A Telltale Handkerchief
"Good old Jim!" murmured Connie gratefully as she saw the rider coming
up the trail. "He's saved our lives."
Lefty hurried down the path to meet the man and help him with the
horses.
"Everything all right?" asked Jim as he rode up. "I was worried when I
found your ponies on the trail. I thought you knew how to tie a rope,
Lefty."
Ignoring the thrust, the cowboy asked quickly:
"Where did you find the hosses, Jim?"
"Down the trail about half a mile. Couldn't figure how they all broke
away."
"They didn't break loose," Lefty answered grimly. "Someone untied 'em
a-purpose. You didn't see anyone on the trail?"
Jim Barrows shook his head.
"How did you happen to be over this way yourself?" Lefty asked
curiously. "I thought you were wranglin' steers for Blakeman today."
Jim Barrow's eyes narrowed.
"You're not hintin' I turned those horses loose----"
"Now don't get touchy, Jim," Lefty said quickly. "'Course I wasn't
hintin' at anything like that. I just asked a civil question."
"I came over this way today because I thought something might go wrong."
"Your bones sort of told you?"
"Well, I had a feeling. And it turns out I was right."
Lefty made no reply as he followed Jim up the trail, but he studied the
man intently.
Connie had not heard the talk between the two cowboys. She greeted Jim
warmly.
"What happened to you, Miss Connie?" he asked in astonishment, observing
her bedraggled appearance.
"Oh, we had a little accident," she answered vaguely. "We're certainly
grateful to you, Jim, for bringing our horses."
The man dismounted and helped the school teachers into the saddle.
Unnoticed by all save Connie, a blue bandanna handkerchief dropped from
his pocket. She thought that he would pick it up, but after the other
members of the party had started down the trail, he rode after them,
leaving the handkerchief lying on the ground.
As Connie rode past the spot, she reached low and swept it up. She would
not have given it a second glance save that it reminded her of the
handkerchief which the masked bandit had worn the night he robbed her of
her rodeo earnings.
There was nothing unusual about a blue bandanna, however, for many
cowboys carried them. Yet as Connie folded the bit of cloth she noticed
that two initials had been stamped in one corner. But they were not the
letters which the girl might have expected to see.
"'J. R.'," she mused, "that doesn't seem right. Jim's last name doesn't
begin with an 'R.'"
Connie carefully examined the letters again to make certain that she had
not mistaken a "B" for an "R."
"It's an 'R' all right," she decided. "Why should Jim be carrying a
handkerchief marked like this unless he's passing under an assumed
name?"
Connie had intended to return the handkerchief to the man, but now she
thrust it into her pocket, and when she rode alongside a few minutes
later, made no mention of finding it.
The girl did not know what to think. It was possible, of course, that
Jim had come into possession of another person's handkerchief and was
using it as his own. But that did not seem probable.
"Perhaps Blakeman was right about the man," Connie reflected. "From the
very first he believed that Jim had a past."
Upon reaching the ranch, Cecil immediately inquired for his father.
Learning that Mr. Grimes had not returned from the fishing trip, he
disappeared to his room.
Connie changed her own clothing and then went to talk with Forest
Blakeman. He had heard the story of the mishap from Helena, a version
which strongly favored her brother.
"I take it you're discharging Lefty?" the foreman inquired.
"No," Connie replied, "he acted rashly, but it wasn't entirely his
fault. Cecil had the ducking coming to him."
"If you'll excuse me for saying it, you're making a mess of this ranch,"
Blakeman told her bluntly. "I was against this dude idea from the first,
but since you brought guests here, I don't believe in cooking up damage
suits."
"Cecil wasn't hurt."
"He may claim differently. Miss Connie, the best thing you can do is to
sell this ranch before the bank takes it over."
"I don't know of anyone who would buy it."
"If your price was right I might be able to find you a buyer," Blakeman
said quickly. "But you couldn't expect any fancy figure."
"Who is your prospect?"
"Well, I'm not at liberty to say. But if you'd take, say five thousand
dollars, I think I could swing the deal. That would pay off your bank
note and give you something clear."
"This ranch is worth three times that amount at least," Connie replied.
"I'll never sell unless I'm compelled to do it."
"If you wait very long you'll miss your chance," Blakeman warned. "The
bank may sell you out, and then you'll get even less."
Connie made no reply but turned away. She had seen Jim Barrows crossing
the courtyard and wished to talk with him. The foreman followed her
gaze.
"If you'd give me a free hand I'd send that fellow on his way," he
declared.
"What do you know about Jim Barrows?" Connie questioned, pausing again.
"I told you what I thought of him the other day. They're saying in town
that you've taken a fugitive from justice to shelter."
"Who said a thing like that?" Connie asked sharply.
"Why, it's common talk. If you weren't so blind you could see for
yourself that he's not a square shooter."
"You don't really have any evidence against him?"
"I can't prove that he's wanted by the law--no. But I do know he's no
hand for us. Why, today, he was supposed to be wrangling steers, and he
walked off from the job."
"It was lucky for me that he did," Connie said ruefully. "But I think
I'll have a talk with him."
"Don't expect him to break down and tell you his life history," Blakeman
said with a trace of sarcasm. "He won't do it. The only thing I'd tell
him would be to get out."
Connie did not answer. After the foreman had gone to the barn she stood
by the corrals lost in thought. She did not know what she could say to
Jim Barrows. Perhaps she might return the handkerchief and ask him to
explain the initials.
Connie had seen the man disappear into the bunk house and she knew that
the other cowboys were busy elsewhere. This would be her opportunity to
talk with him alone.
She walked slowly toward the bunk house, dreading the interview. The
door was half ajar.
As Connie paused, hesitating to rap, she saw Jim Barrows move across the
room. He had not heard her approach. There was something about his
manner which struck Connie as odd. Instead of rapping on the door, she
waited and watched.
Barrows glanced out the window toward the barn, and then he crossed over
to a battered chest which stood near Blakeman's bunk. The box belonged
to the foreman, Connie knew, for she had heard Lefty joking about how
Blakeman always kept his love letters locked in it.
To the girl's amazement, Barrows took a handful of keys from his pocket.
He selected one and fitted it into the lock.
Connie had seen quite enough. She pushed open the door of the bunk
house.
Jim Barrows whirled about and his hand went instinctively to his hip
pocket. Connie noted the gesture and her lips tightened.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" the man laughed, relaxing.
"You were afraid it was Blakeman," Connie replied coldly. "Jim Barrows,
may I ask what you are doing?"
"I guess you can see for yourself, Miss. I was trying to open this
chest."
"Forest Blakeman's chest," Connie supplied.
"I reckon you're right." Jim Barrows grinned arrogantly.
"Why were you trying to open his chest?"
"Well, I just had a sudden itch to find out what was inside. Prying into
things is a weakness of mine."
"It seems to be," Connie answered scornfully. "Jim Barrows, there are a
number of things which you might explain."
She took the blue handkerchief from her pocket, offering it to him.
"You dropped this on the trail and I picked it up," she told him. "Is it
yours?"
"It must be if you saw me drop it," he returned amiably.
"This may seem very amusing to you, but I don't see anything funny about
it," Connie said, her anger rising. "This handkerchief happens to be
marked with the initials 'J. R.' Perhaps you can explain that."
The expression of the man's face changed. He took the handkerchief from
Connie, staring at the telltale markings.
"Barrows isn't your real name, is it?" Connie demanded.
"No," the man admitted after a long hesitation.
"Then tell me what it is."
"I can't do that."
"You're wanted by the law!" Connie accused.
"Do I look like a criminal?" the man countered, a faint smile playing
over his lips.
"I believe you've been acting a part ever since you came here!" Connie
went on indignantly. "That day I found you on the trail--I don't believe
you were sick at all. You pretended you were broke and out of work, but
I notice you have plenty of money now."
"You are very observing," the man replied very quickly.
"I've been very blind."
"I'll set your mind at rest upon one point. I am not a fugitive from the
law."
"Then why are you using a name other than your own?"
"I have a very good reason--one which I cannot reveal."
"For all I know you may be the man who held me up at Eagle Pass," Connie
continued heatedly. "That's what Blakeman tried to tell me----"
"Oh, so you've been listening to him?"
"By your own admission you have good reason not to use your true name."
"And it is a good reason," the man returned with emphasis. "Connie, I
want you to promise that you'll not say anything to Blakeman about
this."
"Why should I protect you? You've given me no explanation for trying to
break into his chest. In fact----"
Connie's voice trailed off for just at that moment Lefty appeared in the
doorway. He looked quickly from one to the other. But he gave no
indication that he had overheard the conversation.
"Connie," he said significantly, "Mr. Grimes has been talking with
Cecil. He wants to see you right away."
"I'll come," said the girl wearily.
She faced Jim Barrows once more. "There are still several things I wish
to say to you," she told him gravely. "We'll finish our conversation
after I have seen Mr. Grimes."