AN ODD CHORE ON THE LANE RANCH
It was daylight when Rex Morgan awoke. He was conscious of a dull
headache, the strong odor of liniment and of the fact that he was in a
bed. He shifted his eyes and looked around the living room of the Lane
home, which was unfamiliar to him. Then he turned his head slightly and
looked toward a window, where Nan Lane was standing, looking through the
window. He studied her profile for several moments. She was a very
pretty girl, he decided, though he knew very little about girls.
He felt his head and found it heavily bandaged. Some of the incidents of
the previous day flashed through his mind, but they seemed like a dream
now. The mad race down the crooked grade, the smashing of the stage
wheel, his ride through the dark on a bareback horse—all unreal to him
now. Nan turned from the window and looked at him.
“Hello,” he said weakly.
She came over to the bed and smiled at him.
“Oh, I’m glad you are awake,” she said. “I was just a little afraid. Dad
said you had been hit pretty hard.”
“Pretty hard,” parroted Rex. “I don’t seem to remember much about it.”
He blinked painfully, but tried to smile.
“We found you out by the porch,” she said, indicating the front of the
house. “Dad heard a noise out there, and he found you near the bottom
step. He thought it was one of the 6X6 outfit. Two of them were here
earlier in the evening, and Dad almost had trouble with them.”
“I—I remember something about it now,” said Rex. “I was trying to find
my way to Mesa City. The stage broke down, and Mr. Smith sent me for
help. Perhaps I got on the wrong road.”
“And then what happened to you?”
“I really don’t know. There was a man at the corner of the house, and he
came up to me in the dark. He asked me what I wanted, but before I had a
chance to answer—”
“He hit you?”
“I think he did.”
Nan walked back to the window, a puzzled expression in her eyes. Was it
some of the 6X6, hiding at the corner of the house at night, watching
for her brother, she wondered?
“You didn’t see what this man looked like, did you?” she asked.
“No. You see, it was quite dark.”
* * * * *
A lone horseman was coming down the road, and Nan watched him ride in at
the ranch. It was Lem Sheeley, the fat sheriff. She stepped out on the
porch and met him, leaving the door partly open. Rex heard her call him
by name and heard him ask her if she had seen any strangers around.
“Bunty Smith had a passenger yesterday,” explained Lem. “The stage
busted down at this end of the Coyote grades and Bunty sent this
stranger to Mesa City after help. But he never got to town. Bunty spent
the night out there, waitin’ for him to come back. Now, we can’t find
the stranger nor Bunty’s horse.”
“I guess I’ve got the man you are looking for, Mr. Sheeley,” said Nan.
“Come in and talk to him about it.”
The sheriff followed Nan into the house, where Rex had propped himself
up in bed. The sheriff studied Rex quizzically for several moments.
Then—
“You look as though you’d bumped into somethin’.”
“I guess I did.”
“Mind tellin’ me what happened?”
Rex told him all he knew about it, and the sheriff questioned him
closely. Then Nan told about her father’s finding the two 6X6 cowboys
fighting near the stable.
“This morning we found two six-shooters and a bottle of whisky near the
stable,” she added. “One gun had been fired once.”
“Funny business,” mused the sheriff.
“Nothing funny about it,” retorted Nan. “They’re trying to find Walter.
I believe that these two men were watching for him to come back and
accidentally came together, both thinking the other to be my brother.
And one of the outfit stayed here, still watching, and when this man
came, he knocked him down. That’s the only explanation I can see.”
“Looks thataway,” agreed Lem. “They’re a hard outfit.”
He turned to Rex.
“What’s your name?”
“Rex Morgan.”
“Yea-a-ah?” Lem rubbed his chin wonderingly. “Morgan, eh? Any relation
to the Morgans around here?”
“I don’t suppose so.”
“No-o-o-o? Huh!”
Lem hunched his shoulders, leaned his elbows on his knees and considered
Rex closely.
“You used to be a sailor, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Uh-huh. Bunty thought you did.”
“I don’t think I mentioned such a thing to him!”
“Mebbe not. Bunty prob’ly had a few drinks. He said you told him about
stoppin’ a runaway team by throwin’ out the anchor.”
“And I did,” smiled Rex.
“Shore,” agreed Lem heartily. “Lotsa folks do. He tells me that you came
to Mesa City out of curiosity.”
“That is true. I did. My mother died a short while ago. I guess I don’t
know much, except what I learned from books,” he confessed wearily.
“After she died I began to realize it more than ever. I have never
worked. As long as I can remember I have always studied.
“It never occurred to me that my mother had an income of some kind. She
never mentioned the fact that I had any relatives. Why, I don’t even
know who my father was. That is the truth, as strange as it may seem.
But after she died, I found a letter, or rather, an envelope, inside of
which was a check for seventy-five dollars. It had been sent from Mesa
City. I couldn’t read the signature on the check, you see. There was
really nothing to keep me; so I came here, because I was curious.”
“Well, I’ll be darned!” exclaimed Lem. “Your name’s Morgan, too, eh?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know what became of the horse, do you?”
“Naturally not. I think I better get up. My head feels much better and
I’m awfully hungry.”
“I reckon you ain’t goin’ to die from a tunk on the head,” grinned Lem.
He got to his feet and picked up his hat. “I reckon I’ll be foggin’
along, Miss Lane.”
* * * * *
Nan went out on the porch with Lem, where they talked together for
several minutes.
“I dunno what to do about that 6X6 outfit,” said Lem. “If they get your
brother, they’ll hang him sure; so you better get word to him to lay
low. Accordin’ to my way of thinkin’, it was self-defense. If I get him,
I’ll lock him up, of course. Have to, because it’s my duty. And you keep
an eye on this young Morgan. Bunty Smith says he’s as crazy as a loon.
Of course, you can discount what Bunty says, because Bunty was as sore
as a boil. He says this young feller will have more twists than a
pretzel, when he gets through with him. Well, I’ll be goin’. If I see
Pete Morgan, I’ll tell him to keep his punchers off this place.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Sheeley.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. Only I don’t much like that ‘mister’ part. I
answers to ‘Lem’ pretty well.”
“All right, Lem.”
“Gosh!” Lem turned with a big grin. “What I’ll tell old Pete Morgan will
be a plenty, ma’am.”
“My friends call me Nan.”
“That shore is a pretty name, Nan. You tell your brother that the law’ll
give him a square deal. Only I wish he hadn’t took Ben’s gun and horse.
That looks bad. Well, I’ll see you later.”
As Nan turned to go into the house Rex was standing in the doorway. He
had been fully dressed, except for his shoes and coat; so it had been a
simple matter to make himself presentable.
“What did he mean by saying that I am crazy?” he demanded.
Nan colored quickly, realizing that Rex had heard what the sheriff had
said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said dubiously.
Rex watched the expression of her face for several moments.
“I think you are very pretty,” he said. “Yes, I think you are quite the
nicest looking girl I have ever seen.”
“I wonder if the sheriff wasn’t right?” laughed Nan.
“Do you think I’m crazy to say such things?”
“In my opinion—yes.”
“Well, I’m not. Outside of a very sore head, I’m all right. I heard what
the sheriff said about your brother, and it leads me to believe that it
was your brother who shot that cowboy they brought to Cañonville.”
“They say he shot Ben Leach,” said Nan. “I don’t believe he did.”
“No one saw the shooting?”
“Not a soul.”
Rex rubbed his bandaged head thoughtfully.
“What will they do if they catch him?”
“You heard what the sheriff said, didn’t you?”
“He said they’d hang him. That hardly seems fair to me. This country is
rather elemental, I fear. The ticket agent told me that he preferred
civilization, when I asked him if he had ever been at Mesa City—and I’m
beginning to realize what he meant.”
Nan smiled wearily and shook her head.
“I’m afraid you won’t do in this country, Mr. Morgan. It is too big for
a man who has been raised on books.”
“Still, I like it,” he said slowly. “Perhaps I won’t do, as you say. And
I have been raised on books. I am what Bunty Smith would probably call
an educated damn’ fool. Oh, I heard that expression a long time ago, but
I didn’t know until a few days ago just what it meant.”
Nan laughed softly.
“Perhaps you might be able to forget some of the things you learned out
of books.”
“I can try. A few more blows on the head, and I probably won’t have to
work hard to forget.”
“Do you intend to stay in this country?”
“I didn’t at first,” he said thoughtfully, “but now I rather think I
will.”
“But what will you do for a living?”
“What is there to be done?”
“You might work as a cowboy,” said Nan, smiling.
“Yes, I might. Did you know you have a dimple in each cheek when you
smile?”
“I think we better change the bandage on your head,” said Nan severely.
“You lie down, while I get the hot water and some clean cloth. I think
you’re feverish.”
* * * * *
The sheriff rode back to Mesa City, trying to puzzle out who this young
Morgan might be and just what he was doing in that country. He was
satisfied that some of the 6X6 outfit had been at the Lane ranch,
watching for Long Lane, and had hit Morgan over the head with a gun,
possibly mistaking him for someone who was liable to interfere with
them.
He found Bunty Smith, Spike Cahill and Bert Roddy in the Oasis Saloon.
“I got my horse,” said Bunty. “Spike and Bert brought it in this
mornin’, Lem.”
“Where did you boys find it?” asked Lem.
“Out at the ranch. Probably dumped that young feller off and came home.
You see, that horse was raised on the 6X6.”
Lem nodded with understanding.
“But where’s the young feller?” wondered Bunty.
At this moment Dave Morgan and Cal Dickenson came in, but Lem Sheeley
paid no attention to them. As soon as the greeting was over Lem came
right to the point.
“As far as that young feller is concerned,” he said slowly, “he’s out at
the Lane place, nursin’ a busted head. I don’t reckon I’ve got to tell
you and Bert that, Spike.”
Spike looked at him blankly and then at Bert.
“You see, I happen to know that Old Man Lane found you two jaspers
fightin’ at his place last night. I dunno why you fought each other, and
it’s none of my business; but a little later this—or it might have been
before your fight, as far as I know—this young feller, who says his
name’s Morgan, showed up there and got belted over the head.”
“Honest to goodness, we don’t know nothin’ about him,” declared Spike
solemnly.
“Of course not,” smiled Lem. “I didn’t reckon you would. But that’s what
happened.”
Spike rubbed his chin and looked at Bert.
“What do you know about that, Bert?”
“I think he’s crazy,” replied Bert.
“I know damn’ well he is!” blurted Bunty. “Why, some of the things he
told me on the way from Cañonville—”
“I’m talkin’ about Lem Sheeley,” interrupted Bert.
“Oh! Well, I’d like to know how that kid got over to Lane’s place. I
told him to stay on the road, the prime fool.”
“But you didn’t say which road,” laughed Spike.
“I suppose not. Gee, I shore wanted to get my hands on him, makin’ me
spend the night out there, without even a blanket. I’ll buy a drink.”
“Mebbe this young Morgan is one of your long-lost relatives, Dave,”
suggested Spike.
Dave Morgan laughed, as he poured out a drink.
“Might be, Spike. Still, I suppose there’s a lot of Morgans scattered
over the face of the earth. Well, here’s happy days, boys!”
* * * * *
“Where’s Pete?” Dave Morgan asked Spike, after they had finished their
drink.
“I dunno. He must have pulled out early this mornin’. Didn’t say
anythin’ about goin’. Fact of the matter is, he didn’t wait for
breakfast. When Briggs got breakfast ready, we found that the Old Man
was gone. His horse and saddle were missin’, so we decided he left
early.
“We thought we’d find him here in town. Did you just come from the Lane
place, Lem?”
“Yeah,” nodded the sheriff.
“Didn’t see anythin’ of Pete Morgan?”
“Nope. Did he intend goin’ over there?”
“You heard about Pete and Old Man Lane havin’ a fight yesterday, didn’t
you, Lem?”
Lem hadn’t. He listened to the details, according to Dave Morgan, who
had seen it all.
“But that wouldn’t send Peter Morgan over to Lane’s place early this
mornin’, would it?” queried Lem. “Seems to me that he’d keep away. I
understand that Lane has homesteaded that ranch.”
“Well, he drew a deadline on the 6X6,” laughed Dave. “If Joe Cave hadn’t
acted real quick, Lane would have shot Pete.”
“I suppose,” said Spike thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t do me and Bert a bit
of good to deny that we hit this young Morgan, would it, Lem?”
“I dunno,” smiled the sheriff. “It might, if you’d tell me why you and
Bert were fightin’ each other out there.”
“That was a mistake,” said Bert quickly. “It was dark, and we didn’t
recognize each other, Lem.”
But further than that neither of them were willing to commit themselves.
“Found any trace of Long Lane?” asked Dave Morgan.
“Not any,” said the sheriff.
“Lookin’ for any?” asked Spike sarcastically.
“That’s my business, Spike. And I don’t need any bushwhackin’ help from
the 6X6. You fellers better keep away from Lane’s place. Accordin’ to
law he owns that ranch, and he’s given you plenty of warnin’.”
Spike subsided. He knew Lem Sheeley to be a two-fisted fighter and a
fast man with a gun; there would be little satisfaction in starting
trouble with him.
“You evidently don’t consider Long Lane a murderer, do you, Lem?” asked
Dave Morgan.
“Why should I? Ben Leach followed him, didn’t he? He didn’t have any
idea of kissin’ Lane when they met, did he? No, I don’t consider it
murder, Dave.”
“But Lane took his gun and horse. You might at least arrest him for
stealin’ the horse,” said Spike.
“Do you _know_ he took the horse?”
“Well, the horse is gone, ain’t it?”
“Does that prove Lane took it?”
“Oh, hell!” snorted Spike. “You talk in circles and ask questions all
the time. C’mon, Bert.”
Bert was willing to leave, and a few minutes later Dave Morgan and Cal
Dickenson left the saloon.
* * * * *
In the meantime Nan Lane had put a fresh bandage on Rex Morgan’s head,
and he sprawled back in a rocker, watching her while she worked around
the room.
“Where is your father?” he asked suddenly.
Nan shook her head.
“Out in the hills somewhere.”
“With your brother?”
“I can’t answer that question.”
“Have you a sweetheart?”
Nan turned quickly. He was not joking. His eyes were deadly serious.
“Of all things!” she exclaimed. “You’re feverish again.”
“Nothing of the kind. Please answer the question.”
“Nothing of the kind,” she mimicked him. “Why did you ask such a foolish
question?”
“Most girls do have sweethearts, do they not?”
“I really don’t know. Possibly.”
She laughed and listened intently. From down at the stable came the
cackle of a hen, announcing to the world that an egg had been produced.
Following this came the hoarse crow of a rooster. Nan laughed and turned
to Rex.
“Cut-cut-cut goes the little brown hen;
She cut-cut-cuts a warning.
Then the rooster crows and everybody knows
We’ll have eggs for breakfast in the morning.”
“Is that what it means?” laughed Rex.
“Didn’t you ever hear that before? That was the first poem I ever
learned. We have only a dozen hens and only six are laying, so I better
get that egg before a coyote or a bobcat finds it.”
She went out through the kitchen door, and Rex heard her going toward
the stable. She had not invited him to go with her, but he decided to go
anyway. His head was a bit light, he found, and his knees were weak, but
otherwise he felt all right.
Nan went down to the stable, searching for the nest, but was unable to
find it. The chickens were in the willows beyond the corral, so she
crawled through the corral fence. The corral of the Lane ranch
surrounded one side and the rear of the stable, being almost an L in
shape, with a cross fence separating it into two units.
Nan entered the smaller corral and walked back to the cross fence near
the corner of the stable, intending to go through the gate, but as she
glanced through the fence she stopped short.
On the ground, at the corner of the stable, she could see part of a
shoulder and the left arm of a man. The fingers were splayed out in the
dirt, the sleeve, drawn back sharply, showed a hairy wrist.
Nan flung the gate open and stepped to the corner of the stable, her
eyes filled with horror. The man was lying close against the rear of the
stable, as if he had been leaning against the wall, and had hardly moved
after falling. His right arm was twisted back, almost under his right
leg, and Nan could see the butt of a six-shooter.
Forgetting her fear for a moment, she stepped forward, took hold of his
shoulder and gave a slight pull. The body turned over easily and she
looked down into the contorted features of Peter Morgan.
With a stifled scream she stepped back, staring down at the corpse,
looking dazedly at the earthly remains of the man who had been her
father’s enemy.
“What do you suppose happened to him?” asked a voice, and she jerked
around quickly to face Rex Morgan who had stepped through the gate and
was looking at the body.
“My God!” she whispered. “That is Peter Morgan!”
“_Was_ Peter Morgan,” corrected Rex unemotionally. “Dead, isn’t he? I
never saw a dead man before. He must have been struck over the head,
too. Queer, isn’t it?”
“Queer?”
Nan struggled to keep her voice calm. If she ever needed
self-possession, she needed it now.
“Queer about him getting hit on the head, I mean. It seems to be a sort
of habit around here.”
Nan leaned against the wall of the stable, trying to think just what to
do.
“Who do you suppose killed him?” queried Rex. It was rather strange that
he wasn’t at all excited.
“Oh, don’t you see what it will mean?” whispered Nan. “This is Peter
Morgan. He hated my father, and my father has threatened to kill any of
his outfit that came here.”
“Your father threatened him? Do you suppose he killed him?”
“I—I don’t know. No! Why, if he killed him, he wouldn’t leave the body
there—here. But they won’t believe it. My father left here early this
morning. Why, he and Morgan had a fight in Mesa City yesterday. This is
terrible!”
“I begin to understand,” said Rex slowly. “If they find the body here,
they will say your father killed him.”
“Yes, yes! Oh, what can I do?”
“Well, the first thing to do is to get rid of the body, I suppose. Of
course, the man is dead and it won’t make a particle of difference to
him. I think we...”
* * * * *
Nan had stepped to the gate and was looking down toward the willow lined
creek, where a saddled horse stood, barely visible to them. It was a
tall roan, the riding horse of Peter Morgan.
“That was his horse,” she told Rex. “He must have tied it down there,
and then—”
“Came looking for trouble.”
“Oh, I suppose—” wearily—“but what can we do, Rex?”
It was the first time she had called him Rex.
“I was just wondering what would be the proper thing to do,” he replied.
“You see, I haven’t many ideas on the subject. My idea of it would be to
get the body away from here and let them find it elsewhere. That would,
at least turn the finger of direct suspicion from your father; and that
seems to be the primary idea, doesn’t it?”
Nan nodded quickly.
“But how can we, Rex? Suppose someone saw us?”
“I don’t know anything about what they would do, Nan. I just had an
idea. I—you wait here a minute.”
He crossed the corral, climbed through the fence and came back shortly,
leading the saddled horse.
“We would have to dispose of the horse, too,” he said, eying the body.
“Suppose you get some rope.”
“Do you mean to—to tie the body on the horse?”
“Something like that. I think it can be done.”
Nan secured a length of spot cord lariat and came back to him.
“I was just thinking again,” smiled Rex. “The body is very stiff, and I
wonder whether—no, I guess we better just drape him across the saddle.
Do you feel capable of helping me lift him up, Nan?”
She shut her eyes tightly, but nodded in the affirmative. It was a tough
job. Rex was none too strong, and Nan’s natural aversion to touching the
body did not add any material strength to her arms.
But they finally managed to place the body across the saddle, face down,
and together they roped it tightly. Rex knew nothing about knots, so he
let Nan tie off the ropes. Luckily, it was a gentle horse.
“Now, that is done,” said Rex thankfully.
“But what next?” asked Nan anxiously, scanning the hills. She was
mortally afraid someone would come before the coast was clear.
“Would this horse go home?” asked Rex.
“It might. Oh, that would—”
“Let’s try it, Nan.”
Slowly he led the horse through the rear gate. They had tied the reins
to the saddle horn. Pointing the animal away from the ranch, he gave it
a slap with his open palm, and the animal went trotting away, heading
back toward the 6X6.
* * * * *
For a long time they stood there together, watching the hills, and once
they saw the animal with its grisly burden, a mile away, still going.
Nan’s face was very white as she turned to Rex and held out her hand.
“Thank you, Rex,” she said simply.
“You are welcome, Nan. It was nothing.”
“But if it were known, we would both go to jail for a long time.”
Rex shuddered slightly.
“Is that a fact, Nan?”
“Yes, we must never tell. The law would blame us equally with the one
who killed him.”
“Well, that is all right. I mean—it does matter. You see, I don’t want
anything to happen to you. I never did touch a dead man before, and my
head hurts now, but it is all right. You see, I—”
His hands slipped off the fence and he fell in a heap at her feet.
Quickly she knelt in the dust of the corral and took his head in her
lap. His face was bloodless. She knew she could not carry him to the
house. For a moment she wondered what to do, but finally she lowered his
head to the ground and got quickly to her feet, intending to go to the
house after some water, but as she turned toward the gate she saw the
sheriff riding up to the corral. It was evident that he had seen her and
was coming there, instead of to the house.
He rode up along the fence, swinging his sombrero in his hand, a smile
on his face.
“Howdy, Miss Lane,” he said pleasantly.
When he looked through the fence and saw Rex on the ground, he
dismounted quickly and climbed over the fence.
“He—he fainted,” faltered Nan, fearful that the sheriff had seen the
horse and its burden leave the ranch.
“Shore looks white,” he said seriously.
“I was just going after water,” she said.
“I’ll get some,” he said quickly.
He hurried toward the open gate, but stopped near the corner of the
stable, where he stooped and picked up Peter Morgan’s revolver.
Nan’s heart sank, when she saw it. Would the sheriff recognize the gun,
she wondered? But he merely gave it a sharp glance and went on toward
the house, carrying it in his hand. She noticed when he came back that
the gun was nowhere in evidence, and he did not mention finding it.
* * * * *
Sheeley poured some of the water over Rex’s face, and the shock of cold
water brought him back to consciousness. He sat up, blinking foolishly.
“This is the sheriff,” said Nan. “You’ve seen him before, Rex.”
Rex nodded quickly.
“Foolish of me to faint. I guess my head isn’t very good yet.”
He looked searchingly at Nan.
“Did you find them?” he asked.
“Find what?” asked the sheriff, before Nan could reply.
“The eggs,” said Rex. “The hen called, you know, and we went hunting the
egg. Queer, isn’t it? And I fainted.”
The sheriff smiled thinly. He had seen the look that passed between
them.
“Can you navigate all right?” he asked.
“Oh, I am all right now.”
“I just dropped in to tell you that the horse you rode last night was
picked up at the 6X6 ranch and brought back to Mesa City. The horse came
from there, you see, so that would be where he’d go.”
“Well, I am glad they got it back, and thank you for telling me.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
He mounted his horse.
“I’ll see you later,” he said.
“Come any time, Lem,” called Nan.
“Thank you, Nan, I shore will.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Rex weakly. “That was a close call. You don’t think he
saw what we did, do you?”
“I’m sure he didn’t. But somehow I don’t feel that he believed about the
eggs.”
“Well, we are not in jail,” grinned Rex.
They walked back to the front of the house, and Rex stood there quite a
while, thinking over the events of the night before. He distinctly
remembered that there had been a big gate. Where was that gate now, he
wondered. There was no big gate at the Lane ranch. In fact, there were
no fences around the place, except the corral, and he was very sure he
did not come through the corral. Finally he went over to the house and
sat down on the porch, trying to reconstruct the locale, as well as he
could, of the place where he had been attacked.
While Rex Morgan pondered over these things, Lem Sheeley rode back to
Cañonville, also thinking deeply. From inside his shirt bosom he removed
a heavy Colt revolver and examined it closely.
It was of .45 caliber, with white bone handles, and on one handle had
been carved the initials P. M.
“P. M.,” he said to himself. “That’s Peter Morgan’s gun. I remember them
bone handles. But what was Peter Morgan’s gun doin’ in the Lane corral?
I’ll betcha he was over there, tryin’ to raise a little hell with Lane,
and lost the gun. Serves him right, and I’ll shore tell him so when I
give him the gun.”