Part 5

Tellurium whispered quietly, and Archibald nodded dumbly. It was a crazy scheme, but it appealed to Archibald.

“We go to town right after supper,” said Tellurium, “and don’t forget to put a big handkerchief in your pocket, Archie.”

“I’ll be there with bells on,” declared Archibald.

“You can leave the bells here--this ain’t no shivaree.”

Ed McLean was more than a little worried over the way things were going. That punch in the nose indicated that Jim Bailey had a mind of his own and might make trouble. And there was that hard-eyed, cold-jawed Skeeter Smith, who knew too much. McLean had no idea of giving Skeeter Smith any part of the Lazy H. If things came to a bitter showdown, he’d swear that Jim Bailey had fooled him; that McLean had accepted him at face value. Bailey had no proof otherwise. Bob Hawley, the detective, was dead, and he had McLean’s only contact to secure the right man.

McLean sat at his desk that night, thinking things over. Personally, he felt secure, but he wanted more than personal security--he wanted ownership of the Lazy H. He had schemed long and hard to put over this deal. He looked at his old safe, half in the shadows from the lamp on his desk, wondering if there could be any scrap of paper in that safe that would, or could, incriminate him, in case of an investigation. He felt sure that everything dangerous had been removed, but as he looked at the safe, he felt a desire to sift things again and be sure.

He went over to the safe and twisted the dial carefully, swung the heavy door open and began taking out the papers, placing them on his desk. A sudden draught caused a paper to flutter off the desk, and a chill breeze struck the back of his neck.

* * * * *

Slowly he turned his head, realizing that someone had opened the rear door. Two masked men were standing there, one of them covering him with a six-shooter. The man growled behind his mask:

“Don’t move! Keep yore hands in sight.”

The other man stepped over to the desk, grasped a handful of the papers and started to put them in his pocket. In fact, he had some of them in his coat pocket, when a voice behind him said:

“Drop the papers!”

His hand came away from his pocket, dragging papers out, and he dropped them on the pile of papers atop the desk.

“Back over by the door,” growled the voice again, and the first two masked men obeyed. One of them whispered:

“My gosh--another set!”

He was right, there were two more masked men behind them. McLean, white-faced, watched one of the second pair sweep up the papers and dump them into a sack.

“Is the safe empty?” asked the holdup man.

“Yes,” whispered McLean huskily.

Swiftly the two men backed away, and went outside. The first two were watching McLean narrowly. They too backed out, leaving the frightened attorney still on his knees beside the safe.

Slowly he got to his feet, walked to the rear door and looked out into the night. There was nobody in sight. He locked the door and went back to his desk, where he sat down heavily, staring at his empty safe. Every paper was gone. Suddenly he said aloud:

“What am I worried about, anyway? There was not an incriminating paper in the safe. This is a job for the sheriff.”

He put on his hat, locked the door and went down to the sheriff’s office. Cactus Spears was there, but McLean didn’t want to talk with the deputy. He found the sheriff at the Antelope Saloon, ensconced in a draw-poker game. Also in the game was Skeeter Smith. McLean waited until the sheriff dropped out of a pot. “Mace, can I have a word with you?” he asked.

The sheriff followed him outside, where McLean told him what happened in the office.

“Two different sets?” the sheriff said. “Ed, that sounds like you must have dreamed it. Why on earth would those four men want your papers?”

The lawyer shook his head. “Sheriff, I wish I knew,” he said.

“Couldn’t you identify any of the four?”

“No, I couldn’t, damn ’em! Things like that confuse you.”

“Well, I don’t know of anythin’ we can do about it, Ed. They’re gone--and so are yore papers. Maybe they’ll send ’em back to you.”

“I suppose I’ll have to wait and see,” sighed McLean.

Tellurium Woods and Archibald Haas rode slowly on their way back to the Lazy H. Not much had been said since they entered Ed McLean’s office. Finally Tellurium spoke.

“Archie, did you get a good look at them two?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I seen ’em good.”

“Good enough to identify ’em?”

“Nope--good enough to stand where they told me to.”

“Yuh know,” remarked Tellurium, “it’s awful funny that two other men should get an idea jist like mine. It shows I’m smart.”

“Yeah,” agreed Archibald, “yo’re smart, Tellurium--but them two was the smartest.”

“How do yuh figure that?”

“They brought a sack.”

IX

The news of the robbery at McLean’s office was brought back to the ranch by Skeeter Smith, and Jim Bailey heard it next morning at breakfast. He realized that if there had been anything incriminating in that safe, it was too late to do anything about it now. And, strangely enough, Jim Bailey didn’t care. He had lost all desire to help McLean. Naturally, he wanted Mary to get some of the Lazy H, but that was something beyond his control. As far as his share of the deal was concerned, he never did feel that he would ever receive it. He didn’t trust McLean at all, and the longer it went, the less his trust.

Ed McLean came out to the Lazy H that afternoon. He said he was out to get a breath of fresh air, but he soon got Jim alone.

“I heard about your robbery,” said Jim. “Did they get anything?”

“They took every paper out of my safe,” replied McLean, “but little good it will do them--I saw to that. Day after tomorrow that will is to be probated. I’ve talked with the judge. All you have to do is appear in court with me and answer questions. If anybody in Pinnacle City thinks that they can stop me from getting control of this ranch, they’re badly mistaken.”

“I can,” declared Jim Bailey soberly.

“You?” gasped the lawyer. “Don’t be a fool, Bailey.”

Jim Bailey laughed shortly. “I’m through with it, McLean--and you better be, too.”

“Yellow, eh?” sneered the lawyer.

Jim shrugged. “I’ll take it on one consideration, McLean.”

“What’s that?”

“That as soon as I get the ownership of the Lazy H, I turn it over to Mary Deal.”

“Well, what a fool you’ve turned out to be! Do you think for a minute that I’d--so you’re stuck on the girl, eh? Well, if--”

“Turn it over to her,” said Jim doggedly, “and we’ll both pull out. You say I am yellow. I suppose that means, I’m afraid. I am. I believe that robbery last night was done because four men do not believe that will was on the square. My acceptance by the court won’t change their minds. You know as well as I do that the will was not on the square, McLean. Clint Haverty did not cut Mary Deal out of her share--and you know it.”

McLean’s eyes slitted, as he looked at Jim Haverty. If looks could kill, Jim Bailey would have died in his tracks.

“What else do you know that’s funny?” asked the lawyer tensely.

“I know that when you go into court to probate that will, Jim Bailey won’t be there. When I came here, I fell for your crooked deal, because I didn’t know these folks. It looked like a chance for easy money. But I don’t want that easy money now.”

Ed McLean stared grimly into space. His plans were shattered if this foolish kid persisted in not doing his part.

“You’re letting a pretty face keep you from a fortune,” he said.

“We will leave the woman out of it, McLean. I’m walking out. Even if the Haverty brothers get the Lazy H--I can’t help it.”

“So that is your final word, eh, Bailey?”

“That is final, McLean.”

“All right, you’re the loser,” said the lawyer and started over to get into the buggy. “I’ll see you in court,” he said, and drove away.

“He’ll see me in court?” queried Jim to himself. “What has he got under his hat, I wonder?”

He walked up to the house and met Archibald Haas.

“How about some pistol practice, Jim?”

Jim smiled. “Are you willing to take chances?”

“Shore--if yuh want to try it. A feller never knows when he’ll need a gun. It’s good to be able to shoot.”

“Yes, I believe you are right, Archibald; I’ll get the gun. One never does know when a gun might be useful.”

* * * * *

Archibald led the way far down a dry-wash, where even the worst shot in Arizona would not endanger lives. After an hour of instructions, Archibald threw the undamaged tin can into the brush. “Ten feet, or a hundred, yuh miss ’em all plenty far,” he said.

“That last shot would have killed a man,” said Jim.

“Yeah, I know--but I ducked. You ain’t cut out for no gunman, Jim. You shut yore eyes, grit yore teeth, and git stiff enough to skate on. Then the gun jumps out of yore hand and I spend my val’able time, diggin’ the sand out of it. Didja ever try a shotgun?”

“Would I do better with one?”

“Well, yuh couldn’t do any worse.”

Jim flopped disgustedly on the porch, and tossed the gun aside. Tellurium came out, wiping his hands on his apron, grinning a little.

“Mucho boom--no hit, eh?” he remarked.

“That’s right. I simply cannot shoot a six-shooter, Tellurium.”

“Well, it’s a good thing to find out. Mary went to town a while ago. She wondered if you’d like to go along, but you was too busy throwin’ lead and I wouldn’t go and get yuh--too dangerous.”

“I’d have been honored to go with her,” said Jim. “Sorry. When will she be back?”

“I dunno. She said she might go down and visit with Mrs. Voigt for a while; mebbe stay for supper--she didn’t know. Was McLean around, checkin’ up to find out who robbed him last night?”

“No, I don’t believe he was,” laughed Jim. “He said they did not get anything of value from his safe.”

“I jist wondered,” said Tellurium, and went into the house.

Jim sat there and thought it over. He knew that Tellurium and Archibald had gone to town last night. Could those two old timers have been one of the two pairs of masked men? It would be like them to do a thing like that, trying to help Mary Deal. But who were the other two, he wondered?

Mary Deal did not come home for supper, but no one was concerned. Tellurium sat up until midnight, waiting for her, but she did not come. Jim heard Tellurium moving about the main room and came out to see what was wrong. The old alarm clock on Jim’s dresser showed the time to be almost half-past twelve. Tellurium was standing at a window, peering out into the night.

“What is wrong?” asked Jim. The cook turned away from the window and looked at Jim.

“Mary ain’t home yet,” he said, a worried note in his voice. “She wouldn’t stay this late--alone--not unless she said she’d stay there all night.”

“What could happen to her?” asked Jim anxiously.

Tellurium shrugged. “_Quien sabe?_ Put on yore pants, kid, we’re headin’ for town--me and you.”

Tellurium hitched up the buckboard team, and they headed for Pinnacle City. Tellurium knew where the Voigt family lived; so he hammered on the door until Mrs. Voigt came. Mary had eaten supper with them, and had left about seven o’clock. She had said that she was going home.

It was too late to seek more information; so they drove back to the ranch, hoping that Mary might be home, but she was not; so Tellurium went to the bunk-house and awakened the boys. They all gathered in the main room, where they talked it over.

“She rode Irish,” said Tellurium. “He’d come home.”

The boys nodded.

“No one would harm Mary,” Tex Parker said.

“Maybe she fell off the horse, or was thrown,” suggested Jim.

“Mary is a good rider,” said Dell Howard, “and Irish never bucked in his life. Mary broke him thataway.”

“All right,” said Tex, “we’ve got to do somethin’. Tellurium, you and Jim stay here--the rest of us go to town. We’ll search along the road, and check on everybody in town. Somebody must have seen her after she left Voigt’s place. C’mon boys.”

They hurried out, heading for the stable.

“You might as well go to bed, Jim,” Tellurium said. “No use settin’ up.”

“This,” replied Jim, “is no time to sleep.”

* * * * *

It was a long night. Dell Howard and Buck Ives came back for breakfast and to see if Mary had returned.

“We can’t find any trace of her in Pinnacle City,” Dell told them. “We’re makin’ up two posses for the search.”

“I’m goin’ with yuh,” declared Tellurium. “I’d go crazy, not doin’ anythin’. Jim can take care of the ranch.”

“I’d like to go along,” said Jim.

“You’d do us more good right here,” said Dell.

The three of them rode away in a cloud of dust. Jim wandered around the place, not knowing what to do. Dell Howard had tossed the ranch mail on the table, and Jim glanced at it. There was a paper from Phoenix, a small mail-order catalogue, and one letter in a plain brown envelope. Jim looked at the name, a puzzled expression on his face. It was addressed to Jim Meade, care of the Lazy H, Pinnacle City, Arizona.

Slowly he opened it, wondering who would write him. Inside was a single sheet of soiled paper, on which had been written in ink, the letters faded;

YOU STICK ON THIS DEAL AS AGREED OR SHE WON’T NEVER COME BACK.

It was unsigned, undated. Jim sat down in a chair and stared at the open doorway, the paper clutched in his hand.

“Stick to the deal, or she won’t never come back,” he whispered. “That must be McLean’s work.”

He read the note again, holding it to the light, the ink was that weak. He heard a horse walking across the yard outside. He shoved the paper into his pocket and went to the doorway. It was Irish, Mary’s saddle-horse, the reins tied up. Irish nickered at him, and he went out to the animal, which seemed to be all right.

Jim tied Irish to the porch-rail and went into the house. He had no idea just what he was going to do, but he was going to do something. He put on those hated, high-heel boots, borrowed an old belt and holster, and buckled on his .41. Anything was better than sitting there at the ranch-house.

Mary’s stirrup leathers were too short, but luckily, they were of the buckle-type, and he was able to lengthen them. Irish didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the little bay gelding rubbed his nose against Jim’s elbow.

“You came home, Irish,” said Jim, “so why can’t you take me to Mary?”

The horse made no audible reply. Jim remembered that he had forgotten to load the gun, so he filled the cylinder with stub-nosed .41’s, replaced it in the holster, and headed down past the stable. He was going back the way he had gone when Blondy was shot. It might be the wrong way, but it was the only way he had ever traveled on a horse. Anyway, he reasoned, with the hills full of searching riders, one was as good as another.

It seemed that Mace Brown, the sheriff, had enlisted every rider in the country, split them into three sections, and given each one a certain territory. No one had any idea of what had happened to Mary, nor where to search. It was a blind trail, but the men were all anxious for action.

Ed McLean stood grimly in his office and watched the riders sweep out of Pinnacle City. He had been forced to play his ace-in-the-hole, and he wondered how Jim Bailey had reacted. He was sure they had left Bailey at the Lazy H, because he was not worth taking along on the search. There was not a scrap of evidence to connect McLean with the disappearance of Mary Deal and if the worst came to the worst--McLean shrugged. After all, he must protect himself. The court would consider that will tomorrow, and now he was very sure that Jim Bailey would not back out of his part in the deception.

There was only one angle that worried McLean and that was the possibility that Jim Bailey never received that letter. It was an annoying thought, and he finally decided to ride out to the Lazy H and have a few words with Bailey. He saddled his horse and rode out, only to find the ranch-house deserted. He went in and looked around. On the floor of the main room, near a table, was the opened envelope in which the note had been mailed.

McLean put the envelope in his pocket, a grin on his fat lips. No one would ever be able to identify the penciled writing on that envelope, and as far as the note was concerned, McLean was not afraid of that. After satisfying himself that no one was at the ranch, he rode back to Pinnacle City.

X

Near sunset, Jim Bailey began to take stock of his situation. He had ridden miles, but had not seen a human being and just now he had no idea where he was. He had lost all sense of direction, but strangely enough, was not worried. The fact that darkness comes swiftly after sundown had no terrors for him.

He rode along a cow-trail, angling up around the point of a hill, and saw a group of buildings below him. He drew up, partly screened by the tall brush. The place consisted of a roughly-built ranch-house, of two or three rooms, a series of tumble-down corrals and a huge, sway-backed stable. Two loose horses browsed around the littered yard.

As Jim looked the place over, two riders came in from behind the house, traveling slowly. Suddenly one of them pointed out past the stable. A moment later the other rider reined swiftly to the right and galloped down past the corrals and drew up in the heavy brush between Jim and the ranch-house. Jim could not see him, but sensed he had concealed himself. The other rider dismounted, dropped his reins to the ground and went into the house.

The actions of the two men seemed strange to Jim Bailey. In a few minutes five riders came in past the stable and drew up at the house. He saw the man come outside, bareheaded, and talk with them. After a short conversation he went back, got his hat, climbed into his saddle, and rode away with them.

Jim felt that these five men were one of the searching parties and that this man had joined them. But why did the other one hide from them, he wondered? After a few minutes he saw the other man ride back past the corrals, dismount at the house and go inside.

Jim decided not to go down there. He had noticed there was a road leading away from the ranch, and he surmised that it would lead to Pinnacle City. The man was in there quite a while, but finally came out, carrying a sizable bundle, which he tied on the back of his saddle. The man seemed to be keeping watch of the surroundings and after he mounted his horse he kept turning his head, looking things over.

Then he turned his horse and headed back the same way they had come to the ranch. Why Jim Bailey elected to follow this man, he had no idea. He rode off the point of the hill and swung in behind the horseman who rode slowly, but in the opposite direction from Pinnacle City.

Jim Bailey kept the man in sight through a long, brushy swale, following a well-used cow-trail. It was growing darker all the time, but he could still see the man after they went out of the swale. He was bearing off across rough country, and Jim was afraid he would lose track of him. He didn’t dare hurry. Objects became more indistinct, until suddenly he realized it was dark. The last he saw of the other rider, he was heading over some broken country, and holding a fairly straight line.

There was a full moon, but its effect was of little value this early in the evening. Jim stopped and tried to take stock of his position. After looking around he had no idea which way he had come. Irish was perfectly willing to rest.

“If we go on,” Jim said aloud, “we can’t be more lost than we are now. Just why I followed that man I don’t know, Irish. Well, he must have a destination in mind and that is what I need most right now--a destination.”

* * * * *

So Irish went on, dodging brush and piles of rock, circling brushy washouts, until Jim suddenly realized that he was on the rim of a mighty canyon. Far across the canyon he could see moonlight shining on the cliffs. Somewhere a coyote lifted its voice in displeasure, and Jim’s spine tickled a little. Another and still another added their voices, until they sounded like gabbling geese.

Jim turned Irish gently and started along the rim. Stunted pines and huge, gnarled manzanitas grew along the rim. The flinty rock scraped under Irish’s shod hoofs. Suddenly a horse nickered ahead. The animal was tied to a manzanita snag, standing full in the moonlight. It was the horse Jim had followed.

He rode into the shadow of some small pines and dismounted. He tied Irish securely and went back to the other horse. The rider was not there, but Jim found an old trail down the sharp side of the cliff. At that, it wasn’t much of a trail, but even in the moonlight he could see the fresh scrapes of boot-marks.

Jim looked the situation over carefully. Twenty feet down, the trail was in absolute darkness.

“Suppose Mary is down there,” he said to himself. “Suppose they hid her down there. Why would that man go down the trail, unless he had a very urgent reason--and what could the reason be? This man hid from the posse, while the other went along. That, in itself, looked suspicious.”

He looked at the moon, at the depths of the canyon, and added, half-aloud:

“While asking questions, Bailey--what in the devil are you doing up here--all alone--and lost?”

Shivering a little, he slid off the rim and started down the trail, leaning in against the bank, carefully digging his high-heels into the dirt and against the rocky projections. Jim Bailey was frightened. The light had gone now, and he had to go slowly, feeling his way. It seemed hours since he had left the rim. It was like going down a slanting ladder, feeling ahead for each rung. Something scraped against his cheek, and he stopped, groping around with his left hand. It was a rope.