It was the work of brief moments for the bandits to dismount and go through their victims. Davitt was hatless, and his gun was gone. The fact that he was disarmed doubtless saved him from more than a cursing from the outlaw leader who was angry, but also anxious to take himself and his men away from the scene. A minute later the raiders were thundering down the trail and their victims were running to catch their horses.
“That’s what I call taking a chance!” Buck cried to Davitt when they had captured their mounts. “If I’d had my way, we’d have started shooting the minute they rode out.”
“Without knowing who or what they were?” Davitt snapped. “I’ve told you before that I don’t start shooting before I know what it’s about.” He had found his hat and his gun where he had thrown them when the second attack was suddenly made.
“Night riders don’t come busting out like that on honest business,” Buck snorted. “Five hundred dollars and a gun. That’s me. I see you saved your gun. Well, let’s get started after that bunch.”
“I saved more than my gun,” said Davitt grimly. “I had a spare bank roll in my hat. I thought you said there wasn’t going to be any business this trip. I’ll lend you a stake and we’ll go on to Denam.”
Buck couldn’t see his friend’s face plainly, but he caught what he believed to be sarcasm in Davitt’s tone. “Go ahead,” he said scornfully, “but I’m not going to let that bunch get away with five hundred dollars and a gun of mine. I’ll trail ’em alone.” He whirled his horse, but Davitt was ahead of him, blocking the downtrail.
“Use your head. Those were only small-timers and they’ll catch themselves,” cried Davitt sharply. “You started me out for Denam and that’s where we’re going. Haven’t you got it through your head yet that that’s a trick sign?”
“What’s that got to do with it?” Buck demanded belligerently.
“Don’t talk so loud,” Davitt admonished. “Don’t you suppose if that bunch knew anything about the game, they’d cover their getaway? If they’re any good at all, we couldn’t start down that trail without running into hot lead. The big point is I don’t reckon they know who we are. Move over here and take another look at this sign.”
Buck followed him the few paces and Davitt dismounted. “Here’s the joker,” said Davitt. He grasped the square post to which the sign was attached, and it came readily out of the ground. He flung the sign down. “I discovered that when I ran against it in the fracas,” he explained. “That’s a fake sign and has no more business there than a tin jack rabbit. It’s just used for stunts like this … to stop riders on the trail, get ’em bewildered, and put ’em in a position open to quick attack. I don’t believe they had those last two riders cached in the timber at all. I believe they were just late arriving, that’s all. A lookout spotted us a long way off from those rocks you pointed out. If this isn’t a tinhorn job, I never saw one in all my life.”
It was plain that Davitt was mad, and Buck was impressed. He looked down again at the fork in the trail. If the sign wasn’t supposed to be there, it explained why the girl hadn’t mentioned it. Now that Buck looked harder, he saw that the right fork of the trail was very dim and apparently had not been used for some time. There had been little travel over the left fork, for that matter, but it was worn quite a bit and was to all appearances the main trail.
“Doggone, Mel, if we’d looked a little harder … which we didn’t really have time to do … we’d have seen that this left fork is the main trail.” Buck pointed downward.
“I gathered that from the way those fellows rode at us,” Davitt said, nodding. “We’ll find their tracks along a way toward Denam, and you can lay to it there’s where they came from. I figure that’s the place to spot ’em. Now, let’s get started.” He swung back into the saddle and in a few minutes they were riding along a fairly good trail through the scrub timber.
At the end of the timber, where the trail climbed a bare ridge, Davitt, who now was leading, pulled up and pointed down at the path they were following. Clearly outlined in the cold rays of the moon and stars were the fresh imprints of horses’ hoofs in the dirt of the trail.
“Keep your eye out,” Buck advised gruffly. “If two of ’em were late, like you think, we may meet the rest of the bunch farther along the trail.”
“In which case I’ll have to do the shooting and you’ll have to turn back,” said Davitt, chuckling. “I still got a gun, anyway.”
They rode on, however, without meeting any more riders. It was half an hour past midnight when they spotted the scattered lights of Denam from the crest of a ragged ridge. Another half hour saw them in the town.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Denam looked as ancient as the drab walls of the gulch surrounding it. Even in the waning moonlight, and by the yellow beams which streamed from windows on its short main street, evidences of several eras in its history were readily discernible. It had its inception in a cluster of prospectors’ cabins, had blossomed in the boom silver days, had lapsed into a supply point for those isolated hills, and now lived, as the saying goes, chiefly by its wits. It was known as a resort town and a sequestered rendezvous for denizens of the surrounding prairie country bent on making holiday, and as a meeting place for those mysterious and often dangerous characters that ride the long, shadowy trails just beyond the law. The authorities had long since left it to its own devices.
Davitt called a halt where the trail entered the lower end of the main street. “Listen, Buck,” he said in a voice that barely carried to the cowboy’s ears, “I’ve got a hunch we better split up till we get the lay of the land in here. You ride on in, and I’ll follow, casual-like, and we’ll meet up later in the day.”
“And I’ve got a hunch that you’ve got something up your sleeve,” Buck told him. “If you’re figuring on some kind of play because of what’s happened tonight, you might as well tell me about it now, because I’m going to be in on it sooner or later anyway. I’ve got a half interest in that deal, you know.”
“You’ve got more than a half interest,” drawled Davitt. “You’ve got me beat by one gun. No, I haven’t got any scheme in mind, and nothing up my sleeve that you could put a finger on … but you’re here to visit somebody and the right kind of people might not know me while some of the other kind might.” He had taken off his hat and now he brought forth something and reached his hand toward Buck. The latter leaned from his saddle, a curious look on his face, and the next moment felt the smooth texture of folded bills in his palm. Before he could withdraw his hand, Davitt had left the banknotes there.
“This is a fifty-fifty party,” Davitt said, laughing, “except so far as the girl is concerned. You might favor me with her name just the same,” he added in a whimsical tone.
“Polly Peters,” growled Buck. “She works at the State Bank. I really didn’t need this money, Mel, because I can draw a check.”
“Checks are always suspicious,” Davitt snapped. “Besides, you might have to explain how you came to be short this way. I wouldn’t say anything about the hold-up, if I were you … not just yet, anyway. I wish you’d go ahead and let me have my party in my own way,” he added shortly.
There was a sharp finality to Davitt’s words which he had not used in speaking to Buck before. Buck was quick to sense this, and his mind was instantly alert. Davitt did have something up his sleeve. It was just possible that the man hunter, with whom Buck had worked before and who he had come to regard as a highly prized friend, might feel an unwarranted sense of responsibility for the successful hold-up. He might even have a plan to round up the perpetrators of the deed himself, in which event it would do Buck no good to argue. His best method would be to keep still and watch Davitt. He might actually put one over on this investigator with the formidable reputation.
“All right, Mel,” he agreed, “we’ll split and meet up during the day. No trouble for us to find each other in a town this size. I’m aski
ng you for your word that you’re not figuring on riding out with me missing. If it’s going to be fifty-fifty, I’m entitled to that promise.”
Davitt considered this, frowning deeply. “It’s agreed,” he said finally. “But I’m warning you, Buck, that I’ve got nothing in mind. Something might happen over which I’d have no control. But don’t think I’m trying to be mean. Things were happening to me long before I met you. I just think it would be best for us to be separated at the start. That’s all. And I wouldn’t want any previous experience of mine to bust up our good time.”
Buck suspected, from Davitt’s earnest speech, that he feared meeting some former enemy, or the like, and wished to prevent him from becoming involved in any trouble which might ensue. This was white of Davitt and just in his style. Buck could not help admiring him for such a precaution, and, after all, now that he thought of it, he knew practically nothing of Davitt’s previous life.
“You win,” said Buck cheerfully. “I’m going to a house I know, where I’ve stayed before. You better take the hotel, and if you want me quick, just send word to the livery. I’ll ride on in, like you say, but if you get into any trouble and don’t let me in on it, I’ll never forgive you.”
With this Buck was off and Davitt noted that the cowpuncher did not ride up the main street. Davitt sat his horse for some little time in the cool mist of the night. His keen gaze roved over the shabby little town and his ears were attuned to the slightest whispers of that unearthly hour. Finally, he walked his horse down into the dust of the street and had no trouble in finding the livery. He put up his horse and carried his slicker pack to the hotel nearby, where he roused the sleepy clerk and engaged a room. Locked within the four walls of his quarters, he drew the window shade, rolled a cigarette, and lay down upon the bed for a final smoke before going to sleep.
Davitt’s desire to be alone and the move he had in mind could never have been suspected by Buck Granger. For Davitt was seriously considering a duty which, he thought, it was up to him to perform—that of making a speedy exit from the cowpuncher’s life and leaving Buck to think whatever he wished. Davitt had cared nothing for the danger involved in his own strenuous career, but to bring that danger into the life of another man, who he had come to like, constituted a perplexing problem. He fell asleep finally while the light still burned on the table near the head of his bed.
* * * * *
Buck Granger slept until nearly noon and then lost no time in meeting Polly Peters. It was a surprise visit, and he was waiting for her when she reached the house where she boarded, for her dinner. She was unmistakably glad to see him, but her greeting was shaded by a glimmer of doubt in her eyes.
“I told you I’d run up here one of these days,” said Buck with gusto as they stood in the little front parlor of the boarding house. “Are you glad to see me?”
“Why … yes,” Polly said hesitatingly. “Do you give all your girls surprises like this?” Then she flushed.
“Come, now,” Buck begged, taking her hands, “I haven’t got any girl I like better than you, and I don’t believe I ever had one I liked quite so well. Of course, I’m only a cowpuncher.”
“But you’re not a cowpuncher now,” she interrupted. “You’re in quite a different business, I hear. You see news spreads. It even gets up into these hills in a surprisingly short time. I’ve heard you quit range work and are … are doing different … work.”
Buck saw the troubled look in her eyes and led her to the sofa where they sat down. “Listen, Polly,” he said to her earnestly, “you mustn’t believe everything about anything you hear. I just stepped out and made a little easy money in a different game, that’s all. I’d never get ahead punching cattle all my life. It was all straight.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly. “Of course, it was straight, and very dangerous work, too. You’ve got quite a reputation. It’s just … well, what I mean is that this might be a bad time for you to be here in Denam, that’s all.”
He drew back with an offended look. “You mean you don’t like the idea of me being around because I’ve been doing some different work,” he accused. “Some of the other gents hereabouts might object. Is that it? Well, I’m no common thief chaser, if that’s it.”
“No one said you were. If you’re like some other fellows I know who are always jumping at quick conclusions,” Polly said coolly, “you’re going to get tripped often. That’s all I’ve got to say on the score about this different business you’re in. When I mentioned it might be a bad time for you to be here, I was talking for your own good. You’ve earned a tough reputation among a certain class, whether you know it or not.”
“I reckon I know the class you mean,” said Buck, scowling. “I call ’em tinhorns myself and I never had anything to do with ’em in my life. We’re just on a little vacation, you might say, and I thought it would be nice to run over and see you. But if this is the way you feel about it, I’ll beat it.” He rose.
Polly Peters immediately grasped his hand. “Sit down, Buck Granger,” she commanded. “Tell me, did you bring Davitt along?”
“Sure,” replied Buck, sitting down with a surprised look at her. “Why wouldn’t I bring him along? We’re not on a job or anything like that, and he’s as white a fellow as they come. I only hope he lets me stick to him.”
“You’re mistaking my meaning again,” Polly said soberly. “I haven’t anything against Mister Davitt, but right at the time it may be dangerous for you to be here with him. That’s what I’m thinking of … of you.”
“Why is it dangerous?” he asked directly, eyeing her keenly.
“Because there’s a bad man here, Buck. He might … but you mustn’t tell anybody I spoke to you about this. Will you promise me that? After all, it’s just pure guesswork on my part.”
“Of course, I won’t tell,” Buck promised stoutly. “If anything was wrong, I’d be likely to find out quick enough, anyway. Who’s this bad party and why should Davitt and me be afraid of him?”
“I don’t say you should be afraid of him,” returned Polly. “But he’s here and he’s an outlaw. I don’t know just how bad he is, for that matter, but I do know that the people at the bank are worried because he’s in town. I was just thinking that he might resent the business you and Mister Davitt are in and might try to make trouble for you. His name is Bill Mady.”
Buck wrinkled his brow. The name meant nothing to him, but it might mean a lot to Davitt. Then Buck started. It might have been this Bill Mady who had held them up the night before.
“Has he got a gang with him?” he asked quickly.
“I don’t know anything about him except that he’s in town, that he’s a hard man, and that his name is Mady,” replied Polly. “I haven’t even seen him and wouldn’t know him at sight. You’ll be careful anyway, won’t you? He’ll surely find out you’re here and maybe he’ll think you’re after him or something. They say he’s a dead shot.” She looked at Buck anxiously.
Buck laughed. “You bet we’ll watch out. And we’re not exactly afraid of these dead-shot boys, either. He isn’t going to spoil our vacation. And we didn’t come here looking for him, either.” His face clouded a moment. It was probably Mady who had robbed them. “Now you haven’t got anything to worry about, little one,” he resumed with a boyish smile. “But it sure was good of you to warn me. Now will you promise to spend the evening with me, Polly?”
“I can’t help myself,” she replied, laughing, “since you came all the way here to see me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Davitt woke, staring at the sunlight drowning the feeble rays of the lamp. He woke as suddenly as he had gone to sleep, after a dream in which guns were popping for what reason he couldn’t remember. But the guns still were popping, only now they were the sharp staccato of knocks on his door. Buck, of course. Davitt looked at his watch, saw it was only ten o’clock, and frowned. He could have us
ed more sleep.
“Wait a minute!” he called sharply, and the knocking ceased.
He rolled out of bed with irritation. Fine way to start a holiday. He walked to the door, turned the key, and threw it open, ready with a sharp remark fit for the occasion and his state of mind. But he said nothing as he looked into the black bore of a gun and then into the dark, mean eyes above it. For a brief space he didn’t recognize his visitor, then he stepped back with a grin.
“Hello, Mady,” he said, by way of greeting. “You here? Yes, it’s you all right, but how come so early in the morning and why the artillery? Come in.” He deliberately turned his back on the gunman and went to the table where he blew out the light in the lamp and took up his tobacco and papers.
Bill Mady stepped briskly into the room, shut the door, and locked it with his left hand, keeping Davitt covered with the gun in his right, despite the fact that Davitt had seated himself on the bed and was building himself a brown-paper cigarette.
Davitt gave him a quizzical look. “You don’t have to keep that cannon of yours pointed at me if it tires you, Bill,” he drawled. “You can see my gun hanging on the bedpost up here. I wouldn’t have bothered to take it down even if I’d known it was you at the door. Funny you’d get the information so quick as to where I was. Maybe the liveryman told you, or maybe you followed us into town?”
Mady’s dark, pudgy face darkened with anger. “Still got the same line, eh?” he said, with a snarl. “Well, since you came here to see me, and here I am, what do you want?”
Davitt lighted his cigarette, holding the match in a steady hand. The gaze he turned on the outlaw was cold and calculating. “I didn’t come here to see you, Bill,” he said slowly. “I don’t know as I care about seeing you now, although I don’t mind a talk with you. It all depends on where you were last night.”
Three Trails to Triangle Page 17
