know they took her. Last night yore outfit staged a battle with the
Star X, which wasn’t noways decisive. If yuh go out there, all heeled
for a scrap--you’ll git it, Idaho. And I’m not goin’ to back yore
play. And I jist want yuh to know that the law ain’t back yuh. If yuh
kill some of the Star X, set to kill somebody. That’s ag’in the law.
If you go out there and git some of yore men killed, yuh ain’t got no
law to back yuh. If yuh kill some of the Star X, all hell can’t save
yuh from bein’ tried for murder. Better do quite a lot of thinkin’
about it, Idaho.”
It was a long speech for Cleve Sears to make, and it left him gasping
for breath. It also left Idaho breathless.
“Are you backin’ the Star X?” demanded Idaho. “You went and used a
shotgun on Joe Chevrier last night, and now yuh want to back their----”
“I’m not backin’ anybody! Chevrier tried to kill one of us; mebbe both.
But that was last night. Yo’re goin’ out there to pick a fight. Well, go
ahead, but remember what I told yuh.”
“But I want to find the girl,” wailed Idaho. “I’m not lookin’ for a war,
Cleve. That girl was stolen, don’tcha see? Why, I’ve got a charge of
horse-stealin’ I can put ag’in the man who took my team. There ain’t no
law against killin’ a horse-thief.”
“Ain’t never been no law ag’in it,” said the sheriff slowly. “At least,
when yo’re sure you’ve got the right man.”
“Well, I don’t think yo’re playin’ square, Cleve.”
Idaho joined his men in front of the Rawhide saloon, where they sat down
to debate over their next move. The sheriff went on up to the hotel
dining-room, where he usually ate his meals. He was just in the act of
making an attack on a platter of ham and eggs, when Mary limped into the
room and sat down.
Cleve Sears was a bachelor, but not feminine-proof. He stared at Mary,
and found it difficult to concentrate on breakfast. She paid no
attention to him, but ordered her breakfast from the hotel proprietor,
who asked her how her “laig” was this morning.
“Much better, thank you,” she smiled.
“Don’t mention it, Miss Ault. Want yer aigs lookin’ up, or blind?”
“I don’t think I know what you mean.”
“Leave ’em as they lay, or turned over, ma’am?”
“Oh, as they lay,” laughed Mary. The man shuffled away to the kitchen.
The sheriff’s breakfast was unfinished, but he hurried outside and
crossed the street to where Idaho and his men were still debating what
to do.
“If yo’re lookin’ for a Miss Ault--she’s eatin’ breakfast in the hotel,”
announced the sheriff.
Idaho blinked rapidly. “Over there? Huh! How’d she git there?”
“I didn’t ask her,” said the sheriff coldly. “I suppose she stayed
there last night. Pers’nally, I think you was drunk and didn’t meet
the train.”
“No such a damn’ thing! I tell yuh--oh, well, I don’t care what you
think.”
They all filed over to the hotel, and on the way they saw Miles Lane
coming down the street. He was greatly surprised at the news and
anxious to see her. The four cowboys stayed in the hotel lobby, while
the sheriff, Idaho and Lane went into the dining-room.
Miles Lane lost no time in introducing himself, and also introduced
Idaho Breen and the sheriff. Mary had finished her breakfast; so Lane
asked her to go to his office with him and Idaho.
“You’ve got yore credentials, ain’t yuh?” asked Idaho. Mary produced
the letter, which Lane glanced through, nodding quickly. He turned to
the sheriff.
“Cleve, I wish you’d get old Judge Mears and bring him to my office. We
don’t exactly need him, but I’d like to have him there when we read the
will.”
The sheriff turned away, and Lane led the way to his office, ignoring
the three cowpunchers, who were anxious to meet the girl. Once inside
the office, Lane closed the door and motioned Mary to a seat. Idaho
lounged against the closed door, looking speculatively at Mary, who
tried to appear at ease.
“This letter says to keep you away from liquor,” said Lane seriously.
“Maybe you understand that.”
“Yes,” said Mary softly.
“I’ll say that Loring was a good picker,” Lane laughed softly. “How much
did he tell you about this deal?”
“Not very much.” Mary glanced at the floor.
“All right. You’d fool anybody, my dear. I was afraid Loring might send
a hard-boiled female.”
“Yuh can’t tell by the label,” laughed Idaho.
“That’s true.” Lane moved closer to Mary and lowered his voice. “I
don’t know how much Loring told you, but you don’t need to know very
much. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. Just do as we say, and
you’ll get your money. Is that plain?”
Mary nodded, not trusting her voice.
“All right. We’ll read that will, as soon as the men get here, and then
you’ll go out to the Lazy A. And remember--you are Mary Ault as long as
you are here. You play square with us, and you’ll get your profit.”
“And if she don’t----” Idaho Breen hesitated.
“We won’t discuss such a remote possibility, Idaho. Now,” Lane became
quizzical, “will you please tell us what happened to you last night?”
“I--I hardly know,” faltered Mary. “A man met me at the train, put me in
a buggy, and the team ran away. Another man found me, after I was thrown
out, and brought me to the hotel. I hurt my ankle, but it is much better
this morning.”
“Would you know these men if you seen ’em?” asked Idaho.
Mary shook her head quickly. “It was quite dark, you see.”
“Hear any names?”
“No--except the man who brought me in. His name was Wheeler.”
“Dude Wheeler, eh?” Idaho laughed harshly.
“That was his name. He was very nice to me.”
Idaho laughed, but dropped the subject, because the sheriff and old
Judge Mears, the district judge, were coming in. The cowboys from the
Lazy A crowded in and listened to Miles Lane read the will of Jud Ault,
in which, with the exception of one dollar, the entire Lazy A property
was left to his niece, Mary Ault, his brother’s only child--an orphan.
The old judge nodded over the legality of the instrument, and the
reading was over. The will had been witnessed by Idaho Breen and Pie
Ide.
As they came from the office, Cultus Collins met them near the door. He
nodded pleasantly to everyone. Idaho turned to Pie Ide and asked him to
go over to the livery stable and secure a rig to take Mary out to the
ranch.
Cultus moved in close to Idaho. “I’d like to speak to you on a little
business matter,” he said.
Idaho squinted narrowly at Cultus, as they moved down the street a short
ways away from the crowd. Cultus drew out the letter he had brought to
Jud Ault, and let Idaho read it.
“Now, I don’t know what it’s all about,” confessed Cultus. “It kinda
seems to me that I’ve arrived too late; but mebbe you know what the
old man wanted done.”
Idaho’s eyes hardened slightly. “I dunno just what--oh, yeah.” He looked
at Cultus, a half smile on his lips. “I reckon I know what it was about.
Yuh see, we’ve been losin’ a lot of cattle. Jist a while ago I found a
lot of Lazy A hides in a prospect hole about three miles from our ranch.
Somebody has been killin’ our stock, and the old man was worried about
it. There’s been bad blood between our outfit and the Star X for years,
and that bothered him, too. If you can clean up all this cattle
stealin’, yore a wonder. Do yuh think yuh can?”
Cultus smiled widely. “I dunno; I’ll try.”
“Fine!” Idaho fairly beamed.
“Yuh better give me a job on the Lazy A,” suggested Cultus. “It would
kinda mask my real work, don’t yuh see?”
“Well,” Idaho rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, I can. You ain’t got
no horse here, have yuh? No? Say, you git yore stuff out here and put
it in the buggy, and you can drive Miss Ault out to the ranch. We’ll be
along with yuh.”
“All right. But I ain’t got nothin’ to take along. Mebbe I better buy a
couple of shirts. Anyway, I’ll get along.”
“Yeah. Git what yuh need. Ide will be here with the buggy in a few
minutes.”
Cultus nodded and went to the New York Store, while Idaho went back
and drew Miles aside, showing him the telegram he had, which was sent
to Jud Ault. Then he told Miles about the letter of introduction
Cultus had from the secretary of the Cattlemen’s Association, and of
how he was going to keep Cultus out at the Lazy A, to hunt rustlers.
“His name is Jones, isn’t it?” asked Lane.
“That’s the name he gave last night. The letter he had didn’t mention
any names. But Jones or not Jones, he’ll hunt rustlers to his heart’s
content: and I’ll have him where I can watch him all the time.”
Lane laughed softly. “It’s working out fine.”
“Better than that, Miles. How do yuh like our heiress?”
“Better than I thought I would. She sure fits the part. Why, you’d
almost take her for a decent girl.”
“Almost,” grinned Idaho. “Loring knew what we needed. The only thing
that worries me is that Loring is in a position to demand more money.
He knows too much.”
“Let him try anything like that, and I’ll send him to the penitentiary
for life,” growled Lane. “Here comes the rig.”
They helped Mary into the buggy, while one of the boys got her suitcase
from the hotel. She gave Lane the check for the trunk, and Idaho
promised to send a wagon after it. Cultus came from the store, carrying
a bundle, and Idaho motioned for him to take the lines. Lane hastened
to introduce Mary, and Cultus smiled.
“I met Miss Ault on the train,” he said. “I didn’t know who she was at
that time.”
“We’ll lead the way,” said Idaho. “Head straight out of town and take
the road that leads to the left.”
Cultus nodded and drove slowly up the street, while the men crossed the
street and mounted their horses.
“Hang onto yore nerve,” cautioned Cultus. “I’m goin’ to stay at the
Lazy A and hunt rustlers. I had to show my hand, in order to keep an eye
on you, Mary Elizabeth. This is a game, and we’ll play it together; but
don’t let anybody know, because it’s a dangerous pastime. They’re goin’
to ride in close now; so be careful what yuh say to me.”
Mary nodded and looked straight ahead as the cowboys spurred in close to
them.
“Yore name is Jones, ain’t it?” said Idaho, leaning from his saddle.
Cultus nodded quickly. “Bill Jones, to be exact.”
“From Oklahoma?”
“That’s the place.”
“Uh-huh,” Idaho straightened in his saddle, and there was a smile on his
lips, as he looked straight ahead. Perhaps he didn’t know it, but there
was also a smile on the lips of Jones of Oklahoma, too, and he was also
looking straight ahead.
* * * * *
Old Jud Ault had had little pride in appearances, and as far as the
Lazy A was concerned he was content to let it run down. The old
ranch-house was half adobe, two stories; a very livable place, but
not much to look at. A wide veranda extended the width of the front,
on the ground level, with the old flagged floor still intact. The
big living-room was much the same as that of the Star X, which was
of decidedly masculine flavor.
Old Wang Lung, a wizen-faced old Celestial, presided over the culinary
end of the Lazy A. He had been with the Lazy A for many years, and was
known as “Hop,” for no reason at all. He had accepted both Mary and
Cultus without comment. He was jealous of his kitchen, and woe to
anyone who intruded.
Idaho Breen had told the boys confidentially that Bill Jones, of
Oklahoma, was an Association detective. Cowboys, as a rule, do not care
much for a range detective; and this rangy, homely specimen, with the
solemn visage, rather amused them.
Pie Ide tried to frame up some practical jokes to play on the detective,
but discarded each one shortly after its inception.
“I jist can’t do it,” he confided to Omaha, as they sat on the top pole
of the corral together. “I git a swell idea for a joke on him, and then
I can’t seem to pull it off. He looks at me with them funny eyes, and I
kinda--you know how the hair raises up on the back of a dog when it’s
scared? That’s the way I kinda crinkle.”
“Well, you ain’t scared of him, are yuh?” Omaha smoothed his mustache
and stared at Pie Ide. The tall cowboy shook his head.
“It ain’t exactly bein’ scared, Omaha. But somethin’ tells me that he
knows all about that joke. Even when I think of a new idea, he looks
at me just as though he knowed what I was thinkin’ about, and that the
joke was as old as the hills.”
“Aw, he ain’t so smart,” said Omaha “He’s been here a week and he ain’t
done nothin’--much.”
“I know. He was over to that prospect hole, where Idaho found them
cowhides. I asked him what he thought of ’em, and he jist looks at me
kinda funny and says, ‘I think the cows that wore all them hides are
dead.’”
Omaha snorted. “He did, eh? Gawd, he sure is a detective!”
“Idaho don’t think much of him,” said Pie. “I heard him ask Jones the
other day how long he figured the Lazy A was goin’ to pay him a salary,
if he didn’t do some detectin’.”
“What did he say, Pie?”
“He said he was doin’ his best. Idaho asks him how he goes about it to
find a rustler, and he says he usually tries to put himself in the
place of the rustler. I dunno what he meant, and I don’t think Idaho
did, but Idaho says, ‘Well, have yuh done it in this case?’ Jones says
he had, but it didn’t seem to work out. Idaho asks him what he intends
to do now, and Jones says, ‘Well, mebbe I’ll put myself in the cow’s
place, and kinda work it out from that angle.’”
“I think Jones is a plain damn’ fool,” said Omaha.
“I think,” said Pie slowly, “that that is jist what Jones of Oklahoma
wants us to think. Omaha, the Association ain’t in the habit of sendin’
fools on a job of this kind.”
“Thasso? Huh! I never seen a cow-detective that had sense enough to pour
sand out of a boot.”
“Allasame, I’m glad I’m pure,” grinned Pie. He lifted his head and
squinted toward the main gate. “Here comes Miles Lane. Do yuh know,
Omaha, I’m beginnin’ to suspect that he’s stuck on our new boss.”
“Danged fool!” growled Omaha. Pie laughed softly. “Lotsa fools around
here, it seems to me. Even Cleve Sears, our estimable sheriff, ain’t
losin’ no chances to come out here.”
All of which was very true, much to the disgust of Idaho Breen, who met
Miles Lane at the front door.
“Well, what do yuh know?” asked Idaho.
Miles produced several pieces of mail, among which was a letter directed
to Mary Ault. Idaho looked closely at it, put it in his pocket, and
looked over the rest of the mail. The front door was closed behind them.
“That letter was mailed in Oreana City,” observed Lane. Idaho nodded,
and walked to the far end of the veranda, followed by the lawyer. Idaho
took out the letter and tore open the flap. It read:
My dear Miss Ault:
By this time you probably realize that there is little
friendship lost between your ranch and mine, but after
all there is no reason why we cannot be friends. You
understand that I can’t very well come to see you at the
Lazy A, and I do want to see you again. Can’t you meet
me in town? Just drop me a note, and I’ll be waiting
there for you. Make it soon.
Sincerely yours,
“Dude” Jack Wheeler.
Idaho snorted disgustedly and tore the letter into shreds, scattering
them in the breeze.
“Not going to give it to her, eh?” queried Lane.
“Don’t look like it, does it?”
“Suits me. How is she?”
“All right. Sa-a-ay! Dude Wheeler’s got a lot of nerve! I’d like to see
him moonin’ around here!”
Lane laughed softly. “You’ve got to expect those things. She’s a pretty
girl.”
Idaho looked closely at Lane. “You ain’t lettin’ that bother you, are
yuh? Her looks don’t mean anythin’ to you, do they?”
Lane flushed slightly. “Not a bit.”
“Well,” said Idaho softly, “they better not, Miles. I’ll be glad when
everythin’ is fixed up, and she’s out of here. By God, I can’t git any
work out of three fool punchers, who insist on wearin’ white collars
and takin’ baths.”
“How about Jones of Oklahoma?”
Idaho grinned. “That poor fool. I wonder if the Association was playing
a joke on the Lazy A, or if they jist wanted to git rid of Jones. Every
day he saddles his horse and goes ridin’ in the hills--alone. But he
ain’t found out anythin’.”
“Where does he ride?” asked Lane.
“Oh, I dunno. I don’t pay much attention to him.”
They sauntered back to the front door and went into the house. Mary was
curled up on a couch, reading an old magazine, but started to leave the
room, when they came in. She had grown to dislike the Oreana attorney.
“Don’t go,” said Lane. “You’re always running away, it seems.”
“She wanted to go to town today.” offered Idaho. “But I told her we’d
get anythin’ she wants.”
“Sure we will,” nodded Lane.
“Does that mean that I’m a prisoner here?” asked Mary indignantly.
“Have it that way, if yuh want to,” replied Idaho. “This deal is almost
settled, and we’re not takin’ any chances on you.”
“But what harm would there be in going to town?” she asked.
“You’ll stay here,” declared Idaho. “You can go when we tell yuh to
go--and then we don’t care where yuh go, just so yuh go a long ways from
here. You’ll be well paid for the job, and yore only instructions, after
yuh leave here, is to forget that yuh ever seen the place. I reckon
Loring explained that to yuh.”
Mary turned her attention to the magazine, glad to drop the subject.
Lane and Idaho went outside and finished their conversation, while Mary
stared out of the window. She had virtually been a prisoner since she
arrived at the Lazy A. Hop served her meals to her in the living-room,
keeping her away from the dining-room and from any contact with the
men.
She had had no chance to talk with Cultus. Breen had treated her
respectfully enough, for which she was grateful, but she did want a
few words with Cultus. Idaho Breen took no chances on her, and stayed
close to the ranch, while Miles Lane handled the legal end of the
inheritance.
As yet she had been told nothing of what they wanted, except that she
was Mary Ault, the new owner of the Lazy A. She had been given the room
formerly occupied by Jud Ault, which had been scrupulously cleaned by
Hop. As far as physical comforts were concerned, she was all right.
The Lazy A had furnished Cultus with a horse and saddle, and Breen had
told him to do as he pleased. Cultus realized that Mary was more or
less of a prisoner, but there was nothing he could do to relieve the
situation. He also knew that Breen was little interested in the stolen
cattle, except that he would like to make some trouble for the Star X.
That Idaho Breen and Miles Lane intended to loot the Lazy A was easy
to see. Cultus realized how easy it would be for him to prove that
Mary Smith was not Mary Ault, but it would be difficult to prove that
there was no Mary Ault. It would only serve to brand Mary Smith as an
impostor, and him as her confederate.
Cultus surmised that Breen and Lane intended to merely use the girl
as a tool to get the ranch cheap. The letters proved that the girl
who was shot in San Francisco was Janice Lee, or at least she was not
Mary Ault. After associating with the three cowpunchers at the
Lazy A, Cultus decided that they were not in the plot. It was evident
that they believed, as did everyone else, that Mary Ault was genuine.
In fact, there was no reason for anyone to think otherwise.
On the same day that Lane brought the letter from Dude Wheeler, Cultus
rode in at the tumbledown Cross Arrow, and met Badger and Shif’less
Hill. The old man was sitting on his little porch, clad in a sleeveless
undershirt, faded pair of overalls, without boots or socks--his bare
feet resting on the porch-rail, while he slumped back in a rickety
chair, smoking his pipe.
He unbent enough to remove his pipe from his mouth and to grunt a
welcome. Cultus dismounted, tied his horse, and sat down on the steps.
As Cultus rolled a cigarette, Shif’less came out, stooping a little, as
he stepped through the doorway.
“Howdy,” he said pleasantly. “I didn’t know we had company. Yo’re Jones,
ain’t yuh?”
“Yeah, I’m Jones,” Cultus got up and shook hands with Shif’less.
“Somebody--I reckon it was the sheriff--said who yuh was. Yo’re with the
Lazy A, ain’t yuh?”
“I’m over there,” smiled Cultus.
“Damned outfit!” snorted the old man. Shif’less smiled.
“Don’t like ’em, eh?” queried Cultus.
“No! Why should I like ’em?”
“No reason, I suppose,” Cultus smiled over his cigarette. “Seems like a
good outfit. What’s wrong with ’em?”
“I reckon it’s all right since Jud Ault died,” said Shif’less, before
the old man could speak. “This girl can’t be blamed for what Jud Ault
done. Mebbe she’s mighty fine.”
“She’s a fine girl,” said Cultus. “How’s things with you folks?”
“We can’t kick,” smiled Shif’less.
“As long as the other outfits raise plenty of calves--we’re doin’ well,”
said the old man. “At least that’s what they say about us.”
Shif’less tried to stop him, but the old man shook his head violently.
“What’s the difference? They all say it.”
Shif’less smiled grimly at Cultus, who smoked slowly, looking at the old
man.
“It just happens,” said Shif’less slowly, “that Mr. Jones is an
Association detective, sent here to try and find out who is stealin’
Lazy A cattle.”
The old man jerked slightly, and looked at Cultus, his eyes blazing.
Cultus remarked to himself how much the old man did look like a gray
old badger, angry over something.
“So that’s what yuh are, eh?” he snarled. “Kinda lookin’ over the Cross
Arrow, are yuh? Well, go ahead!”
Cultus looked at Shif’less, ignoring the old man. “Who told yuh that?”
he asked.
“Miles Lane, the lawyer.”
Cultus nodded. He had suspected this. He wondered if all the cattle
outfits in the Oreana country didn’t know what he was doing.
“Are you a pretty good friend of Lane?” he asked.
Shif’less hesitated for a moment. “Well, I’ve known him quite a long
time, Jones. He didn’t lie about yuh, did he?”
Cultus shook his head slowly. “No, he told the truth--as far as he knew
it, Hill.”
“As far as he knew it?”
“Even a lawyer don’t know it all.”
“Well, what in hell are yuh doin’ here at my ranch?” rasped the old man.
“Tryin’ to be friendly.”
“Tryin’ to be--what?”
“Friendly.”
“Oh, yeah. And then see what yuh can find out, eh?”
“If you don’t steal cattle, you’ve got nothin’ to fear,” said Cultus
slowly.
“Well, that’s nice of yuh.”
Shif’less studied the tall, homely cowboy. There was a world of power in
that lean body. He sat, humped over on the steps, and his cotton shirt,
drawn tight, showed the ripple of his back and shoulder muscles as he
moved the slightest. His wide, lean hands, with the long fingers, the
broad bony wrists, bespoke vise-like power.
“I didn’t come over here, because of what I’ve heard,” said Cultus
slowly, “because I hardly ever believe what I hear. I’m not denyin’
that I was sent here by the Association, but it was because Jud Ault
wanted me to come.”
“But he’s been dead quite a while, Jones.”
“It took quite a while to locate me, and they didn’t know the old man
was dead.”
“Now, what in hell did that old crook want of a detective?” demanded
Badger Hill.
“I don’t know,” confessed Cultus. “He didn’t know either. But he thought
things wasn’t just right.”
“You bet they wasn’t right!” said Shif’less hotly. “Jud Ault turned his
daughter out of his house, because she married a man he didn’t like. And
after the man left her without any support, the old man wouldn’t help
her.”
“She’s a pretty nice sort of a girl, I hear,” said Cultus. He was
looking at Shif’less Hill, as he spoke. He saw the jaw of the big,
indolent-looking cowboy shut tightly, and his wistful blue eyes stared
out across the hills.
“Yeah, she’s--nice,” said Shif’less slowly. The old man glanced at
Shif’less and at Cultus, and Cultus saw an expression of amusement in
the old man’s eyes.
“They say her husband is still supportin’ her,” said Cultus.
Shif’less nodded, but did not speak.
“Has he been here since he left his wife?”
“No.”
“Yes,” said the old man quickly. “I saw him. Yuh don’t need to argue
with me, Shif’less,” said the old man, when Shif’less opened his mouth
to speak. He turned to Cultus. “I saw Jack Keene in Oreana City, talkin’
to Miles Lane, one night. Shif’less says I was mistaken, but I know what
I see.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Over a year ago.”
“A year ago last June,” said Shif’less. “I think it was about the
fifteenth of the month. We’ve argued about it enough, that I remember
the date.”
They talked for a while about cattle conditions, but rustling was not
mentioned again. Old Badger Hill shook hands with Cultus when he left,
and asked him to visit them again.
Cultus had been to the prospect shaft, where Idaho Breen found the
Lazy A cowhides, but there was no clue in a lot of hides. The animals
had all been shot, and the hides showed that the cattle had been killed
at intervals for several months.
He rode back to Oreana City, and found the sheriff talking to Mrs.
Keene in front of his office. The sheriff introduced them. Mrs. Keene
was carrying several packages, which Cultus offered to take. The little
boy accepted Cultus at once, when Cultus smiled at him, and the three
of them walked to Mrs. Keene’s home.
Mrs. Keene was interested in Mary Ault, and asked Cultus about her.
Cultus confessed that he could tell little about her. Cultus carried
the packages through the little living-room to the kitchen, and on the
way back he stopped to glance at a photograph on the center table.