, she said, was too old to take the responsibility.

  “So you believe in Yuma?”

  Penny nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  “I—I must.”

  “The last time we met,” the masked man said, “I offered you something that you refused. I’m going to offer it again, and what I said then still goes.” He reached one hand into a pocket, then dropped a silver bullet on the table. The men looked at it curiously. Penny glanced at it, then at the steady, level eyes behind the mask. For a time she said nothing. Then, “It means a lot to you to find out who killed those Texas Rangers, doesn’t it?”

  The Lone Ranger nodded. “Please,” he said, “pick up that bullet. You might need it. Remember what I told you to do with it. You mentioned an old man named Gimlet.”

  “Yes?”

  “Gimlet is dead.”

  The announcement was an obvious surprise to everyone. And to Penny it was much more. It was a severe shock.

  “He was stabbed,” the masked man explained. “I was with him when he died in the bunkhouse.”

  “But what was he doing there? He slept in the house here.”

  “I don’t know why he went to the bunkhouse, but that’s where I found him. He gave me the name of the man.”

  “Who?”

  The Lone Ranger spoke slowly. “He named a fellow you mentioned a few minutes ago. He said, ‘Yuma.’”

  “I don’t believe it!” declared Penny hotly. “Yuma was Gimlet’s friend. Yuma was my friend too. He tried to reason with Uncle Bryant, and when he couldn’t he left here. Oh, no, no, no! Yuma wouldn’t murder anyone, least of all old Gimlet.” Penny picked up the silver bullet and clutched it in her tiny fist. “There must be a mistake,” she sobbed.

  “If Yuma didn’t kill him,” said the Lone Ranger, “we’ll soon know who did. In the meantime, I’ll take this paper to Bryant to see what he has to say about it.”

  Lonergan, the gambler-lawyer, spoke.

  “D’you mind,” he drawled in a cocksure manner, “if I have a few words to say?”

  “Well?”

  “It strikes me, stranger, that you’re in a hell of a spot right now, and you don’t know just what to do about it. You’re like the gent that had a wildcat by the tail and didn’t dare let go.”

  “Go on,” snapped the masked man.

  Lonergan’s lean fingers, resting on the table, beat a soft rhythm. He spoke with an assurance that was annoying, to say the least.

  “You’ve ravaged the privacy of this ranch and illegally entered a private home without permission. You’ve flaunted that gun in our faces and asked a lot of questions. You’ve stolen a legal form that isn’t yours by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it’s none of your damned business what goes on here.”

  “Any more to say, Lonergan?”

  “Plenty. You can’t stay here from now on. You don’t know when the rest of the men will come back and make it hot for you. You can’t prove any of the charges you’ve made or hinted at, or anything that the girl has said. Besides, I don’t expect the law would listen to you while you’re wearin’ that mask. You’d like to turn us all over to the law and collect some rewards, but that’d be downright hard to handle because there’s quite a few of us here and you’d have to take us through the Gap and run the risk of meeting our friends. You can’t very well take the girl and the four youngsters away with you for the same reason. You leave here alone, and we’ll simply make out another form like the one you’ve stuck in your pocket and have the signatures made all over again. When you leave, there’s a damn good chance that one of us will drill you.”

  Penny thought she saw uneasiness in the masked man. She glanced from him to Lonergan while she too wondered what could be done. She wanted nothing less than to be left there with those killers, especially after what she had heard about Gimlet and Yuma. Now there would be no one to witness whatever might transpire.

  “Have you,” asked the masked man, “any propositions?”

  Penny saw the wink that Lonergan showed Sawtell; she wondered if the masked man saw it too.

  “Maybe so,” the gambler said. “You seem to know a lot about things here. Now just forget what you know, take off that mask, and let us see who you are, and then either join up with us or ride away and keep your mouth shut.”

  The tall stranger seemed to be considering. Penny wanted to scream out a warning that he would never be allowed to leave the place alive. He would be killed, no matter what his decision might be.

  Lonergan went on.

  “You must have brains enough to realize that you wouldn’t be able to prove that any of us had a hand in murdering those Texas Rangers. Why, we could even prove we didn’t do it, by the footprints of an Indian around the place where they’ve been buried.”

  So the graves had been found. The masked man added this minute detail to his stored-up knowledge.

  “Anyone can see,” went on Lonergan, “that they must have been ambushed by Indians. Maybe old Gimlet, who took a message in to town for Captain Blythe, had a hand in framing them for murder. Gimlet might have had an old grudge he wanted to settle with Texas Rangers. He’s been around here for a good many years, you know.”

  “I admit,” the masked man said, “it would be pretty hard to prove who killed those men, but cattle-stealing is a different matter. Furthermore, the law wants you men for other things.”

  “As for us,” Lonergan argued, “the law’d have to find us first. As for the cattle-stealing, when we sell cattle the brands are right. We haven’t sold a head that hasn’t had the Cavendish brand.”

  Penny felt the world fall still further apart when the man she had begun to trust said, “What if I join up with you?”

  Lombard and Sawtell looked admiringly at Lonergan and more than ever appreciated his glib tongue.

  “In that case, you’d split the proceeds like the rest of us.”

  “But what about the stolen cattle?”

  Lonergan shook his head.

  “Never can be traced here,” he said. “We bring them down the mountain trail from
the top of Thunder Mountain; we shove them in with older cows and run a new brand. We got a dozen brands recorded to work with. We keep the cattle here until the scar has healed to look old; meanwhile we take cattle from the last batch up the trail and sell them. We don’t have no trouble at all.”

  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 h
ead 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.”