On his way to the Lewis ranch Dave Law had a struggle with himself. He
had earned a reputation as a man of violent temper, and the time was
not long past when a fraction of the insult Ed Austin had offered him
would have provoked a vigorous counterblast. The fact that on this
occasion he had managed to restrain himself argued an increase of
self-control that especially gratified him, because his natural
tendency to "fly off the handle" had led more than once to regrettable
results. In fact, it was only since he had assumed the duties of a
peace officer that he had made a serious effort at self-government. A
Ranger's work calls for patience and forbearance, and Dave had begun to
realize the perils of his temperament. Normally he was a level-headed,
conservative fellow, but when angered a thousand devils sprang up in
him and he became capable of the wildest excess. This instability,
indeed, had been largely to blame for his aimless roaming. Deep inside
himself he knew that it was nothing but his headstrong temper which had
brought on all his misfortunes and left him, well along in his
thirties, a wanderer, with nothing he could call his own. As with most
men of his turbulent disposition, fits of fury were usually followed by
keen revulsions of feeling. In Dave these paroxysms had frequently been
succeeded by such a sense of shame as to drive him from the scene of
his actions, and in the course of his rovings he had acquired an ample
store of regrets--bitter food for thought during the silent hours when
he sat over his camp-fire or rode alone through the mesquite. His
hatreds were keen and relentless, his passions wild, and yet, so far as
he knew, they had never led him to commit a mean or a downright evil
deed. He had killed men, to be sure, but never, he was thankful to say,
in one of his moments of frenzy.
The killing of men in the fierce exultation of battle, the slaying of a
criminal by an officer under stress of duty, even the taking of life
under severe personal provocation, were acts that did not put one
beyond the pale. Such blood washes off. But there were stains of a
different kind.
Dave was glad that he had swallowed "Young Ed's" incivility, not only
for his own sake, but for the sake of Alaire.
After all, he argued, it was barely possible that Ed had spoken the
truth. There WERE many sorrel horses; the evidence of those rain-washed
hoof-prints was far from conclusive; even the fact that Urbina belonged
to the Tad Lewis outfit was no more than a suspicious circumstance. And
yet, earnestly as he strove to convince himself of these possibilities,
the Ranger could not down the conviction that the rancher had lied and
that he himself was on the right track.
It was late when he arrived at his destination, but Lewis's house was
dark, and it required some effort to awaken the owner. When Tad at last
appeared, clad in undershirt and trousers, he greeted the Ranger with a
leveled Winchester; but when Dave had made known his identity he
invited him in, though with surly reluctance.
Lewis was a sandy-complexioned man of about forty, with colorless brows
and a mean, shifty eye. Formerly a cowboy, he had by the exercise of
some natural ability acquired a good property--and a bad reputation.
Just how or why he had prospered was a mystery which his neighbors
never tired of discussing.
Tad, it seemed, resented any interruption of his rest, and showed the
fact plainly.
Yes, he employed a fellow named Urbina. What was wanted of him?
Law explained briefly.
"Why, he's one of my best men!" laughed the rancher. "He wouldn't steal
nothing."
"Well, I had to shoot another good man of yours," Dave said, quietly.
Lewis fell back a step. "Which one? Who?" he inquired, quickly.
"Pino Garza." Dave told of the meeting at the branding-fire and its
outcome. He was aware, meanwhile, that Lewis's family were listening,
for behind a half-open bedroom door he could hear an excited whispering.
"Killed him the first shot, eh?" Tad was dumfounded. "Now I never
thought Pino was that bad. But you never can tell about these Greasers,
can you? They'll all steal if they get a chance. I let Pino go, 'bout a
week back; but he's been hangin' around, aimin' to visit some of his
relatives up in the brush country. It was probably one of them old
Guzman saw. Anyhow, it couldn't of been Adolfo Urbina; he was over to
Las Palmas all the afternoon."
"Did you send him there?"
"Sure. Ed Austin can tell you."
"Where is Urbina now?"
"I reckon he's asleep somewhere. We'll dig him up and talk to him, if
you say so."
"Good."
Tad's willingness to cooperate with the officer, now that he understood
the situation, was in marked contrast to the behavior of Austin. In
fact, his offer to help was almost too willingly given to suit Dave,
who expected him to protest at being dragged out on such a night. No
protest came, however; Lewis slipped into his boots and slicker,
explaining meanwhile:
"I'm sorry this play came up, for I don't want folks to think I got a
gang of thieves workin' for me."
But Adolfo Urbina was nowhere to be found. No one had seen him since
about seven o'clock, nor could it be discovered where he was spending
the night. Dave remembered that it had been about seven when he left
Las Palmas, and ascertained, indirectly, that Tad had a telephone. On
his way from Austin's Law had stopped at a rancho for a bite to eat,
but he could forgive himself for the delay if, as he surmised, Urbina
had been warned by wire of his coming.
"That's too bad, ain't it?" Lewis said. "But he'll be around again in
the morning, and I'll get him for you. You leave it to me."
There was plainly nothing to do but accept this offer since it could
avail nothing to wait here for Urbina's return. Unless the fellow gave
himself up, he probably could not be found, now that the alarm was
given, without a considerable search--in view of which Dave finally
remounted his borrowed horse and rode away in the direction of
Jonesville.
It was after daylight when he dismounted stiffly at Blaze's gate. He
was wet to the skin and bespattered with mud; he had been almost
constantly in the saddle for twenty-four hours, and Don Ricardo's
cow-pony was almost exhausted.
Blaze and Paloma, of course, were tremendously interested in his story.
"Say, now, that's quick work," the latter exclaimed, heartily. "You're
some thief-buster, Dave, and if you'll just stay around here little
calves can grow up with some comfort."
When Dave rode to Jonesville, after breakfast, he found that the body
of his victim had been brought in during the night, and that the town
was already buzzing with news of the encounter. During the forenoon Don
Ricardo and his sons arrived, bringing additional information, which
they promptly imparted to the Ranger. The Guzmans were people of
action. All three of them had spent the night on horseback, and Pedro
had made a discovery. On the day previous Garza had been seen riding in
company with a man astride a sorrel pony, and this man had been
recognized as Adolfo Urbina. Pedro's witness would swear to it.
Their distance from Las Palmas at the time when they had been seen
together proved, beyond question, that unless Urbina had flown he could
not have arrived at the place in question by noon, the hour Ed Austin
had fixed.
This significant bit of information, however, Dave advised the Guzmans
not to make public for the time being.
Toward midday Tad Lewis and three of his men arrived with the news that
Urbina had left for Pueblo before they could intercept him.
"He's got a girl up there, and he's gone to get married," Tad
explained. "I'm sure sorry we missed him."
Dave smiled grimly at the speaker.
"Are you sure he didn't cross to the other side?" he asked.
Lewis retorted warmly: "Adolfo's an all-right hombre, and I'll back
him. So 'll Ed Austin, I guess me an' Ed are responsible, ain't we?"
Some skeptical expression in his hearer's face prompted him to inquire,
brusquely, "Don't you believe what I'm telling you about his goin' to
Pueblo?"
"I guess he's gone--somewhere."
Tad uttered an angry exclamation. "Looks to me like you'd made up your
mind to saddle this thing onto him whether he done it or not. Well,
he's a poor Mexican, but I won't stand to see him railroaded, and
neither will 'Young Ed.'"
"No?"
"You heard me! Ed will alibi him complete."
Law answered, sharply: "You tell Ed Austin to go slow with his alibis.
And you take this for what it's worth to you: I'm going to get all the
cattle-rustlers in this county--ALL of them, understand?"
Lewis flushed redly and sputtered: "If you make this stick with Adolfo,
nobody 'll be safe. I reckon Urbina's word is as good as old Ricardo's.
Everybody knows what HE is."
Later when Dave met the Guzmans, Ricardo told him, excitedly, "That
horse Tad Lewis is riding is the one I saw yesterday."
"Are you sure?"
"Listen, señor. Men in cities remember the faces they see; I have lived
all my life among horses, and to me they are like men. I seldom forget."
"Very well. Tad says Urbina has gone to Pueblo to get married, so I'm
going to follow him, and I shall be there when he arrives."
"Bueno! Another matter"--Ricardo hesitated--"your bonita--the pretty
mare. She is buried deep."
"I'm glad," said Dave. "I think I shall sleep better for knowing that."
Since the recent rain had rendered the black valley roads impassable
for automobiles, Dave decided to go to Pueblo by rail, even though it
was a roundabout way, and that afternoon found him jolting over the
leisurely miles between Jonesville and the main line. He was looking
forward to a good night's sleep when he arrived at the junction; but on
boarding the north-bound through train he encountered Judge Ellsworth,
who had just heard of the Garza killing, and of course was eager for
details. The two sat in the observation-car talking until a late hour.
Knowing the judge for a man of honor and discretion. Dave unburdened
himself with the utmost freedom regarding his suspicions of Ed Austin.
Ellsworth nodded. "Yes, Ed has thrown in with the Rebel junta in San
Antone, and Tad Lewis is the man they use to run arms and supplies in
this neighborhood. That's why he and Ed are so friendly. Urbina is
probably your cattle thief, but he has a hold over Ed, and so he rode
to Las Palmas when he was pursued, knowing that no jury would convict
him over Austin's testimony."
"Do you think Ed would perjure himself?" Dave asked.
"He has gone clean to the bad lately; there's no telling what he'll do.
I'd hate to see you crowd him, Dave."
"They call you the best lawyer in this county because you settle so
many cases out of court." The judge smiled at this. "Well, here's a
chance for you to do the county a good turn and keep Ed Austin out of
trouble."
"How?"
"The prosecuting attorney is a new man, and he wants to make a
reputation by breaking up the Lewis gang."
"Well?"
"He intends to cinch Urbina, on Ricardo's and my testimony. You're a
friend of Austin's; you'd better tip him to set his watch ahead a few
hours and save himself a lot of trouble. The prosecuting attorney don't
like Ed any too well. Understand?"
The judge pondered this suggestion for a moment. "'Young Ed' is a queer
fellow. Once in a while he gets his neck bowed."
"So do I," Law declared, quietly. "He treated me like a hobo--sent me
to the kitchen for a hand-out. That sticks. If I hadn't tamed down
considerably these late years, I'd have--wound him up, right there."
From beneath his drooping lids Ellsworth regarded the Ranger curiously.
"You HAVE a bad temper, haven't you?"
"Rotten!"
"I know. You were a violent boy. I've often wondered how you were
getting along. How do you feel when you're--that way?"
It was the younger man's turn to hesitate. "Well, I don't feel anything
when I'm mad," he confessed. "I'm plumb crazy, I guess. But I feel
plenty bad afterwards."
There was a flicker of the judge's eyelids.
Dave went on musingly: "I dare say it's inherited. They tell me my
father was the same. He was--a killer."
"Yes. He was all of that."
"Say! WAS he my father?"