and steadied him. “How did you get here Pelly?” he asked.
“In a wagon,” whispered Pelly. “I--I was at the Circle G--visiting. The
professor was going home; so I decided to ride back with them. Cooler at
night, you know.”
“How many of you on that wagon?” asked Henry anxiously.
“Th-three,” stammered Pelly. “The professor, Jud Bailey and myself. But
what happened--anyway? Don’t you know?”
“I hate to say this, gentlemen,” remarked Henry slowly, “but I’m very
much afraid that Jud Bailey and his equipage went into Lobo Canyon.”
No one said anything for a while, and then Slim remarked, “Well, they
ain’t here now, they didn’t go past that buckboard, and I’m fairly sure
that they never backed up, Henry.”
“I remember a little,” said Pelly shakily. “I--I thought we were going a
little too fast for that curve. Then it happened.”
“Well,” said Slim dryly, “all I can say is that you and Professor Fossil
was lucky to get off on the right side. It was shorter that way. Shucks,
you could be a-fallin’ yet.”
* * * * *
But the professor was not dead. He sat up, took a few wheezing breaths,
but was unable to talk. An examination showed that their two horses were
still intact, but the right front wheel of the wagon was gone and the
body badly ditched on that side. They took the team, hitched it to the
buckboard, piled everybody aboard, and headed for Tonto City, with
Frijole and Slim taking care of the speechless professor.
“Don’t talk with yore hands,” said Slim, “’cause we can’t read no
hand-talk in the dark.”
“Das is the lousiest deal Ay ever had,” declared Oscar sadly.
“What was that?” asked Henry.
“Losin’ de yug,” replied Oscar.
They finally arrived at Tonto City and routed Doctor Bogart out of bed.
Professor Fossil was able, with some help, to walk into the doctor’s
office. He had only spoken a few words on the way home, but he was able
to tell the doctor that he was all right. He had a cut scalp, numerous
bruises, and the doctor decided that he was suffering from shock. Pelly
shrugged off any medical attention, although he had an egg-sized lump on
the side of his head. Henry had numerous cuts and bruises, most of them
from the sharp limbs of that manzanita, and also declined any assistance
from the doctor. Slim had brought Judge down there to hear what
happened. The doctor put the professor to bed and came back to the
office.
“The professor required a sedative,” said the doctor. “He has suffered
considerable shock, and is very nervous.”
“You can’t blame him,” said Pelly. “After all his work in this valley,
all his samples and trophies have gone into Lobo Canyon.”
“Oh, that’s too bad!” exclaimed Henry. “I didn’t realize--”
“Mr. Gonyer wanted him to ship them out on the stage,” said Pelly, “but
he decided to handle them himself.”
“Quite a collection, I suppose,” said Henry.
“Two large boxes,” said Pelly. “At least five hundred pounds of
fossil-bearing rocks. And his trunk and valises, too.”
“They might be recovered,” suggested Henry. “Lobo Canyon is a difficult
place to get in and out, but perhaps we can--”
“I must get to Scorpion Bend,” interrupted Pelly. “My paper must be
published. I almost forgot about it.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Judge soberly. “I’m sure that the public would
thoroughly admire your negligence.”
Although Pelly was not in physical shape to flare-up--he made an
attempt. He turned on Henry and declared, “I am announcing your
resignation, Conroy.”
“My goodness! But what if I do not resign, sir?”
“You will--or get fired. By resigning you escape the stigma of being
ousted bodily. I have it on such good authority that I have the story
all written. And after what happened tonight--”
“You are blaming me for that?” queried Henry soberly.
“You deliberately turned the wrong way, Conroy. You forced the wagon
over into the canyon.”
“Instead of going down there ourselves,” said Henry. “Yes, I did that,
Mr. Pelly. You have admitted that your driver was traveling too fast for
that dangerous road, and you must admit that he was crowding the outer
edge, making it impossible for me to have stayed on that side. I have
the evidence of your own words, spoken before witnesses. One word of
accusation against me in your paper, and I shall sue you for criminal
libel, my boy.”
James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly looked around the room. Oscar Johnson,
Slim Pickins, Frijole Cullison, Henry Conroy, Judge Van Treece, all
looking at him.
“You can’t scare me,” he said weakly.
“Not any worse than you are now, Pelly,” assured Henry.
“It’s a wonder Professor Norbert and I were not killed, too,” said Pelly
huskily.
“We can’t have everything our way,” sighed Judge.
* * * * *
Slim, Frijole and Oscar took the buckboard and headed for the JHC, while
Henry and Judge went up to their room. It was almost morning. Henry’s
face was scratched, his clothes badly torn. He took off his boots and
sank down in a chair.
“Well, my friend, it looks as though _finis_ has been written for the
Shame of Arizona,” remarked Judge.
Henry drew a deep breath, flexed his tired hands, and said, “Judge, a
Conroy always goes down fighting.”
“Against whom--if I may ask, sir?”
“My opponent has not been selected yet.”
“And today--they hold that meeting. The time is short, sir.”
“Aye, my friend--but not too short. We must sleep on it.”
Someone knocked timidly on their door, and Henry said, “Come in.”
It was Slim Pickins, who announced, “We’ve decided to stay here t’night,
Henry.”
“You have? And why, if I may ask, Slim?”
“Yuh see,” explained Slim, “Oscar was drivin’, and he knocked the left
front wheel off the buckboard against the sidewalk.”
They were barely asleep, when another knock sounded.
“Don’t bother lighting a lamp, Henry. The professor is gone,” came
Doctor Bogart’s voice.
“You mean--he died already, Doc?” asked Henry huskily.
“No, I mean he pulled out. Opened a window in the bedroom and left it
open. Took all his clothes.”
“My goodness, Doc! Why, the man must be out of his head!”
“I wouldn’t swear to that, Henry--but he is out of my house.”
“Should we make a search for him--do you think--I hope you do not?”
“No, I don’t believe that would do any good, Henry. I just thought you’d
like to know about it. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Doc.”
Doctor Bogart closed the door and Henry sank back.
“The professor must be wandering in his mind,” commented Judge.
“With brains enough left to dress himself and crawl through a window? He
may be wandering, Judge--but not in his mind.”
Henry slid out of bed and lighted the lamp. Judge sat up in amazement
and saw the sheriff starting to dress. Judge ran his bony fingers
through his mop of tousled hair, shut his eyes tightly and then looked
at Henry again. The fat man was struggling with a rather tight pair of
overalls.
“You must have been hit rather hard, too, Henry,” said Judge.
“I suspect that some of my sense of balance has been disrupted,” agreed
Henry, “but I am normal again--thank you. Get into your clothes, Judge;
and I would advise boots, instead of those disreputable slippers you
have been wearing. And chaps, too, if you do not mind.”
“Have you gone mad?” gasped Judge. “We haven’t been to sleep yet.”
“Oh, get dressed and do not quibble. You must realize that a man died in
the depths of Lobo Canyon tonight, and, in spite of Mr. Pelly’s
diagnosis, we are still the peace officers of Wild Horse Valley, and it
is our duty to remove that body.”
“Heavens above!” snorted Judge. “You mean--no, you can’t mean that,
Henry-- at this time of the night!”
“Explain, Judge.”
“Well, I--Henry, you do not intend going into Lobo Canyon at this
ungodly hour --or do you?”
“I do, my dear deputy--and you will be at my side--except where we are
obliged to ride single-file. Stop moaning, and dress.”
“I wish I could contact Doctor Bogart about this,” whispered Judge. “He
would know what to do about it.”
“I suppose we should take rifles along,” muttered Henry, yanking at his
boot.
“Rifles?” Judge sat on the edge of the bed and stared at Henry.
“Why--uh--the man is dead, isn’t he, Henry?”
“Get dressed,” said Henry. “It is almost daylight.”
“What you need is a sedative, sir,” declared Judge.
“What I need is a deputy, I’m afraid.”
Judge grabbed a boot and glared at Henry. “Indeed? Until you fall on
your head--I am satisfactory. Do not blame _me_, Henry--you do not
realize your condition.” Henry selected an old, leather coat and drew it
on, saying, “I’d advise that you wear a leather jacket, Judge--that
brush tears cloth badly. I’ll meet you at the office--with the horses.
Do not keep me waiting, my boy.”
“You have your boots on the wrong feet, Henry.”
“I have not, sir; I am toeing-out--to keep my balance. It has been a
hard night.”
Henry walked out and shut the door. Judge stared at the boot in his hand
for several moments, before putting it on. He said aloud, “The man is as
mad as a hatter--and I must humor him.” Then he donned the rest of his
clothes and left the hotel.
* * * * *
It was about nine o’clock when Oscar, Slim and Frijole came down to
breakfast. They were all limping, more or less. They found James
Wadsworth Longfellow in the restaurant. He flinched, but did not speak.
The three were subdued, having little to say. Doctor Bogart came in and
asked them if they had seen Henry or Judge. He had been up to their
room, but they were not in, nor were they at the sheriff’s office.
“Henry hit on his head,” said Slim soberly, “and Judge ain’t too
intelligent to wander off with him.”
“You boys don’t look too good this morning,” remarked the doctor.
“Pers’nally, Doc,” said Frijole flexing a sore shoulder, “I think I’m in
the sere and yaller leaf, as yuh might say. I ain’t as flexible as I was
last night, I know that much. Slim slept on the floor. He said that the
bed was too soft, after what he’d been through. Sa-a-ay!” Frijole’s
eyebrows lifted suddenly. “Yuh don’t suppose them two old galoots have
gone into Lobo Canyon, do yuh, Doc?”
“That’s possible, Frijole. Better see if their horses are gone.”
They finished their breakfast first. The horses and saddles were not in
the stable.
“Looks at it thisaway, fellers,” said Slim soberly. “Them two galoots
ain’t got no more right in Lobo Canyon than David had in the lion’s den.
That’s one awful tough spot. I’ve been there and I know. What’s to be
done about ’em?”
“Our best bet,” said Frijole, “is for one of us to get a horse at the
livery-stable, go out to the ranch and bring back enough rollin’-stock
for all three of us. And make it quick. We’ll match coins--odd man
goes.”
“You ve got a head on yuh,” said Slim soberly. “All right, get out yore
money.”
Slim and Frijole’s coin showed heads--so Oscar went to get the horses at
the ranch. It always worked--and Oscar never got wise to their scheme.
* * * * *
Slim and Frijole met James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly on the street.
Pelly had talked with Doctor Bogart, and found that the professor was
missing. Pelly wasn’t in perfect physical condition, and he had lost his
glasses.
“Somebody should go out and tell Mr. Gonyer,” said Pelly. “He don’t know
what happened last night.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Slim Pickins gravely, “it’s too late for
Pete Gonyer to do anythin’ about it, Pelly. He’s shy one team and
wagon--and a squint-eyed cowpoke.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that Jud Bailey is dead.”
“If he ain’t, he’s the most durable cowpoke that ever lived. It’s three,
four hundred feet to the bottom at that place, and he shore got a divin’
start.”
“You knew that the professor is missing, didn’t you?”
“Missin’?” gasped Frijole. “Missin’ what--his valise?”
“No--he’s gone,” said Pelly. “Doctor Bogart went in to look at him,
after we had left there last night--or this morning--and the professor
had dressed and went out the window.”
“Lovely dove!” snorted Slim. “Let’s go to the office and find the jug--I
need medical assistance.”
“Thank you,” said Pelly, “I do not need that stuff. I feel bad enough,
as it is.”
Slim had a key to the office, and they located the supply. They were
enjoying their third cupful, when Bob Stickler, manager of the Yellow
Warrior, came into the office, looking for Henry.
“What was this about the accident on the grade last night?” he asked.
“I’ve heard two or three versions.”
“What did yuh hear?” asked Frijole soberly. “We don’t want ours to be
the same. Yuh see, we was there, and maybe we saw it all wrong.”
“Oh, I see--trying to make it sound funny, eh?”
“It wasn’t funny,” said Slim. “The Circle G team and wagon went into the
canyon, along with Jud Bailey, who was drivin’. He came around a
jack-knife bend too blamed fast, shoved us in against the wall, and went
off the edge.”
“I see. Yes, I heard all that. How badly was the professor hurt?”
“_Quien sabe?_ Doc put him to bed, but he dressed and sneaked out a
winder.”
“Probably didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Yuh mean--before or after he fell?”
“So you don’t know where the sheriff went, eh?”
“Just between me and you--and I want this held in strictest confidence,
Mr. Stickler--I don’t. All we know is that he’s gone, Judge is gone and
so are their two horses.”
“I might add to the confusion,” said Frijole owlishly, “by sayin’ that
they’ve prob’ly gone to find the body.”
“Jud Bailey’s body?” asked Stickler.
“Well, yeah--that seems to be the only one we have on hand at the
present time. Have a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
Stickler left the office, and they filled the cups again.
“Lizzen,” said Slim, “if we drink two more cups of this stuff we won’t
even be able to find Lobo Canyon.”
“Don’tcha think we ort to drink this’n, Schlimmie?”
“Well, I wouldn’t shay that--but I will shay that we ort to drink it a
little slower, par’ner.”
* * * * *
Henry and Judge, shivering in the false dawn, rode off the main highway
and followed an old trail, which led to the lower end of Lobo Canyon.
The trail was little used, because only on rare occasions did anybody go
into the canyon. Cattle kept away from it. There were a few pools of
water down there, where quail, bobcats and an occasional lion slaked
their thirsts, but the bottom of the gulch was a tangle of brush and
rocks, making it very difficult to travel. The main canyon was about
nine miles in length, and in most of it the sun never shone.
Judge had spent most of the trip complaining. His boots hurt, he hated
leather chaps, and his rheumatism was acting up again.
“Here we are,” he stated dismally, “poking into an ungodly spot, risking
our lives, while those damnable Commissioners are meeting to throw us
out of our jobs. We may come out alive, but without visible means of
support. Henry, what on earth shall we do for a living?”
“Let us get out of Lobo Canyon with our lives, before we do too much
worrying about the future, Judge.”
“You admit that it is hazardous?”
“Yes, I believe it has its dangers. Rocks do let loose and come down
here, they say. Slim swears that he saw a rattler as long as a lariat
and as big as a stove-pipe. Well, here is the trail into it, Judge. Just
let the horse pick its own way, and we’ll be down there in a jiffy.”
The entrance to Lobo Canyon was not too difficult nor dangerous, but the
trail ended at the bottom. From there on it was a case of work out your
own salvation.
“At least seven miles to where the wagon went over--and if we make a
mile an hour we shall be going mighty fast,” groaned Judge.
“One thing,” said Henry soberly, “there is no danger of us getting
separated.”
They started up the canyon, seeking places where their horses could
travel, but after about a mile Henry said:
“It gets worse every foot of the way, Judge. New slides have blocked us
ahead, I believe.”
“In a way, I am glad,” said Judge. “We can go back now.”
“Go back?” asked Henry in amazement “And admit defeat? I’ll have you
know that a Conroy is never conquered, sir.”
“You admitted defeat.”
“I admitted defeat--on horseback, sir. We will leave our noble steeds
here and proceed on foot.”
“Well,” said Judge resignedly, “I suppose that is what I get for playing
Sancho Panza to an addle-pated Don Quixote. But I may assure you that
these high-heel boots were never made for this sort of usage. We will
never get out alive--unless somebody carries us out, Henry.”
“I hope we are alive--when carried,” remarked Henry soberly.
* * * * *
They started ahead, crawling through brush, over rocks, keeping alert
for rattlers, which abounded in Lobo Canyon. Henry was so stiff and sore
that it was difficult for him to keep going. They rested often, but were
making fair progress. They struck about a mile of fairly open traveling,
but ran into another slide, which halted them for a while.
“Isn’t there another way to get into this canyon, Henry?” Judge panted.
Henry sprawled on top of a rock to get his breath, nodded and rubbed a
sore elbow.
“I’ve heard there is, Judge. Somewhere near the upper end, but I don’t
know just where.”
Judge took off a boot and examined his sore toes. It was very quiet down
there. Finally Judge said:
“Henry, we’re two old fools! We ruin ourselves, trying to get in here to
find the body of a dead man. Suppose we do find him--we can’t carry him
out. Why, we will be lucky to get out ourselves.”
Henry sprawled on the rock, looking up at a circling buzzard, far up in
the blue sky.
“Two old fools,” he said slowly. “That’s right, Judge. Fighting to keep
a job, getting all busted up physically. This is a young man’s job,
Judge. Maybe Pete Gonyer--who knows?”
“Pete must be forty.”
“A mere child, Judge. Well, we must be going on. It is noon. At this
rate, we will fight our way out in the dark.”
“But about taking the body out, Henry.”
“The first thing to do is to find the body, Judge. Come on.”
They went on, circling, crawling, tearing their way through the brush.
Circling a pot-hole in the bottom of the canyon, they reached a steep
slope, reaching up into more rocks and more brush. Judge was ahead,
hunched over, clawing his way up, when Henry saw the head and shoulders
of a man ahead of his deputy. Henry reached for his bolstered gun, when
his feet slipped and he dropped to his knees on the slope. The gun
slipped out of his hand, and before he could recover it, he heard a
voice snap:
“All right--come on up--and keep yore hands in sight!”
Henry managed to straighten up. Judge was above him, hands up above his
shoulders. There were two men now, and one of them had a gun pointed at
Henry. Taking a deep breath, Henry managed to negotiate the slope. Judge
sank down on a rock, panting heavily. One of the men yanked the gun from
Judge’s holster, and came to Henry to disarm him.
“Where’s yore gun?” he asked sharply.
“I--I lost it,” panted Henry. “Let me sit down--please.”
There were two men, both masked, watching Henry and Judge.
“What are you two doin’ here in the canyon?” asked one of them.
“We are on an errand of mercy,” replied Henry painfully.
“Yeah? What do yuh mean?”
“A man fell into the canyon last night, and we are searching for his
body.”
“Well, ain’t you nice and kind. Who are you?”
“I am the sheriff, sir,” replied Henry. He was getting his wind back
now. The man laughed.
“Sheriff, eh?” he snarled. “A fine sheriff, you are! Well, Fatty, yo’re
all through.”
“So you knew about it, too, eh?” remarked Henry.
“Knew about what?” asked the masked man.
“About the Commissioners going to force me to resign.”
“They are, huh? Well, we’ll save paper and ink for ’em, feller.”
He turned and called, “One of you fellers fetch a rope.”
And as he turned to speak Henry slid off the rock, hit that slope, and
went sliding. The man yelled for him to stop. Perhaps he thought it was
an accident. At any rate it only required a second or two, before Henry
slid onto his gun, grabbed it with both hands, crashed feet-first into
the brush and turned over. He had dust in his eyes and misery in his
body, but he lifted the gun and shot point-blank at the man at the top
of the slope. At that moment Judge fell backwards on the rock, both feet
in the air. The man jerked back and yelled:
“Damn him, he hit me! Look out--he’s got a gun!”
Henry scrambled to his feet and went into the brush, away from that
slope, coming up among some huge boulders. He reloaded his gun, ears
alert for sounds. A man was cursing viciously.
“I’ll get him--don’tcha worry about that!” he said.
“He outsmarted yuh once,” said another voice. “Where’d he get that gun?
Where’s the other one?”
“Get away from that openin’, you fool! He’s down at the foot of that
slope.”
“Where’d he hit yuh?”
“My right arm. Damn him, I’ve got to shoot left-handed.”
For a while there was no noise, no conversation. Then somebody began
throwing rocks into the brush--rocks about the size of a baseball. One
of them crashed off a rock and filled Henry’s eyes with rock-dust. Then
a man’s voice said harshly:
“Aw, that won’t do no good. We’ve got to git above ’em and shoot down.
Yuh can’t see a damn thing in this brush.”
“You do it--I can’t. That arm hurts--yeow! Look out! They’re throwin’
rocks, too! That’n hit me in the back. Get down!”
For several minutes there was not a sound. Henry hugged the rocks and
listened. He knew that any movement must make a noise. Then he heard a
man crashing brush, stumbling, panting. He stopped at the foot of the
slope, but went on up, his breathing plainly audible. Henry tried to see
who he was, but the brush was too thick. Then he heard a thud, a muffled
cry, and a crash.
“Who was that?” one of the masked men called.
“I presume it was one of your friends,” replied Judge’s voice. “He
stopped a rock. Now, if you will kindly show yourselves--”
“You blasted old fool!” snarled one of the men, and fired three shots in
Judge’s general direction, but all it brought was a derisive laugh from
the deputy.
Henry, peering through the brush, saw a movement, caught a flash of
color. He steadied the gun over the rock, holding it in both hands, and
squeezed the trigger. The rattling report brought a yell of pain, and a
general scurrying around in the brush. A man was cursing, and Henry
heard him say:
“We’ve got to git out of here, I tell yuh! I’ve got some busted ribs. If
the boys ain’t finished--we can’t help it.”
“Lettin’ two old fossils like that whip us,” complained the other man.
“Pull yore shirt tight over them ribs, can’tcha?”
From far up the canyon came the rattling report of a gun.
“He-e-ey! What’s goin’ on up there?” came from one of the men.
“C’mon! That don’t sound good!”
Henry could hear the two men going up through the brush. He backed out
and called to Judge. After a few moments he heard Judge say, “I just
wanted to be sure they had really gone, sir. Are you all right, Henry?”
“The latest reports from outlying precincts,” replied Henry, “would
indicate that I am not running too well. Who did you hit?”
“He is there at the top of the slope, where we were captured.”
* * * * *
Henry managed to climb up there, where Judge was looking down at his
victim. Judge and Henry looked at each other, and Judge said blankly:
“Where does Bob Stickler fit into the pattern of things?”
“I don’t know,” replied Henry. “Why did he come here, I wonder. Look at
that knot on his head! Judge, if he came here to help us, I’m sorry, but
if he came to help the other team, I’m mighty glad for your pitching
ability. Listen!”
The canyon echoed with more shots. Henry scratched his head and squinted
thoughtfully at Judge. By mutual consent they moved into the brush,
where Judge picked and hefted another rock.
“Or Slingshot Van Treece,” he said grimly.
“I hit two of them,” said Henry.
“Knowing how well you shoot,” said Judge, “I believe in miracles.”
“I suppose the meeting is on now,” remarked Henry. “Mr. Akers is on his
feet, extolling the virtues of Peter Gonyer. By the way, I wonder what
became of James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly?”
“And Professor Fossil,” added Judge.
Henry was staring into space, and now he gasped, “I have it!”
“You--uh--have what?” whispered Judge.
“Palaeozoic and Mesozoic,” whispered Henry. “There are no fossils in the
Mesozoic.”
Judge shook his head. “Probably just a slight recurrence of shock,” he
said quietly. “You should have stayed in bed.”
“He said he would have to determine, Judge. Ridiculous!”
“You take the rock and let me have the gun, Henry.”
“No, I--”