Bill Talpers's return to sobriety was considerably hastened by alarm
after the trader's words with Lowell. As long as matters were even
between Bill Talpers and the girl, the trader figured that he could at
least afford to let things rest. The letter in his possession was still
a potent weapon. He could at least prevent the girl from telling what
she seemed to know of the trader's connection with the murder. He had
figured that the letter would be the means of bringing him a most
engaging bride. It would have done so if he had not been such a fool as
to drink too much. Talpers usually was a canny drinker, but when a man
goes asking--or, in this case, demanding--a girl's hand in marriage, it
is not to be wondered at if he oversteps the limit a trifle in the
matter of fortifying himself with liquor. But in this case Bill realized
that he had gone beyond all reasonable bounds. That fall had been
disastrous in every way. She was clever and quick, that girl, or she
never would have been able to turn an incident like that to such good
advantage. Most girls would have sniveled in a corner, thought Bill,
until he had regained his senses, but she started right in to look for
that letter. He had been smart enough to leave the letter in the safe at
the store, but she had found plenty in that watch!
Another thought buzzed disturbingly in Bill's head. How did she know
just how much money had been taken from Sargent's body? Also, how did
she know that the watch was Sargent's, seeing that it had no marks of
identification on it? If there had been so much as a scratch on the
thing, Talpers never would have worn it. She might have been making a
wild guess about the watch, but she certainly was not guessing about the
money. Her certainty in mentioning the amount had given Bill a chill of
terror from which he was slow in recovering. Another thing that was
causing him real agony of spirit was the prominence of Lowell in affairs
at the Greek Letter Ranch. It would be easy enough to hold the girl in
check with that letter. She would never dare tell the authorities how
much she knew about Talpers, as Bill could drag her into the case by
producing his precious documentary evidence. But the agent--how much was
he learning in the course of his persistent searching, and from what
angle was he going to strike? Would the girl provide him with
information which she might not dare give to others? Women were all
weaklings, thought Bill, unable to keep any sort of a secret from a
sympathetic male ear, especially when that ear belonged to as handsome a
young fellow as the Indian agent! Probably she would be telling the
agent everything on his next trip to the ranch. Bill had been watching,
but he had not seen the young upstart from the agency go past, and
neither had Bill's faithful clerk. But the visit might be made any day,
and Talpers's connection with the tragedy on the Dollar Sign road might
at almost any hour be falling into the possession of Lowell, whose
activity in running down bootleggers had long ago earned him Bill's
hatred.
Something would have to be done, without delay, to get the girl where
she would not be making a confidant of Lowell or any one else.
Scowlingly Bill thought over one plan after another, and rejected each
as impractical. Finally, by a process of elimination, he settled on the
only course that seemed practical. A broad fist, thudding into a
leather-like palm, indicated that the Talpers mind had been made up.
With his dark features expressing grim resolve, Bill threw a burden of
considerable size on his best pack-animal. This operation he conducted
alone in the barn, rejecting his clerk's proffer of assistance. Then he
saddled another horse, and, without telling his clerk anything
concerning his prospective whereabouts or the length of his trip,
started off across the prairie. He often made such excursions, and his
clerk had learned not to ask questions. Diplomacy in such matters was
partly what the clerk was paid for. A good fellow to work for was Bill
Talpers if no one got too curiously inclined. One or two clerks had been
disciplined on account of inquisitiveness, and they would not be as
beautiful after the Talpers methods had been applied, but they had
gained vastly in experience. Some day he would do even more for this
young Indian agent. Bill's cracked lips were stretched in a grin of
satisfaction at the very thought.
The trader traveled swiftly toward the reservation. He often boasted
that he got every ounce that was available in horseflesh. Traveling with
a pack-horse was little handicap to him. Horses instinctively feared
him. More than one he had driven to death without so much as touching
the straining animal with whip or spur. Nothing gave Bill such acute
satisfaction as the knowledge that he had roused fear in any creature.
With the sweating pack-animal close at the heels of his saddle pony,
Talpers rode for hours across the plains. Seemingly he paid no attention
to the changes in the landscape, yet his keen eyes, buried deeply
beneath black brows, took in everything. He saw the cloud masses come
tumbling over the mountains, but, like Lowell, he knew that the drought
was not yet to be ended. The country became more broken, and the grade
so pronounced that the horses were compelled to slacken their pace. The
pleasant green hills gave place to imprisoning mesas, with red sides
that looked like battlements. Beyond these lay the foothills--so close
that they covered the final slopes of the mountains.
It was a lonely country, innocent of fences. The cattle that ran here
were as wild as deer and almost as fleet as antelope. Twice a year the
Indians rounded up their range possessions, but many of these cattle had
escaped the far-flung circles of riders. They had become renegades and
had grown old and clever. At the sight of a human being they would
gallop away in the sage and greasewood.
Once Talpers saw the gleam of a wagon-top which indicated the presence
of a wolf hunter in the employ of the leasers who were running cattle on
the reservations and who suffered much from the depredations of
predatory animals. By working carefully around a hill, the trader
continued on his way without having been seen.
Passing the flanking line of mesas, Bill pushed his way up a watercourse
between two foothills. The going became rougher, and all semblance of a
trail was lost, yet the trader went on unhesitatingly. The slopes
leading to the creek became steeper and were covered with pine and
quaking aspen, instead of the bushy growths of the plains. The stream
foamed over rocks, and its noise drowned the sound of the horses' hoofs
as the animals scrambled over the occasional stretches of loose shale.
With the dexterity of the born trailsman, Talpers wormed his way along
the stream when it seemed as if further progress would be impossible. In
a tiny glade, with the mountain walls rising precipitously for hundreds
of feet, Talpers halted and gave three shrill whistles. An answer came
from the other end of the glade, and in a few minutes Talpers was
removing pack and saddle in Jim McFann's camp.
Since his escape from jail the half-breed had been hiding in this
mountain fastness. Talpers had supplied him with "grub" and weapons. He
had moved camp once in a while for safety's sake, but had felt little
fear of capture. As a trailer McFann had few equals, and he knew every
swale in the prairie and every nook in the mountains on the reservation.
Talpers brought out a bottle, which McFann seized eagerly.
"There's plenty more in the pack," said the trader, "so drink all you
want. Don't offer me none, as I am kind o' taperin' off."
"Did you see any Indian police on the way?" asked the half-breed.
"No--nothin' but Wolfer Joe's wagon, 'way off in the hills. I guess the
police ain't lookin' for you very hard. That ain't the fault of the
agent, though," added Talpers meaningly. "He's promised he'll have you
back in Tom Redmond's hands in less'n a week."
The half-breed scowled and muttered an oath as he took another drink.
Talpers had told the lie in order to rouse McFann's antagonism toward
Lowell, and he was pleased to see that his statement had been accepted
at face value.
"But that ain't the worst for you, nor for me either," went on the
trader. "That girl at the Greek Letter Ranch knows that you and me took
the watch from the man on the Dollar Sign road."
"How did she know that?" exclaimed McFann in amazement.
"That's somethin' she won't tell, but she knows that you and me was
there, and that the story you told in court ain't straight. I'm
satisfied she ain't told any one else--not yet."
"Do you think she will tell any one?"
"I'm sure of it. You see, she sorter sprung this thing on me when I was
havin' a little argyment about her marryin' me. She got spiteful and
come at me with the statement that the watch I was wearin' belonged to
that feller Sargent."
Bill did not add anything about the money. It was not going to do to let
the half-breed know he had been defrauded.
McFann squatted by the fire, the bottle in his hand and his gaze on
Talpers's face.
"She mentioned both of us bein' there," went on the trader. "She give
the details in a way that I'll admit took me off my feet. It's an
awkward matter--in fact, it's a hangin' matter--for both of us, if she
tells. You know how clost they was to lynchin' you, over there at White
Lodge, with nothin' so very strong against you. If that gang ever hears
about us and this watch of Sargent's, we'll be hung on the same tree."
Talpers played heavily on the lynching, because he knew the fear of the
mob had become an obsession with McFann. He noticed the half-breed's
growing uneasiness, and played his big card.
"I spent a long time thinkin' the hull thing over," said Talpers, "and
I've come to the conclusion that this girl is sure to tell the Indian
agent all she knows, and the best thing for us to do is to get her out
of the way before she puts the noose around our necks."
"Why will she tell the Indian agent?"
"Because he's callin' pretty steady at the ranch, and he's made her
think he's the only friend she's got around here. And as soon as he
finds out, we might as well pick out our own rope neckties, Jim. It's
goin' to take quick action to save us, but you're the one to do it."
"What do you want me to do?" asked McFann suspiciously.
"Well, you're the best trailer and as good a shot as there is in this
part of the country. All that's necessary is for you to drop around the
ranch and--well, sort of make that girl disappear."
"How do you mean?"
Talpers rose and came closer to McFann.
"I mean kill her!" he said with an oath. "Nothin' else is goin' to do.
You can do it without leavin' a track. Willis Morgan or that Chinaman
never'll see you around. Nobody else but the agent ever stops at the
Greek Letter Ranch. It's the only safe way. If she ever tells, Jim,
you'll never come to trial. You'll be swingin' back and forth somewheres
to the music of the prairie breeze. You know the only kind of fruit that
grows on these cotton woods out here."
Jim McFann had always been pliable in Talpers's hands. Talpers had
profited most by the bootlegging operations carried on by the pair,
though Jim had done most of the dangerous work. Whenever Jim needed
supplies, the trader furnished them. To be sure, he charged them off
heavily, so there was little cash left from the half-breed's bootlegging
operations. Talpers shrewdly figured that the less cash he gave Jim, the
more surely he could keep his hold on the half-breed. McFann had grown
used to his servitude. Talpers appeared to him in the guise of the only
friend he possessed among white and red.
Jim rose slowly to his moccasined feet.
"I guess you're right, Bill," he said. "I'll do what you say."
The trader's eyes glowed with satisfaction. The desire for revenge had
come uppermost in his heart. The girl at the ranch had outwitted him in
some way which he could not understand. Twenty-four hours ago he had
confidently figured on numbering her among the choicest chattels in the
possession of William Talpers. But now he regarded her with a hatred
born of fear. The thought of what she could do to him, merely by
speaking a few careless words about that watch and money, drove all
other thoughts from Talpers's mind. Jim McFann could be made a deadly
and certain instrument for insuring the safety of the Talpers skin. One
shot from the half-breed's rifle, either through a cabin window or from
some sagebrush covert near the ranch, and the trader need have no
further fears about being connected with the Dollar Sign murder.
"I thought you'd see it in the right light, Jim," approved Talpers. "It
won't be any trick at all to get her. She rides out a good deal on that
white horse."
Jim McFann did not answer. He had begun preparations for his trip.
Swiftly and silently the half-breed saddled his horse, which had been
hidden in a near-by thicket. From the supply of liquor in Talpers's
pack, Jim took a bottle, which he was thrusting into his saddle pocket
when the trader snatched it away.
"You've had enough, Jim," growled Talpers. "You do the work that's cut
out for you, and you can have all I've brought to camp. I'll be here
waitin' for you."
McFann scowled.
"All right," he said sullenly, "but it seems as if a man ought to have
lots for a job like this."
"After it's all done," said Talpers soothingly, "you can have all the
booze you want, Jim. And one thing more," called the trader as McFann
rode away, "remember it ain't goin' to hurt either of us if you get a
chance to put the Indian agent away on this same little trip."
Jim McFann waved an assenting sign as he disappeared in the trees, and
the trader went back to the camp-fire to await the half-breed's return.
He hoped McFann would find the agent at the Greek Letter Ranch and would
kill Lowell as well as the girl. But, if there did not happen to be any
such double stroke of luck in prospect, the removal of the Indian agent
could be attended to later on.
When he reached the mesas beyond the foothills, the half-breed turned
away from the stream and struck off toward the left. He kept a sharp
lookout for Indian police as he traveled, but saw nothing to cause
apprehension. Night was fast coming on when he reached the ridge on
which Lowell and Helen had stood a few hours before. Avoiding the road,
the half-breed made his way to a gulch near the ranch, where he tied his
horse. Cautiously he approached the ranch-house. The kitchen door was
open and Wong was busy with the dishes. The other doors were shut and
shades were drawn in the windows. Making his way back to the gulch, the
half-breed rolled up in his blanket and slept till daybreak, when he
took up a vantage-point near the house and waited developments. Shortly
after breakfast Wong came out to the barn and saddled the white horse
for Helen. The half-breed noticed with satisfaction that the girl rode
directly toward the reservation instead of following the road that led
to the agency. Hastily securing his horse the half-breed skirted the
ranch and located the girl's trail on the prairie. Instead of following
it he ensconced himself comfortably in some aspens at the bottom of a
draw, confident that the girl would return by the same trail.
If McFann had continued on Helen's trail he would have followed her to
an Indian ranch not far away. A tattered tepee or two snuggled against a
dilapidated cabin. The owner of the ranch was struggling with
tuberculosis. His wife was trying to run the place and to bring up
several children, whose condition had aroused the mother instinct in
Helen. Though she had found her first efforts regarded with suspicion,
Helen had persisted, until she had won the confidence of mother and
children. Her visits were frequent, and she had helped the family so
materially that she had astonished the field matron, an energetic woman
who covered enormous distances in the saddle in the fulfillment of
duties which would soon wear out a settlement worker.
The half-breed smoked uneasily, his rifle across his knees. Two hours
passed, but he did not stir, so confident was he that Helen would return
by the way she had followed in departing from the ranch.
McFann's patience was rewarded, and he tossed away his cigarette with a
sigh of satisfaction when Helen's voice came to him from the top of the
hill. She was singing a nonsense song from the nursery, and, astride
behind her saddle and clinging to her waist, was a wide-eyed Indian girl
of six years, enjoying both the ride and the singing.
Here was a complication upon which the half-breed had not counted. In
fact, during his hours of waiting Jim had begun to look at matters in a
different light. It was necessary to get Helen away, where she could not
possibly tell what she knew, but why not hide her in the mountains? Or,
if stronger methods were necessary, let Talpers attend to them himself?
For the first time since he had come under Talpers's domination, Jim
McFann was beginning to weaken. As the girl came singing down the
hillside, Jim peered uneasily through the bushes. Talpers had shoved him
into a job that simply could not be carried out--at least not without
whiskey. If Bill had let him bring all he wanted to drink, perhaps
things could have been done as planned.
Whatever was done would have to be accomplished quickly, as the white
horse, with its double burden, was getting close. Jim sighted once or
twice along his rifle barrel. Then he dropped the weapon into the hollow
of his arm, and, leading his horse, stepped in front of Helen.
The parley was brief. McFann sent the youngster scurrying along the back
trail, after a few threats in Indian tongue, which were dire enough to
seal the child's lips in fright. Helen was startled at first when the
half-breed halted her, but her composure soon returned. She had no
weapon, nor would she have attempted to use one in any event, as she
knew the half-breed was famous for his quickness and cleverness with
firearms. Nor could anything be gained by attempting to ride him down in
the trail. She did not ask any questions, for she felt they would be
futile.
The half-breed was surprised at the calmness with which matters were
being taken. With singular ease and grace--another gift from his Indian
forbears--Jim slid into his saddle, and, seizing the white horse by the
bridle, turned the animal around and started it up the trail beside him.
In a few minutes Jim had found his trail of the evening before, and was
working swiftly back toward the mountains. When Helen slyly dropped her
handkerchief, as an aid to any one who might follow, the half-breed
quietly turned back and, after picking it up, informed her that he would
kill her if she tried any more such tricks. Realizing the folly of any
further attempts to outwit the half-breed, Helen rode silently on. Not
once did McFann strike across a ridge. Imprisoning slopes seemed to be
shutting them in without surcease, and Helen looked in vain for any aid.
As they approached the foothills, and the travel increased in
difficulty, McFann told Helen to ride close behind him. He glanced
around occasionally to see that she was obeying orders. The old white
horse struggled gamely after the half-breed's wiry animal, and McFann
was compelled to wait only once or twice. Meanwhile Helen had thought
over the situation from every possible angle, and had concluded to go
ahead and not make any effort to thwart the half-breed. She knew that
the reservation was more free from crime than the counties surrounding
it. She also knew that it would not be long before the agent was
informed of her disappearance, and that the Indian police--trailers who
were the half-breed's equal in threading the ways of the
wilderness--would soon be on McFann's tracks. After her first shock of
surprise she had little fear of McFann. The thought that disturbed her
most of all was--Talpers. She knew of the strange partnership of the
men. Likewise she felt that McFann would not have embarked upon any such
crime alone. The thought of Talpers recurred so steadily that the lithe
figure of the half-breed in front of her seemed to change into the
broad, almost misshapen form of the trader.
The first real fear that had come to her since the strange journey began
surged over Helen when McFann led the way into the glade where he had
been camped, and she saw a dreaded and familiar figure stooped over a
small fire, engaged in frying bacon. But there was nothing of triumph in
Talpers's face as he straightened up and saw Helen. Amazement flitted
across the trader's features, succeeded by consternation.
"Now you've done it and done it right!" exclaimed the trader, with a
shower of oaths directed at Jim McFann. "Didn't have the nerve to shoot
at a purty face like that, did you? Git her into that tent while you and
me set down and figger out what we're goin' to do!"
The half-breed helped Helen dismount and told her to go to his tent, a
small, pyramid affair at one end of the glade. Jim fastened the flaps on
the outside and went back to the camp-fire, where Talpers was storming
up and down like a madman. Helen, seated on McFann's blanket roll, heard
their voices rising and falling, the half-breed apparently defending
himself and Talpers growing louder and more accusative. Finally, when
the trader's rage seemed to have spent itself somewhat, the tent flaps
were opened and Jim McFann thrust some food into Helen's hands. She ate
the bacon and biscuits, as the long ride had made her hungry. Then
Talpers roughly ordered her out of the tent. He and the half-breed had
been busy packing and saddling. They added the tent and its contents to
their packs. Telling Helen to mount the white horse once more, Talpers
took the lead, and, with the silent and sullen half-breed bringing up
the rear, the party started off along a trail much rougher than the one
that had been followed by McFann and the girl in the morning.