by Fran Striker
Chapter XVII
PENELOPE SIGNS HER NAME
Yuma swept the poker table aside and sent it clattering and crashingagainst the wall. The Lone Ranger had no chance to deny the accusationthe man from Arizona hurled. Anything he said would have fallen onunhearing ears. Yuma ignored his guns and, lowering his head, chargedlike an infuriated bull, sweeping down the aisle between the bunks andgathering power and speed as he advanced.
The masked man had no chance to dodge, no place to dodge to. He wastrapped between the bunks on each side of the narrow space down whichthe cowboy rushed. His gun half-drawn, he dropped it back in leather.Nothing but a death slug would stop Yuma. He was blind to any threat ofshooting.
Then Yuma struck with the force of a battering ram. The Lone Rangerstaggered back from the terrific impact of the heavy shoulder flushagainst his chest. Intense pain stabbed his own bandaged shoulder, andbrilliant lights seemed to dance before his eyes. He barely saw thehuge, balled fist that Yuma swung to follow up his charge. Almostwithout thought, the Lone Ranger turned his head quickly to roll it withthe punch and take a glancing blow instead of one that might havesmashed his jaw. He fell back several paces, fighting to stay on hisfeet until his reeling senses could function coherently.
Yuma's face was livid. He swung again, bringing his left up almost fromthe floor, but this time the masked man dodged the blow, then sethimself for defense. He could barely move his left arm. He thought thewound must have been reopened by the awful onslaught. Yuma was reachingout with both hands, trying to wrap his heavy arms around the lithe LoneRanger and crush him to the floor. The space was far too limited forsuch maneuvering, so the masked man let his knees collapse and droppedlike a plummet while the adversary clutched at empty air. Then the LoneRanger shot up from his crouch as if his legs were coiled steel springs.He brought his right fist up with the full whipcorded strength of hisgood arm, augmented by the muscles of the legs. His aim was perfect andhis timing likewise. He felt his hard fist crash against the point ofYuma's chin and saw the cowboy's head snap back.
Pain and fury made Yuma careless and too eager. While still off balancefrom the blow that hurt, he tried to swing a roundhouse left. The LoneRanger stepped inside the arc of that tremendous swing and jabbedanother right to Yuma's nose, then chopped a hard blow to theunprotected jaw.
Yuma, it appeared, could take terrific punishment. Those blows of theLone Ranger were short, but they were hard. Strong men had often droppedbefore those jabs, but Yuma kept on fighting. His fists swung wildlywhile he kept up a continual string of cursing threats.
The Lone Ranger's strength was nearly gone. He admired the ability ofYuma to stand up beneath his rain of rights. He dared not use his leftand tear that shoulder wound still further.
"How long," he wondered, "in the name of Mercy, how long can he keepthis up?" He knew that any one of the wild blows, if it landed true,would knock him out. Then his campaign would end before it got wellstarted.
Again, and still again, he drove his right fist flush against the bigman's face. Blood streamed from Yuma's nose, and a cut was opened overhis right eye. He gave ground now, backing toward the door of thebunkhouse, while the Lone Ranger advanced.
How long it might have gone on is hard to say, but Yuma backed againstthe upturned table, lost his balance, and went over backward. His headsmacked hard against the floor. For an instant Yuma tried to rise;though totally unconscious, his stout fighter's heart fighting on. Thenhis eyes rolled up and he went limp.
Breathing hard, almost gasping, the Lone Ranger crouched beside hisfallen enemy. He found that Yuma, though bumped hard, was probably notseriously injured. He opened the door and sucked deep, satisfying drinksof the cool night air until his breathing was more nearly normal and histhrobbing head stopped spinning. Then he turned once more to theunconscious man.
"What a fighter," he thought admiringly. "What a man!"
But he must not linger here too long. There was still the all-importantbusiness at the ranch house.
He saw a horse standing just outside the bunkhouse. There was a blanketroll strapped behind the saddle, and saddlebags that bulged. He glancedtoward the ranch house, but saw no sign that anyone had heard the fight.
"Even if this isn't that man's horse," he decided, "it will have to dofor the time being."
He dragged the heavy form of the unconscious man to the side of thehorse and then, sparing his throbbing left arm as much as possible,hoisted Yuma across the saddle in a highly uncomfortable position.Yuma's head, shoulders, and arms drooped on one side, as the cowboy'sbelly rested on the saddle and his legs balanced him on the other side.The masked man used Yuma's own rope to tie him securely in place. Theman was going to prove something of a problem, but the Lone Rangerwanted to keep him to question him at length when he recoveredconsciousness.
Already the masked man had been widely side-tracked in his plan to callon Bryant and Penny for a conference, but one of the qualities thatcontributed to his later greatness was his ability to revise his planscontinually to suit changing conditions, or to reject plans altogetherand replace them by new ones.
He wanted Silver near him now, but the stallion was far across the levelstretch, concealed at the foot of the mountain.
"If anyone had been near enough to hear," he thought, "the sound of thatfight would certainly have brought them. I'll take a chance."
He whistled sharply, and heard a responsive whinny come back to him fromthe darkness. He stood tense and guarded, waiting for anything hiswhistle might have brought, but no one came. Pounding hoofs, however,announced the approach of Silver as the stallion beat across the grass.Still no sign of any other presence.
The Lone Ranger didn't know, then, that the solid timber walls of thebig rambling house where Penny and her cousins were faced by Sawtell andhis men were practically soundproof. The quality that made it impossiblefor the masked man's whistle or the noise of the fight to be heardinside the house likewise muffled the sounds in the house, so that themasked man didn't hear the pleas and cries of Vince and Jeb Cavendish.
Leading Yuma's horse with its unconscious burden, the Lone Ranger movedaway from the lighted bunkhouse and met Silver in the darkness. Hefumbled in a pocket for a pencil, then scribbled a hurried message onpaper from a saddlebag and tied it to the pommel of his saddle.
He knew that some hard rider had already gone up the Thunder Mountaintrail. If it were in the cards for someone to find, talk with, andperhaps release Rangoon, this would have already transpired, andTonto's mission would be finished.
"Now," he said softly to Silver, "go find Tonto."
He slapped the white horse firmly, repeating the name "Tonto." Silvertossed his head and rushed away.
The masked man made another quick examination of his prisoner. He foundhim still unconscious, but the pulse was steady, and the breathingnormal. Assured that nothing was seriously wrong, he led the loadedhorse to the ranch house, walked to one side of the building, and tossedthe reins about a post. Then, on soundless feet, he stepped upon theporch. He felt in his pocket and found the silver bullet Penelope hadrefused. It served to remind him that he owed the girl a debt that wouldbe hard to repay.
He must, he decided, catch Bryant by surprise before the old man couldshout for help; must speak quickly, reassure the man and make him listento the purpose of the call. He opened the outer door without a sound,and then heard Penny's voice.
The girl sat between Lonergan and Lombard at a round table near thefireplace. Sawtell was in another chair a little distant, keeping oneeye on a red-hot poker in the coals, the other on two bound men on thefloor. Vince was whimpering like a beaten cur, while Penny looked at himwith disgust evident in her face.
"I won't never ferget this, Cousin Penny, honest tuh God I won't," saidVince. "As sure as hell yer savin' us from havin' our eyes burned outwith that poker."
"I haven't signed this agreement yet," the girl replied.
"But yuh will, you've got tuh, yuh know blamed well that Uncle Bryant iswa
itin' fer Sawtell tuh take it to him in Red Oak. Hurry up an' signit."
Lonergan dipped a pen in a bottle of ink and held it toward the girl.
"Here you are," he said suavely, as he pointed to a line at the bottomof a long page of close writing. "Sign right there beneath the othersand then we'll sign as witnesses."
Penelope took the pen and tapped the un-inked end meditatively againsther small, even teeth.
"Just let me get everything straight," she said. "In the first place, ifUncle Bryant doesn't want to leave his property to us, he doesn't needto. He can make a will, can't he?"
Lonergan nodded and glanced at Sawtell.
"Tell her," the bland-faced man suggested.
Lonergan went into a lengthy discourse on the legality of wills thatleft estates to others than the blood relations, and told how there hadbeen times in courts of law when those wills had been contested.
"Bryant's one desire," he went on, "is to leave his outfit to someoneand have no question about the will being valid. He wants all fournephews and you to sign to the effect that you relinquish all claimswhatsoever to the Basin property for a consideration not described."Lonergan didn't make it as simple as he might have done. He seemed togloat in the opportunity to air his knowledge of legal phrases and quotefrom his experiences as a lawyer in the East.
"Doesn't it," asked Penny, "make some difference when the signature issecured by threat of torture?"
Lonergan smiled, "Of course."
"If I don't sign you'll use that red-hot iron on Vince and Jeb."
"That would be hard to prove," suggested Lonergan.
Sawtell broke in impatiently.
"Hurry up and sign--we can't wait all night."
"One thing more," said Penny. "What about Wallie, and Mort?"
"Bryant'll get their names signed when we take that paper to town."
Penny still hesitated. She knew everything was topsy-turvy. There werelies and liars on every side; no one could be trusted. She wondered whyall the cries hadn't brought old Gimlet from the kitchen. She almostwished that she had left when Yuma wanted her to go with him.
"Look," said Penny suddenly. "I've been listening to what you've said.Now suppose you listen to me for just a minute. I'm going to sign thispaper, simply because it won't make a particle of difference to me. Ifanything happened to Uncle Bryant, I'd want no part of this ranch aslong as the place is infested with vermin."
Lonergan showed resentment at this statement, and leaned forward tospeak, but a glance at Sawtell changed his mind. The smooth-faced killerheld up a silencing hand. Lonergan relaxed.
Penelope looked at Vince.
"You," she said hotly, "turn my stomach! I know very well that you andMort have been scheming all along. You helped Rangoon kill those TexasRangers. You're as much to blame for Becky's murder as Mort. You toldhim he had to shut her up."
Vince looked wide-eyed at his cousin as she went on.
"You're nothing but a little squirt without spunk enough to even _look_like a man, let alone _act_ like one. You've been whimpering like awhipped cur, trying to arouse a lot of sympathy with your crocodiletears. Well, I knew all along that you were faking. Now don't you feellike a jackass?"
As Penelope warmed to the subject, all the bitterness of the past weeksfound outlet in her lashing words.
"Maybe this is Uncle Bryant's desire. If so, it's all right with me, butI'm going to find out what's possessed him to turn on me. If it _isn't_his idea, _I'll find that out, too_."
She turned toward Jeb. "As for you, I'm sorry for you. You're aworthless dreamer. You might have been an artist or a writer or a poet,if you hadn't been too lazy to get some education. As it is you're notworth a plugged dime to anyone, least of all to these crooks. As soon asthey're satisfied that you can't help them, they'll kill you." Jebsquirmed uneasily in his ropes. "You're _little_ men, both of you, andso are your brothers."
The girl jabbed the pen into the ink and rapidly signed her name to thepaper.
"You can have your paper all signed as you want it," she said, almosttrembling with the white heat of her rage. "Take it to Bryant, if that'swhat you're going to do, and tell him that as long as those kids areupstairs, without anyone to take care of them, a six-in-hand can't dragme from here, and as soon as Wallie brings that woman he promised to,there isn't any power on earth can _keep_ me here."
She thrust the paper, signed, toward Sawtell. "Here you are, and havefun while you can, because pretty soon someone is going to ask a lot ofquestions about six murdered Texas Rangers."
"I'll take that," a new voice said. All eyes turned toward the door. Atall man with lean hips and broad shoulders stood there; a man whose hatwas white, whose face was masked.
"Who the hell are you?" barked Lonergan.
The masked man stepped forward, reaching for the paper.
"I'll be damned before you--" started Lombard, as he rose from hischair. A gun appeared as if by magic in the tall masked man's righthand. Lombard fell back before the weapon's threat.
"Who is he?" "Whar'd he come from?" "How'd he git here?"
There was a chorus of amazed exclamations. There were threats: "Yuhwon't git away with this"; "Yuh better drop them guns afore we git mad";"You won't leave this Basin alive." But no one made a move ofaggression. The Lone Ranger glanced quickly at the document, folded it,and tucked it in the pocket of his shirt while his gun remained steady,covering the room at large.
"I gathered from what I heard that Bryant Cavendish has gone to RedOak," he said. "If this paper is for him, none of you need worry,because I'll take it to him."
The expression on Penelope's flushed face was a mixture of admirationand resentment. She stared at the intruder, liking him instinctively inspite of herself. She couldn't understand his part in the grim dramathat seemed to be unfolding on a circular stage while she stood in thecenter.
