THE SHERIFF FINDS A CLEW
"Miss Pettis," Captain Wilding remarked to his office attendant, a day
or two after he had been summoned to meet Solange and had heard her
rather remarkable story, "I'll have to be going to Maryville for a day
or two on this D'Albret case. I don't believe there will be anything
to discover regarding the mine and the man who killed her father, but,
in case we do run into anything, I'd like to be fortified with
whatever recollection you may have of the affair."
"I don't know a thing except what I told the dame," said Marian,
rather sullenly. "This guy Louisiana bumps the old man off after he
leaves our place. Pete was comin' in and was goin' to take granddad in
with him on the mine, but he can't even tell where it was except that
it was somewhere along the way he had come. You got to remember that I
was just a kid and I don't rightly remember anything about it except
that this Louisiana was some little baby doll, himself. His looks were
sure deceiving."
"Well, how old was he at this time?"
"Oh, pretty young, I guess. Not much more than a kid. Say that French
dame has a crust, hasn't she, comin' in here after all these years,
swellin' round with her face covered as if she's afraid her complexion
wouldn't stand the sun, and expectin' to run onto that mine, which, if
she did find it would be as much mine as it is hers. And who's this
Delonny guy she's bringin' with her? Looks to me like a bolshevik
anarchist or a panhandler."
"Humph!" said Wilding, musingly. "He's nothing like that. Fact is,
she's got a gold mine right there, and she wants to divorce it. Now,
you're sure Louisiana did this and that he left the country? Ever hear
what became of him?"
"Nary a word," said the girl, indifferently. "I reckon everybody has
forgotten him around here except Snake Murphy, who works for Johnny
the Greek. Snake used to know this guy, and it was for shootin' him
that Louisiana was run out of the country. Fact is, I've heard most of
what I know from Snake."
"I'd better interview him, I suppose," said Wilding.
"If you can get any info out of him as to where that mine is you ought
to tell me as quick as that French dame," said Marian. "Believe me,
I'm needing gold mines a lot more than she does. She ain't so hard up
that she can't go chasing around the country and livin' at swell
hotels and hiring lawyers and things while I got to work for what I
get. Anyway, half of that mine belongs to me."
"The mine belongs to whoever finds it," said Wilding. "It was never
filed on, and any claim D'Albret might have had was lost at his death.
In any event, I imagine that it has been so long ago that the chance
of locating it now is practically nonexistent."
"Me, too," said Marian. "Unless----" and she paused.
"Unless what?"
"Whatever brings this dame clear over from France to look for a mine
after twenty years? D'you reckon that any one in their sober senses
would squander money on a thing like that if they didn't have some
inside info as to where to look? Seems to me this Frog lady must have
got some tip that we haven't had."
"Perhaps she has," said Wilding. "In fact, she would hardly come here,
as you say, with nothing definite to go on. But I'm not interested in
the mine. What I want to know is where this Louisiana went after he
left here."
"Maybe Snake Murphy knows," said Marian.
Wilding was inclined to agree with her. At least no other source of
information appeared to offer any better prospects, so with some
distaste he sought out Murphy at the pool room. He began by tactfully
remarking about the changes from the old times, to which Murphy
agreed.
"You've lived here since before the Falls was built, haven't you,
Murphy?" asked Wilding, after Snake had expressed some contempt for
new times and new ways.
"Me!" said Snake, boastfully. "Why, when I come here there wasn't
anything here but sunshine and jack rabbits. I _was_ the town of
Sulphur Falls. I run a ferry and a road house down here when there
wasn't another place within five miles in any direction."
"You knew the old-timers, then?"
"Nobody knew them any better. They all had to stop at my place
whenever they were crossin' the river. There wasn't no ford."
Wilding leaned over and grew confidential.
"Snake," he said, in a low tone, "I've heard that you know something
about this old-time gunman, Louisiana, and the killing of French Pete
back about the first of the century. Is there anything in that?"
Snake eyed him coolly and appraisingly before he answered.
"There seems to be a lot of interest cropping up in this Louisiana and
French Pete all of a sudden," he remarked. "What's the big idea?"
"I'm looking for Louisiana," said Wilding.
"And not fer French Pete's mine?"
"No interest at all in the mine," Wilding assured him. "I've got an
idea that Louisiana could be convicted of that murder if we could lay
hands on him."
"Well, you're welcome to go to it if you want," said Snake, dryly. He
held up his stiffened right wrist and eyed it cynically. "But,
personally, if it was me and I knowed that Louisiana was still
kickin', I'd indulge in considerable reflection before I went
squanderin' around lookin' to lay anything on him. This here
Louisiana, I'm free to state, wasn't no hombre to aggravate
carelessly. _I_ found that out."
"How?" Wilding asked.
"Oh, it was my own fault, I'll admit at this day. There was a lady
used to frequent my place who wasn't any better than she should be.
She took a grudge against Louisiana and, bein' right fond of her at
the time, I was foolish enough to horn in on the ruction. I'll say
this for Louisiana: he could just as well have beefed me complete
instead of just shootin' the derringer out of my fist the way he done.
Takin' it all together, I'd say he was plumb considerate."
"He was a bad man, then?"
"Why, no, I wouldn't say he was. He was a rattlesnake with a
six-shooter, but, takin' it altogether, he never run wild with it. Not
until he beefs French Pete--that is, if he did down him. As for me, I
never knew anything about that except what I was told because I was
nursin' a busted wrist about that time. All I know was that the boys
that hung around here was after him for gettin' me and that he headed
out south, stoppin' at Twin Forks and then goin' on south toward the
mountains. Nobody ever saw him again, and from that day to this he
ain't never been heard of."
"Looks like he had some reason better than shooting you up to keep
going and never come back, don't it?"
"It looks like it. But I don't know anything about it. Might have been
that he was just tired of us all and decided to quit us. Anyhow, if
there's anything rightly known about it I reckon it'll be over at
Maryville. There's where they held the inquest at the time."
Snake evidently knew nothing more than he had told and Wilding again
decided that his only chance of gaining any real information would be
at Maryville. Accordingly, he got an automobile and started for that
somnolent village on the next day.
After arriving at the little town, he spent two or three days in
preliminary work looking toward filing the petition for mademoiselle's
divorce and arranging to secure her nominal residence in Nevada. Not
until this had been accomplished did he set out to get information
regarding the long-forgotten Louisiana.
His first place of call was the coroner's office. A local undertaker
held the position at this time and he had been in the country no more
than ten years. He knew nothing of his predecessors and had few of
their records, none going back as far as this event.
"There seems to be a lot of curiosity cropping up about this old
murder," he volunteered, when Wilding broached the subject. "Another
man was in here yesterday asking about the same thing. Tall,
good-looking fellow, dressed like a cowman and wearing a gun. Know
him?"
Wilding asked a few further details and recognized the description as
that of De Launay. This satisfied him, as he had no doubt that
mademoiselle's nominal husband was employed on the same errand as
himself. So he merely stated that it was probably the man in whose
interests he was working.
"Well, I didn't know anything about him and didn't discuss the matter
with him. Fact is, I never heard of the murder so I couldn't tell him
much about it."
"Still, I'm sure there was an inquest at the time," said Wilding.
"There probably was, but that wouldn't mean any too much. In the old
days the coroner's juries had a way of returning any old verdict that
struck their fancies. I've heard of men being shot tackling some noted
gun fighter and the jury bringing in a verdict of suicide because he
ought to have known better than to take such a chance. Then it's by no
means uncommon to find them laying a murder whose perpetrator was
unknown or out of reach against a Chinaman or Indian or some extremely
unpopular individual on the theory that, if he hadn't done this one,
he might eventually commit one and, anyway, they ought to hang him on
general principles and get rid of him. This was in 1900, you say?"
"About then."
"That doesn't sound early enough for one of the freak verdicts. Still,
this country was still primitive at that time, and they might have
done almost anything. Anyway there are no coroner's records going back
to that date, so I'm afraid that I can't help you or your client."
Wilding was discouraged, but he thought there might still be a chance
in another direction, although the prospects appeared slim. Leaving
the coroner he sought out the sheriff's office and encountered a burly
individual who welcomed him as some one to relieve the monotony of his
days. This man was also a newcomer, or comparatively so. He had
fifteen years of residence behind him. But he, too, knew nothing of
French Pete's murder.
"To be sure," he said, after reflecting, "I've heard something about
it and I have a slight recollection that I've run onto it at some
time. There used to be considerable talk about the mine this here
Basco had found and many a man has hunted all over the map after it.
But it ain't never been found. I've heard that he was shot from ambush
by a gunman, and his name might have been Louisiana. Seems to me that
whoever shot him must have done it because he had found the mine, and
since the mine ain't ever been discovered it looks like the murderer
must have wanted its secret to remain hidden. That looks reasonable,
don't it?"
"There might be something in it," admitted Wilding.
"Well, if that's the case, it's just as reasonable to figure that, if
it was a white man that shot him, he'd come back in time to locate the
mine. But he ain't ever done it. Then I'd say that proves one of two
things: either it wasn't no white man that shot him or if it was the
man was himself killed before he could return. Ain't that right?"
"But if not a white man who would have done it?"
"Indians," said the sheriff, solemnly. "Them Indians don't want white
men ringing in here and digging up the country where they hunt. Back
in those days I reckon there was heaps of Indians round here and most
likely one of them shot him. But, come to think of it, the files may
have a record of it in 'em. We'll go and look."
Wilding followed him, still further convinced that he was on a
hopeless search. The sheriff went into the office and led the way up
to an unlighted second-story room, hardly more than an attic where, in
the dust and gloom, slightly dissipated by the rays of a flashlight,
he disclosed several boxes and transfer cases over which he stooped.
"Nineteen hundred. It wouldn't be in one of these transfer cases
because I know they didn't have no such traps in those days. One of
these old boxes might have something. Lend a hand while I haul them
out."
The two of them hauled out and opened two or three boxes before they
found one the papers in which seemed to be dated in the years before
and after nineteen hundred. This they carried downstairs and soon were
busy in pawing over the dusty, faded documents. The search produced
only one thing. The sheriff came upon it and held it up just as they
were giving up hope. Then, with Wilding eagerly leaning over his
shoulder, he read it slowly.
REWARD!
The sheriff of Esmeralda County, State of Nevada,
hereby offers a reward of FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS for
the capture, dead or alive, and evidence leading to
the conviction of Lewis Delaney, alias Louisiana
Lou, alias Louisiana, who is wanted for the murder,
on October 18, 1900, of Peter Dalbray, commonly
known as French Pete, at a point near the entrance
of Shoestring Canyon in Township 42 N., Range 5
East. This reward is guaranteed and authorized by
Isaac Brandon, of Twin Forks, Nevada.
DESCRIPTION!
Just short of six feet, slim, quick, regular
features, age about nineteen or twenty years,
smooth face, brown hair, gray eyes. Dressed when
last seen in open flap chaps, silver conchas, blue
shirt. Boss of the Range Stetson, wearing wide
belt with conchas and holster stamped with
sunflowers. Carried a black rubber-handled Colt
.41-caliber gun with which he is very expert. Has
probably picked up a 30-30 rifle, Winchester or
Marlin, since last seen, with which he committed
the crime. Speaks with slight Southern accent.
Police of all cities notified.
"That," said the sheriff, reluctantly, "seems to dispose of my Indian
theory. They wouldn't have offered any such reward if they hadn't been
pretty sure they had the right man. But it's equally sure that they
never caught him or we'd have some record of it. On my second theory
then, he's either dead, or else he'd have come back to locate that
mine, or else he's been taken up for some other crime and has been
serving time somewhere."
Wilding took the faded, yellow handbill with its crude printing. "It
looks that way," he said. "Evidently they couldn't get a photograph of
him, and the description seems to be vague except as to his weapons
and accouterments."
"That's the way with them old-timers. They didn't pay so much
attention to a man's looks as to his saddle and horse and gun. But if
it'll do you any good take it along. It's outlawed as far as the
reward's concerned, so I don't reckon I'll go hunting this fellow. The
county wouldn't pay me, and old Brandon's been dead a year or more."
The lawyer had to be satisfied with this, and, indeed, it seemed to
settle the matter fairly conclusively. His business having been
completed, he got out his automobile and once more headed back for
Sulphur Falls.
That evening he drew up at Wallace's ranch and there found Solange
about to start into the mountains. He stayed the night, and delivered
to her the handbill after telling her what he had done regarding the
divorce and the search for the murderer. Solange listened to the first
part of it with slight interest. Her desire to be free of De Launay
had lost its force lately and she found herself somewhat indifferent.
As Wilding formally laid down the procedure she would have to go
through she even found herself vaguely regretting that she had moved
so promptly in that matter. Somehow, in this land of strangers, kind
and sympathetic as they had been, she felt that her search was
hopeless without some more intimate help. The tall soldier, broken and
desperate as he seemed to be, was closer to her than any one else and
she felt that, if she should lose him, her plight would be forlorn. As
she had last seen him standing in his cell, making his quiet promise
of service to her, he appeared to be a rock on which she could lean.
To her mind came back the stories she had heard of him, the wild and
stormy tale of his rise from an outcast of the Légion des Etrangers to
a high and honored place in the French army. He had done wonderful
things and had overcome tremendous obstacles. Such a man could still
do marvels, and it was marvels that one must do to help her in her
search.
Some inborn superstition of her native mountains worked upon her. In
his absence the things which had prejudiced her against him faded
while the smooth efficiency and ease of her journey to this distant
land was recalled, with the realization that that comfort and speed
must have been due entirely to him whom she had thought spending his
time in drunken carouses. He had brought her so far, to the very
threshold of what she sought, and, if he should now abandon her, that
threshold must remain uncrossed. De Launay had taken on some of the
attributes of a guardian angel, a jinni who alone could guide her to
the goal she sought. And she was about to divorce him, to cut the
slight tie that bound him to her.
This was her feeling when Wilding showed her the handbill, and the
ancient, faded poster carried instant conviction to her that she was
at last on the trail of the murderer. When the lawyer repeated the
sheriff's deductions as to Louisiana's death or detention, she merely
shook her head. Although the description carried little meaning to her
she seemed to envision a figure, sinister and evil, something to seek
and something to find. Or something that De Launay would surely
find!
She went out to where the two young men were working with the pack
outfit and horses which had been brought in for their journey.
"My friends," she said soberly, "we must hurry and be gone to-morrow.
I have a feeling that we shall find this man. But it will be with
Monsieur de Launay's help. I do not know why but I feel that he will
bring us to the man. We must rejoin him as soon as possible."
"All right," said Sucatash, shortly. Dave muttered, "Damn De Launay!"
But they both turned back to their work and hastened their
preparations.