"ONLY ONE MOB, AIN'T THERE?"
After Miss Wadley had disappeared in the post-office a man touched
Roberts on the shoulder.
"Where are the Rangers I sent for?" he asked.
"Here I am, Snark."
"You didn't come alone?"
"Captain Ellison was out of town. The rest of the force was away on
assignment. I couldn't reach any of 'em."
The deputy sheriff broke out in excited annoyance. "All right! I wash my
hands of it. They can lynch the Mexican soon as they've a mind to. Let
'em go to it. Here I send for a company of Rangers, an' one kid shows
up. What in Mexico can you do alone?"
"I wouldn't say alone. You're here, Snark."
"I'm not goin' to lift a hand--not a hand."
"Sure it's necessary? What makes you think they're goin' to lynch
Alviro?"
"They don't make any bones of it. Everybody knows it. The Dinsmore gang
is in town stirrin' up feelin'. You might as well have stayed away.
There's not a thing you can do."
"I reckon mebbe we can figure a way to save Tony," answered the Ranger
easily.
The deputy voiced his impatience. "Yore talk sounds plumb foolish to
me. Don't you get it? We're not dealin' with one or two men. Half the
town is in this thing."
"I promised Tony there would be nothin' of that sort."
"You can't handle a mob all by yoreself, can you?" asked Snark
sarcastically. "There's only one of you, I reckon."
The little flicker in the Ranger's eye was not wholly amusement.
"There's goin' to be only one mob, too, ain't there?" he drawled.
"You can't slip him out unnoticed, if that's yore idee. They've got
watchers round the jail," the deputy went on.
"I shan't try."
"Then you'll let 'em hang him?"
"Oh, no!"
"What in hell do you mean to do, then?"
Roberts told him, in part. The deputy shook his head vehemently.
"Can't be done. First place, you can't get Wadley to do it. He won't
lift a hand to stop this hangin'. Second place, he couldn't stop it if
he wanted to. Folks in Tascosa ain't a bit gun-shy, an' right now
they've got their necks bowed. An' this Dinsmore gang--they'll eat you
alive if you get in their way."
"Mebbeso. You can't always be sure. I've got one card up my sleeve I
haven't mentioned to you."
"If you want my opinion--"
The Ranger cut him off short. "I don't, Snark. Not right now. I'm too
busy to listen to it. I want to know just one thing of you. Will you
have the horses right where I want 'em when I want 'em?"
"You're the doc," acknowledged the deputy grudgingly. "They'll be there,
but just the same I think it's a fool play. You can't get away with it."
Jack asked a question. "Where am I most likely to find Wadley?"
"At McGuffey's store. It's a block this-a-way and a block that-a-way."
He indicated directions with his hand.
Wadley was not among those who sat on the porch of the general store
known as McGuffey's Emporium. He had just gone to his sister's house to
meet his daughter Ramona, of whose arrival he had received notice by a
boy. Roberts followed him.
In answer to the Ranger's "Hello, the house!" the cattleman came out in
his shirt-sleeves.
Jack cut straight to business.
"I've come to see you about that Mexican Alviro, Mr. Wadley. Is it true
they're goin' to lynch him?"
The hard eyes of the grizzled Texan looked full at Roberts. This young
fellow was the one who had beaten his son and later had had the
impudence to burn as a spill for a cigarette the hundred-dollar bill he
had sent him.
"Whyfor do you ask me about it?" he demanded harshly.
"Because you've got to help me stop this thing."
The cattleman laughed mirthlessly. "They can go as far as they like for
me. Suits me fine. Hangin' is too good for him. That's all I've got to
say."
Already he had refused the pleadings of his daughter, and he had no
intention of letting this young scalawag change his mind.
"Are you sure this Mexican is guilty--sure he's the man who killed yore
son, Mr. Wadley?"
"He's as guilty as hell."
"I don't think it. Hasn't it ever struck you as strange that yore son
was killed an' yore messenger Ridley held up the same night, an' that
the two things happened not many miles from each other?"
"Of course it has. I'm no fool. What of it?"
"I've always thought the same men did both."
"Young fellow, have you ever thought that Ridley never was held up, that
it was a fake robbery pulled off to deceive me? Where is Ridley? He lit
out mighty sudden when he saw how I took it. He couldn't even tell me
where the hold-up happened. I never did hit the trail of the robbers."
"It wasn't a fake. I can prove that."
"I'm here to be shown," said the cattleman skeptically.
"But first about Tony. It looks bad for him on the surface. I'll admit
that. But--"
"Don't talk to me about my boy's murderer, Roberts!" cried Wadley,
flushing angrily. "I'll not do a thing for him. I'll help those that aim
to do justice on him."
"He didn't kill yore son."
"What! Didn't you arrest him yoreself for it?"
"When I arrested him, I didn't believe he had done it. I know it now.
He's my star witness, an' I knew he would skip across the border if I
let him out."
"You can't convince me, but let's hear yore fairy tale. I got to listen,
I reckon."
Jack told his story in few words. He explained what he had found at the
scene of the murder and how he had picked up the trail of the three
horsemen who had followed Rutherford to the place of his death. He had
back-tracked to the camp of the rendezvous at the rim-rock, and he had
found there corroborative evidence of the statement Tony Alviro had made
to him.
"What was it he told you, and what did you find?"
The big cattleman looked at him with a suspicion that was akin to
hostility. His son had been a ne'er-do-well. In his heart Wadley was
not sure he had not been worse. But he was ready to fight at the drop of
the hat any man who dared suggest it. He did not want to listen to any
evidence that would lead him to believe ill of the son who had gone
wrong.
"Tony admits all the evidence against him. He did follow Rutherford
intendin' to kill him. But when he saw yore son strike straight across
country to the cap-rock, he trailed him to see where he was goin'.
Alviro had heard stories."
"You can't tell me anything against my boy. I won't stand for it," broke
out the tortured father.
The Ranger looked straight at him. "I'm goin' to tell you no harm of him
except that he kept bad company," he said gently. "I reckon you know
that already."
"Go on," commanded the father hoarsely.
"Tony followed him to the rim-rock, an' on the way they jumped up the
camper, though Alviro did not know it. At the rim-rock Rutherford met
two men. Presently another man joined them."
"Who were they?"
"Alviro isn't dead sure. He climbed up to a rock bluff back of them, but
it was still dark an' he couldn't make them out. Pretty soon Rutherford
found out they had a sack of gold. He must have found out where they got
it, too."
Underneath the deep tan of his cheeks the old-timer whitened. "So you're
tryin' to tell me that my boy was one of the gang that robbed my
messenger! An' you're askin' me to believe it on the word of a greaser
with a rope around his neck. Is that it?"
"No. They had a quarrel, but yore son bluffed 'em out. They gave the
gold to him. He saddled an' rode away with it. On his way back to town
he was murdered. So he never got a chance to turn it back to you."
The father of the man who had been killed drew a long, sobbing breath of
relief. His clenched fists slowly opened.
"Tony saw all this, did he?"
"Not all of it. Day was comin' on, an' he couldn't follow Rutherford
right away. Before he got goin' the three men saddled. They trailed
along after yore son, an' Tony a mile or so behind 'em. After awhile he
heard a shot. He took his time investigatin', because he didn't want to
stop any bullets himself. At the foot of Battle Butte he found
Rutherford. He had been shot from behind an' flung over the bluff."
The face of the cattleman twitched. "If I can lay my hands on the man or
men that did it--"
"Mebbe you can, if you'll give me time. I checked up Tony's story, an'
everywhere there was evidence to back it. He had no rifle with him, but
I picked up a shell back of some rocks a hundred yards from where yore
son must have been standin' when he was shot. The shell came from a '73.
I back-tracked to the night-camp, an' it was just like Tony had said.
Four men had been there. One left before the others. You could see the
signs where they had trailed him. Once or twice they missed his tracks
an' found 'em again. Same way with the single man followin' them. He had
taken short-cuts too. Sometimes he blotted out the hoofprints of the
three in front, so I know he was not ahead of 'em."
"You think the Dinsmores did this, Jack?"
"I want more evidence before I say so publicly. But Tony didn't. Here's
another point in his favor. If Tony shot him on the bluff an' flung the
body over, why did he have to go down below an' look at it? No need
a-tall of that. No; Tony went down to make sure who it was that had been
killed. Soon as he knew that he guessed he would be accused of it, an'
he lit out for No Man's Land. I found him there three weeks later."
The cattleman apologized after a fashion for some hard things he had
said and thought about his former employee. "I don't spend any of my
time likin' yore style, Roberts. You're too high-heeled for me. But I'll
say this for you: Ellison picked a good man when he got you. You're a
straight-up rider, an' you'll do to take along. What's yore programme?"
He told it. The cattleman looked at him with increased respect. He gave
a short, barking laugh.
"If it was anybody else I'd say it was crazy, but you're such a doggoned
hellion of a go-getter mebbe you can put it over."
"Looks to me like a good bet," said Roberts mildly.
"Well, I an' my friends will be right there if we're needed. I'll see
you through. Can't afford to have my best witness strung up to a
wagon-tongue yet awhile."
They talked over the details; then the Ranger started for the jail, and
the cattleman breezed around to give a little tip to some reliable
friends. Wadley was quite of a mind with Roberts. There was going to be
no lynching at Tascosa if he could help it.