Clint Haverty had told Mary one day that she did not need to worry
about her future and he had not even mentioned her in his will. She
had nothing now, but she did not complain. Clint Haverty had been
more than generous with her, and she was very grateful. The crew of
the Lazy H had finished up their first day of the spring count, and
the new man, Skeeter Smith, had proved himself a good worker with
cattle.
Late in the evening, after the men had eaten, Skeeter drifted around to
the front porch, smoking a cigaret, and found Mary sitting there alone.
“Hello,” she said.
Skeeter sat down on one of the steps.
“It’s shore nice around here, Ma’am,” he said.
“I love it,” she said quietly. “It has been my home for eight years. I
love the sunsets, the sunrise and the moonlight.”
“They’re pretty,” he admitted. “The boys was tellin’ me about the
readin’ of that will, and I’d like to say that I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” she said simply.
“Folks don’t call me mister--I’m Skeet.”
“They don’t call me ma’am either.”
“I reckon we’re even.”
“Is your home in Arizona?” she asked.
“Home? No, I haven’t any home--Mary. Wherever I hang my hat. I’m sort of
a pilgrim I reckon.”
“I’ll have to be a pilgrim now, I suppose,” said Mary. “I can’t make
this my home much longer. As soon as the will is probated the new owner
will take over the Lazy H.”
“Yeah, I reckon that’s how they do it. Life’s a funny thing. Yuh never
know what you’ve got--not for sure. Where will yuh go?”
“Oh, I suppose I can find a job--maybe.”
“Yeah, I reckon so. Still, a woman can always marry somebody, and not
have to work.”
“I haven’t given much thought to marriage,” she said.
“I didn’t dare to,” grinned Skeeter. “Have you ever seen the feller
they’re givin’ the Lazy H to?”
“I came in from Northport on the stage with him.”
“Yeah? What sort of a feller is he, Mary?”
“Oh, just--well, I’d say he was average--as far as I could see. I didn’t
know he was the heir to the Lazy H at that time.”
“City feller, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes. He said he had always lived in a city.”
Dell Howard, one of the cowboys, came around the corner.
“Skeet, do yuh want to ride to town with me and Dan?” he asked. Skeeter
got to his feet.
“I’ll be with yuh, Dell,” he replied, and to Mary he said:
“Keep yore chin up, Mary. Speakin’ as a drifter, the things yuh worry
most about never happen. A feller died once and willed me his socks,
but I never got ’em.”
“What happened to them?” asked Mary.
“Oh, nothin’ much. They buried him with ’em on before they read his
will. See yuh later.”
Going up the street in Pinnacle City that evening, Skeeter Smith and
Dell Howard found Cactus Spears and Jim Bailey talking in front of
the hotel. Dell introduced Skeeter to Cactus, who in turn introduced
Jim to them.
“Meade, eh? So yo’re the heir to the Lazy H?” Dell asked.
“That’s what they say,” replied Jim. No one had any comments, nor
anything else, it seemed to Jim. Dell said:
“I’ll go to the postoffice, before it closes, Skeet,” and went on.
“Glad to have met yuh, Smith,” Cactus said. “I’ve got to go to the
office.”
That left Jim Bailey and Skeeter Smith together.
“This happens all the time,” Jim said. “As soon as they find out who I
am they leave me alone. They resent me.”
“Don’t feel too bad about it,” advised the tall cowpoke. “If you can
prove that yo’re entitled to the property, I don’t see what they can
do about it.”
“Something happened last night,” said Jim soberly.
“Yeah, I heard about that at supper tonight. Tellurium was tellin’ us
how Archibald got his black eye.”
“It wasn’t funny--not to me.”
“You was prejudiced,” grinned Skeeter.
“One man threatened me with a gun.”
“Yeah, I reckon he did. But that’s nothin’, he didn’t shoot. They resent
you takin’ over the Lazy H of course. But if you are entitled to it, why
worry? They’ll make yuh prove it.”
“But suppose the court won’t accept my proof?” asked Jim.
“That,” replied Skeeter seriously, “would be too bad. Folks in this kind
of country believe the court is right.”
“What do you mean?”
“If the court says yo’re a fraud--they’ll hang yuh.”
“They wouldn’t do that!” exclaimed Jim.
“My friend,” said Skeeter earnestly, “there’s boot-hills made up of
tombstones of men who made that same remark and believed they were
right. This is no country to doublecross the people. I’ll see yuh
later, Mister Meade.”
* * * * *
Jim went back into the hotel and sat down. That was the second warning
he had received on a double-cross. If he double-crossed Ed McLean he’d
suffer, and if he double-crossed the people, they’d hang him.
“Fifty percent is entirely too little for my job,” he told himself. “I
should get it all--and a bonus.”
Still, he mused, fifty percent of a hundred thousand dollars was an
awful lot of money. And then the thought struck him that Ed McLean
had been all too quick to agree to a fifty-fifty split. It wasn’t
what a lawyer would do. Offer ten percent, and then agree to a fifty
percent. There was something fishy about the whole thing. Of course,
he could understand why McLean did not want any written agreements.
Jim was very careful to lock his room that night, but no one came to mar
his slumber.
It was after ten the next morning when Jim Bailey came down from his
room. It was very hot in Pinnacle City, and the little hotel lobby was
deserted. Jim flung his key on the desk and had turned toward the door
when he heard a sound that was very much like a partly muffled shot.
Through the open doorway he could see several men over in front of
the Antelope Saloon, looking across the street. Two of them started
to cross the street, traveling at a fast pace. At that moment Hank
Voigt, the hotelkeeper, skidded around to the entrance of the hotel,
and fairly fell into the place.
“Bank robbery!” he exclaimed. “Bank robbery!”
He caught his balance and looked at Jim Bailey.
“Well, do somethin’!” he barked at Jim.
“Do what?” asked Jim, watching more men run from across the street. Hank
flopped his arms helplessly.
“Shot at me,” he said in amazement. “Imagine that, will yuh?”
“I shall try, Mr. Voigt.”
“Well--good! You’ll-- There goes the sheriff!”
Jim Bailey walked out and went up to the bank, where a goodly crowd had
gathered.
Cactus Spears was trying to keep them out of the bank.
“Thomas Estabrook is prob’ly dead,” he reported. “We’ve sent for the
coroner. Now, dang yuh, keep out and give us room!”
No one seemed to know any of the details. Thomas Estabrook was dead,
sprawled behind the counter, a gun on the floor beside him. He had
apparently tried to defend himself. The robber, or robbers, had left via
the rear doorway. No money had been touched, the bandits frightened away
after having shot the banker.
Old Hank Voigt said he didn’t see how many men were in there. He had
gone to make a deposit, and as he came into the doorway he heard a shot
fired. A moment later a bullet blew splinters from a side of the doorway
near his head, and he didn’t stop running until he skidded into his own
hotel.
Estabrook was alone in the bank at that time, the bookkeeper having gone
to Northport to have a tooth repaired. He was expected to be back later
in the day. The sheriff closed the bank for the day.
Jim Bailey saw Ed McLean at the bank, but did not get a chance to
talk with him. Jim went back to the hotel and sat down on the shaded
porch. The town buzzed over the killing of their banker, who was a
much respected citizen. McLean sauntered over to the hotel porch and
sat down with Jim.
“Well,” he remarked quietly, “there is another coincidence. The one man
we feared has been removed.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” said Jim. “It was a terrible thing.”
“I have some news for you,” said the lawyer. “I had a talk with the
judge a while ago. He won’t be back on the bench for another two weeks.
We discussed the will, and I suggested that you be allowed to live at
the Lazy H, at least, until the will has been probated. The judge said
that if I was satisfied that you are the legal heir to the Lazy H, it
will be all right for you to take up your residence out there. I said I
was satisfied.”
* * * * *
Bailey thought it over for a while.
“Meaning,” he remarked, “that I must be out there with Mary Deal, who--”
“Hang it!” snapped the lawyer. “Can’t you understand that she wasn’t
even mentioned in the will? She has no more claim than I have!”
“Pinnacle City seems to think she has, McLean.”
“Hang Pinnacle City!”
“With pleasure, McLean--and Pinnacle City feels the same way about me.
I have a feeling that the men at the Lazy H hate me, and if I am out
there--I have heard that a broken neck is quite a nuisance.”
“They won’t harm you.”
“Perhaps not. And you would benefit thereby, not having to pay my hotel
expenses. Well, after all, why not?”
“Sure,” nodded the lawyer. “If they wanted to hang you they could do it
here as well as at the ranch. I’ll take you out there this afternoon.
Pack up your stuff.”
Jim Bailey grinned. Pack up his stuff! He could just about carry it all
in a folded handkerchief. McLean got to his feet, sighed with relief and
promised to be after Jim in a little while.
Old Hank Voigt listened to Jim’s explanation for leaving the hotel. He
shook his head sadly.
“I’d like to wish you luck, young man,” he said, “but it’ll take more’n
that to help yuh. There’s so many different ways of causin’ a demise
around a ranch. Accidental shot, bad broncs, some knot-headed ol’ cow,
which recognizes you as the one who took her calf to market--oh, a lot
of legitimate ways of openin’ your earthly envelope. But, as I say,--or
didn’t I?”
“You said quite a lot, Mr. Voigt.”
“Yeah, I reckon I covered the subject pretty well. Well, if I don’t see
yuh again, it’s nice to have knowed yuh, my boy.”
Jim Bailey winced over the handshake--not the physical hurt, but the
implied fact that he was rushing in where angels fear to tread.
He tried to grin, as he said, “I shall do my best.”
“I’d advise that yuh get some overalls, boots and a gun, and don’t be
too slick-jawed. When yore face starts to itch, that’s time enough to
shave.”
“I have never fired a gun, Mr. Voigt,” said Jim. “Why, I might shoot
myself--or somebody else.”
“That’s what they’re made for, my boy--somebody else.”
“I would hate to take that chance.”
“You’d hate to take _that_ chance?” Hank Voigt looked at him in
amazement. “You--uh--yo’re claimin’ the Lazy H, ain’t yuh?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Huh! Gaggin’ on a fox-tail and tryin’ to swaller a stack of hay!”
“I don’t believe I understand, Mr. Voigt.”
“You run along and keep claimin’, my boy, and maybe it’ll dawn on yuh
some day.”
“Well, thanks, anyway; you’ve been nice to me.”
“You paid and I ain’t cravin’ no cowranch.”
V
Ed McLean had his own horse and buggy. They tossed the valise into the
back of the vehicle and headed for the Lazy H. Jim told the lawyer what
Hank Voigt had said, but McLean only laughed.
“Hank is quite a joker,” he said.
“I _hope_ he was joking, McLean.”
“Of course he was. We’re all set now. Estabrook might have made trouble
for us, but it is clear sailing from now on.”
“I hope you are right, but something tells me that everything is not
right. These people, as I understand it, do not always depend on the
law to settle their troubles. The court might accept me as the legal
and lawful heir to the Lazy H, but some of these cowpokes, as they
are called, might not.”
“Forget that part of it. They’re law-abiding people. Just because they
carry guns and talk a queer lingo they are not necessarily killers.”
“Maybe not. I was thinking about that new man at the Lazy H. Skeeter
Smith, I believe. He intimated that they hang a man for a doublecross
in this country.”
Ed McLean shot a side glance at Jim Bailey.
“O-o-oh!” he exclaimed. “Just why did he say that?”
“Oh, we were talking about my claims. I intimated that perhaps the court
might not accept my credentials. He said that if the court decided that
I was a fraud the people would probably hang me.”
“Bosh!” snorted the lawyer. “My friend, you talk too blasted much! Let
others do the talking, you listen.”
“Of course,” remarked Jim, “my life doesn’t mean anything to you,
McLean. All you are interested in is using me for a cat’s-paw. You want
the Lazy H. If this deal works out, very likely you will get it. We are
a fine pair of crooks.”
“And we can’t afford to fall out, remember that, Jim.”
“Remember that yourself, McLean. I will not be bossed. You may suggest
something, but don’t order. I’ve taken orders all my grown-up life and
I don’t like it.”
“I’ll remember that, Jim. Sometimes you rub me the wrong way.”
“Sorry. I am going to need some overalls and boots. And if you know
where I can get a gun--”
“What in the world would you do with a gun?”
“That,” replied Jim soberly, “is something that no man knoweth, until
the experiment has been made. I want to be a man among men.”
“I see,” replied Ed McLean. “Well, I’d offer good odds that the first
time you pull that gun, you’ll be the only horizontal one among the
men.”
Mary Deal was the only one to greet Jim Bailey with a smile. Tex Parker
turned and walked away, and Tellurium backed into the kitchen. There
was an extra room in the ranch-house, which was turned over to Jim. Ed
McLean talked quite a while with the foreman, and then came up to have
a few words with Tellurium, out at the wood-pile.
“Listen t’ me, McLean!” Tellurium griped. “Do you think I’m going to
cook good food for that anteloper?”
“The word is interloper,” corrected McLean.
“The word,” declared the cook, “is no!”
“You need a job, don’t you, Tellurium? Well, just remember that this
young man is the heir to the Lazy H.”
“You don’t need t’ rub it in. As far as a job is concerned I can stretch
m’ apron at any spread west of the Mississippi. Don’t tell me what I’ve
got to do. You keep up this yappin’, and you won’t be hired to misquote
law to a strange dog in this man’s country.”
“Look at it this way,” suggested McLean. “The young man can’t help that
he was Clint Haverty’s nephew.”
Tellurium thought about that.
“All right. In mem’ry of Clint Haverty, I’ll feed him. But I ain’t goin’
to nurse him along. The boys won’t like it. He won’t be welcome, but if
he can stand it we’ll try.
“That’s fine, Tellurium. You’re sensible.”
“You git out of here, before I split yuh with the axe. Sensible! Huh!”
* * * * *
McLean went back to Pinnacle City in a happy frame of mind. At least
the expense problem was settled. He even decided to get Jim Bailey some
boots and overalls. As far as the gun was concerned, he felt that Jim
was a little too new for things like six-shooters.
Jim soon found that he was a pariah at the Lazy H. He ate with the
cowboys and they snubbed him completely. The food was plentiful and
very good. Archibald Haas was still sporting a discolored eye, and
he looked daggers at Jim Bailey, remembering that Jim had helped
Tellurium and Cactus drag him down the hotel stairs. Mary ate alone,
and after supper that night, Jim went out on the porch, where Mary
was sitting.
“Did you enjoy your supper?” she asked pleasantly.
“I enjoyed the food,” he replied, “but the company was entirely
anti-me.”
Mary nodded sadly. “I’m sorry, Jim,” she said. “It isn’t a thing that I
can help. I have talked with the boys, but they all have minds of their
own.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. “They treated me the same way in town.
Mary, let me ask you a question. If I left this country, gave up this
inheritance, would you get the Lazy H?”
Mary shook her head. “No, I am not--was not, I mean--related to Clint
Haverty. It would go to Ace and Dick Haverty because they are the next
of kin--all his remaining relatives, as far as anyone knows.”
“I have seen them both,” said Jim. “I think I’ll stay.”
“I believe you are sensible, Jim. Your going away would not help me in
the least.”
“Mary, tell me something about Clint Haverty. Didn’t he ever tell you
that you might share in the estate?”
“He told me that I would have nothing to worry about.”
“I see. Was he all right physically and mentally?”
“The only thing on earth wrong with Clint Haverty, as far as anyone
knew, was bad eyesight. He didn’t want anyone to know his eyes were
bad; and he wouldn’t wear glasses. I read most of his letters to
him.”
“He died a natural death, I suppose?” Jim asked.
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” asked Mary.
“Only that he died, Mary.”
“He was thrown from his horse, coming back from Pinnacle City, and had
a skull fracture. He usually rode a bad horse, and the doctor says this
one threw him and then kicked him in the head.”
“I didn’t know that,” sighed Jim. “I am afraid of horses.”
“You’ll get over that,” laughed Mary. “In a few months you’ll be wearing
chaps and riding the hills with the rest of the boys.”
“It sounds very romantic, but I still don’t believe I will.”
Skeeter Smith finished supper and came around to the porch to enjoy a
cigaret. After the customary greetings, he said to Jim:
“If yo’re goin’ to own and operate the Lazy H, here’s somethin’ you
ought to know, Meade. The Lazy H is bein’ robbed. At least, this is
the opinion of Tex Parker and the boys.”
“Tex has said that several times, Skeeter,” said Mary.
“I know. He says it shows up in the count. Tex has gone to town to talk
with the sheriff. This is serious, Mary.”
“How does one steal a cow?” asked Jim.
Skeeter’s brows lifted slightly, and he glanced at Mary, who was
smothering a smile.
“The methods,” replied Skeeter, “vary.”
“I see,” remarked Jim vaguely. “I really didn’t know.”
There was no conversation for a while. Then Skeeter said:
“How do you like the cattle country, Mr. Meade?”
“I am afraid of it,” replied Jim honestly.
* * * * *
Skeeter smiled. “The thing for you to do is to get on a bronc and learn
it first-hand.”
“A bronc is a horse, isn’t it, Mr. Smith?”
“It is--and call me Skeeter.”
“Thank you. I have never ridden a horse, but I suppose I must learn.
First I must get some overalls and boots, I suppose. Then I can get a
gun and--”
“Wait!” Skeeter laughed. “Have you ever fired a six-shooter?”
“Never. But I supposed--”
“You won’t need a gun. The longer yuh can get along without a gun, the
better off you’ll be. Take my advice, Jim, learn to ride and rope,
brand, judge beef and all that. That six-shooter don’t brand yuh as a
cowpoke--it brands yuh as a man, who, for some reason or another,
expects trouble to cut his trail some day.”
“Thank you, Skeeter--you have been very kind to me.”
Skeeter laughed and got to his feet.
“My friend,” he said, “somewhere in the Bible, I believe it says
somethin’ about being cautious about them who come bearin’ gifts.”
“But you haven’t brought me any gifts, Skeeter.”
“Friendship is a gift.”
“You mean that I should beware friendship?”
“Until it has been tried and proved--yeah.”
Skeeter went back to the bunk-house. Jim said:
“Mary, he is a queer sort of cowboy, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” replied the girl. “He is different. I believe he would make a
wonderful friend, and I would hate to be his enemy.”
“I don’t believe I have ever had a real friend, Mary.”
“Few people ever do, Jim. Uncle Clint used to say that a friend was
someone who knew all about you, but liked you in spite of it.”
“In my case,” said Jim slowly, “I could hardly expect it.”
“In the morning,” said Mary, “I’ll ask Archibald to saddle a horse for
you, Jim. You might as well learn to ride as soon as you can.”
“You are too kind to me, Mary,” he said earnestly.
“Say that tomorrow evening and I’ll believe you,” she said dryly....
It was midafternoon next day at the Lazy H. Archibald Haas sat on the
corral fence in the shade of a sycamore and looked at Jim Bailey,
astride an ancient charger called Peter the Hermit, so named from his
habit of staying alone as much as possible.
“That there lump on the front end of the saddle,” explained Archibald,
“is the horn. It’s used to dally a rope around, not to be hugged. If yuh
cain’t think of anythin’ to do with yore extra hands, let ’em dangle,
they won’t fall off.”
“_I_ might,” suggested Jim Bailey wearily.
“Uh-huh--yuh might. Now, the thing t’ do,” suggested Archibald, “when
the horse starts lopin’, you try and lope with him. You and Pete ort to
git together. And when he trots, brace yore legs. No use of him goin’
one way and you the other. And another thing; that horse is rein-broke.
Yuh don’t have to take holt of one rein with both hands and yank his
jaw loose. Try it again.”
At supper time Jim Bailey staggered to the house. Peter the Hermit
didn’t stagger at all, he lay down where he was. This was almost too
much for his ancient bones. Archibald Haas said to Mary:
“All he needs is the finishin’ touches.”
“What do you mean, Archie?” she asked.
“Jist shoot him and put him out of his misery.”
“You’ll not shoot Peter the Hermit!”
“’Course not. I didn’t mean him.”