Although feeling the need of food, Westcott entered the dining-room of
the Timmons' House more desirous of being alone than for any other
purpose. He realised that he was suddenly brought face to face with a
most serious condition, and one which must be solved unaided. He dare
not venture upon a single step forward until he had first thought out
carefully the entire course to be followed. Two lives, and perhaps
three, including his own, were now in imminent peril, and any mistake
on his part would prove most disastrous. First of all he must keep his
own counsel. Not even the half-drunken Timmons could be allowed to
suspect the real depth of his interest in this affair.
Fortunately, it was so late in the morning he was left undisturbed at a
side table, screened from the open door leading into the office.
Sadie, the waitress, took his order and immediately disappeared,
leaving him to his own thoughts. These were far from happy ones, as
his mind rapidly reviewed the situation and endeavoured to concentrate
upon some practical plan of action.
So Bill Lacy expected him? Had left word where he was to be found?
What was the probable meaning of this? Westcott did not connect this
message directly with the strange disappearance of Miss Donovan.
Whether or not Lacy was concerned in that outrage had nothing to do
with this, for the man could scarcely be aware of his deep interest in
the girl. No, this must be his own personal affair, complicated by the
case of Cavendish. Moore must have recognised him during their fight,
and reported to his master who it was that had been discovered
listening at the window. Realising the nature of that conversation,
Lacy naturally anticipated being sought the very moment Westcott came
to town. That was what this meant. All right, he would hunt Lacy as
soon as he was ready to do so; and, as Timmons suggested, would go
"heeled."
But the girl? What had really become of the girl? There was no way of
proving she had not gone East, for there was no agent at the station at
that hour, and the night train could be halted by any one waving a
signal light. Westcott drew the brief note from his pocket, smoothed
out its creases and read the few words over again. The writing was
unquestionably feminine, and he could recall seeing nothing Miss
Donovan had ever indited, with which it could be compared. But would
she have departed, however hurriedly, without leaving him some message?
To be sure there had been little enough between them of intimacy or
understanding; nothing he could really construe into a promise--yet he
had given her complete trust, and had felt a friendly response. He
could not compel himself to believe she would prove unfaithful.
Unconsciously he still held the letter in his hand when the waitress
came in with his breakfast. She glanced about to make certain they
were alone and leaned over, her lips close to his ear.
"Is that the note they say that New York young lady left?"
"Yes, Sadie," in surprise. "Why?"
"Well, she never wrote it, Mr. Westcott," hurriedly placing the dishes
before him, "that's all. Now don't yer say a word to anybody that I
told yer; but she didn't go East at all; she wus took in a wagon down
the desert road. I saw 'em take her."
"You saw them? Who?"
"Well, I don't just know that, 'cept it was Matt Moore's team, an' he
wus drivin' it. I didn't see the others so es to be sure. Yer see us
help sleep over the kitchen, an' 'bout one o'clock I woke up--here
comes Timmons; he mustn't see me talkin' ter yer."
She flicked her napkin over the table, picked up an emptied dish and
vanished through the swinging-doors. Timmons, however, merely came in
searching for the Chinaman, and not finding the latter immediately,
retired again to the office, without even addressing his guest, who was
busily eating. Sadie peered in once more and, seeing all was clear,
crossed over beside Westcott.
"Well, as I was sayin'," she resumed, "I thought I heard a noise
outside, an' got up an' went to the winder. I couldn't see much, not
'nough so I could swear to nuthin'; but there was three or four men out
there just across that little gully, you know, an' they had a woman
with 'em. She didn't scream none, but she was tryin' ter git away;
wunst she run, but they caught her. I didn't see no wagon then, it was
behind the ridge, I reckon. After a while it drove off down the south
trail, an' a little later three men come up them outside stairs back
into the hotel. They was mighty still 'bout it, too."
"You couldn't tell who they were?"
"They wa'n't like nuthin' but shadders; it was a purty dark night."
"So it was, Sadie. Do you imagine Timmons had anything to do with the
affair?"
"Timmons? Not him. There wa'n't no figure like his in that bunch; I'd
know him in the dark."
"But the woman might not have been Miss Donovan; isn't there another
young lady here from the East?"
Sadie tossed her head, but with her eyes cautiously fixed on the office
door.
"Humph; you mean the peroxid blonde! She ain't no _lady_. Well, it
wa'n't her, that's a cinch; she was down yere to breakfast, a laughin'
an' gigglin' with them two men 'bout an hour ago. They seemed ter feel
mighty good over something but I couldn't quite make out just what the
joke was. Say, did yer ever hear tell of a Mexican named Mendez?"
"Well, rather; he's a cattle thief, or worse. Arizona has a big reward
out for him, dead or alive."
"That's the gink, I bet yer; has he got a hang-out anywhar 'round this
country?"
"Not so far as I know; in fact, I haven't heard the fellow's name
mentioned for six months, or more. What makes you suspect this?"
Sadie leaned even closer, her voice trembling with excitement,
evidently convinced that her information was of the utmost importance.
"For God's sake, Mr. Westcott," she whispered, "don't never tell
anybody I told yer, but she was awful good ter me, an' that pasty-faced
blonde makes me sick just ter look at her. You know the feller they
call Enright, I reckon he's a lawyer."
Westcott nodded.
"Well, he was doin' most of the talkin', an' I was foolin' round the
sideboard yonder, pretendin' ter clean it up. Nobody thought I was in
ear distance, but I got hold ov a word now an' then. He kept tellin'
'em, 'specially the blonde, 'bout this Mexican, who's a friend of Bill
Lacy, an' I judge has a place whar he hangs out with his gang somewhar
in the big desert."
"Was anything said about Miss Donovan?"
"Not by name; they was too smart for that; but that was the direction
Matt Moore drove off last night--there's Enright comin' down-stairs
now; won't yer hav' some more cakes, sir?"
Westcott pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He had extracted
all the information the girl possessed, and had no wish to expose her
to suspicion. There was no longer a doubt in his mind as to the fate
of Miss Donovan. She had been forcibly abducted by this gang of
thieves, and put where her knowledge could do them no harm. But where?
The clue had been given him, but before it could be of any value he
must learn more of this Mexican, Mendez. The name itself was familiar
enough, for it was one often spoken along the border in connection with
crime, but beyond this meant nothing to him. The fellow had always
appeared a rather mythical character, but now became suddenly real.
The marshal might know; if not, then he must choke the truth out of
Lacy. Determined to make the effort, he muttered a swift word of
thanks to Sadie and left the room.
Enright was not in the office, but had evidently merely passed through
and gone out. Timmons was sound asleep in a chair by the window,
oblivious to any ordinary noise. From the open doorway Westcott took
careful survey Of the street, adjusting his belt so that the butt of
his revolver was more convenient to the hand. He had no conception
that his coming interview with Lacy was to be altogether a pleasant
one, and realised fully the danger confronting him.
Very few of the citizens of Haskell were abroad, although a small group
were ornamenting the platform in front of Healey's saloon opposite. At
that moment the little marshal, his broad-brimmed hat cocked over one
eye, emerged from the narrow alleyway between the Red Dog and the
adjacent dance-hall, and stood there doubtfully, his gaze wandering up
and down the deserted street. As Westcott descended the hotel-steps,
the marshal saw him, and came forward. His manner was prompt and
businesslike.
"Hello, Jim," he said rather briskly, "I was sorter lookin' 'round fer
yer; somebody said yer hoss was up at the stable. Had a little trouble
up your way last night, I hear."
"Nothing to bother you, Dan; my Mexican watchman was shot up through a
window of the shack."
"Kill him?"
"Instantly; I told the coroner all about it. Whoever the fellow was I
reckon he meant the shot for me, but poor José got it."
"Yer didn't glimpse the critter?"
"No, it was long after dark. I've got my suspicions, but they'll keep.
Seen Bill Lacy this morning?"
The marshal's thin lips smiled grimly as his eyes lifted to Westcott's
face.
"He's back there in his office. That's what I stopped yer for. He
said he rather expected ye'd be along after awhile. What's up between
yer, Jim? Not this Mexican shootin' scrape?"
"Not unless he mentions it, Dan, although I reckon he might be able to
guess how it happened. Just now I've got some other things to talk
about--he's cutting into my vein."
"The hell he is!"
"Sure; I got proof of it last night. He's running a cross channel. I
was down his shaft."
"I heard he's knocked off work; discharged his men."
"Yes, but only to give him time in which to pull off some other
deviltry. That gave me opportunity to learn just what was being done.
I slipped into the workings after the gang had left, and now I've
blocked his game. Say, Dan, what do you know about that Mexican,
Mendez?"
"Nuthin' good. I never put eyes on the fellow. Some claim he's got a
place where he hides, out thar in the Shoshone desert, but I never got
hold of anybody yet as really knew."
"There is such a man, then?"
"Sure. Why he an' his gang had a pitched battle down on Rattlesnake
'bout six months ago; killed three of the sheriff's posse, an' got
away. Seemed like the whole outfit naturally dropped inter the earth.
Never saw hide ner hair of 'em afterward."
"I've heard that he and Bill Lacy were in cahoots."
"Likely enough; ain't much Lacy ain't into. He's been sellin' a pile
of cattle over at Taylorsville lately, an' likely most of 'em was
stole. But hell! What can I do? Besides, that's the sheriff's job,
ain't it? What yer goin' in to see him about, Jim?"
"Only to ask a few questions."
"There ain't goin' ter be no fight er nuthin'?" anxiously.
Westcott laughed.
"I don't see any cause for any," he answered. "But Bill might be a bit
touchy. Maybe, Dan, it might be worth while for you to hang around.
Do as you please about that."
He turned away and went up the wooden steps to the door of the Red Dog.
The marshal's eyes followed him solicitously until he disappeared
within; then he slipped back into the alleyway, skirting the side of
the building, until he reached a window near the rear.
Westcott closed the door behind him and took a swift view of the
barroom. There were not many present at that hour--only a few habitual
loafers, mostly playing cards; a porter was sweeping up sawdust and a
single bartender was industriously swabbing the bar with a towel.
Westcott recognised most of the faces with a slight feeling of relief.
Neither Enright nor Beaton were present, and it was his desire to meet
Lacy alone, away from the influence of these others. He crossed over
to the bar.
"Where's Bill?" he asked.
"Back there," and the dispenser of drinks inclined his head toward a
door at the rear. "Go on in."
The fellow's manner was civil enough, yet Westcott's teeth set with a
feeling that he was about to face an emergency. Yet there was no other
way; he must make Lacy talk. He walked straight to the door, opened
it, stepped into the room beyond, and turned the key in the lock,
dropping it into his pocket. Then he faced about. He was not alone
with Lacy; Enright sat beside the desk of the other and was staring at
him in startled surprise. Westcott also had a hazy impression that
there was or had been another person. The saloon-keeper rose to his
feet, angry, and thrown completely off his guard by Westcott's
unexpected action.
"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded hotly. "Why did you lock
the door?"
"Naturally, to keep you in here until I am through with you," returned
the miner coldly. "Sit down, Lacy; we've got a few things to talk
over. You left word for me at the hotel, and, being a polite man, I
accepted your invitation. I supposed I would find you alone."
Lacy sank back into his chair, endeavouring to smile.
"This gentleman is a friend of mine," he explained. "Whatever you care
to say can be said before him."
"I am quite well aware of that and also that he is now present so that
you may use him as a witness in case anything goes wrong. This is once
you have got in bad, Mr. Patrick Enright, of New York."
The lawyer's face whitened, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair.
"You--you know me?"
"By reputation only," and Westcott bowed, "but that is scarcely to your
credit. I know this, however, that for various reasons you possess no
desire to advertise your presence in Haskell. It would be rather a
difficult matter to explain back in the city just what you were doing
out here in such intimate association with a chorus girl and a Bowery
gunman, let alone our immaculate friend, Lacy, yonder. The courts, I
believe, have not yet distributed the Cavendish money."
Enright's mouth was open, but no sound came from his lips; he seemed to
be gasping for breath.
"I merely mention this," went on Westcott slowly, "to help you grasp
the situation. We have a rough, rude way of handling such matters out
here. Now Lacy and I have got a little affair to settle between us
and, being a fair-minded man, he sent for me to talk it over. However,
he realises that an argument of that nature might easily become
personal and that if anything unpleasant occurred he would require a
witness. So he arranges to have you present. Do you see the point,
Mr. Enright?"
The lawyer's eyes sought Lacy, and then returned to the stern face
confronting him. His lips sputtered:
"As--as a witness?"
"Sure; there may be honour among thieves, but not Lacy's kind." He
strode forward and with one hand crunched Enright back into his chair.
"Now, listen to me," he said fiercely. "I've got only one word of
advice for you: don't take any hand in this affair, except as a
peacemaker, for if you do, you are going to get hurt. Now, Bill Lacy,
I'm ready to talk with you. I was down in your shaft last night."
The saloonman lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair.
"I ought to have thought of that, Westcott," he admitted. "Still, I
don't know that I give a damn."
"The work hadn't been left in very good shape, and I found the cross
tunnel and measured it. You are within a few feet of my vein. The
county surveyor ought to have been out there two hours ago."
Lacy straightened up, all semblance of indifference gone, an oath on
his lips.
"You cur! You filed complaint? When?"
"At seven o'clock this morning. We'll fight that out in the courts.
However, that isn't what I came here for at all. I came to ask you a
question and one of you two are going to answer before I leave--keep
your hand up, and in sight, Lacy; make another move like that and it's
liable to be your last. I am not here in any playful mood, and I know
your style. Lay that gun on the desk where I can see it--that's right.
Now move your chair back."
Lacy did this with no good grace, his face purple with passion.
Westcott had been too quick, too thoroughly prepared for him, but he
would watch his opportunity. He could afford to wait, knowing the
cards he had up his sleeve.
"Some considerable gun-play just to ask a question," he said
tauntingly, "must be mighty important. All right, what is it?"
"Where did your man Moore take Miss Donovan last night?"