It was about a week later, well past midnight, when the stage rattled
down the grades which led into Hawk Hole. Olsen, the regular driver, was
alone on the seat, with one passenger inside the stage.
They swept into the Hole and out onto the flat country, the four horses
running at top speed. Far ahead of them a lantern blinked beside the
road. Olsen drew the team down to a trot and stopped near the lantern,
where a man held the heads of a team hitched to a buckboard.
The man climbed down from inside the stage and walked over to the
lantern. He was a big man, almost as big as Big Medicine Hawkworth, and
of about the same age. But this man’s face was pale and heavily lined,
with a hawklike nose and piercing black eyes. His white mustache was
waxed to needlelike points, and his white hair curled down around his
shoulders from beneath a wide-brimmed, black hat.
“Well, yuh got here, Doc,” observed Baldy Kero, who held the team. “I
just got here myself.”
“That wild devil of a driver swore he’d get me here one time,” replied
the big man. “My God, I almost prayed several times.”
Olsen laughed loudly, whirled his long whip over the team, and rattled
away in a cloud of dust. Baldy and the big man got into the buckboard,
swung the team around, and headed across country toward the K-10 Ranch.
“Lee Yung didn’t come with yuh, eh?” queried Baldy, when he had slowed
up to circle a washout.
“He came through last night. I thought it would be best. What is the
latest news?”
“I don’t know any news,” replied Baldy. “Yuh see, I dunno what it’s all
about. Lee Yung didn’t know either, Doc. We thought somethin’ was wrong,
so Lee tells me he’s goin’ to Frisco and see Doc Meline. I ain’t seen
Lee since he came back.”
“You didn’t get my letter, eh?” asked Doctor Meline.
“I dunno anythin’ about a letter.”
“The letter I sent you a few days before somebody held up the stage.”
“I didn’t git no letter from yuh, Doc.”
For some distance Doctor Meline remained silent. Then:
“Kern, I am only asking for a square deal. If you and the gang thought
you could get that twenty thousand dollars----”
“Hold on!”
Kern jerked the horses to a stop and turned angrily to the big man.
“None of that, Doc. If you sent twenty thousand dollars by that stage,
we never seen any of it.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Meline quickly. “I just wanted to know, Kern.”
“Well, you found out. Git up!”
They drove on in silence for another mile. Then----
“Mind explainin’ a few things?” asked Baldy.
“I came here to explain and to listen to explanations. I sent that
twenty thousand dollars to Hawkworth, and I wrote you a letter, previous
to shipping it, telling you when it would come. Who got that letter?”
“I didn’t,” said Baldy shortly.
“Who takes your mail out to the ranch from Pinnacle?”
“Anybody who happens to be in town.”
“Then there’s a traitor at the K-10, Kern.”
“You think that one of my men opened the letter?”
“And got help to rob that stage--yes.”
“You’re wrong, Doc. The night that stage was robbed every one of my men
were at the ranch. Not a damn one of ’em was away.”
“And the man who was shot that night, Kern. How is he?”
“All right, I reckon. Yuh see, they took him out to Hawkworth’s ranch.”
“To Hawkworth’s ranch! Is that where he is now?”
“Well, I reckon he is, Doc. Doctor Henry couldn’t get a nurse to take
care of him, so they shipped him out there. I suppose he’s gettin’ along
all right.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” The big man exploded into a booming laugh.
“Who is he?” asked Baldy, after Meline’s mirth had subsided.
“Who is he? Kern, that young man is my son--Jack Meline.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Baldy drew the team to a slow walk. “Doc, did you send him in
here to spy on us?”
“Spy on you?”
“Yeah, spy on us. Now listen to me, Doc. If you don’t think that we’re
givin’ you a square deal, hire somebody else. Don’t spy. We’ve got to
trust each other, or go bust. We’re both crooks, but we can’t afford to
be crooked with each other. I’ll run this end of the game and you run
your end.”
“Fair enough, Kern, but remember this: I can get men to run your end of
it, but you can’t replace me.”
“That won’t keep me from quittin’,” replied Kern softly. “If I’ve got to
watch you and watch some other gang who are tryin’ to bust up our game,
I’ll quit. One of my men was killed the night that Lee Yung left for
Frisco.”
“The Chinaman told me. His name was Blair, if I remember correctly.”
“Yeah, it was Blair. I sent him out to trail Torres.”
“And Torres killed him, did he? Why didn’t you kill Torres?”
“Down in this country,” said Baldy slowly, “yuh most always have to find
a man before yuh can kill him.”
“Where is he?”
“I dunno. Mebbe he’s down at the Rancho Sierra.”
“Why not hire Steve Guadalupe to kill him?”
“That’s a fine idea. They’re both Mexicans, and Steve is making too much
easy money to be attracted by blood money.”
They drove up to the K-10, and Baldy turned the team over to Jack Baum.
* * * * *
The K-10 ranch-house was a long adobe structure, situated on the edge of
a mesa, which gave a fairly good view of the sweeping expanse of Hawk
Hole. About a third of the house was used as a kitchen and dining-room,
while the other two thirds was a combination living-quarters and
bunkhouse.
Behind the house was a long series of low sheds and several corrals.
Baldy introduced Doctor Meline to all the boys, except the Mexican cook,
José, whose English was limited to profanity.
“I’ve seen you before, Doc,” said “Two Fingers” Kohler, a hard-faced
cowpuncher, who had lost three fingers from his left hand in an argument
with a Mexican.
“Have you?” smiled the big man.
“Yeah, in Frisco,” nodded Kohler. “You was standin’ on a platform, under
one of them gas’line lights, sellin’ some kind of damned remedy. Yo’re
kinda slick with cards, ain’tcha? By golly, yuh shore done some cute
tricks, but I don’t s’pose that medicine would cure anythin’.”
Meline flushed slightly and lighted a cigar. He had been the prince of
faker doctors until the police had stopped him from peddling a quack
nostrum, a guaranteed cure-all, which was probably made from colored
water and quinine.
* * * * *
The newspapers had taken up the case, and the resultant advertising had
caused Doctor Meline to return to his big home out near the Presidio,
where he proceeded to forget that he ever hawked cheap medicine with a
ballyhoo, and to engage in a business of big returns with less
publicity.
“Did yuh hear anythin’ from the Tumblin’ H today, Jack?” asked Baldy.
“Not a thing,” replied Baum. “I seen Hartley and Stevens in town, but
they was only there a few minutes.”
“Who are they?” asked Meline curiously.
“Couple of punchers,” said Baldy. “One of ’em had rheumatism and come
here to bathe in Hawkworth’s hot water.”
“Yes?” Meline smoked slowly, thoughtfully. “Came here to bathe in the
hot springs, eh? How long have they been here?”
“They came the night of the holdup.”
“Did they? Hm-m-m. The night of the holdup. And what have they done
since?”
“One of ’em stood Torres on his head in the blacksmith’s slack tub,”
grinned Baldy. “They were the ones who found Blair after he was killed.”
“Yeah,” said Kohler, “and I heard Doctor Henry say that Hartley was the
one who got Hawkworth to take that wounded man out to the Tumblin’ H
Ranch.”
“Well!” Meline removed his cigar and grinned at Baldy. “It seems that
these two cowpunchers have been real active. Baldy, did it ever occur to
you that a stranger might be dangerous?”
“You mean, they might be----”
Baldy hesitated. Meline’s smile was sneering, pitying.
“You poor fool, of course! Did you think that the Government would hire
flat-footed detectives to investigate in a cattle country?”
Baldy flushed angrily and got to his feet.
“You cut out that ‘fool’ stuff, Meline,” he warned. “You think that
nobody has any brains but you, don’tcha?”
“Don’t get riled,” advised Meline coldly. “I’ve got a right to criticize
when my life and liberty are concerned.”
“Your life and liberty be damned! You’re nothin’ but a retailer, Meline.
We’re the ones to take the chances. When bullets start flyin’ in Hawk
Hole, there’s damn few of ’em that’ll reach you in Frisco. You’ve
covered yourself pretty damn well. Lee Yung and me are the only ones,
until now, that knew who you were.”
“All right. We won’t argue, Kern. I’m sorry I had to come here. But
maybe it is a good thing I did. Perhaps I was hasty in my criticism. I
have learned to mistrust everyone.”
“You better git that out of yore system,” advised Baldy. “I suppose
you’ll go over to see Hawkworth tomorrow, eh?”
“Don’t be a fool, Kern. Hawkworth must not see me, and neither must he
know I am here. He is probably the biggest fool I have ever known--but a
dangerous fool.”
“How long are yuh goin’ to stay here?” asked Baldy.
“_Quien sabe?_ There are a few things to clear up, Kern. I want to find
out who stole that money and shot my son.”
“You’ll prob’ly be here a hell of a long time. Let’s turn in. Take
Blair’s bunk, if yuh want to. He died in a good cause.”
“Thanks. I am not afraid of dead men. They are harmless.”
* * * * *
It was the following day at the Tumbling H Ranch that the wounded man
came slowly out through the kitchen door and sat down in a
blanket-covered rocking chair which had been placed in the shade for him
by Lucy.
He was still a trifle shaky, colorless, but able to get around. His thin
face twisted wearily as he sat down and brushed back his black hair with
a nervous gesture. It was washday at the Tumbling H, and the invalid
watched Wanna as she hung out the clothes, her arms bare to the
shoulder, her black hair hanging down her back in a big braid.
From around the corner came the everlasting _rub-rub-rub_ as Lucy
scrubbed the clothes. Down at the corral, Hashknife, Sleepy, and Musical
were saddle-breaking a colt, and having a big time out of it. The pseudo
Jack Hill scowled at them as he rolled a cigarette.
Wanna came back to the corner, carrying the empty basket. Jack smiled up
at her and indicated for her to sit down on the steps. But Wanna shook
her head with a smile.
“Work to be done,” she said.
“I don’t know how you stand it to live here all the time,” he said. “My
God, I’d get the willies sure. And you say you’ve never been out of
here, out of Hawk Hole?”
Wanna turned and scanned the hills, as she shook her head.
“No, I live here all the time.”
“That’s too bad, Wanna. I feel sorry for yuh. A pretty girl like you in
a place like this. You ought to get out and see things, instead of
living here and seeing nothing.”
“What would I see?” she asked innocently.
“What? My gosh! The world--the cities--everything.”
“Everything,” she repeated slowly. “What is a city--like Pinnacle?”
Jack laughed at her ignorance. Neither of them knew that Big Medicine
had come to the kitchen door.
“Not hardly like Pinnacle,” said Jack, laughing. “There are many big
buildings, many people, bright lights, and--life. You don’t _live_ out
here, Wanna.”
“You go back?” she asked.
“You bet. Just as soon as I can travel, I’m going back.”
“Maybe I go some day,” said Wanna wistfully. “I like to see everything.”
“You’d enjoy it. I’d like to show you the city, Wanna.”
“You like to show me?” eagerly.
Jack looked sidewise and a crooked smile twisted his lips.
“Yes, I would. You’re pretty enough to show to anybody.”
Lucy called sharply to Wanna and the girl went reluctantly back to her
work. Big Medicine came slowly outside and stopped beside Jack’s chair.
“I heard what you said to her.”
Big Medicine’s voice was pitched low. Jack twisted nervously. He was
afraid of this big man.
“Well, what of it?” he asked.
“I’ve watched you and her,” said Big Medicine softly. “Youth calls to
youth, they say; but not in this case. I know your type, Jack Hill. The
honor of a pretty girl means nothing to you. The cities are filled with
young men like you, idlers, wine hounds--and worse.
“Wanna is a half-breed. Her Indian blood makes her believe what you tell
her, while her white blood makes a romance of your mysterious shooting.
You are something new to her. You do not talk the language of the hills
and cattle ranges, and she puts you above the rest of the men.
“You are trying to make her unhappy with her life, with your word
pictures of the cities. You wouldn’t marry her. To you she is a pretty
girl, ignorant as a savage, something to play with. Let me tell you
something, Jack Hill.” Big Medicine leaned closer and lowered his voice
to a whisper. “If you harm her in any way, by words or by actions, I’ll
kill you. That is my promise.”
Big Medicine turned away and went back into the house, while Jack humped
in his chair, his lips shut tightly, while the cigarette between his
fingers, still glowing, was crushed to powder.
Inwardly he cursed Big Medicine, but deep in his heart he knew that Big
Medicine spoke the truth. And he knew that the big man would keep his
promise. But he hated Big Medicine now. It was true that he had filled
Wanna’s ears with tales of faraway places, many of them untrue, but
today was the first time that she had intimated that she would care to
see these places.
From inside his shirt he drew out a little silk-covered parcel, hardly
larger than an ordinary pocketbook. He seemed careful that no one might
see what he was doing. Twisting the thing in his right hand, he opened a
flexible corner and poured a tiny bit of the white powder on his left
wrist.
He lifted his left hand toward his face, an innocent enough motion,
brought the tiny bit of powder in contact with his nostrils--a
sniff--and it was gone. The silken bag was put back inside his shirt.
Thereupon Jack Hill shrugged his shoulders, sighed deeply, contentedly,
and became at peace with the world.
Just one person saw what he had done--Big Medicine. He had stood at the
kitchen window, wondering what effect his warning would have, and he had
seen Jack Hill take his dose of cocaine. Big Medicine turned away,
shaking his head, but resolving to be rid of Jack Hill as soon as
possible.
Hashknife came up from the corral and stopped for a moment to chat with
Jack.
“Feelin’ better, eh?” he commented. “Yore color is better today. This is
sure a great place to get well, pardner. It cured me of rheumatism in a
week.”
“I feel pretty good,” replied Jack, none too graciously. “I’m all fed up
on this place, though, and the sooner I get out the better it will suit
me.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s too bad, Hill. They’ve been mighty good to yuh here.
Mrs. Hawkworth sure done a lot for you.”
“She’ll be well paid for it,” gruffly.
“Yeah, I s’pose,” Hashknife sighed. “She done a lot for me too, but I
won’t be able to pay much. Still, I can sure be just as grateful as I
can be to her and Wanna.”
“You rather like Wanna too, don’t you?” There was a sneer in Jack’s
voice.
“Rather,” said Hashknife softly.
“I thought so. Well, don’t let me stand in your way, Hartley.”
Hashknife’s eyes half-closed as he looked at the younger man, a look
that other men had seen just before a swift draw.
“Hill,” he said icily, “yo’re walkin’ a narrow trail. Wanna is a mighty
sweet girl, and I’m old enough to be her father. Yo’re not in my way,
young feller. If you was, I’d tie you in a hard knot, so damned hard
that nothin’ would ever untie yuh. Personally, I don’t think yo’re worth
the dynamite it would take to blow yuh to hell. Now yuh know where I
stand.”
“I’m going to worry a lot about that,” sneered Hill.
He was stimulated to a point where nothing would make him realize his
foolishness. His eyes were slightly glassy and he laughed immoderately.
Hashknife looked at him curiously, turned, and went into the kitchen.