by Short, Luke;
“Is that in return for the favor of putting up five thousand dollars for the capture of my father?” Carol asked.
Beal squirmed. “All right. We’re doin’ our best.”
“Then get out of this house!” Carol cried. “If I ever see any of you around here again I’ll take down Dad’s shotgun. And you, Lacey Thornton! I’ll have Dad horsewhip you in public the next time you see him!”
“That’ll be pretty hard to do if he’s in a coffin,” Ernie said angrily.
The three of them stalked out, and Lily Sholto, who had remained silent all through this, closed the door after them.
Carol sank into the nearest chair and looked at Maitland for a long moment. Then she said miserably, “Isn’t there any way to stop this, Uncle Dan?”
Maitland smiled his tired smile. “This is just the beginning, Carol. Try and be calm.”
Carol did. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes and relaxed. Forget them, she thought. Be thankful Dad wasn’t here when they came. What had she been doing before they came? Oh, the letter, of course.
She opened her eyes and looked at the table where she had put the letter.
It wasn’t there!
For one short second she stared at the table, then jumped up.
“The letter!” she cried. She looked at Lily. “Have you got it?”
Lily looked startled. “You put it on the table, miss.”
“But it’s gone!” Carol cried. She looked in consternation at Maitland, who was staring goggle-eyed at the table. “You left it there?” he asked blankly.
“Yes! And they took it!”
She ran for the door, threw it open, and went out into the night. She couldn’t see or hear anything. It was too late!
She came back in the house and said swiftly to Lily, “Do you know what was in it?”
“No, miss,” Lily said. “Mr. Coyle told me not to tell you anything or talk about myself. The letter would tell you all you should know.”
Carol looked bleakly at Maitland. “Oh, Uncle Dan! What if Dad told where he was hiding?” She was near tears.
Maitland came over and took her in his arms, and Carol sobbed wildly on his chest. Maitland stroked her hair and said softly, “Don’t look at the dark side so much, my dear. There, there.”
XII
It lacked an hour of dawn when McFee and Dave approached the spot where the sawmill road joined the Wagon Mound road. McFee was dog-tired and sleepy and hungry and saddle-stiff, and he wished Dave would stop that gentle off-key whistling. During that day and night they had scrapped with Wallace, delivered Lily Sholto at the home ranch, and then had ridden on here. More than anything else, McFee wanted a bed, some hot food, and some quiet. Dave Coyle seemed to want nothing.
“All right,” Dave said, turning in the saddle. “You know ‘O Susanna’? Ride up the road whistlin’ it.”
“Me?” McFee said and added hastily, “Oh no. I’m no good at foolin’ anybody.”
“Who said you had to?” Dave asked coldly.
“But if they see it’s me and not the messenger they’ll hit for the brush!”
Dave said patiently, “When they stop you tell them you want to ransom Sholto yourself and take him in to Sheriff Beal.”
“But they’ll want to know how I found out about this whistlin’ business,” McFee objected.
“Sure they will. They’ll want to know so bad they’ll take you to Usher so he can beat it out of you.”
McFee didn’t say anything for a moment. “What’ll you do?”
“I’ll follow you,” Dave said, still patiently.
McFee said suddenly, “Coyle, I don’t like this. We’re walkin’ into a bunch of killers. We can’t hope to get out of there alive with Sholto.”
Dave said jeeringly, “All right. Let’s ride in to Wagon Mound and get a posse up.”
McFee said stubbornly, “But this is suicide!”
Dave shifted faintly in his saddle, his arrogant gaze on McFee in the dark. “I dunno why I bother with you,” he said softly. “I don’t reckon I will any longer.” He pulled his horse around, as if to ride away.
“Wait a minute,” McFee said hastily. Dave stopped, watching him. McFee rubbed his face with the palm of his hand. “I’m tired,” he said quietly.
“Sure you are,” Dave jeered. “You got a price on your head by now, I reckon. Nobody’ll let you rest. You eat on the run and sleep on your gun and you’ll wear out a saddle before it’s over. But it’s what I been doin’ for years. Remember that the next time you raise the ante on me by three thousand dollars.”
McFee said wearily, “Quit it.”
“You’re yellow,” Dave said calmly. “Take that bank account and that spread away from you and you’re an ordinary old cow poke—only not so good.”
McFee’s chin came up. “You’re a liar!”
“Then what are you waitin’ for?” Dave countered.
McFee picked up the reins off the horn and looked through the darkness at Dave, his eyes savage and harried and beaten.
“One more day,” he said, “and then this will be over. I told Carol in that note I left that we’d have Sholto into Yellow Jacket tonight.” He smiled wickedly. “Just picture me tonight, Coyle. I’ll sleep in a bed. I’ll eat a good dinner. I’ll have a cigar and a paper to read. And you—you’ll be hidin’ out in the brush, jumpin’ every time a rat steps on a leaf. You’ll be eatin’ jerky and ridin’ all day and wonderin’ when somebody will cut down on you from the next ridge. And don’t you worry. I’ll have an extra three thousand on your head, just to keep you movin’.”
Dave smiled faintly. “It scares me to death. Are you goin’ out there, or am I goin’ to ride off?”
“I’ll go,” McFee gibed wearily. “I’m the one that takes all the risks, while you, the brave gunman, stays hid.”
“That’s right. Only when we get in the tight spot there at Usher’s camp, remember who gets you out.”
McFee didn’t say anything, only pulled his horse out of the trees onto the road and vanished into the darkness. Dave slipped out of the saddle and tied his horse. He set out on foot now in the darkness, listening for the sound of McFee up ahead.
Presently, as McFee passed the sawmill road, he began to whistle. It was a thin, flat, woebegone whistle, but the tune was recognizable. Dave let him get a ways ahead, and then he followed him, walking in the deep noise-muffling dust of the road.
Suddenly he heard a man’s voice call out, and McFee’s whistling stopped.
Dave froze, listening.
“Bart?” the sleepy voice called.
“It’s Bruce McFee,” McFee answered. “I want to buy Sholto back.”
There was a long wait, and then a voice said sharply, “Stick ’em up, McFee. There’s three of us here!”
“All right.” At least McFee’s voice didn’t sound panicky, and Dave thought maybe the older man would carry it through.
“Now what do you want?” a rough voice said.
“I told you. I want to pay Sholto’s ransom and take him back to Beal, so I can get out from under this murder charge.”
“Who told you to whistle that tune?”
“What does it matter?”
“Plenty, mister. Where’s your little playmate?”
“I shook him,” McFee said dryly. “No, not exactly that. He just rode off and let me get myself out of this jam the best way I could.”
There was a long silence, and then a voice said, “You’ll come with us.”
There was a sound of horses approaching him, and Dave faded back into the timber, thinking the riders would turn off on the old mill road. But they passed the turnoff, and Dave was suddenly aware that they were coming toward him, heading up into the mountains above Wagon Mound. Remembering his horse across the road and the likelihood of it whickering when it smelled these horses, Dave crouched low in the road and ran across it and moved swiftly toward his horse. He reached it, clapped a hand over its nose, and then listened while the riders pas
sed him.
So Will Usher wasn’t hiding out close to here, then? Will was too smart and wary to risk holding Sholto close to these pickup men for Wallace to surround with his crew. If Dave knew him Usher would be hidden many miles from here.
He squatted on the ground now, shivering a little in the coming dawn, wondering if McFee would be tough enough to hold out under Will Usher’s questioning until he got there. Dave thought he would because he had so much at stake. He rolled a cigarette, went out to the road, listened, heard nothing, then lighted his cigarette, held the lighted match low, squatted, and studied the tracks in the road. The twenty minutes he had spent at the Bib M putting a double cleat on a shoe of McFee’s horse had been worth it, for the print was plain enough to anyone looking for it. McFee hadn’t even known he did it, so there was no chance of his giving it away.
When in half an hour or so it became light enough to track, Dave set out after them, heading toward the mountains. In an hour he picked up a road. As the day grew brighter he looked around him uneasily. He was heading into a narrow canyon whose sides were steep, and he knew this road. It led into a dead-end box canyon in a deep fold of the mountain where the Southern Belle mine was located.
He pulled up and looked ahead, puzzled. There was no turnoff on this road, so Will would have to be at the Southern Belle. It was a small mine, with a reduction mill and shack on the valley floor. The mine itself was behind the reduction mill far up on an almost vertical slope. The ore was sent to the reduction mill below in buckets on a cable.
But the Southern Belle was supposed to be working now! Yet it couldn’t be, if Will Usher was hidden out there. He had picked a perfect spot to hide, where nobody except the mine crew went. And the valley was so narrow, its sides so steep, that nobody could get in without being seen.
So this was where Sholto was, Dave thought bitterly. He might as well have been locked in a safe. It might have been possible to try the road at night, but in the daytime it was impossible. One lookout could keep an army from coming in.
Dave looked at the road again and made certain that the tracks of McFee’s horse led into canyon. Then he dismounted and looked about him. The rough shoulders of the mountains reared up on either side of the road, bleak and forbidding. The mine lay two miles up the road, as he remembered it.
For a long moment he stood there looking at it, baffled. And then, his mind made up as to what he had to do, he turned to his horse and went through the old ritual. He loosened the cinch, slipped the bit, tied up the stirrups, and then, before he drove the horse off, untied the lariat and looped it over his shoulder.
Afterward he left the road and started toward the mountains. In half boots it was cruel punishment to climb these rocks, but he set about it grimly, making his slow way up the face of the mountain. Soon the morning sun started to beat down on the rocks and the steep slope was an inferno. Sweat soaked his shirt and rolled off his face, and still he climbed, pausing only when he was gagging for breath. His main worry now was that McFee, seeing how hopeless it was for anyone to follow him, would quit on him and fail to play out his bluff. Time was slipping by, and each minute made it harder for McFee to string out his story. Dave thought of Will Usher’s gunnies, tough, hard, and skeptical. If they doubted McFee they would beat him up on suspicion.
Dave climbed for another hour and knew he was to the south of the deep canyon. He started working north now, still climbing, and presently to his left he saw the land fall away abruptly. This was the canyon, and he could see the opposite wall close now. He knew that a few hundred yards ahead and upward he would come to the head of the canyon.
When he did he was in the treacherous shale, and he paused. Behind him the country lay flat as a table, baking in the sun. He got his breath and then looked above him. There, far above the strip of shale in the living rock, the bucket cable was anchored. Dave achieved it, and then looked down. He could see nothing, except a section of the valley floor far below just being touched by the late-morning sun. A giant iron cleat was anchored in the rock, and the single rope of cable ran through it and down to the lip of the canyon; where a thick iron roller protected it from the sawing edge of the rock. Gingerly, clinging to the cable, Dave inched his way down to the lip and looked over. He drew back almost at once, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Ahead of him and far, far below lay the reduction mill, its roof looking the size of a postage stamp from this height. He could pick out several things that looked like ants lining one section of the canyon wall. These were the horses, he supposed. And still smaller spots crossing between the two buildings were probably the men.
The cable itself swooped sickeningly toward the canyon floor, looking frailer than a spider web. At regular intervals the ore buckets connected by a smaller cable hung immobile by the pulleys on the big cable, showing the mine was not at work.
And to get to the canyon floor hundreds of feet below he must go down that cable. The thought of it chilled him. And then he thought of McFee, and thinking of him and hating him, he thought of Carol. If he could get Sholto back McFee would go free, and Carol would be happy. At least he would have made up for the blunders he had already committed. Sudden decision took hold of him, and he cast about for some way to get down. He couldn’t ride the buckets, for they weren’t working, nor climb down hand over hand, for it was too far.
And then he thought of his lariat. The cable, of course, would eat into it if he slid down on it, but if he tripled the rope, wouldn’t it be possible to reach the first bucket, change the rope to a fresh hold, slide to the second bucket, and so on?
He didn’t know, but he did know one thing. If the cable bit through the rope too fast he had a drop that would break every bone in his body. They could bury him in a fry pan.
Thoughtfully he looked at his lariat, shook his head, then set about making three equal lengths of it. He twisted this about one of the cables, grabbed it with both hands, then, taking a deep breath, he swung off into space. The cable gave a little with his weight, started to sway, and then he picked up speed with the sickening force of gravity. He was swooping down on the ore bucket with the speed of lightning, it seemed. It was only a matter of seconds, and he slammed into the ore bucket, breaking the force of the blow with his feet. He put a foot over the side of the heavy bucket, pulled himself inside, and rested, his hands shaking. Then he looked at the rope. The slide had eaten almost through the three strands, and he shuddered a little when he saw the frayed ends. Three thicknesses wouldn’t do. He’d have to take six.
He looked about him. He was hanging out in space right at the shaft mouth. It seemed solid and safe in there, but the feeling was unfounded. He had to go down now. There was no other way out. This time, with six thicknesses of rope, he swung out again and again he shot down the cable with dizzy speed. He hit the second bucket with the force of a pile driver, knocking the wind out of him. But he crawled inside and again got his breath. He was more than halfway down. There was one more bucket and then the yawning mouth of the ore hopper atop the mill. The cable ran on down to be anchored in the canyon floor in front of the mill.
Buildings were closer now, but he was still far above them. Nobody was in sight, and again, after laying six thicknesses of rope across the cable, he swung out.
When he achieved the third bucket he looked at his rope and saw that it was used up. The trip from this bucket to the roof would have to be made hand over hand, without the rope.
He left the rope in the bucket, gripped the cable, and began to lower himself down it. It took an eternity, but finally he was on the lip of the big ore hopper. He rested there, listening. One of the horses below had seen him, and now he eyed him with faint interest.
Dave swung down from the hopper to the roof and, crouching by it, eyed the shack across the canyon floor. It seemed empty, and yet he couldn’t be sure. He waited a full ten minutes and saw nothing and concluded that Will was in the building beneath him.
Dave tiptoed up to the edge of the roof an
d peered over. Two men were standing about thirty feet from the door, their backs to him, talking.
Dave reached up for the cable over his head, crawled hand over hand down it, and then dropped the six feet to the men. He landed astride the shoulders or both men, knocking them to the ground. One man yelled as he fell. Dave whipped out his gun and brought it down on the man’s head with a savage force. The other man had been knocked out by the fall. Dave picked up one of their rifles and ran the thirty feet to the door. He flattened against the side of the building just as he heard a table overturn inside and the heavy tramping of feet. The door was yanked open, and at the same time Dave swung the rifle, butt foremost. It caught one of Will Usher’s gunnies full in the belly and doubled him over like a jackknife. Dave grabbed him before he fell, held him up with one hand, palmed his gun up with the other, and, using the man as a shield, stepped into the room.
He had a fleeting glimpse of the room before it exploded into action. Will Usher, his gun half out, was lunging for shelter behind Sholto, who was sitting motionless in a chair by the overturned table. McFee was standing against the wall, his hands raised over his head. And in that split second Dave caught sight of the man flattened against the wall inside the door. He wheeled away and back just as the man’s gun exploded. The man Dave was holding jarred with the impact of the slug. Dave stuck his gun in, turned it at right angles, and fired just as a window crashed somewhere. The man fell. Then he lunged inside the room over the two bodies on the floor. A gun boomed from the rear of the room, the slug slapping against the wall behind him.
McFee yelled: “Be careful!” as Dave swung up his gun and sent a shot toward the rear of the place. A door slammed; a body fell heavily, and then it was still.
Dave said swiftly, “Where’s Usher?”
“Out the window!” McFee said.
Dave ran for the shattered window, stuck his head out and saw nothing, then turned and lunged out the door. Usher had just dived behind the horses. Dave was out the door, running toward him, when Usher shot over the rump of a horse. The slug whistled by Dave’s ear, and he dived for the protection of the two unconscious men in the yard. Usher shot again, this time over his head. Dave grabbed the rifle of one of the men, propped him on his side, laid the rifle across him, and then called, “Come on out, Will. You can’t make the break.”
