It never occurred to Westcott on his escape through the darkness that
his night's adventure would in any way endanger Miss Donovan. He was
on the property of La Rosita Mining Company upon his own account, and
not in reference to the Cavendish Case at all--or, at least, this last
was merely incidental.
To be sure he had listened to a confession from Enright bearing
directly upon the affair in New York, a confession so strange he could
scarcely grasp its true meaning. But this never brought to his mind
the thought that suspicion already rested upon the girl's presence in
Haskell. His whole interest centred for the moment on Lacy's daring
attempt to break through the wall of rock below and lay claim to his
lead of ore. Not until this effort had been abandoned would he dare to
desert his mine--and even then safety could be assured only by the
establishment of an armed guard in the tunnel prepared to repel any
invasion.
While undoubtedly the mining law of the State would eventually sustain
his claim, yet the fact that he had for so long kept his discovery
secret would seriously operate against him; while, if Lacy's gang once
acquired actual possession of the property, the only way of proving
prior ownership would be through an official survey and long protracted
proceedings in court.
Here he would be at great disadvantage because of lack of money and
influence. In this respect Westcott realised, fully what he was up
against, for while it was quietly known that Lacy was a questionable
character, his name associated with the leadership of a desperate gang,
yet his wealth and power rendered him a decidedly dangerous opponent.
As proprietor of the biggest saloon, dance-hall, and gambling den in
Haskell, he wielded an influence not to be ignored--especially as the
sheriff of the county was directly indebted to him for his office. A
dangerous man himself, with the reputation of a killer, he had about
him others capable of any crime to carry out his orders, confident that
his wealth and influence would assure their safety. To such as he the
stealing of a mine was a mere incident.
This was the situation confronting Westcott as he crouched behind a
rock on the black hillside, endeavouring to decide upon a course of
action. The events of the last few hours had almost entirely forced
aside memory of the girl at the hotel--and her mission. He was
fighting now for his own life, his own future--and fighting alone. The
blade of Moore's knife had slashed his forearm, in the early moments of
their fierce struggle, and blood was trickling down his wrist, yet not
in sufficient quantity to give him any great concern. Once beyond the
probability of pursuit, he turned up his sleeve and made some effort to
minister to the gash, satisfying himself quickly that it was of trivial
nature.
From where he lay he could see across the bare, rock-strewn hillside to
the distant hut, outlined by the gleam of light within, and perceive
the black silhouette of the shaft-house. The sound of clanking
machinery reached his ears, but the voices of the men failed to carry
so far. He could dimly distinguish their figures as they passed in and
out of the glare of light, and was aware that Moore had been found and
carried within the hut, but remained ignorant of the fact that the
leaving of a knife in the window had revealed his identity. There was
no attempt at pursuit, which gave him confidence that Lacy failed to
comprehend the importance of what had been overheard, yet he clung
closely to his hiding-place until all the men had re-entered the office.
However, he was too wary to approach the window again, fearing some
trap, but crept cautiously along the slope of the hill through the
black shadows until he attained safe shelter close in against the dump.
His hope was that Enright's arguments would induce Lacy to discontinue
operations for the present and thus give him time in which to prepare
for resistance. In this he was not disappointed. What took place
within the office could only be guessed at, but in less than half an
hour a man emerged from the open door and hailed the fellows at work in
the shaft-house. The messenger stood in the full glare of light,
revealing to the silent watcher the face and figure of Moore,
convincing evidence that this worthy had not been seriously injured
during the late encounter.
"Hey, Tom!" he shouted.
The lantern above was waved out over the edge of the timbered platform
and a deep voice responded.
"Well, what'che want?"
"Send word down to the boys to come up. They're laid off fer a while,
an' their pay's ready for 'em."
"Lay 'em off! Who says so?"
"Lacy, of course; hustle them out now--them's the orders."
"Well, that beats hell!" But the lantern vanished as he went grumbling
back to his engine.
They came up, talking excitedly among themselves, stumbled down the
rough path, and filed into the open door of the lighted office. There
were twenty of them, according to Westcott's count, and the interview
within must have been satisfactory as they departed quietly enough,
disappearing down the trail toward Haskell. Moore remained outside,
apparently checking the fellows off as they passed, and when the last
one vanished again hailed the shaft-house:
"What's the matter with you, Tom? Why don't you close down and come
and get your stuff?"
"You want me too?"
"Sure--we're here waitin' fer yer."
Westcott clung to his hiding-place, but greatly relieved in mind. This
unexpected action had postponed his struggle and left him free to plan
for defence. For the first time almost his brain grasped the full
significance of this movement, its direct connection with the
disappearance of Frederick Cavendish, and the presence of Stella
Donovan. Enright had suggested and urged the closing down of the mine
temporarily to avoid unnecessary publicity--to throw Westcott off the
trail. His argument must have been a powerful one to thus influence
Lacy--nothing less than a pledge of money could cause the latter to
forego immediate profit.
Undoubtedly the lawyer had convinced the man of the certainty of their
gaining possession of the Cavendish fortune, and had offered him a
goodly share for his assistance. Then the plan was at a head--if
Cavendish was not dead he was safely in their hands, where his death
could be easily accomplished, if other means failed.
This was to be Lacy's part of the bargain, and he was already too
deeply involved in the hellish conspiracy to withdraw. Enright, with
his lawyer-astuteness, had seen to that--had even got this Western
gambler securely into his grip and put on the screws. The miner,
realising now the full situation, or, at least, imagining that he did,
smiled grimly and waited in his covert on the hillside for the
conspirators to make their next move. He dare not approach the cabin
any closer, or permit his presence to become known, for Moore was kept
outside the door on guard. However, the delay was not a long one,
horses being brought up from the near-by corral, and the entire party
mounting rode down the trail toward Haskell. The cabin was left dark
and deserted, the mine silent. Westcott made no effort to follow,
feeling assured that no important movement would be attempted that
night.
It was late the next morning before he rode into Haskell and, stabling
his horse, which bore all the marks of hard riding, proceeded toward
the Timmons House. He had utilised, as best he could, the hours since
that cavalcade had departed from La Rosita to put his own affairs in
order so that he might feel free to camp on the conspirators' trail and
risk all in an effort to rescue Cavendish. The night had been a hard
one, but Westcott was still totally unconscious of fatigue--his whole
thought centred on his purpose.
Alone he had explored the tunnels in Lacy's mine, creeping about in the
darkness, guided only by the flash of an electric torch, until he
thoroughly understood the nature of the work being accomplished. As
soon as dawn came he sought two reliable men in the valley below, and
posted them as guards over his own property; but, before he finally
rode away, the three brought forth the body of the murdered Mexican and
reverently buried it on a secluded spot of the bleak hillside.
Then, convinced that every precaution had been taken, Westcott turned
his horse's head toward Haskell. As he rode slowly up the street in
the bright sunlight his mind reverted to Stella Donovan. The stern
adventures of the night had temporarily driven the girl from his
thoughts, but now the memory returned, and her bright, womanly face
arose before him, full of allurement. He seemed to look once more into
the wonderful depths of her eyes and to feel the fascination of her
smile. Eager for the greeting, which he felt assured awaited him, he
strode through the open door into the office. The room was vacant, but
as he crossed the floor toward the desk the proprietor entered through
the opening leading into the barroom beyond. Timmons had quite
evidently been drinking more than usual--the effect being largely
disclosed by loquacity of speech.
"Hello, Jim!" he cried at sight of the other. "Thought you'd be back,
but, damn it, yer too late--she's--she's gone; almighty pretty girl,
too. I told the boys it was a blame shame fer her ter run off
thataway."
"Who has run off?" And Westcott's hand crushed down on the man's
shoulder with a force that half-sobered him. "What are you talking
about?"
"Me! Let up, will yer? Yer was here hopin' ter see that New York
girl, wasn't yer?"
"Miss Donovan? Yes."
"I'd forgot her name. Well, she ain't yere--she's left."
"Left--gone from town?"
"Sure; skipped out sudden in the night; took the late train East, I
reckon. Never sed no word to nobody--just naturally packed up her duds
an' hiked."
Westcott drew a deep breath.
"Surely you do not mean she left without any explanation? She must
have paid her bill."
"Oh, she was square enough--sure. She left money an' a note pinned to
her pillow; sed she'd just got a message callin' her back home--want
ter see whut she wrote?"
"You bet I do, Timmons! Have you got the note here?"
Timmons waddled around behind the desk and ran his hand into a drawer.
Evidently he considered the matter a huge joke, but Westcott snatched
the paper from his fingers impatiently and eagerly read the few hastily
pencilled lines:
Have received a message calling me East at once. Shall take the night
train, and enclose sufficient money to pay for my entertainment.
S. D.
He stared at the words, a deep crease between his eyes. It was a
woman's handwriting, and at first glance there was nothing impossible
in such an action on her part. Yet it was strange, if she had departed
so suddenly, without leaving any message for him. After that meeting
at the bridge, and the understanding between them, it didn't seem to
Westcott at all probable that she would thus desert without some
plausible explanation. His eyes narrowed with aroused suspicion as he
looked up from the slip of paper and confronted the amused Timmons
across the desk.
"I'll keep this," he said soberly, folding it and thrusting it into his
pocket.
"All right"--and Timmons smiled blandly--"I got the money."
"And that was all, was it--just this note and the cash? There was
nothing addressed to me?"
The hotel-keeper shook his head.
"When did you see her last?"
"'Bout nine o'clock, I reckon; she come down inter the dinin'-room fer
a drink o' water."
"She said nothing then about going away?"
"She didn't speak to nobody--just got a swig an' went up-stairs agin."
"How much longer were you up?"
"Oh, maybe an hour; there was some boys playing poker here an' I waited
round till they quit."
"No message for Miss Donovan up to that time?"
"No."
"You left the door unlocked?"
"Sure; them New York fellers was both out. I oughter waited till they
come in, maybe, but I was plum' tired out."
"When did they come back?"
"Oh, 'bout midnight, I reckon. Bill Lacy an' Matt Moore was along with
'em. They didn't disturb me none; just went inter the sample-room, an'
slept on the floor. I found 'em thar in the mornin', and Bill told me
how they come to be thar--leastwise 'bout himself, fer Moore had got up
an' gone afore I got down."
"I see! And these New York people--they are still here?"
"They wus all three down ter breakfast; ain't seen nuthin' of 'em
since; I reckon they're up-stairs somewhar."
"What became of Lacy?"
"He's down in his saloon; he sed if you showed up, an' asked fer him,
ter tell yer that's whar he'd be."
"He told you that? He expected me to show up then?"
"I reckon as how he did," and Timmons grinned in drunken good humour.
"He's pretty blame smart, Bill Lacy is; he most allars knows whut's
goin' ter happen." He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. "If
yer do hunt him up, Jim," he said confidentially, "you better go
heeled."
Westcott laughed. The first shock of the discovery of Miss Donovan's
disappearance had passed, and he was himself again. He must have time
to think and arrange some plan and, above all, must retain a clear mind
and proceed coolly.
"All right, old man," he said easily. "I'll try and look out for
myself. I haven't eaten yet to-day. What can you find for me in the
larder?"