Part 4

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--”

Another splattering of shots, but closer now. A man was running wildly down through the brush, and they saw him now. Hatless, his clothes torn, tall, thin, running clumsily, trying to look back. He wasn’t looking for anyone ahead of him, and he was heading for Henry and Judge. He jerked to a stop, gun raised, when Henry hit him in a clumsy football tackle. In fact, Henry missed him with both hands, but his ample girth struck the man just behind the knees with terrific force, and he went down backwards, flinging his gun far into the brush.

Both of them were knocked out. Judge went over carefully and looked them both over. Henry sat up, his face purple, as he tried to wheeze air back into his tortured lungs, but the other man lay quiet, arms outstretched, breathing heavily. Henry’s gun was on the ground, and Judge picked it up.

Another man was running down through the brush toward them. Judge cocked the gun, his face grim, as the man came ahead, really smashing his way. He crashed into the opening, stumbled to a stop, and stood there staring at Judge. It was Oscar Johnson, torn, disheveled, but very much in earnest.

He came on and squatted on his heels beside Judge. Henry was beginning to recover. Oscar looked at the other man, and a slow grin spread across his big face.

“Ay vill be yiggered, Yudge!” he exclaimed.

Henry drew a deep breath, and whispered, “Professor Fossil.”

“Yah,” grinned Oscar. “Ay vass chasing him, Hanry. By golly, das faller can run!”

“You--were--chasing--him?” panted Henry.

“Yah, sure. How are you, Hanry?”

“I do not know, Oscar. I doubt if I shall ever know again. How on earth did you get down here?”

“Oh, that vass easy. Freeholey know the odder trail. Ve caught all free of dem, Hanry.”

“All three of them?” queried Henry weakly. “Three, you said?”

“Yah--su-re. Couple of dem vere vounded, but Pete Gonyer, he vars all right, until he vent crazy and tried to shoot us. Who is that yigger over dere, Yudge?”

“That,” replied Judge, “is Bob Stickler.”

“Yudas Priest! How did he get here, Yudge?”

Judge shook his head. “He just came, Oscar.”

“Three?” queried Henry. “Pete Gonyer and who else?”

“Lou Greer and Yud Bailey.”

“Jud Bailey? Oscar, Bailey is dead!”

“No-o-o,” drawled Oscar. “All he got is bullet in his arm.”

“But--why--didn’t he go into the canyon last night?”

“He yumped,” said Oscar. “Ve missed him, and he valked to de ranch.”

* * * * *

Bob Stickler stirred and managed to sit up. He rubbed his head and stared around, looking at each of them separately, as though trying to reason out what this was all about. Then he tilted his head and looked up at the canyon walls. The professor was moving his arms and legs, as he recovered. The three men watched them. Consciousness came quickly to the professor, and with it came realization. Then he sat up, flexing his legs.

Stickler started to get up, but Oscar went over to him, and the manager of the Yellow Warrior sat down again.

“Yust stay like you vere,” said Oscar.

Another man was coming down the canyon. It was Frijole. He broke into the open, gun in hand, and stood there, staring at them.

“Velcome de party, Freeholey,” grinned Oscar.

“Yeah,” said Frijole, and came on slowly, staring at the professor and Bob Stickler.

“Slim’s got the others,” said Frijole. “They’re roped. Where in hell did these two come from?”

“Mr. Stickler came up the canyon,” said Judge, “and I hit him with a rock. Mr. Fossil came down the canyon, and Henry tackled him around the knees.”

“Nice work!” grunted Frijole. “We found ’em, startin’ up the trail, Henry. They’ve got four pack-horses, loaded with--do you want to tell ’em, Professor?”

Professor Fossil didn’t. Henry said, “Loaded with jewelry ore from the Yellow Warrior, Frijole?”

“You knowed, Henry?”

“No--I merely guessed. What’d your version, Stickler?”

“I am not talkin’,” said Stickler sullenly.

“Pete Gonyer was the leader of the gang,” said Frijole. “That dad-blamed Jud Bailey confessed. He thinks he’s goin’ to die from a bullet in the arm. Where-at is yore horses, Henry?”

“About a mile from the other end of the canyon. You know where it makes a sharp right-hand turn? You do? Well, the horses are on the left-hand side, in a little thicket. But how----?”

“We’ll get ’em from the other end--later. Let’s drift.”

Both Stickler and the professor were able to walk. Less than a quarter of a mile up the canyon they found the others. They unpacked the horses and tied Pete Gonyer to a saddle. He was in bad shape, as were the others, but they were able to get back to the grades.

They had the four pack-horses, and seven saddle-horses. The trail was bad, but they got up to the main road without mishap, just as the valley-bound stage came into view. The driver pulled up beside them and looked with amazement at the cavalcade.

Out from inside the stage came Tom Akers and two others of the Board of Commissioners, staring, mumbling. Akers said:

“What happened to Pete Gonyer? Conroy, what does this mean?”

“It means,” replied Henry wearily, “that we have busted up the high-graders--and Mr. Gonyer, whom you were going to appoint as sheriff in my stead, was the leader. Professor Fossil was here, merely to be able to ship samples back to his home--samples of Yellow Warrior gold. Mr. Stickler handled things for them at the mine. You see--”

“My God!” gasped Akers. “It can’t be true!”

“It looks true to me,” said one of the Commissioners dryly. “Congratulations, Sheriff Conroy.”

“I don’t understand,” complained Akers. “Pete Gonyer isn’t that sort of man. Why, I’d bet my soul--”

“If you do not mind, gentlemen,” interrupted Henry, “you will ride horseback the rest of the way, and we will use the stage as an ambulance. Later we will recover the Yellow Warrior gold.”

The cavalcade came into Tonto City, the stage almost an hour late, and drew up at Doctor Bogart’s house, where the wounded were unloaded. James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly was there, trying to find out what on earth had happened.

“Did you,” he asked Akers, “hold that meeting and decide to remove Henry Conroy?”

Tom Akers looked bleakly at Pelly, but said nothing. This was no time to talk of resignations. He followed them to the jail with Stickler and the professor. Stickler said, “I’ll sue the county for false arrest, Conroy. You can’t prove anything against me.”

“We shall try, sir,” said Henry wearily. “What do you think, Professor?”

“After what has happened,” replied the professor soberly, “I’m sure you will try.”

* * * * *

With their prisoners behind the bars, Henry led the way over to the King’s Castle. There was quite a crowd in there, discussing what had happened. Mack Greer, the manager, saw Henry and came to him.

“Good work, sheriff,” he said. “Mighty good work.”

“All praise aside, sir,” said Henry soberly, “I would like to see Violet La Verne.”

Greer looked curiously at Henry and at the other men with him. Then he turned to one of the other girls, who had come in close, and asked, “Where is Violet?”

“She’s up in her room, packing up, Mack--she’s quit.”

They trooped up the stairs and knocked on her door.

“All right--in a minute. Take that rig around to the back and I’ll meet you out there,” said a voice from inside.

“She hired a livery rig to take her to Scorpion Bend,” whispered one of the curious girls. Henry nodded.

Then the door opened and Violet La Verne stood there, staring at the crowd. She was dressed for traveling, and had an old valise in her hand.

“Who shot Ben Todd?” asked Henry quietly.

The valise dropped from her hand and she closed her eyes for a moment. Henry went on kindly:

“You see, my dear, I happen to know that Ben Todd couldn’t read nor write; so that will had to be a fake. All the rest of the gang are either in jail or being probed for lead, so you might as well talk and save what skin you have left.”

“Stickler killed him,” she whispered huskily. “I grub-staked Ben Todd--I--I honestly did. Stickler wrote that will. He thought Todd had struck it rich and that he’d record the location--but it--it wasn’t recorded--because it wasn’t a mine--he stole two sacks of high-grade ore from the Circle G. That’s the truth--and--and nothing but the--”

And then Violet La Verne went flat in a faint.

Back in the office, thirty minutes later, Henry, Judge, Oscar, Slim and Frijole sat there a tin-cup in hand. They were a bedraggled crew. Stickler had confessed--and the troubles of the sheriff’s office were over for the time being.

“You see,” explained Henry, “about a year ago I helped Ben Todd make out a location notice. He could neither read nor write, and I felt very sure that he could not learn in a year. That was their first blunder. I suspected theft of that gold by Todd, because he did not record his claim. Todd was careful.”

“But why did you suspect the professor?” asked Judge.

“His lack of knowledge of the rocks, Judge; and he was supposed to be an archaeologist. I am not versed in it, but somewhere I had read of them, and I’m sure that either the Palaeozoic or the Mesozoic rock contains no fossils, while the other is filled with them. I believe the Palaeozoic is the blank rock. But, Judge, the professor said he would have to classify them.”

“And what other clues?” asked Judge.

“Well, when the professor escaped from Doctor Bogart’s place last night, I realized that he was going to warn Pete Gonyer; so I--well, Judge, I decided to beat them to the fossils.”

“Speaking of rocks,” said Judge soberly, “I wonder just what I hit Stickler with.”

“Well, here’s luck,” said Frijole. “Everythin’ turned out fine.”

“You forget somet’ing, Freeholey,” said Oscar soberly.

“What was that, Oscar?”

“Das lef’ front wheel of the bockboard.”

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January 25, 1948 issue of _Short Stories_.]