When Johnny Wells went pounding out of Indian Wells, following the
fleeing Sands, he had no idea where the chase might lead. They whirled
out around a cluster of adobe buildings, away from the lights, and swept
into the open country, with only the stars for illumination.
Johnny had a good horse, but he realised that Sands had taken Smoky’s
sorrel, a running fool. They struck a dusty road, which helped Johnny
in following Sands. Of course he had no idea when he might run into
Sands in the dark, but he was willing to take chances.
He had a hunch that they were heading south, and were already far across
the border, but that meant little to Johnny Wells. He wanted Cal Sands,
and he was going to get Cal Sands, if such a thing was possible. There
was no sound except the _sug, sug, sug_ of his horse’s hoofs in the
dirt. Sands might turn off the road any time and double back on him, but
Johnny rode high in his stirrups, running through the dust from Sands’s
horse.
Cal Sands was not sure that any one was pursuing him, nor did he care.
He realised that everything had broken against him, and that he would
be a hunted man in Arizona or any other State. His only move was to
head down through Mexico.
But first he was going to Piñon. Half crazed from the way Fate had
brought his future tumbling about his ears, he was going to prevent
Mendez from marrying Juana Diaz. His future, beyond that one thing,
was rather vague. Perhaps he might take Juana south with him. Why
not? The only thing left for him was freedom in Mexico, and why not
have a pleasant freedom?
He realised whose horse he had taken, and derived pleasure from it. He
owed Smoky something for those remarks in the Casa del Diaz, and this
sorrel with the speed of the wind evened things up a little. Then he
saw the lights of Piñon a mile ahead.
Reckless as he was, he realised that Mendez was not misnamed the Wolf.
There would be guards, but Sands reasoned that the guards would only be
at Mendez’s house. Sands had been there many times. He knew Piñon as
well as he knew Keno City; so he swung off the road, circled the town
and came in behind an old tumble-down wall not over a hundred yards from
the walls of Mendez’s home.
The darkness favoured Sands, and he invariably dressed in black.
Crouching low, he worked his way in close to the wall. To his right
was the big arched entrance to the patio, and Sands felt sure there
were guards at that gate. He pulled off his boots and left them
beside the wall, gripping his heavy six-shooter in his right hand as
he hunched over and went softly toward the gate.
There was a guard, a keen-eared Yaqui, just inside the gate, but just
now he was rolling a cigarette and failed to hear anything. Sands
flattened himself against the wide gate-post. He heard the Yaqui
scratch a match to light his cigarette.
Slowly Sands straightened up, a pebble in his hand, and with a flip
of his wrist sent it rolling along the opposite side of the gate. The
sound was very slight, but the Yaqui heard it. The muzzle of a rifle
came past Sands, and the Yaqui leaned out, only to go down in a heap
from the slash of a heavy revolver barrel across his head.
But unfortunately the rifle must have been cocked and the Yaqui’s
finger on the trigger, because as the Indian went down the rifle was
discharged. Sands vaulted the Indian and made a dash for the front
door.
Johnny Wells didn’t know where to go, so he rode straight through Piñon,
and was on the street, just beyond Mendez’s place, when he saw the flash
and heard the report of the rifle. Swinging his horse in against an
adobe wall, he dismounted quickly and came running softly.
As he reached the gate, almost falling over the prostrate Indian, he saw
the flash of another gun at the front door of the house and heard the
door crash shut. Johnny went running around through the patio, searching
for another way into the house.
But there was no door. There was light through a barred window--the
window of the room where the women had been kept prisoners. Johnny ran
past, but here the wall angled to the right, ending against the wall of
the building. Quickly he climbed to the top of the wall, where he could
see over the old tile roof.
The main building was of two storeys, and he could see over the roofs
to a window, faintly lighted. If he could crawl over the old roof and
reach the window, he might get into the house; so he removed his boots,
balanced on the top of the wall and made a leap which landed him on the
roof.
The wedding ceremony was over. The hideous old priest gave them his
blessing, and stepped back, a wide smile showing his toothless gums.
Juana and Hal looked at each other foolishly, and Mendez laughed
mockingly. “Married,” he chuckled. “And now I kees the bride, me
myself personally.”
And before Juana could stop him he had grasped her in his arms and
kissed her with his swollen lips. She staggered back, holding a hand
over her mouth. Hal threw both arms around her, fearing what else
Mendez might do, but at that moment they heard the dull report of a
rifle shot.
Mendez jerked back, whirled toward the door. The Gonzales brothers had
emptied their quart bottles, and although they jerked to attention, it
was evident that they were too muddled to do anything. Miguel dropped
his rifle and had difficulty in recovering it.
Another shot, but this time it sounded within the house. Mendez drew one
of his two guns and sprang toward the door. Fumblingly Ricardo jerked it
open, and a man came into them like a tiger, knocking Ricardo back into
Mendez, who dropped his gun and almost fell over backward. Miguel threw
up his rifle, but a well-placed kick sent him writhing to the floor.
It was Cal Sands, a heavy revolver in his right hand, blood running
down from a cut over one eye. He glanced over the stunned group as he
leaned back against the wall for a moment, panting, mouth wide open.
Then he relieved Mendez of his guns, kicked the rifle aside, and shut
the door.
“Get up, you dog!” he snarled at Mendez, who got slowly to his feet.
“Thank God!” exclaimed Mrs. Austin. “Cal Sands.”
Sands looked at her narrowly. “God ain’t got a thing to do with this,”
he panted. “Stay where yuh are--all of yuh. What’s been goin’ on,
Mendez?”
“Juana and Hal were just married,” said Mrs. Austin, not waiting for
Mendez to answer.
“Juana and Hal?” Sands blinked at this information. His eyes strayed to
the gagged figures on the two chairs, and began to understand.
“So Mendez engineered this, eh? Hal, you poor damn fool, that wife of
yours is your half-sister.”
“What do you say?” choked Hal. “My half-sister.”
“It’s true, you poor fool. Take the gag off Frank Austin and he’ll tell
you it’s true. He married Rosita years ago, and Juana is his daughter.
He deserted her to marry you, Mrs. Austin. That’s why he didn’t want
you and Rosita to meet. Ask him. Frank knocked down Mendez, and Mendez
wanted revenge; so he framed this marriage. Don’t yuh see, he’s gagged
both of the parties that knew this. They’d have to watch this marriage.
You poor fools, Mendez would have kept you here until after the
honeymoon.”
“My God, that can’t be true,” said Mrs. Austin. “Sands, you are lying.”
“I’m not lyin’. Take the gags out of their mouths and they’ll tell you
it’s the truth.”
So great was Sands’s triumph that he grew careless, gun hanging at
his side. Mendez, staking everything on one quick move, grasped a
long-necked bottle from the table, and flung it square against the
side of Sands’s head. Sands went down like a pole-axed steer, and a
moment later Mendez was again in command of the situation.
Strangely enough, no one seemed to care who was in command. Juana had
recovered her voice, and now she said hoarsely:
“Porfiro Mendez, is it true--what Sands said?”
Mendez was the wolf now. Cheated of his prey, he was ready to rend
anybody.
“Every word true!” he roared. “_Madre de Dios_, I’ll keel those guards
for let heem in. Every word true. But you think I’m not get even yet?
_Padre!_ Pardon, I forgot our _padre_ ’ave no ear. Now we ’ave another
wedding.”
His bloodshot eyes stared at Juana, who shrank back from him.
“I no wan’ you,” he growled. “You marry your own brother. I marry
Señorita Austin. Ha, ha, ha! That ees good. ’Er father’s firs’ wife
was _Mejicano_; your firs’ ’usband be _Mejicano_.”
“No, no!” pleaded Betty. “You can’t marry me. Don’t!”
Mendez turned to the blank-faced priest and made a sort of hand talk,
to which the _padre_ nodded violently and drew out his little book,
taking his former position. Mendez stepped over in front of him, but
Betty ran back, throwing herself across the bed. Mendez laughed and
turned to Ricardo, owl-eyed from too much _tequila_.
“Bring her to me,” he ordered.
Ricardo leaned his rifle against the wall and started across the room,
very unsteady on his feet, but Hal stepped in front of him.
“Stan’ back,” warned Mendez, covering Hal with his six-shooter. “I jus’
as soon keel you as not.”
Ricardo stopped, looking inquiringly at Mendez.
“Bring her to me, Ricardo,” ordered Mendez in Spanish.
“Is there no way to stop this?” Mrs. Austin moaned weakly.
As though the Deity had answered that question the roof crashed in over
Mendez’s head, bringing a shower of dust and plaster, a shower of heavy,
broken tile, followed by a heavy body, which seemed to hurtle down,
crushing Mendez to the floor and knocking the old priest sidewise under
the table.
The heavy body was a man, who seemed to rise up out of the débris,
staggered aside, grasping the table for support, but still holding a
gun in his right hand. His face was bleeding, where it was not white
from the plaster dust, but there was a grim smile on his lips. “They
didn’t make these old tile roofs very strong,” he said.
“Johnny Wells!” gasped Hal.
“Hyah, Hal,” grinned Johnny. “What’s the good word?”
“You!” Betty came forward wonderingly. “You came through the roof!”
“Yes’m. Yuh see, I was tryin’ to git to a window up there, but them
darned old tiles was kinda crinkly, and I was scared they’d hear me.
Goin’ mighty slow, I’ll tell yuh. Wasn’t takin’ no chances on speed.
And all to once I reckon I hit a rotten spot.”
Johnny looked around the room. There was Miguel Gonzales over by the
door, still doubled up from the effect of Sands’s kick; Sands himself,
sprawled face down; Porfiro Mendez, twisted grotesquely under the broken
tile and plaster; the bald-headed old priest on hands and knees, peering
from under the table, and Ricardo Gonzales, owl-eyed, hands in the air.
“It shore looks to me as though I’d ruined somebody’s party,” said
Johnny calmly. He looked at the hole in the roof and chuckled softly.
Somewhere a door banged, a voice spoke loudly. Johnny whirled toward the
door, and his gun swung menacingly.
“Been plenty hell raised here all right,” said a voice.
“Goober!” yelled Johnny, and around the edge of the doorway appeared the
skinny old face of Goober Glendon. Behind him was Smoky Hill, blinking
over the top of Goober’s old sombrero.
“Hyah, Johnny,” said Goober, and they walked carefully in, guns ready.
“We’re kinda late,” said Smoky apologetically. “Yuh see, we had to iron
them two jiggers, and then--well, if there ain’t Mr. Sands! Sleepin’
through all this excitement. Imagine that, will yuh?”
“Mendez knocked him down with a bottle,” said Hal.
“And Mr. Mendez, all piled up nicely,” grinned Smoky. “And there’s
Dicky Gonzales, givin’ an imitation of a paper-hanger--and no paper.
Well, well!”
“The picture is perfect,” agreed Goober dryly. “There’s a dead Injun at
the main gate, a couple cripples scattered through the house--and this.”
Goober walked over and looked at Rosita Diaz and Frank Austin.
“We better cut them gags loose,” said Johnny. “I don’t _sabe_ the
reason, but they shore look uncomfortable.”
Smoky examined Sands quickly.
“Colder ’n a codfish,” he said.
“Dead?” asked Hal.
“That’s my impression. Saves the expense of a hangin’.”
Goober and Johnny cut away the ropes and gags. Neither Rosita nor
Austin was able to talk. Johnny gave Austin a drink of _tequila_, and
it gagged him, but the liquor seemed to take the cramp out of his jaw
muscles. Juana was crying over her mother, who was trying to tell her
that everything was all right.
“Let’s have a little explanation of some kind,” said Hal. “What is it
all about, Smoky? Why does the death of Sands save a hanging?”
“That dirty murderer,” grunted the deputy. “He murdered Terrill and
Nolan. Him and Elkinson and Britton was in cahoots with Terrill and
his outfit, aided by Nolan, to steal from the Star A. Nolan, as
sheriff, inspected and passed on the shipments. When yore dad gave
Sands a half interest, he naturally wanted to stop the rustlin’, but
the others refused. Don’t yuh git the idea?”
Frank Austin was on his feet, rubbing his lips and jaw. There was
nothing wrong with his hearing.
“Is that true?” he whispered.
“The sheriff is takin’ care of Elkinson and Britton,” said Goober. “We
got ’em cold.”
“What a fool I’ve been,” muttered Austin.
“Prob’ly the worst I ever seen,” agreed Goober dryly. “You can be more
kinds of a damn fool in a short length of time than any man I’ve ever
seen, Austin. How’s Mendez, Johnny?”
Johnny Wells shook his head as he dusted the plaster off his knees.
“I don’t reckon there’s any _alcalde_ in Piñon to-night, Goober. He must
have been kinda brittle, because there wasn’t more than forty pounds of
them old tiles, and I only weigh about a hundred and seventy pounds.”
“Is he--is he dead?” whispered Rosita.
“I’m sorry, but he is--yes, ma’am,” replied Johnny.
Mrs. Austin had recovered some of her natural poise, and now she came to
her husband; but he did not look up at her.
“Frank, is all this true?” she asked. “Did Sands tell the truth?”
“Yes, he told the truth, Laura. I--I believe I’d have sold my soul to
the devil to prevent you from finding it out. It’s true. Rosita Diaz
is my wife. There has never been a divorce that I know about. There
was a baby coming when I ran away. Why go any further? I guess I’m as
bad as Sands. I don’t ask anybody to forgive me. But thank God things
turned out as they did. Mendez knew. He tried to blackmail me, and I
struck him. This was his revenge--to force Rosita and me to watch
that wedding.”
Mrs. Austin shook her head sadly. “Frank, you could have told me. What
misery it would have saved.”
“I know. I can see that now. And like a fool I played into Sands’s
hands, at the sacrifice of my own son. Well, I’ve made a mess of things,
Laura.”
“It’s all right, dad,” said Hal bravely. “You--you just made a mistake.”
“Hal, do you forgive me?”
“We’ve been enemies long enough, dad. We didn’t know--Juana and me. As
old Omaha says, it’s hell, but directions says take it.”
Rosita had been saying nothing, her arms around Juana. Mrs. Austin went
to her and held out her hand.
“Rosita, you have been done a terrible wrong,” she said. “We will see
what can be done to right it.”
Rosita Diaz lifted her head and smiled through her tears. “It is good
for Rosita,” she said huskily. “After all these years. But don’t you
see, it is all a mistake. That man,” pointing at the crumpled body of
Mendez, “is my husband. I am not Rosita--I am Juanita.”
“My God, what are you saying?” croaked Frank Austin.
“It is true. We looked alike. I ran away from Mendez and took refuge
with Rosita. He swore to kill me. Rosita’s baby was born, and she and
the baby both died.
“No one knew it except her old Indian servant. I--I--God forgive me, I
took her name and her home, and buried your wife, Mr. Austin, under the
name of Juanita Mendez. For fifty _pesos_ the old nurse bought the baby
of a Spanish woman who was dying--that was little Juana. We kept up the
deception. No one knew. It was a long time before Mendez came, and he
believed Juanita dead. That is the truth, as God is my judge.”
The woman bowed her head and sobbed on Juana’s shoulder, while the rest
of them stood around, looking blankly at each other. Hal was the first
to recover, and he took Juana in his arms, holding her tightly.
“That marriage stands!” he shouted. “Juana, we’re married!”
“Yuh better not yell,” warned Johnny. “Some of that old tile might jar
loose on yore head.”
“He wouldn’t feel it,” grinned Goober, and slapped Frank Austin on the
shoulder. “Go hug yore wife, you old sinner. It’s all over, except
cleaning up. Give the kids yore blessin’, and let’s go back home.”
“I--I’ll do that gladly, Goober. If I ever try to prevent anythin’ from
now on, I hope somebody will shoot me.”
“They will, Frank, and don’tcha forget it.”
Goober turned and looked at Johnny, who was possibly supposed to be
shaking hands with Betty; but they were holding instead of shaking,
and Betty was thanking him with her eyes for what he had done.
“You must come out to the ranch,” she said. “Dad needs a new foreman
now, and you will like the place. Mother and I are going to stay a
while. Oh, we may stay months.”
“Shore,” agreed Johnny heartily. “Make yore home down here with us.”
“I guess I’ve got a foreman, Goober,” said Frank.
“Looks thataway,” Goober admitted.
“I’m giving the Star A to Hal, and he needs a foreman.”
“Acts like he needed a keeper, too.”
“He’s got one. I wish you’d tell me how you discovered all these things
about Sands and the other two men.”
“Guessed at ’em, mostly. I didn’t have a danged bit of actual proof.”
“What I want to know is, where didja git that letter yuh sent in to
Sands, and what was in it,” said Smoky. “My golly, it shore started
things.”
Goober took the letter from his pocket and handed it to Smoky, who read
it aloud:
SANDS:
You try to double-cross us and we’ll get you cold. We don’t care
about your partnership with Austin. You killed Terrill, because
he refused to bust up the gang, but you’ll either stick with the
rest of us or take what’s coming to you. Two of your men robbed
them Austin women and never split with us. Destroy this letter,
but don’t forget what I’ve said.
NOLAN.
“Well, no wonder you had the deadwood on ’em!” snorted Smoky. “This
letter would hang the whole works. But where in the devil did you get
it?”
“I wrote it a few days ago,” said Goober simply. He reached in his
pocket and took out the diamond ring, which he handed to Austin.
“I found that in Tony Riecho’s pocket; I reckon you’ll find the rest of
the plunder on Britton. Him and Elkinson got shot up a little, but they
confessed.”
Austin shook his head slowly. “Glendon, you’re a wonder.”
“Well,” drawled Goober, “I would not go that far--but I’m young yet.”
They found the horses to transport everybody back to Indian Wells.
Sands’s was the only body they took back. They ignored the Gonzales
brothers and the old priest, leaving the three of them together.
Miguel was still suffering from the kick Sands gave him. As the last
hoofbeats died in the distance, Ricardo staggered over to the table,
knocked the neck off a bottle, and poured the contents into a huge
cut-glass goblet.
“’Ave dreenk, Mike,” he said.
“Dreenk?” groaned Miguel. “My stummick ees outside in. _Madre de Dios_,
w’at a night! Moorder, wedding, and a keek in the belly. Geeve dreenk to
the _padre_.”
But the padre was sneaking out, and Ricardo spat contemptuously as he
shifted his glance to the crumpled figure of Mendez, the candlelight
flickering on the Lobo’s soiled finery. He lifted the sparkling goblet
high.
“W’ere you go, I do not theenk they need _alcalde_,” he said softly;
“but I weesh you luck, Onkle.”
“Good,” said Miguel heartily. “Porfiro was great man, but he bite off
more than I can chew. Maybe we can be hones’ men now, Ricardo.”
“At leas’ we can be crooked for ourself,” replied Ricardo.
Up at the little depot of Indian Wells, a sleepy-eyed agent yawned as
Goober Glendon wrote out a telegram to the secretary of the Cattlemen’s
Association, which read:
CLOSED RUSTLING DEAL TO-NIGHT AND HAVE COMPLETE CONFESSION
STOP EXCUSE ME FROM TEACHING DETECTING TO ANY MORE PROMISING
YOUNG MEN STOP JOHNNY WELLS WAS SHOT THROUGH THE HEART WITH
AN ARROW AND THE SAD REMAINS WILL BE USED AS FOREMAN OF THE
STAR A OUTFIT.
GOOBER GLENDON.
“That sounds funny,” said the operator.
“It ain’t,” replied Goober dryly, “but you can laugh if yuh feel like
it.”
And he went away in the darkness, rattling his old spurs down the
street.
THE END
[Transcriber’s Note: The cover image was produced by the transcriber.
The illustration was generated to represent a scene from the story. The
image is released into the public domain.]