The First State Bank of Stovepipe Springs had no banking hours, but
was open whenever Sidewinder Crowfoot was there. It was nearly
supper-time when Percival Henry J. Tompkins entered; and Sidewinder
gazed at him in astonishment.
“Thought you were off bug-hunting!”
Tompkins shook his head sadly.
“I regret to say, sir, that the man whom I had engaged proved to be
an unworthy rascal. I refer to Mr. Beam. In common parlance, he was
drunk, insisted on taking me in the contrary direction to that which
I desired, and even threatened me with a revolver. I abandoned him
in the desert, but had I not encountered Miss Gilman and Mr. Foster,
I might never have found my way back to town. Here is your receipt,
sir, and I shall have to withdraw my money temporarily until I can
recompense Mr. Foster for his assistance and make certain purchases.
Tomorrow I hope to start off again with a new guide.”
The glittering gray eyes of Sidewinder were masked for a moment,
then shot up.
“That’s right good news!” he exclaimed. “That feller I recommended
to you, Mesquite Harrison, is here in town right now. Want to see
him?”
“By all means!” said Tompkins gratefully. “If he can come to the
hotel later on this evening, I shall be very glad—or, let us say,
early tomorrow morning. I shall be up with the sun, and I trust
early rising will not discommode him?”
“None to mention,” said Sidewinder, and took an envelope from his
safe. “Here’s your money. Bring back what you got left tomorrow, and
we’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you—thank you very much,” said Tompkins, and departed.
Halting at the garage to see that fresh supplies of fuel were put
aboard the flivver, which he left standing in the street, he walked
on down to the hotel and found Haywire Johnson in the office, alone.
Mr. Tompkins produced a ten-dollar gold-piece and laid it under the
eyes of the startled Haywire.
“Want to earn that, partner?” he asked in his natural voice.
“Gosh, yes!” said Haywire promptly. “Whose mail d’ye want?”
“Nobody’s. Give me an envelope and some sealing-wax.” When he was
supplied, Tompkins wrote a short note, inclosed with it the deed to
Alec Ramsay’s property in Pinecate Cañon, addressed the envelope to
the recorder in Chuckwalla City, and sealed it up. Then he gave it
to Haywire.
“Register this, and slip it into tomorrow morning’s mail-sack
without giving Hassayamp a squint at it. That earns the first ten.”
Tompkins now produced a second gold-piece, at which Haywire goggled
frantically. “Here’s another you can earn. Go over to Pincus’ store
and buy me a rifle with a box of cartridges—”
“Hold on, Puffesser!” broke in Haywire, quickly. “I got one I’ll
sell cheap. Good gosh, yes! Five year old, but better’n they make
’em now. Distance sights.”
“All right. Sneak it into my room with a box of cartridges to fit,
and I’ll pay you for it; bring along that gun you’re keeping for
Sagebrush Beam, too. He wants it. There’s the other ten. You’ll earn
it by keeping your mouth shut real tight. And listen! Will you or
Hassayamp be on deck along about sunup in the morning?”
“Hassayamp wont; that’s certain,” said Haywire, staring at Tompkins.
“I’m liable to be, if ye want me.”
“All right. You know Mesquite Harrison? He’s coming to see me. Bring
him right to my room, savvy? Then if you hear him yell, be deaf in
both ears, and if you see anything funny going on, be blind in both
eyes.”
“All right, Puffesser. Gosh, ye don’t talk like the same feller ye
was—”
“Never mind. Your job is to be a human sphinx. Supper ready?”
“Bell’s just about to ring, Puffesser. I’ll be along d’rectly.”
Seeking his own cell, Tompkins enjoyed a thorough wash-up, and
before he finished heard signs of life in the adjoining room which
tokened that Miss Gilman had returned. On his way to the dining-room
he encountered Hassayamp, looking more melancholy than ever, and was
given a cheerless nod; then a flicker of interest seized the
hotel-proprietor.
“Say, Puffesser! Thought you aimed to stay awhile in the desert?”
“So I did, Mr. Foster,” said Tompkins blandly. “So I did. But I
regret to say that I had trouble with my companion. Perhaps you
observed that I was alone when we met each other this afternoon?
Luckily I was able to follow the tracks of your car back to town, or
I might have been lost. I trust your stomach trouble has quite
passed over?”
“More or less,” said Hassayamp, and went his way.
Tompkins went in and dined heartily, now confident that even if
Hassayamp and Sidewinder got together in conference during the
evening, they would be unable to figure him out to any great extent.
When Miss Gilman appeared at her table, she gave Tompkins a smiling
nod, and he perceived that her day on the burning sands had done its
work well.
“Cold cream is recommended,” he exclaimed. “May I inquire whether
you will view the beauties ol the sunset this evening in my company,
madam?”
“I shall be charmed—Perfesser,” she responded, and Tompkins grinned.
There was no sunset to view that evening, however. When they met in
front of the hotel, a keen wind was coming down off the Chuckwalla
hills, and clouds had appeared like magic in the sky. They walked
together in silence toward the deserted buildings of the old boom
town, until Tompkins spoke.
“We’ll have snow upon the desert’s dusty face in the morning. Old
Omar Khayyam sure had been there! I’ve seen an inch of snow on the
Mohave at sunrise, and it’d be gone in an hour. This is probably the
tail-ender of the season—rains are all over now. Well, how did you
find everything up the cañon?”
“It was just as described in that deed,” she said soberly. “Oh, I’m
sorry for the way I spoke the other night! I didn’t think it could
be possible, Mr.—shall I call you Tompkins or Ramsay?”
“Neither one,” he responded with a whimsical smile. “Call me Pat.”
“No. I think you don’t need any encouragement to impertinence.” And
she laughed. “But really—that cañon was a dream of beauty! There was
water, running and in pools, and all sorts of lilies were there, and
flowers—”
“Sure, a regular desert cañon after the rains,” said Tompkins. “And
not very far away, a dead man.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that! I didn’t want to think of your brother as—”
“I’m not talking about him. Another man.”
She gave him a startled look. “You mean a man was killed out there?”
“Yes, and another wounded. Several are going to be killed in the
near future, if I’m any judge. You needn’t look alarmed about it,
Miss Gilman; they’re outlaws. I’ve opened up the whole situation
pretty well, I think. Now, I hope you’ll take my advice and get out
of this town tomorrow morning on the stage. I expected to be gone
about sunrise, as I have work waiting for me out yonder, but if you
think you’ll need any moral backing in drawing out of the game, I’ll
stay and see you through.”
“No, thanks,” she returned quietly. “I’m staying.”
“After what I’ve told you and showed you?” he said with a frown.
“Yes. Now let me explain, and don’t get too bossy. Hassayamp wanted
to sell me that claim belonging to your brother; it’s one of the
most beautiful spots I ever saw. However, I made some excuse about
it not being suited to chickens, and I’m going to buy the five acres
adjoining it and just above. You wait till you see that place! It’s
got—”
“My dear girl,” said Tompkins, “don’t you know chickens can’t be
raised here, without large and expensive precautions?”
“Oh, I’m not quite a tenderfoot. Chickens or not, I’m going to own
that piece of land! And I’ve taken warning from you, too, because
I’ll not turn over the money until the title is clear and the deed
recorded. The five acres cost me three hundred dollars, mineral
rights and all. Hassayamp owns it. He showed me where a mine used to
be—it’s played out now. I don’t care a bit if the place is never any
real good to me; I’m going to keep it just to live on when I get
old, and enjoy it. Why, you get a wonderful view from the upper
cañon out over the desert!”
“Well,” said Tompkins reluctantly, “since your eyes are open, I
can’t of course make any more objections, though you can buy plenty
of desert cañon for less money. But what about transport?”
“I’ve bought Hassayamp’s car. It’s an old one, but I know all about
a flivver and it will do me. Then, I’m going to get a big tent set
up there—”
Tompkins groaned inwardly, but presently changed the subject. It was
no use whatever to raise up practical objections; the girl would
have to find things out for herself. She was obviously determined on
her course, and the more he saw of her, the more he began to feel
that she was a pretty competent young woman. In fact, as they walked
and spoke of cabbages surd kings, he was distinctly and unpleasantly
surprised to find that it had grown dark and very cold, and that
they must return to shelter immediately. When they had reached the
adobe cells that constituted the hotel, he paused at her door and
shook hands.
“From now on, Miss Gilman, my name’s Ramsay—only you’ll come to
calling me Pat, especially if we’re to be neighbors. If you have any
need of me, don’t hesitate to summon me. I believe Haywire Johnson
is a good sort, and you may confide in him any time. And by the way,
if you hear any queer noises early in the morning, don’t call for
help.”
“I usually don’t,” she said, smiling. “Why?”
“One of the men who murdered my brother is coming to call on me, I
hope.” The smile died on her lips. Her eyes widened on him.
“You mean it? But—but surely you—you don’t intend—”
“We’re going to have a talk; that’s all,” said Tompkins. “Good
night, and pleasant dreams! I’ll see you again. Don’t forget to look
through your blankets for stray lizards.”
He went on to his own cell, and in twenty minutes was sound asleep.
With dawn, Tompkins, or as he was now to become, Pat Ramsay, wakened
to a glorious sunrise just breaking over a transformed world. As he
had predicted, snow had come during the night. Everything was
covered with a soft white garment, unusual but by no means
unheard-of in the desert, which would be gone again in an hour.
He shaved and made his ablutions and got ready to travel. He
inspected the rifle which Haywire had left in his room, and found it
good. He was still looking it over when Haywire himself knocked at
the door.
“Say, Puffesser! Mesquite is out there—” “All right, bring him
right along. Hold on! I want to settle with you for this gun. And
where’s that revolver that Sagebrush wanted?”
“Got it right here, Puffesser—”
Taking the old forty-five that was handed him, Ramsay paid for his
rifle and then swiftly made ready for his visitor. He pulled down
the blind of the window, partly darkening the room, then rubbed his
face with talcum powder and seated himself without glasses or
helmet, with his back to the door, the rifle in his hand. After a
moment came steps, then a knock.
“Come in,” he said.
Mesquite Harrison stepped into the room and stood blinking at the
swift transition from snow-dazzle to this obscurity. He was a
cadaverous person with straggling mustache and rudimentary chin,
adenoidal mouth and projecting front teeth; his entire countenance
was stamped with viciousness and weakness, and one glance showed
Ramsay that his ruse was bound to succeed.
“Heard ye wanted a guide,” said Mesquite.
“I wanted you,” said Ramsay, “and I came back to get you.”
He swung his chair around so that the light struck his face.
Mesquite Harrison uttered one low gasp, and then stood absolutely
petrified, struck into helpless, motionless silence. His mouth
opened, and his piggish eyes widened into round disks. He stood with
hands thrown back against the door, and a ghastly pallor crept
across his horrified countenance.
“Thought you were safe when you knew I was dead up there in Pinecate
Cañon, didn’t you?” said Ramsay, in a hollow voice. “You thought
that after shooting me through the lungs you were safe, eh? But
you’re not. I’ve come back to get you! Don’t move a muscle, or I’ll
put a bullet through you.”
His likeness to the vanished Alec Ramsay was strong—so strong that
the wretched Mesquite Harrison made no query about how a ghost could
shoot a rifle. This interesting conundrum was about the farthest
thing from Mesquite’s mind at the moment. His distended eyes were
fastened in horror upon the face of Ramsay, and now a low wail broke
from him.
“Leave me be, fer Gawd’s sake!” he howled. “It wasn’t me! It was
Cholo Bill and Tom Emery done it—I was jest trailin’ along with ’em
that day! It was Tom Emery fired that shot! Leave me be and I’ll be
good—”
He plumped down on his knees, and his teeth began to chatter with
fright.
“All right,” said Ramsay in contempt. “Get up! Turn around and walk
out that door and walk out to the street. Then start going—and keep
going. Head for Meteorite, and don’t stop. I’ll be right back of you
until you get there. You can’t see me after we get out of town, but
I’ll be there. Get going!”
The unhappy Mesquite lost no time in obeying. He flung open the
door, darted outside, and started for the street. Ramsay followed
more leisurely. When he passed through the hotel front, he saw
Mesquite standing outside, staring back, and as Ramsay appeared in
his wake, the thoroughly frightened rascal uttered another howl and
started for Meteorite.
“Don’t ever come back here or I’ll get you!” called Ramsay, and the
last he saw of Mesquite Harrison, the latter was plugging along
through the snow, head down and arms going as he ran. Ramsay turned
a back into the hotel office, and met the stare of Haywire.
“Gosh!” said the latter. “What’d ye do to him, Puffesser?”
Without replying, Ramsay went on back to his room. There he got his
belongings together and carried them to the car, which was standing
in the street. While he was putting them into the flivver, he saw
Hassayamp appear at the front door of the hotel, yawning mightily.
Ramsay jerked off his glasses and sun-helmet, and went up to
Hassayamp. In the latter’s startled gaze he read instant
recognition, for this was the first time Hassayamp had ever seen him
without the yellow goggles.
“Listen here!” said Ramsay, tapping melancholy Hassayamp on the arm
and boring into him with stern gaze, “I suppose you thought that
little escapade of yours back in St. John’s, Arizona, a good many
years ago, had been forgotten, eh?”
Hassayamp turned white. Whether or not he recognized his
interlocutor as singularly like the vanished Alec Ramsay in looks,
he certainly recognized the remarkable change of voice and manner in
the supposed professor. Mention of St. John’s brought the pallor to
his cheeks. Over his shoulder gaped Haywire, intensely interested.
“Well,” continued Ramsay, “it hasn’t been forgotten, my friend. One
of my errands here was to remind you of the occurrence. If I were
you, I wouldn’t rely too much on the protection of Sidewinder
Crowfoot. The theft of horses may be forgotten with the years; but
what about that church money you stole, eh?”
“I—I’ll pay it back,” stammered Hassayamp, now convinced that the
Mormons were on his trail.
“You wont get the chance. If I didn’t have other and more important
fish to fry, I’d attend to you right now. But I guess you’ll keep
until I get back. Then you’ll come along with me.”
Hassayamp turned yet whiter. The Southwest has by no means forgotten
the days of Mountain Meadow and the avenging angels of Mormon; and
while in these more settled times the followers of that faith are
certainly guiltless of any ill-doing, there is an heritage of
uneasiness that lingers about the very name of Mormon and will not
be stilled.
So Ramsay strode out to his car, donned goggles and helmet, and went
chugging away to get his breakfast at Pinecate Cañon.