The Fifth Western Novel

by Walter A. Tompkins

  “Later, please, Soma. But now, please remember your promise.”

  “All right,” the girl answered, forcing a cheerfulness into her voice that she did not feel. “Let’s forget it, and concentrate on this delicious pie. What do I care about some cowboy who just happened to be passing through. I haven’t any interest in him. But still and all, I—I’m awfully puzzled, Cora. And curious and worried.”

  “Everything will be all right. More pie?”

  CHAPTER IX

  Partnership

  Webster rode into Woodbine late the next night and made a circuitous approach toward Mrs. Halsell’s house, taking care not to be seen by anybody. He left his horse tied to a tree at the end of the block and walked the remaining distance. The house was dark when he knocked, but Mrs. Halsell eventually answered through the door in a cautious voice.

  “Who is it?”

  “Webster, Mrs. Halsell.”

  There was a pause before she said, “All right. Wait a moment.” After a few moments she opened the door and he stepped into the darkened house. She said, “I’ve drawn the blinds. Just a minute, and I’ll light a lamp.”

  When it was lit and he joined her in the living room he found her in a dressing-gown. She had apparently been sleeping. Now she seemed reserved, and he could not make out the reason why.

  Then he got a glimpse of himself in a wall mirror, and the sight of his black stubble of beard and his dirty clothes made him laugh.

  “I’ll have to apologize for the way I look,” he said. “But I haven’t had time to get cleaned up.”

  That did not break the ice; she still remained wordless as she sat down and nodded him to a chair across from her. She was studying him carefully, as though she had never seen him before. And she seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

  “Two or three things brought me here,” Webster said. “In the first place, I believe you mentioned that Miss Swanson was expecting to marry Emory Dustin this fall?”

  “Why,” the woman said, and then paused. After a moment, she added, “I’m sure I could not say positively. That is her affair, and I don’t think I’d be at liberty to discuss it. Was it important?”

  “Why, yes. I know that this is not what Mr. Swanson hired me for, but I wanted to give you some advice. Don’t let her do it, Mrs. Halsell.”

  The woman seemed to be taken aback, and it was quite a while before she answered. It was apparent that she was framing her words carefully. Finally she said. “Miss Swanson is a woman with a will of her own, and I’m sure she knows her own mind.”

  That was a vague answer, but Webster caught the drift of it. She was telling him that it was none of his business what Sonia Swanson did. He knew this already, but he had also threshed out this question with himself, and had decided to run the risk of making it his business despite the fact that he would be considered intruding on things which did not concern him.

  “I know that she has a mind of her own,” he agreed. “And a good mind, too. But still there are things she cannot see. I have to be blunt, Mrs. Halsell. I know that you admire the young lady as much as I do, and that you wouldn’t want any harm to come to her. I’m trying to tell you that you mustn’t let her marry Emory Dustin.”

  “Why?” The question was blunt and there was a trace of anger in her voice. “Do you know anything against Mr. Dustin?”

  “I have a lot of ideas about him, but I am not in a position to prove them just yet. But there is one thing I do know; the man is greedy for money. He is too ambitious for his own good. He will bring Miss Swanson only a lot of grief.”

  “I think,” Mrs. Halsell said with an air of closing the matter, “that we had better leave it to Miss Swanson to make her own decisions in her personal affairs. Is that what you came to see me about?”

  “Very well,” Webster said. “I will not bring that matter up with you again, but you are making a mistake you will regret. I came also to ask if Mr. Swanson has a lawyer.”

  “Of course, he has a lawyer.”

  “What is his name?”

  “I think you ought to ask him that. He will tell you, I’m sure. Do you need a lawyer?”

  “Yes. I’d like for Mr. Swanson to get his lawyer and have him here at your house late tomorrow night. And I’d prefer no one else present except the three of us: the lawyer, Mr. Swanson and myself.”

  “If it concerns the matter you were supposed to be working on for us,” the woman said, “I’m a financial partner in the ranch, and it was I who was instrumental in hiring you. Of course, if you need a lawyer for yourself—”

  Webster had had a growing sense that something was wrong here, and now he felt a definite antagonism in the woman.

  “Mrs. Halsell,” he said abruptly. “The last time I was here there was a little more cordial atmosphere than there seems to be now. I’m sorry about disturbing your sleep, if that is the matter, but I was advised to report to you, and I thought this important. Is that the trouble?”

  “No, it is not,” Mrs. Halsell answered with a sudden burst of frankness. “There is a story going on about you which I should like you to clear up for me. We sent for you in good faith, expecting you to work for our interests. But we hear that you’ve been more concerned in doing things of your own.”

  “Such as what?”

  “We hear that you maneuvered your way into a job escorting two men into the Territory with a load of money, and that you killed and robbed them somewhere up in the mountains.”

  “Care to give me the details?”

  Now the emotion in Cora Halsell caused her to unburden herself of all that Sonia had told her. She pointed out the pattern of action that Dustin had drawn for his listeners from the original fight on to the loss of the wagon.

  “And,” she added. “The wagon has already been found, but there was nothing in it. No merchandise. The money was gone, and even the bodies of the two men who, it is rumored, were officers of the law.”

  “I see,” Webster said after he had digested this. “And because Dustin was the lad who told this story on me, you suspected that I was trying to cook Dustin’s goose for him as far as Miss Swanson is concerned?”

  “That might be a possibility,” the woman pointed out. “After all, if you’re going to deny the charge, you would naturally dislike the man who was spreading it around.”

  “I see,” Webster answered in relief. “Well, Mrs. Halsell, I’m glad you were frank with me. I deny the allegation and defy the accuser. Miss Swanson is a lovely young lady but I do not have my heart set on her. She is not for me, and she is not for Emory Dustin.”

  “Then you’ve decided whom she really should marry?”

  “Of course. Just the same as you have.”

  “I?” Mrs. Halsell’s voice was raised in shocked surprise.

  “Yes, you, Mrs. Halsell. And you’re right. Dick Hammond is a clean, decent young man. You love Sonia as though she were your daughter. And furthermore, and more important, Dick Hammond loves her. But she is under the spell of Emory Dustin’s personality, and Dick is too decent a lad to try to do anything about it, and you are too decent a woman to try to interfere.”

  “Why, Mr. Webster! Please! The very idea! You are meddling with the private affairs of people who are practically strangers to you!”

  “Yes, Mrs. Halsell, I guess I am. But I have read the sign, and I can see that I spoke the truth. You know that I did. I’m sorry you don’t believe that I was telling you right when I told you to keep Emory Dustin away from Sonia.”

  “Mr. Webster!”

  “Tell me, Mrs. Halsell. Dick Hammond means a lot to you, doesn’t he? Could he be your son by a former marriage, say?”

  “No, he is not my son. But I sometimes feel as though he were. You see, his parents died while his father was working for Mr. Halsell. Dick was twelve years old then. We took him and raised him. And I do feel toward him as t
hough he were a son. He is a fine boy, and I’m proud of him.”

  “I understand now.”

  “But as for me interfering in Sonia’s life, I shouldn’t do such a thing. Nor permit others to do it.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to speak of it again to you. Now, here’s what you can tell Swanson. I’ll tell him the details when I see him tomorrow night, this is what happened; I did work my way into a job with Faulkner. I did it as a means of getting into the Territory in a manner that seemed justified. Also I did it because I happened also to recognize the two officers who were going up there, and I knew that they were carrying money. Money attracts thieves, and I thought that if I were along when the thieves smelled that money, I might get a crack at them.

  “I got my crack at them, but I missed fire. I was disarmed, and I had to stand helplessly by and watch those two good men murdered, and the money stolen. Believe me, Mrs. Halsell, if there had been a way in the world that I could have stood and fought beside those men I’d have done it. But there wasn’t. All I could do was to follow the thieves after they had killed them, and that I did.

  “You can tell Swanson that I followed those thieves and found out where they hide out. You can tell him that I also found some of his cows, and evidence that the hideout is where most of the missing goods and cattle end up while waiting to be resold. Tell him I’ll give him the details tomorrow night. And, of course, caution him not to hint at this to anybody. Anybody, whatsoever! Any questions?”

  Mrs. Halsell was thoughtfully quiet for a long moment, and Webster knew that she was fighting a battle with herself, trying to decide whether to believe him or to believe Dustin’s story.

  He gave her a chance to think some more. Getting up, he said, “I’ve brought something to the door, which I want you to keep for me until tomorrow, when I will turn it over to Swanson.” He went out the front door and returned with the two rifles he had leaned up against the house upon his arrival. Mrs. Halsell looked at them with nervousness.

  “Don’t worry,” Jim assured her. “These guns are loaded, but they won’t shoot. That’s why those two officers died. Let me show you something.”

  He stood before her with a half-filled box of 30-30 rifle shells. “These shells were sold to those officers by the man who sold them the guns. You see this code number on the box, 0X34C3PL140Q332593. That long code number gives the complete history of that box of shells, including the part I’m interested in. Some of it is the Lot Number, with which it is possible to trace those shells from the factory to the dealer. There are code numbers in the guns as well, and they, too, can be traced to the man who sold them to the officers.

  “Now those shells were tampered with. The powder was taken out of them so that when the officers tried to defend themselves with them, they would not fire. And so the officers died. I want you to hide those shells and guns until I can give them to Swanson so that he can put them in a safe place. They will hang the men who should be hanged, if we need them for that purpose.”

  The woman was lost in thought as she took one of the shells out of the box and examined it carefully, weighing it in her hand, and looking closely at the roughened end of the cartridge shell where the lead bullet entered it.

  “You are right,” she said. “I’ve used a rifle some.”

  “That was all,” Webster said. “I’ll see Swanson here late tomorrow.”

  He picked up his hat and started for the door. She was on her feet following him, and she touched his sleeve.

  “Mr. Webster,” she said, and there was emotion in her voice. “I hope that you will not hold it against me if I seemed rude this evening. Everything that has happened has upset me terribly. If you only knew how concerned I am for Eric and Sonia, for my whole family’s happiness—”

  Webster patted her hand. “Forget it,” he smiled. “You have a family that is well worth worrying about. If I seem to be meddling, it is because I kind of like your people, and want to see them happy. Just the same as you do. Don’t forget, now. Be sure Swanson is here.”

  “But,” she said, still clinging to his arm to restrain him. “I hope you don’t think I would do anything that was unfair, just because Dick thinks so much of Sonia.”

  He had to laugh. “No. The truth is, you’re leaning over backward so far in your efforts to be fair, that you’re putting her and all of you into a dangerous position. You ought to be spanked, you and Dick, both. Good night, Mrs. Halsell.”

  He saw her smile for the first time this evening, and there was something so warm in it, despite her obvious worry, that it made him feel good, despite the bone weariness which consumed him.

  “You are worried for fear that I’m going to call Dustin’s hand on that story he is telling about me. Forget it. He has just put two and two together and got twenty-two. I don’t pay any attention to that kind of talk. It’s a habit most everybody has.”

  “Thanks,” she said, relieved. “If you’ll stay, I’ll get you some coffee and pie. You must be hungry.”

  “I am, but I’m even more tired. If you’ll save that pie, I’ll run along and try to see what it is like to sleep. I’ve about forgotten how it’s done.”

  Webster slept the sleep of exhaustion in his hotel room that night and, late the next morning, bathed, shaved and feeling refreshed, he had breakfast and then walked down to Faulkner’s Star Trading Company warehouse.

  The mousy old clerk looked at him over his glasses, his jaw dropping as though he had seen a ghost.

  “Tell Faulkner I want to see him,” Webster said.

  “I’ll see if he is in,” the old man stammered, and turned toward the cubbyhole office at the rear of the building.

  On a sudden hunch, Webster said, “Never mind. I’ll see, myself.”

  He pushed past the clerk and went back and shoved the office door open. Faulkner looked up from the papers on his desk, and his deathmask of a face did not change expression. He laid his pencil down and leaned back in his chair, his dead-fish eyes not leaving Webster’s face. He did not speak, but sat waiting.

  Webster found himself a chair and sat down.

  “Well,” he said, “I didn’t make it. I lost your load, and I lost your passengers. Have you already heard about it?”

  Faulkner did not answer the question, but countered with one of his own.

  “What happened?”

  “I was stuck up just before daylight in a cut on the far side of the pass. They killed a lead horse, got the drop on me, and took my gun. There was a little shooting that I couldn’t join in. I managed to get out of it. And when it was over, the two officers were dead, and I was hid in the bushes. When I went back to the wagon, the robbers were gone. I turned the horses loose, took one of them and tried to keep clear of the bandits and get back here with my head still on my shoulders. I milled around a little before I found my way back. And here I am. I guess I don’t collect for my trip.”

  “You weren’t as good as you thought you were, were you?”

  “It looks like that might be the case,” Webster admitted. “Still, a man can’t do a lot of fighting without a gun.”

  “A man that loses his gun up there is mighty careless with his life.”

  “I found that out,” Webster agreed. “At any rate. I at least came out alive, and there are those who haven’t done that.”

  “That’s true. I don’t particularly like to lose a load of merchandise, and I certainly don’t like the idea of men being killed when they ride as passengers on my wagons. But more important to me, I don’t like my own men killed. Lives are more precious than merchandise.”

  “Well, your merchandise is gone, and that’s that,” Webster said. “I made the deal that you didn’t pay me if I didn’t get through. I didn’t, and so you don’t owe me anything, and I suppose I haven’t got a job. Maybe I should have left Flint where he was.”

  “No,” Faulkner said coldly. “Fl
int was a braggart and a bully. I don’t care to have such men in my employ, and I wouldn’t have had him if there had been anybody to take his place. You came along, and so he is gone.”

  Faulkner spun his swivel chair around half a turn and twisted the dial of a black iron safe. He brought a small black box out of the safe and from it he counted ten pieces of gold, stacking them on his desk. Then he replaced the box and closed the safe, spinning the dial.

  “There is your money,” he said. “You will hear it around that I am so stingy that I still have the first dollar I ever earned. That is not so. It happens that I do not dissipate, because of bad health, and I think it is foolish to gamble, but I pay well for honest, conscientious work. You did your part, even though you were unlucky. There is your money. Just stay around where I can find you, and I’ll send for you when I want you to drive another load.”

  “Well,” Webster said in a voice of surprised pleasure. “You are a more generous man than I’d heard you were.”

  “Stay with me and you will get your share of money,” the man answered. “I will send for you when I need you.”

  Webster went out and moved idly about the street of the town, noting that since the river had gone down, more than half of the people he had first seen here were gone.

  The camp wagons were missing from the vacant places near the wagon yard and the general store, and few of the people on the street wore the trailherder’s garb. Woodbine was settled down to a spell of quiet which would last perhaps until the next big trailherd came through and stopped off while its men hit the highspots and quenched their thirst for liquor and noise and fights before jumping off into the trip across the Territory in hopes of making the railhead in Kansas if they weren’t killed by renegades before they got there.

  The faces he now saw were getting to be familiar to him, for these were folks who lived and worked hereabouts, and he had seen them frequently during the week he had waited around for the river to go down.

  And they must have recognized him, too, for he began to notice that when he passed he would see their faces change expression. This puzzled him for a moment. Then he remembered the story that was circulating about him. These people had got to know him by sight and by reputation after his fight with Flint. Then they had heard the story of his supposed robbing and killing the officers. And now they were seeing him parading the street with as much abandon as if he hadn’t been a murdering highwayman whom anybody had a right and a duty to kill.