In the spacious dining-room, at the long, hand-hewn table, Collins ate a
meal prepared by a Mexican woman, mother of little José, while Uncle
Jimmy sat across from Collins. He was not satisfied that Collins wasn’t
connected with the sheep interests.
“I’m lookin’ for a tall, gray geldin’,” declared Collins. “He’s my
horse. Branded with an N on the right shoulder. Yuh see, I was with the
border patrol one night when we tried to pick up a contraband cargo.
There was plenty shootin’ and one man got hit hard, and after it was all
over, I lost a horse. The man who got him was headin’ north; so I took
that runt I’m ridin’ and follered. I’ve been pretty much all around, but
I ain’t found my horse.”
“You must think a lot of that horse,” smiled Uncle Jimmy.
“Yea-a-ah, I reckon I do. That horse is pretty well known down in my
country. The man who got him is a good rider, ’cause Amigo is kinda
particular.”
“I don’t remember seein’ a horse of that description, Collins.”
“No, I don’t suppose yuh have. Well,” he shoved his chair back, with a
sigh of satisfaction. “I shore thank yuh for a good meal, Mr. Kelton.”
“Yo’re welcome. Are you goin’ to be around here long?”
“Long enough to look over the horses in this valley.”
“Well, come up and see us again, Mr. Collins.”
“Thank yuh. Folks who know me always call me Cultus. Got that name when
I was up north, where the Injuns still talk Chinook. It means ‘bad.’
Cultus Collins, that’s me; jist wanderin’ around, hunting for a gray
horse.”
A broad smile suffused his lean face, and a hound dog, stretched on the
back porch, came in to sniff at his knees, and then reared up, inviting
a pat on the head. Uncle Jimmy squinted at the hound and gave Cultus a
sharp glance.
“Chongo don’t usually take up with a stranger,” he said.
“Recognises a kindred spirit,” grinned Cultus. “Both of us are lean,
long and not so very pretty.”
He rubbed the hound’s ears and the animal whined with delight.
“Yuh better tie him up,” said Collins gravely. “I shore don’t want to
get shot for stealin’ a dog.”
They went out in the patio, where Cultus drew on his chaps, put his
cartridge belt around his waist and buckled on his spurs, while the dog
fawned around him. Jane was standing in the doorway, and her father
introduced them.
She thought he was the homeliest man she had ever seen, but his smile
changed her opinion at once.
“Chongo acts as though he had known you before,” she said.
“Dogs,” said Cultus with a smile, “take folks at their face value.
Luckily for me they don’t look for beauty standards.”
His smile was so infectious that Jane smiled with him.
“Beauty is only skin deep, you know,” she said.
“I must ’a’ got skinned early in life, ma’am,” he laughed. “Anyway, I’m
pleased to have met all of you folks, and I thank yuh for a mighty good
meal. Mebby I’ll see yuh again before I leave the valley.”
They watched him ride off down the road toward Medicine Tree, bobbing
along on the little roan. Jim Kelton shook his head.
“I don’t quite make him out,” he said, “If he’s one of Marsh’s spies, I
congratulate Marsh. This man is no fool, and that smile of his----”
“I wouldn’t bank too much on a grin,” advised Harry.
“Oh, I’m not. I’m suspicious of everythin’ that comes out of Red Horse
Pass.”
“Chongo liked him,” said Jane.
“Smelled sheep on his boots,” grunted Harry. “We’ll keep an eye on this
homely gent.”
His father told him what Cultus had said about seeking a stolen horse.
Harry laughed shortly.
“That’s a good alibi to get in here, but I’ll make you a bet that
Collins packs a message to the Triangle X. Stolen horse! Probably stole
plenty himself, if the truth were known. If you’ll explain more about
that message you spoke of, dad, we’ll get started on your idea of
holdin’ a meetin’.”
“Let’s go back to the balcony, Harry; my leg hurts pretty bad again.”
Harry helped his father up the stairs and to his easy chair, where the
old man sank down with a sigh of relief. He filled his pipe, and when it
was drawing well he turned to Harry.
“Who shot Kendall Marsh, Harry?”
Harry blinked over his cigarette, but did not look at his father.
“Nobody seems to know,” he said, trying to appear indifferent.
“He was shot the night Blaze Nolan came to see him.”
“I saw it in a ’Frisco paper,” said Harry. “They didn’t know who shot
him.”
“Why didn’t you show me the paper, Harry? You never mentioned it to me.
Didn’t you think I’d be interested?”
“Well, I dunno--I didn’t think, I guess.”
“Did you shoot him, Harry?”
Harry turned and walked the length of the verandah. Finally he came back
to his father.
“Yes, I shot him,” he said truthfully.
The old man stared at him until Harry turned away.
“You tried to murder him, Harry? My God, you didn’t do that!”
“Blaze Nolan was there,” said Harry huskily. “Oh, it was a fool thing to
do, dad. I admit being a fool, and there was murder in my heart. I could
see you goin’ broke, sheep all over Painted Valley. I didn’t know Jane
was in there.”
Harry walked away, but came back to stand beside the old man’s chair.
“You don’t know what we went through--waitin’ for Blaze Nolan to show up
at Marsh’s place. We figured he’d come at night; so I spent half of the
nights in the shrubbery near the big house. I felt like a cheap burglar
all the time. That letter you got from Lew Miller at the penitentiary
didn’t give us any idea how long he would take to get to Marsh’s place,
if he came at all.
“Jane stayed at the hotel, when she wasn’t at the depot in Los Angeles,
watching for Blaze to arrive, and we were about to give up the job. She
went with me this last night, when Blaze came in. I had this balcony all
spotted. In fact, I’d been in there before, where I could see Kendall
Marsh at his desk. Jane was to stay outside the window, while I listened
to what they might plan, but she came in and I didn’t know it.
“I listened to their schemes against the people of Painted Valley, and
when Kendall Marsh told Blaze that he was to rustle all your cattle and
run them through Lost Trail, I reckon I kinda saw red. Anyway, I showed
my gun through them velvet curtains and cut loose. And that’s the true
story, dad.”
The lines on the old man’s face were deeper now, as he shook his head
sorrowfully.
“The worst of it was,” said Harry slowly, “Blaze Nolan found Jane in
there, after I ducked out, and he thinks she fired that shot.”
“Blaze Nolan caught her?” choked his father.
“Yeah, he found her. I lost my gun. I guess it caught on somethin’ and
jerked out of my hand. But he found it and gave it to her, and then he
took her out to a street car. I saw them come off that low balcony, and
I followed ’em to the car.”
“Blaze Nolan thinks she tried to murder Kendall Marsh?”
“What else could he think, dad?”
“My God! Harry, this is a terrible mix-up.”
“I know it, dad.”
“But why did you try to murder Kendall Marsh? There are others to carry
on his work, his plans. Didn’t you realise what it would mean?”
“I reckon I didn’t think of anythin’, except you and Painted Valley,
dad. I wanted to lose the Lost Trail again.”
“Lose the Lost Trail again? What do you mean, Harry?”
“Don’t you understand? I didn’t shoot at Kendall Marsh--I shot at Blaze
Nolan.”
The old man stared at his son for a full minute, but Harry turned away,
his jaw set tightly.
“He killed my brother,” he said finally. “He didn’t play square with
Jane--and he was goin’ to break my father. I--I guess I was all wrong,
dad; but I wasn’t responsible just then. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” sadly. “It was a cowardly thing to do, Harry. But I
can understand, I reckon. I’m glad it didn’t kill Kendall Marsh. He’s as
crooked as a snake trail in a cactus patch, but I don’t want him
murdered.”
He shook his head sadly, rubbing the palm of his right hand on an aching
knee.
“Does Jane know you tried to kill Blaze Nolan, son?”
“I never told her, dad.”
“Well, let’s forget the whole affair. Are you sure Marsh didn’t know who
fired the shot?”
“How could he, dad? He didn’t know anybody was behind them curtains, or
he’s never said the things he did. No, that part is safe enough, unless
Blaze Nolan tells him that Jane fired the shot.”
“Is Jane worried about it?” anxiously.
Harry shook his head quickly.
“Jane still--well, she----” Harry stopped.
“I know,” nodded his father. “Women are queer cattle, son. Now, about
that meeting.”