“I saw Mr. Mott put twenty-five hundred dollars into that envelope,
Crane.”
Crane leaned across the counter, his brow furrowed questioningly.
“You mean to say that there was twenty-five hundred in that envelope
when I got it?”
“I--I don’t know what to say. Mr. Mott had Miss Marsh get the money from
the vault, and we both know that he put it into the envelope--didn’t he,
Miss Marsh?”
Della did not reply.
“Well, it sure as ---- wasn’t there when I tried to pay it to Pablo,”
declared Crane. “And that whole deal is spoiled. He’s got the idea now
that I was tryin’ to cheat him. I said--
“Here’s your twenty-five hundred dollars, Pablo.”
“I handed him the whole works. And any old time yuh think that
half-breed can’t count, yo’re all wrong. He counted it as quick as I
could, and then he says:
“You pretty ---- smart, eh? Cheat Injun, eh? You go to ----!”
“And that’s what I know about it.”
“But I tell you, it was in there----”
Della stopped. Big Jim was coming into the bank. He nodded to Crane, but
stopped and looked at them. It was evident at a glance that something
was all wrong.
“Did you finish that deal with Pablo, Crane?” he asked.
“You know danged well I didn’t,” growled Crane.
“I do? Where did you get that idea?”
“I told you I wanted twenty-five hundred dollars, Mott.”
“Well, that’s what you got.”
“I did not! I got fifteen hundred, that’s all.”
Big Jim looked curiously at Della and the cashier, rubbing his chin with
the ball of his right thumb.
“I--I gave him that envelope, Mr. Mott,” said Della.
“I got the envelope,” nodded Crane.
“Didn’t you count the money?” asked Big Jim.
“No, I didn’t have time. You know Pablo. I argued him into the deal and
he wanted the money right then. I told him I had to go to the bank after
it, and he started after his horse; so I ran down here after the money.
----, I didn’t take time to count it.”
“And the envelope only contained fifteen hundred, eh?” Thus Big Jim
thoughtfully. “There was twenty-five hundred in--oh, well, the deal
is off, anyway. Maybe we can have another talk with Pablo.”
Big Jim turned away and went into his private office. Crane squinted
after him and walked out of the bank, leaving Della and the cashier
looking at each other. Then the cashier turned away and went back to
his desk.
There had been no accusations, but Della knew that everything pointed
to the fact that she had taken the money. Was it all in the envelope
when Crane got it from her, she wondered? Or did Crane take it out on
his way to meet Pablo?
The cashier spoke her name and she turned to see Big Jim in the doorway
of his office, motioning for her to come. She went to him and he closed
the door behind them. She was not afraid.
He motioned her to a chair and sat down on the edge of his flat-top
desk.
“That’s a queer deal, Della,” he said softly.
“Do you think I took it?” she demanded.
“Don’t talk that way,” he parried. “I’m not accusing any one. Crane
could have taken the money.”
“But you don’t believe he did.”
Della got to her feet and faced him hotly.
“Sit down, please,” he begged. “There is no use getting mad about it,
Della.”
“You think I’m a thief.”
The tears came to her eyes. She wanted to cry, but was too angry.
“You are accusing yourself, little lady. Now, sit down and be patient.
It’s only a thousand dollars, anyway; and it won’t break me.” He laughed
softly. “I’ve got a good many of them. Whoever got that money is welcome
to it, do you understand? I will see that no one knows it, except those
who already know.”
“Is that fair to me?” she demanded.
Big Jim smiled and snipped the end off a cigar with his strong teeth.
“Della,” he said slowly, “I’m not going to investigate. It would only
start a scandal, and I’d rather lose a thousand than to start trouble.
Whoever got that money needs it more than I do.”
“Needs it?” she repeated.
“People hardly ever take what they do not need, Della.”
The one sentence in Tex Rowland’s note--_I need about five hundred
dollars_--flashed through her mind, and she looked up quickly to find
him looking at her closely, as if reading her mind.
“Maybe Crane needed it,” he said softly.
It was as if he suspected her, but was willing to give her a slight
doubt. Her face paled and she drew away from him.
“You mean that I did--and Mr. Crane might have?” she queried.
“Oh, pshaw!”
Big Jim threw away his cigar and came toward her.
“Listen to me, Della: We’ll both forget this. As far as I’m concerned,
it’s a closed incident. I’d be willing to give you many times that
amount, if you would ask me for it. I like you better than any girl
I’ve ever known.”
“And still you believe I stole from you.”
“That’s all past and gone, Della.”
“It is not past and gone, Mr. Mott. This is not something you can wipe
out with a few words.”
“Well,” he laughed, a half-sneer on his face, “what would you have me
do? Accuse you of theft? Drag your name in the dirt? Don’t be a fool,
Della. If you’ve got any sense left, you’ll let me bury this whole
thing. You know that I care a lot for you, little lady.”
“But am I a thief?” she demanded hotly. “There has been no
investigation.”
“Do you want one?” Big Jim’s voice hardened slightly.
“I demand one.”
He considered her seriously for several moments and shrugged his
shoulders.
“There must be some Scotch blood in you, Della.”
“Yes--the McPherson blood, Mr. Mott.”
Big Jim laughed savagely and his right hand went unconsciously to his
ear. He could still feel the sting of old Rory’s blow.
“McPherson blood, eh? That hard-headed old ----!” He laughed and shook
his head. “He won’t welcome an investigation.”
“He has nothing to do with it,” reminded Della coldly.
“No? And you his only living relative?”
“This is my battle--not his.”
Big Jim drew out a fresh cigar and lighted it. Della moved back to the
door and reached for the knob.
“Wait a minute,” said Big Jim. “I want you to be sure that you want
this to go on, Della. I suppose you know what it means. It will be
bad for you, no matter which way it goes. The theft lies between you
and Martin Crane. One of you must have taken that money, don’t you
see?
“It would be almost impossible to convict a girl like you in this
country. But, even if you were cleared of the charge, there would
always be a doubt, unless the money was recovered. Can you afford to
take that chance?”
“You haven’t given me a chance,” she said bitterly. “You let Mr. Crane
go where he would. If he took the money, he has had plenty of chance to
dispose of it by this time. Was that fair?”
“Possibly not, Della. But I thought you would listen to reason. I don’t
want to lose you. I gave you this position, in order to see you once in
a while. You don’t need to work. Just say the word and I’ll see that you
never have to work for anybody again.”
She faced him squarely, her back against the door. There was nothing
timid about her now.
“Do you mean that you want to marry me?” she asked.
He smiled at her and shifted the cigar between his lips.
“I’d sure take you a long ways away from here,” he said, ignoring her
direct question. “I could dress you in silks, furs and diamonds, little
lady. I’d show you the bright lights and give you everything that goes
with them. You’d soon forget the cattle-country.”
“Because you love me?” she asked coldly.
Something in her voice caused him to hesitate; something that made him
know that she detested him thoroughly. Her head was held high and her
eyes surveyed him coldly.
“And you would do this because you love me?” she repeated.
He leaned toward her, his teeth clenched tightly on his cigar, his eyes
narrowed. Then he struck the top of the desk with his clenched hand.
“No, by ----!” he gritted. “But I’d do it to break the heart of that
sniffling old uncle of yours. I told him I’d break him, if it was the
last thing I’d ever do. I’d be good to you, just to show him that I
mean what I say. Now you can take your choice.”
His lips were white with anger, but they were no whiter than her cheeks
as she turned and walked out without a reply, leaving him staring after
her, the drool from his cigar running down over his trembling chin.
* * * * *
She went out through the front door and up the sidewalk, just as the
sheriff, Slim Whelan and Bill Smith were tying their horses at the
Fashion hitch-rack. She did not see them. In fact, she was incapable
of seeing anything, and almost ran into them.
“Whoa, Blaze!” exclaimed Slim softly, putting out a hand to steady her.
She looked up quickly, dazedly.
“I--I beg your pardon,” she said huskily and half-staggered past them.
The three men turned and watched her.
“Now, what do you know about that?” wondered Slim aloud. “She’s as white
as a sheet and she’s got both fists shut tight.”
“Acts like she’s walkin’ in her sleep,” said the sheriff. “Mebbe she’s
sick.”
Bill Smith turned as if to follow her, but remembered that he was not to
do such things. There was no doubt that Della was suffering, and he
wanted to help her. Crane was coming out of the saloon, and noticed that
the three men were looking at Della. He, too, watched her cross the main
street, and then came over to the three men. “What’s the matter with
her?” he asked.
“That’s what we’re wonderin’,” said Slim. “She acts like she’s sick.
Danged near ran into us, didn’t she, Bill? Kinda like she had
blind-staggers, don’tcha know it?”
Della had disappeared down the little side street; so they all turned
back to the saloon door.
“Didja fix up that deal with Pablo?” asked Slim.
Crane shook his head. Big Jim was coming up the street toward them and
they waited for him. He nodded curtly to them and spoke directly to the
sheriff--
“Lohman, I want to have a word with you.”
“All right,” nodded the sheriff, and they walked back toward the bank
together, while the other three men went into the saloon.
“I wonder what Big Jim wanted of the sheriff,” said Slim, as they filled
their glasses.
Crane drank thoughtfully and motioned for them to have another. It
was not like Martin Crane to drink raw whisky. They noticed that he
was filling his glass to the brim. Three big drinks of it went down
his gullet before he turned his back on the bar.
His lips twisted in a grim smile as he hitched his holster around, and
rubbed the palm of his right hand on his hip. Slim and Bill exchanged
glances. They knew that Crane had shocked his system with strong liquor
for a reason.
“I’ve got a hunch what Big Jim wanted him for,” he said slowly, his eyes
hardening with anger. “And I’m all set, y’betcha.”
“Let’s have another drink, gents,” suggested the bartender.
“I’ve got a-plenty,” replied Crane evenly. “You fellers go ahead.”
They turned back to the bar, but took cigars this time.
“We’re with yuh, Crane,” said Bill Smith softly. “I dunno what it’s all
about--but count us in.”
It was several minutes later when the sheriff came into the saloon. He
stopped in the doorway and looked at the three men at the bar. Crane was
slightly hunched, immovable. The sheriff gave a slight shake of his head
and came up to the bar beside Slim.
“I’ll buy a drink,” he said slowly, nodding to the bartender. “I reckon
I need one now.”
Crane relaxed slightly and accepted a cigar. The sheriff was very
thoughtful as he drank his liquor. Crane watched him closely, standing
slightly apart from the rest. Then the sheriff indicated the door, with
a slight jerk of his head, and they followed him outside.
“Crane,” he said, as they grouped near the hitch-rack, “what do you know
about that money deal this mornin’?”
Crane swore softly, as he outlined what had happened.
“You didn’t count the money at the time yuh got it, eh?”
“No.”
“Big Jim and the girl had quite a run-in, I reckon,” stated the sheriff.
“He’s sure she got the money. But he didn’t search her; just let her
walk out. Now he wants me to arrest her for stealing his thousand
dollars.”
Bill Smith said nothing, but he turned away, staring back toward the
bank, fighting against an impulse to go there and kill Big Jim Mott.
“No wonder she looked sick,” said Slim sadly.
“Why don’t he have me arrested?” asked Crane. “I could ’a’ taken that
money. ---- him and his money! I’ve got a notion to go down there and
heave a gun into his teeth. Why would that girl steal money from him?”
Slim and Bill Smith glanced quickly at each other. Both of them knew
about that fraudulent note and of Tex’s request for money.
Lohman’s eye had been quick enough to read the unspoken question between
them. In his pocket was a mighty good reason for Della to take the
money. It would go a long way toward convincing the jury of her guilt,
in case it was produced in court. He felt sure that Slim and Bill knew
something about that note, but he did not want to question them.
“I wouldn’t start trouble with Mott over it,” advised the sheriff. “He’s
naturally sore over losing the money, and I guess he and that girl had a
row, which didn’t help matters none. Where does she live?”
None of them knew; so they went to the post-office and the sheriff
inquired. Crane went back to the saloon, but Slim and Bill went down
to the dressmaker’s home with the sheriff. Della was not there, but
there was a note pinned to the front door. It read:
Miss Freeland:
I have gone back to Rainbow Valley.
It was just signed with an initial “D.”
“Well, I’m ---- glad of that,” sighed the sheriff, as they went back
to the main street, and the sheriff led them to the livery-stable. The
stable-man nodded, when the sheriff questioned him, and said:
“Yeah, she went away a little while ago. Big Jim brought a horse here
for her to use, but she took one of our horses instead. No, she didn’t
say where she was goin’.”
They went back up the street, and Big Jim accosted them as they passed
the bank.
“She’s gone back to Rainbow Valley,” said the sheriff, in answer to Big
Jim’s question. “Hired a livery-horse.”
Bill Smith had stopped close to Big Jim, who scowled at the sheriff’s
statement.
“Did, eh?” he grunted sourly. “Gone back to Rainbow. Well, you can find
her there, can’t you, Lohman?”
“Yeah, I can.”
The sheriff did not enthuse over the prospect.
“All right--go and get her.”
“Yuh aim to put her in jail?” queried Bill Smith softly.
Big Jim squinted at him, his lips curling with sarcasm:
“What in ---- did you think I was going to do? She’s a thief and----”
Right at that point Big Jim’s sentence ended, when Bill Smith’s right
fist, traveling in a wide arc, caught him midway between the point of
his chin and the hinge of his jaw. It was all done in a second. Big
Jim’s mouth was still set for the next word of his sentence when he
hit the sidewalk.
The sheriff and Slim stepped back a few steps, staring at the prostrate
Big Jim Mott and at Bill Smith. Big Jim did not move; neither did Bill
Smith, who had stepped back, slightly crouched, waiting for Big Jim to
recover.
“One’s enough,” whispered Slim foolishly. “My ----, what a punch!”
The sheriff looked curiously at Bill Smith, and wondered just why
this handsome cowpuncher had smashed Big Jim for calling the girl a
thief. It was unlooked for in a stranger. Several other men were
hurrying down toward them, and among the crowd was Martin Crane, a
trifle unsteady of legs. They moved in close and watched Big Jim get
to his feet unassisted.
He was so badly dazed that he did not seem to realize what had happened.
As he straightened up to his full height, Bill Smith shot forward,
starting another punch at the big man’s jaw; but Slim blocked him.
“Hol’ fast, Bill,” he grunted. “He’s licked.”
“Let ’im go to it,” gurgled Crane. “I dunno whazzit’s all about--but let
’im go to it, Slimmie.”
Big Jim felt of his jaw and stepped back against the doorway. Things
were clearing for him now and he realized that Bill Smith had knocked
him down. He looked curiously at Bill Smith, trying to figure out why
Bill Smith had hit him.
The blow had sapped his strength badly, and he wanted to sit down. Every
one seemed to be waiting for Bill Smith or Big Jim to speak. Then Bill
Smith glanced at the crowd around him and spoke directly to Big Jim.
“I’ll tell yuh why I hit yuh, Mott. Tex Rowland is my best friend--and
the girl you accuse of stealin’ from yuh is the girl he loves. You let
her alone or Tex Rowland will kill yuh. Now that ain’t no threat--it’s
a promise.”
Bill Smith turned and walked on up the street. Big Jim blinked
painfully, turned around and went into the bank without saying a word
to any one. The crowd watched him disappear inside and then went back
up the street.
Slim, Martin Crane and the sheriff walked along together and joined
Bill Smith in the Fashion saloon. The sheriff held out his hand to
Bill Smith, a grin on his lips, as he said:
“Bill Smith, I’m the sheriff of this county and I hadn’t ought to act
like this; but I’d like to shake hands with yuh. I wish I had a friend
that would do a thing like that for me, if I was in Tex Rowland’s place.
I hope Tex appreciates it.”
“Yeah, I reckon he does,” smiled Bill, as they shook hands.
They had a round of drinks, after which Slim persuaded Crane that they
should go back to the ranch. Crane was pretty drunk, but he acquiesced.
Big Jim watched them ride out of town, squinting one eye speculatively,
as if trying to make a decision.
Then he left the bank and walked down to the depot, which was about
three blocks away. He asked the sleepy-eyed operator for a telegram
blank, on which he wrote:
Warden, Elk Lodge Penitentiary.
Indications point to fact that Tex Rowland is hiding
in this vicinity. Might be worth investigating.
(Signed) Jim Mott.
“Send this right away, will you?” he asked the operator.
“Y’betcha,” nodded the operator, turning to his instrument.
Big Jim walked outside, ripped a match savagely along the side of the
depot and lighted his cigar.
“Friend of Tex Rowland, eh? Well, maybe you’ll be bait for us to find
your dear friend. And next time I’ll be looking for you, Bill Smith.”
He strode along a few steps, puffing savagely, and an idea seemed to
strike him.
“It’s a ten-to-one shot that Tex is in Rainbow Valley,” he declared to
himself. “Old Rory would protect him. I’d like to see that old ----’s
face, when Della tells him she’s a thief.”
It seemed to amuse him so much that he went back into the bank, his face
wreathed with smiles. The cashier glanced at Big Jim as he disappeared
into his private office.
“Lost a thousand dollars and got knocked down,” mused the cashier,
“and acts happy over it all. Sure takes all kinds of folks to make up
a world.”