A LEGAL PAPER
In the clear air one could see for miles from the top of Thunder
Mountain. The Basin, most of it at least, was hidden by the foliage, but
the view in the opposite direction encompassed endless plains that led
to ranches beyond the horizon. The masked man wondered how many of those
ranches had contributed to the crisscrossing of cattle tracks on the
bald dome where he stood.
Tonto pointed out the things that he'd observed on previous visits and
indicated where a trail had been cut to make a descent straight into the
Basin.
Meanwhile, most of the people in the Basin went to Becky's funeral. It
was a simple ceremony without tears, conducted by Jeb Cavendish. No one
who had known Rebecca's life could feel sorry for her for having been
released. Penny held the hands of the oldest children during the burial.
She frequently felt the eyes of Yuma, standing unhatted with a number of
other men, upon her, but each time she looked at the blond cowboy he was
staring at the ground. Vince was there, and so were most of the
cowhands. Wallie was somewhere away from the Basin. Bryant had a distant
view from his seat on the porch of the house. Mort was still in bed with
a bandage around his neck.
Jeb seemed to enjoy his brief period as the center of attraction and
postponed conclusion of the services as long as possible. When he
ultimately pronounced a benediction, Yuma hurried away as if on
important business. Penny led the dry-eyed youngsters toward the house.
Gimlet, the cook, advanced to meet her.
"Lemme take care o' the young 'uns, Miss Penny," the old man said.
"Keeee-ripes, I ain't had the chance tuh tell a pack of lies tuh kids
since you growed up."
Penny was grateful. The children had been her responsibility since
Rebecca's death, and she welcomed the chance to get away and think for a
little while. "I'll be around," she said, "when you have to start
supper."
"Don't yuh do it now, Miss Penny, don't you do nothin' o' the sort. You
leave the kids with me an' let 'em stick by me. It'll do 'em good tuh
talk tuh someone 'sides them glum-actin' cousins of yores with their
souls full o' vinegar till it shows in their faces."
Penny smiled, "It's a deal, Gimlet. They're your responsibility till
bedtime."
The children, heretofore ignored, were wide-eyed at the thought that
anyone could actually want their company.
Gimlet's manner seemed forced. Penny fancied her old friend had worries
about which he said nothing.
"Yew git," he said, spanking the oldest boy playfully. "I'll be right
along an' meet yuh by the kitchen door."
When the children had gone, the old man with one eye turned to Penelope.
"I got somethin'," he said, "tuh tell you."
"Yes, Gimlet?"
"I on'y got one eye, but my ears is first-rate. Mebbe I orter keep my
big mouth shut, but I figger yuh orter know that yer Uncle Bryant is up
tuh somethin'."
"Uncle Bryant?" Penny's tone showed her surprise. She knew that Gimlet
was one friend upon whom she could count. The old cook had dandled her
on his knee when as a child she had come to live in the Basin. She
listened eagerly.
"Heard him talkin' tuh that no-good, gambling smooth-talkin' _hombre_
named Lonergan," said Gimlet.
Penny remembered that Lonergan had called the night before. Bryant had
taken him upstairs, behind closed doors.
"Curiosity has allus been my trouble, an' when I heard talkin' between
them two, I didn't shut my ears none. Couldn't git much o' what uz said,
but the two of 'em was workin' over some sort o' legal paper."
"What about it?" asked Penny. "Uncle Bryant has a right to make a
contract or agreement with someone."
"Wal, all's I know is that I heard Bryant ask Lonergan if he was dead
sure the paper'd stand in court after he was dead and gone."
Penny wanted to laugh at Gimlet's obvious concern over what was probably
a will. His seriousness, however, impressed her.
"That ain't all," said the old man. "I heard more. I heard Bryant sayin'
he wanted tuh leave what he owned tuh them that deserved it, an' he
didn't want none of his damned relatives contestin' the will in court o'
law."
"But after all, Gimlet, it's Uncle Bryant's ranch and he can do what he
wants with it."
"Nuther thing," growled Gimlet, "they's a puncher here, callin' hisself,
'Yuma.'"
"What about him?"
"Yuh c'n trust that big maverick, Miss Penny. He thinks a heap about
you."
Penny said nothing.
Gimlet went on with a lengthy discourse about the fine qualities of
Yuma. He and Yuma had spent hours in close confab in the kitchen, and
Yuma had expressed his feelings, confidentially, to Gimlet.
Penny's face grew red as the frank old man continued. Finally she cut
him off. "Those children are waiting for you, Gimlet."
"All right, I'm a-goin' tuh 'em. But you jest remember that Yuma is
ace-high with me an' yore ace-high with _him_." Gimlet shuffled toward
the kitchen door.
Penny wanted to get away from the surroundings and be alone with her
thoughts. She had at least two hours before her uncle would be expecting
her for the evening meal. Hurriedly she changed to riding clothes and
left the vicinity on Las Vegas.
She discounted the seriousness of all that Gimlet had said about her
uncle's "legal paper." Obviously just a will. The thing that concerned
her most was the truth about Bryant's eyes. During the day she had tried
to observe him carefully. There were times when she was sure he had
trouble seeing things. Then she thought he had truly fired at Mort, but
failing eyes had made his shot go wild and coincidence had made it drill
Yuma's hat.
There were other times when Bryant seemed to reach directly, without a
trace of groping, for whatever he desired, and then she wondered. There
was no doubt in her mind that Vince and Mort were involved in something
or other that they didn't want too generally known.
What of the men, the Texas Rangers, who Becky had said came to
investigate and died for it?
Lost in her thoughts, the girl rode on without thought or direction. She
let the reins hang slack and paid no attention to the tangle of growing
things that brushed past her. She was surprised, when she came back to
reality, to find that Las Vegas had carried her up Thunder Mountain. She
was well beyond the lower part of the path where it was rough.
"Might as well keep going now," she said.
There was sugar in her pocket, put there for Las Vegas. Well, this time
the mustang could do without his customary sweet. She'd save it till she
reached the clearing, and see if she could bribe attention from the
silver stallion.
The Indian-what did he call himself? Tonto--that was it. Tonto had said
that a friend was wounded. She wondered if by any chance this friend
could be one of the Texas Rangers. She thought it quite unlikely, in
view of the fact that all of them were said to have been killed. Well,
she'd ask Tonto anyway.
The clearing was just ahead. She saw the form of a horse through the
trees, and then a man. His back was toward her. She saw him turning as
he heard the hoofs approaching. The man was not her Indian
friend--neither was he a stranger to the girl. He was one of the last
people in the world she cared to meet in such a place--the killer who
called himself Rangoon.