Talpers was back in his store in two days. Lowell sent word that the
trader might return. At first Talpers was hesitant and suspicious. There
was a lurking fear in his mind that the agent had some trick in view,
but, as life took its accustomed course, Bill resumed his domineering
attitude about the store. A casual explanation that he had been buying
some cattle was enough to explain his absence.
Bill's recent experiences had caused him to regard the agent with new
hatred, not unmixed with fear. The obvious thing for Lowell to have done
was to have rushed more men on the trail and captured Talpers and McFann
before they crossed the reservation line. It could have been done, with
Fire Bear doing the trailing. Even the half-breed admitted that much.
But, instead of carrying out such a programme, the agent had sent Fire
Bear and Plenty Buffalo with word that the trader might come back--that
no prosecution was intended.
Clearly enough such an unusual proceeding indicated that the girl was
still afraid on account of the letter, and had persuaded the agent to
abandon the chase. There was the key to the whole situation--the letter!
Bill determined to guard it more closely than ever. He opened his safe
frequently to see that it was there.
As a whole, then, things were not breaking so badly, Bill figured. To be
sure, it would have cleared things permanently if Jim McFann had done as
he had been told, instead of weakening in such unexpected and absurd
fashion. Bringing that girl into camp, as Jim had done, had given
Talpers the most unpleasant surprise of his life. He had come out of the
affair luckily. The letter was what had done it all. He would lie low
and keep an eye on affairs from now on. McFann would have no difficulty
in shifting for himself out in the sagebrush, now that he was alone.
Bill would see that he got grub and even a little whiskey occasionally,
but there would be no more assignments for him in which women were
concerned, for the half-breed had too tender a heart for his own good!
The Indian agent stopped at Bill's store occasionally, on his way to and
from the Greek Letter Ranch. Their conversation ran mostly to trade and
minor affairs of life in general. Even the weather was fallen back upon
in case some one happened to be within earshot, which was usually the
case, as Bill's store was seldom empty. No one who heard them would
suspect that the men were watching, weighing, and fathoming each other
with all the nicety at individual command. Talpers was always wondering
just how much the Indian agent knew, and Lowell was saying to himself:
"This scoundrel has some knowledge in his possession which vitally
affects the young woman I love. Also he is concerned, perhaps deeply, in
the murder on the Dollar Sign road. Yet he has fortified himself so well
in his villainy that he feels secure."
For all his increased feeling of security, Talpers was wise enough to
let the bottle alone and also to do no boasting. Likewise he stuck
faithfully to his store--so faithfully that it became a matter of public
comment.
"If Bill sticks much closer to this store he's goin' to fall into a
decline," said Andy Wolters, who had been restored to favor in the
circle of cowpunchers that lolled about Talpers's place. "He's gettin' a
reg'lar prison pallor now. He used to be hittin' the trail once in a
while, but nowadays he's hangin' around that post-office section as if
he expected a letter notifyin' him that a rich uncle had died."
"Mebbe he's afraid of travelin' these parts since that feller was killed
on the Dollar Sign," suggested another cowboy. "Doggoned if I don't feel
a little shaky myself sometimes when I'm ridin' that road alone at
night. Looks like some of them Injuns ought to have been hung for that
murder, right off the reel, and then folks'd feel a lot easier in their
minds."
The talk then would drift invariably to the subject of the murder and
the general folly of the court in allowing Fire Bear to go on the Indian
agent's recognizance. But Talpers, though he heard the chorus of
denunciation from the back of the store, and though he was frequently
called upon for an opinion, never could be drawn into the conversation.
He bullied his clerk as usual, and once in a while swept down, in a
storm of baseless anger, upon some unoffending Indian, just to show that
Bill Talpers was still a man to be feared, but for the most part he
waited silently, with the confidence of a man who holds a winning hand
at cards.
The same days that saw Talpers's confidence returning were days of
dissatisfaction to Lowell. He felt that he was being constantly
thwarted. He would have preferred to give his entire attention to the
murder mystery, but details of reservation management crowded upon him
in a way that made avoidance impossible. Among his duties Lowell found
that he must act as judge and jury in many cases that came up. There
were domestic difficulties to be straightened out, and thieves and
brawlers to be sentenced. Likewise there was occasional flotsam, cast up
from the human sea outside the reservation, which required attention.
One of those reminders of the outer world was brought in by an Indian
policeman. The stranger was a rough-looking individual, to all
appearances a harmless tramp, who had been picked up "hoofing it" across
the reservation.
The Indian policeman explained, through the interpreter, that he had
found the wanderer near a sub-agency, several miles away--that he had
shown a disposition to fight, and had only been cowed by the prompt
presentation of a revolver at his head.
"Why, you 're no tramp--you're a yeggman," said Lowell to the prisoner,
interrupting voluble protestations of innocence. "You're one of the
gentry that live off small post-offices and banks. I'll bet you've
stolen stamps enough in your career to keep the Post-Office Department
going six months. And you've given heart disease to no end of
stockholders in small banks--prosperous citizens who have had to make
good the losses caused by your safe-breaking operations. Am I bringing
an unjust indictment against you, pardner?"
A flicker of a smile was discernible somewhere in the tangle of beard
that hid the lineaments of the prisoner's face.
"If I inventoried the contents of this bundle," continued Lowell, "I'd
find a pretty complete outfit of the tools that keep the safe companies
working overtime on replacements, wouldn't I?"
The prisoner nodded.
"There's no use of my dodgin', judge," he said. "The tools are
there--all of 'em. But I'm through with the game. All I want now is
enough of a stake to get me back home to Omaha, where the family is.
That's why I was footin' it acrost this Injun country--takin' a short
cut to a railroad where I wouldn't be watched for."
"I'll consider your case awhile," remarked Lowell after a moment's
thought. "Perhaps we can speed you on your way to Omaha and the family."
The prisoner was taken back to the agency jail leaving his bundle on
Lowell's desk. About midnight Lowell took the bundle and, going to the
jail, roused the policeman who was on guard and was admitted to the
prisoner's cell.
"Look here, Red," said Lowell. "Your name is Red, isn't it?"
"Red Egan."
"Well, Red Egan, did you ever hear of Jimmy Valentine?"
The prisoner scratched his head while he puffed at a welcome cigarette.
"No? Well, Red, this Jimmy Valentine was in the business you're
quitting, and he opened a safe in a good cause. I want you to do the
same for me. If you can do a neat job, with no noise, I'll see that you
get across the reservation all right, with stake enough to get you to
Omaha."
"You're on, judge! I'd crack one more for a good scout like you any
day."
Three quarters of an hour later Red Egan was working professionally upon
the safe in Bill Talpers's store. The door to Talpers's sleeping-room
was not far away, but it was closed, and the trader was a thorough
sleeper, so the cracksman might have been conducting operations a mile
distant, so far as interruption from Bill was concerned.
As he worked, Red Egan told whispered stories to a companion--stories
which related to barriers burned, pried, and blown away.
"I don't mind how close they sleep to their junk," observed Red, as he
rested momentarily from his labors. "Unless a man's got insomnier and
insists on makin' his bed on top of his safe, he ain't got a chance to
make his iron doors stay shut if one of the real good 'uns takes a
notion to make 'em fly apart. There she goes!" he added a moment later,
as the safe door swung open.
"All right, Red," came the whispered reply, "but remember that I get
whatever money's in sight, just for appearances' sake, though it's
letters and such things I'm really after."
"It goes as you say, boss, and I hope you get what you want. There goes
that inside door."
In the light of a flash-lamp Lowell saw a letter and a roll of bills. He
took both, while Red Egan, his work done, packed up the kit of tools.
Lowell had recognized Helen's handwriting on the envelope, and knew he
had found what he wanted.
"You've earned that trip to Omaha, Red," said Lowell, after they had
gone back to their horses which had been standing in a cottonwood grove
near by. "When we get back to the agency I'll put you in my car and
drive you far enough by daybreak so that you can catch a train at noon."
"You're a square guy, judge, but if that's the letter you've been
wantin' to get, why don't you read it? Or maybe you know what's in it
without readin' it."
"No, I don't know what's in it, and I don't want to read it, Red."
Red's amazed whistle cut through the night silence.
"Well, if that ain't the limit! Havin' a safe-crackin' job done for a
letter that you ain't ever seen and don't want to see the inside of!"
"It's all right, Red. Don't worry about it, because you've earned your
money twice over to-night. Don't look on your last job as a failure, by
any means."
* * * * *
A few hours later the Indian agent, not looking like a man who had been
up all night, halted his car at Talpers's store, after he had received
an excited hail from Andy Wolters.
"You're jest in time!" exclaimed Andy. "Bill Talpers's safe has been
cracked and Bill is jest now tryin' to figger the damage. He says he's
lost a roll of money and some other things."
Lowell found Talpers going excitedly through the contents of his broken
safe. It was not the first time the trader had pawed over the papers.
Nor were the oaths that fell on Lowell's ears the first that the trader
had uttered since the discovery that he had been robbed as he slept.
It was plain enough that Talpers was suffering from a deeper shock than
could come through any mere loss of money. Not even when Lowell
contrived to drop the roll of bills, where the trader's clerk picked it
up with a whoop of glee, did Talpers's expression change. His oaths were
those of a man distraught, and the contumely he heaped upon Sheriff Tom
Redmond moved that official to a spirited defense.
"I can't see why you hold me responsible for a safe that you've been
keeping within earshot all these years," retorted Tom, in answer to
Talpers's sneers about the lack of protection afforded the county's
business men. "If you can't hear a yeggman working right next to your
sleeping-quarters, how do you expect me to hear him, 'way over to White
Lodge? I'll leave it to Lowell here if your complaint is reasonable.
I'll do the best I can to get this man, but it looks to me as if he's
made a clean getaway. What sort of papers was it you said you lost,
Bill?"
"I didn't say."
"Well, then, I'm asking you. Was they long or short, rolled or flat, or
tied with pink ribbon?"
"Never mind!" roared Talpers. "You round up this burglar and let me go
through him. I'll get what's mine, all right."
Redmond made a gesture of despair. A man who had been robbed and had
recovered his money, and was so keen after papers that he wouldn't or
couldn't describe, was past all fooling with. The sheriff rode off,
grumbling, without even questioning Lowell to ascertain if the Indian
police had seen any suspicious characters on the reservation.
Bill Talpers's mental convolutions following the robbery reminded Lowell
of the writhing of a wounded snake. Bill's fear was that the letter
would be picked up and sent back to the girl at the Greek Letter Ranch.
Suspicion of a plot in the affair did not enter his head. To him it was
just a sinister stroke of misfortune--one of the chance buffets of fate.
One tramp burglar out of the many pursuing that vocation had happened
upon the Talpers establishment at a time when its proprietor was in an
unusually sound sleep. Bill gave himself over to thoughts of the various
forms of punishment he would inflict upon the wandering yeggman in case
a capture were effected--thoughts which came to naught, as Red Egan had
been given so generous a start toward his Omaha goal that he never was
headed.
As the days went past and the letter was not discovered, Bill began to
gather hope. Perhaps the burglar, thinking the letter of no value, had
destroyed it, in natural disgust at finding that he had dropped the
money which undoubtedly was the real object of his safe-breaking.
If Talpers had known what had really happened to the letter, all his
self-comfortings would have vanished. Lowell had lost no time in taking
the missive to Helen. He had found affairs at the Greek Letter Ranch
apparently unchanged. Wong was at work in the kitchen. Two Indians, who
had been hired to harvest the hay, which was the only crop on the ranch,
were busy in a near-by field. Helen, looking charming in a house dress
of blue, with white collar and cuffs, was feeding a tame magpie when
Lowell drove into the yard.
"Moving picture entitled 'The Metamorphosis of Miss Tatters,'" said
Lowell, amusedly surveying her.
"The scratches still survive, but the riding-suit will take a lot of
mending," said Helen, showing her scratched hands and wrists.
"Well, if this very becoming costume has a pocket, here's something to
put in it," remarked Lowell, handing her the letter.
Helen's smile was succeeded by a startled, anxious look, as she glanced
at the envelope and then at Lowell.
"No need for worry," Lowell assured her. "Nobody has read that letter
since it passed out of the possession of our esteemed postmaster, Bill
Talpers, sometime after one o'clock this morning."
"But how did he come to give it up?" asked Helen, her voice wavering.
"He did not do so willingly. It might be said he did not give it up
knowingly. As a matter of fact, our friend Talpers had no idea he had
lost his precious possession until it had been gone several hours."
"But how--"
"'How' is a word to be flung at Red Egan, knight of the steel drill and
the nitro bottle and other what-nots of up-to-date burglary," said
Lowell. "Though I saw the thing done, I can't tell you how. I only hope
it clears matters for you."
"It does in a way. I cannot tell you how grateful I am," said Helen, her
trembling hands tightly clutching the letter.
"Only in a way? I am sorry it does not do more."
"But it's a very important way, I assure you!" exclaimed Helen. "It
eliminates this man--this Talpers--as a personal menace. But when you
are so eager to get every thread of evidence, how is it that you can
give this letter to me, unread? You must feel sure it has some bearing
on the awful thing--the tragedy that took place back there on the hill."
"That is where faith rises superior to a very human desire to look into
the details of mystery," said Lowell. "If I were a real detective, or
spy, as you characterized me, I would have read that letter at the first
opportunity. But I knew that my reading it would cause you grave
personal concern. I have faith in you to the extent that I believe you
would do nothing to bring injustice upon others. Consequently, from now
on I will proceed to forget that this letter ever existed."
"You may regret that you have acted in this generous manner," said the
girl. "What if you find that all your faith has been misplaced--that I
am not worthy of the trust--"
"Really, there is nothing to be gained by saying such things,"
interposed Lowell. "As I told you, I am forgetting that the letter ever
existed."
"Do you know," she said, "I wish this letter could have come back to me
from any one but you?"
"Why?"
"Because, coming as it has, I am more or less constrained to act as
fairly as you believe I shall act."
"You might give it back to Talpers and start in on any sort of a deal
you chose."
"Impossible! For fear Talpers may get it, here is what I shall do to the
letter."
Here Helen tore it in small pieces and tossed them high in the air, the
breeze carrying them about the yard like snow.
"In which event," laughed Lowell, "it seems that I win, and my faith in
you is to be justified."
"I wish I could assure you of as much," answered Helen sadly. "But if it
happens that your trust is not justified, I hope you will not think too
harshly of me."
"Harshly!" exclaimed Lowell. "Harshly! Why, if you practiced revolver
shooting on me an hour before breakfast every morning, or if you used me
for a doormat here at the Greek Letter Ranch, I couldn't think anything
but lovingly of you."
"Oh!" cried Helen, clapping her hands over her ears and running up the
porch steps, as Lowell turned to his automobile. "You've almost undone
all the good you've accomplished to-day."
"Thanks for that word 'almost,'" laughed Lowell.
"Then I'll make it 'quite,'" flung Helen, but her words were lost in the
shifting of gears as Lowell started back to the agency.
That night Helen dreamed that Bill Talpers, on hands and knees, was
moving like a misshapen shadow about the yard in the moonlight picking
up the letter which she had torn to pieces.