Part 6

It was larger than an ordinary lariat, and he was able to discover that it was tied around some sort of an old snag. Cautiously he investigated. Just below him the trail broke almost sheer. Evidently the rope was there to help men go down the impossible part of that trail. Below was only a dark mass, like a lot of houses piled on top of each other.

Jim took a deep breath, grasped the rope tightly, turned around and went down slowly, his feet seeking purchase on the side of the wall. It was hard on his hands, that rough rope, but he was making progress slowly. He had gone down about a dozen feet, when he felt a heavy tug on the rope. He thought for a moment that he had been discovered, but a continuous tugging indicated that someone was coming up the rope. Jim thought wildly of trying to go back, but it was impossible. One of his flailing legs caught around the rope, giving it one turn, and he started down fast. The rope burned his hands, but he didn’t even feel it. Suddenly he crashed into somebody.

The rest of the descent was rather hazy for Jim Bailey. He lost control of the rope with his left hand, his right was jerked loose and he went into space for a few feet, landing in sliding rubble, to bring up sharply on a smooth space, against a rock.

All he had heard from the other man was a startled curse when he had crashed into him, but he knew the other was not far away. Jim realized he had cut his cheek, because the blood was trickling into his mouth, and his hands felt as though they had been burned. Still he was sure no bones had been broken.

* * * * *

But Jim Bailey stayed put. He was in a dark corner and he was not going to move until the other man started something. His gun had stayed in his holster, and now he took it out. The feel of that gun was reassuring, even if he knew he couldn’t hit anything with it.

Then he heard the other man off to his right. He was cursing in an undertone, his rough clothes rasping against rock. Then he lifted his voice to a conversational level and said:

“Who is it? _Quien es?_”

Jim did not answer. The man cursed some more, flinging rocks into the dark spots. One barely missed Jim’s head, and it made him mad. He picked up a shattered part of the rock and flung it back at the man. Judging from the response, it must have registered, but the man wasn’t sure from what direction it had come.

“Come out of there, or I’ll kill yuh!” rasped the man.

Jim thought he had been seen, but a moment later the man fired a shot, almost at right-angles to where Jim was hidden. The man was evidently searching out the darkest spots for his bullets. Jim hunched lower, the old .41 gripped in both hands.

_Wham!_ The man fired again and the bullet smashed into the rocks almost directly behind Jim, who swung the muzzle of his gun, shut his eyes and yanked the trigger. The .41 blasted flame, almost jumped out of Jim’s two-handed grip, and the hidden man yelped, either in pain or surprise.

“Don’t tell me I hit something!” exclaimed Jim, aloud.

The man didn’t say; he was cursing bitterly, and Jim heard him rasping around over the rocks. Anyway, he wasn’t doing any more shooting. Jim eased his position cautiously, watching further up the rocks, where the moonlight streaked them with blue. From the sounds it seemed as though the man was trying to get away.

Jim suddenly realized that if his enemy were able to get back to that rope, and climb up to the trail, he might take the rope along. Without the rope it might be impossible ever to get back to the rim. The thought made him panicky for a moment, and he crawled out into the moonlit strip. But nothing happened.

Trying to find his way back, he almost went over the sheer edge of the cliff. Peering down, he could see, possibly a hundred feet below, to where the moonlight streaked the rocks. He edged his way back and a loose rock, the size of a football, crashed beside him. Several pieces banged into him, but not against his head. Quickly he slid into the heavy shadow again, thankful to be alive, but realizing that the other man was above him now.

Jim worked cautiously now. He could hear the man once in a while, but was unable to locate him exactly. Jim suddenly realized how tired he was. His face was swollen, his hands swollen too, and he had bruises too numerous to mention. He found loose rock, which gave under his knees as he crawled carefully upward. He remembered that he had landed in loose rock and dirt. Perhaps this was the place.

Above him he could hear the rasp and scrape of what sounded like someone sliding on rock. He stood up, and something brushed his arm. It was the rope again. He grabbed for it, but it was yanked out of his hands. The man had reached the trail and taken the rope.

In sudden desperation Jim braced against the wall, cocked his gun, gripped it in both hands and shot almost straight up. There was no target, nothing to shoot at. He jerked back, losing his footing for the moment, and a fraction of a second later a heavy object crashed into him, and his consciousness went out in a shower of shooting stars.

XI

He had no idea how long he was unconscious, except that the angle of the moonlight had changed. He sat up, trying to remember where he was. It was very confusing for a while, until memory came back. There was a cut on his head, and a numb feeling in his legs, but the numbness was caused by the twisted position he had occupied for an uncertain length of time.

After a while he was able to move around, and he decided that no bones were broken. Just below him on a moonlit ledge was a bright object, which turned out to be a perfectly good six-shooter, three chambers loaded. To the right was the edge of the cliff, where he had almost fallen in the darkness. Suddenly he realized that the man had fallen from the trail, crashed into him and gone over the edge.

It was a sickening thought, realizing he had shot a man. He went slowly back on the ledge. The moonlight illuminated it now, and he stood looking at it. He remembered something about the ancient cliff dwellers, and wondered if this was one of the places where they had lived. Some of the ancient walls were still there. He crawled through a broken place and into what might have been another room of the dwelling.

Full in the moonlight, sitting against the wall, gagged and blindfolded, her arms and legs tied, sat Mary Deal. Very little of her face was visible, but Jim knew who she was. Clumsily he took away the bandages and ropes. His hands were too swollen to let him work fast or surely.

“How are you, Mary?” he asked.

But Mary wasn’t able to answer, because her jaws were cramped. He could see the moonlight glitter on the tears down her cheeks, and he said, “Well, my gosh.”

She was trying to rub her jaw with her hands, but her hands wouldn’t work. Jim helped her, carefully massaging her jaw, until she could speak.

“I’m all right, Jim,” she said huskily.

But she wasn’t all right. Returning circulation is painful. Jim rubbed her hands and fingers.

“Where did you come from?” she asked.

“The ranch,” he replied. “I know where I came from, but I do not know where I am.”

“This is Destruction Canyon, Jim. The deepest in the country.”

“It looks deep,” he said. “Did they hurt you?”

“No--not much. What became of that man? I heard shots--”

“I shot him,” said Jim simply.

“You shot him?” Her tone was incredulous.

“Accidentally--but with certain intentions,” he said. “You see, he was up on the trail, trying to take the rope away; so I--I sort of shot up the rope, as you might say. He fell into the canyon. Do you know who he was, Mary?”

“No. They caught me just outside town in the dark. They blindfolded me and put a cloth in my mouth. I remember that rope. They tied it under my arms and let me down here. But how did you find me, Jim--you of all people?”

“Irish came home,” he said. “They all went hunting you and left me at the ranch; so I rode Irish. We followed that man.”

“They are hunting for me?” she asked.

“Every man in the country. What is in that sack?”

Mary didn’t know. Jim dumped the contents and found that it was food--canned food and some cold biscuits.

“I haven’t eaten since last night,” Mary said. “Maybe they were going to feed me. But, Jim, what do they think became of me?”

“They don’t know, Mary--but I did. I’ll show you something.”

He took the letter from his pocket, spread it flat and lighted a match. The paper was bare of any marks. Jim stared at it until the match burned his fingers.

“I don’t understand,” Mary said.

“I do,” said Jim wearily. “They used disappearing ink.”

“But what was it all about?” asked Mary. “You said you knew what became of me--”

“I--I didn’t know what--I only knew why, Mary. I’ve got to tell you. My name is Jim Bailey--not Jim Meade.”

“Jim Bailey? Why--I thought you--”

“I know. Listen Mary--I’ll tell you the story. I’m not a bit proud. I didn’t know you might get hurt. That wasn’t in the deal but I can see why it was done.”

* * * * *

And then Jim Bailey, hunched on part of the doorway of an ancient and departed race, told Mary Deal the whole tale, beginning in San Francisco, with Cliff De Haven and Bob Hawley, and extending up to the time he left the Lazy H ranch-house on Mary’s own horse. Jim did not spare himself, he told it all.

Mary didn’t interrupt him once. When he had finished, she said:

“Jim, it is almost morning; we’d better get out of here--if we can.”

“Don’t you want to eat something, Mary?”

“Not now--we have to hurry--before that other man comes here.”

“That’s right,” agreed Jim. “I can’t hit a thing in the daylight.”

They managed to find their way back to the rope. The light was better, and the climb did not look nearly as formidable as it did in the darkness. Mary went first, clinging to the rope, hooking her feet over the projections, until she swung up beside the old snag, out of breath, but safe. Jim’s hands were in no shape to handle that rope, but he managed to get up there, ready to collapse. They rested a while, before climbing to the top.

“Your hands are bleeding, Jim! Oh, I didn’t notice them before. And your face is swollen!”

“I’m all right,” said Jim wearily. “I’m alive and you’re alive--and that is really something.”

“Something I didn’t expect,” said Mary quietly. “Look, Jim! The east is rosy. It will soon be full daylight.”

“We better get to the top, Mary.”

There was still a steep, dangerous climb, but they didn’t mind it, until they reached the top, when their knees went weak, as they looked back down the cliffs. Irish was there, and so was the other man’s horse.

“You better ride Irish, Jim,” Mary said, “we don’t know the other one.”

Jim laughed weakly. “Listen, woman,” he drawled, imitating Archibald and Cactus Spears, “I can ride anythin’ on four laigs. Lemme at him.”

The horse snorted at Jim as he started to untie him. Suddenly Mary yelled a warning and Jim whirled. A horseman was coming down through the rocks near the rim, not over fifty yards away. He saw them and jerked up quickly.

Jim Bailey had two guns now, but he drew the one he had found. The rider fired one shot, and barked the tree to which the horse was tied, missing Jim Bailey’s head by three feet.

Then Jim Bailey fired--fired with one hand--his eyes open. The rider jerked back in his saddle, the horse swung sharply and the rider dropped his gun, grabbing at the saddle horn, as he spurred his horse savagely. A moment later he was gone, racing back along the rim.

“No!” exclaimed Jim Bailey in amazement. “I can’t believe it!”

“You hit him!” exclaimed Mary.

“Yeah!” breathed Jim Bailey. “You know, Mary--I was shooting at the wrong kind of targets--tin cans.”

Jim had a little trouble in mounting, but he made it, and drew up the horse sharply.

“Do you know the way to Pinnacle City?” he asked.

“We are going to the ranch,” she said sharply. “You must have those hands fixed up.”

“We are going to Pinnacle City,” he declared soberly. “I want to look at buildings--a street--people. Not only that, but I’m due in court to prove who I am. You lead the way.”

“Yessir,” she said soberly. “Follow me, please.”

* * * * *

The three groups of riders, out searching all night, were back at Pinnacle City eating breakfast, tired and discouraged. They were finishing breakfast when Tellurium and Archibald came in from the Lazy H. Tellurium shook his head sadly, in answer to their unspoken question. Archibald said wearily:

“That blamed dude ain’t even there. He ain’t been there all night either, ’cause no bed has been slept in.”

“My gosh, have we lost him, too?” asked Cactus.

Tex Parker said, “What horse did he take?”

“None I reckon,” replied Tellurium. “Ain’t no saddle missing, Tex.”

Ed McLean joined them and heard them discussing Jim Bailey. It was almost time for the court to open. McLean’s eyes were a bit bleak, as he said to Tex Parker:

“Where would Jim Meade go, Tex?”

Tex shook his head. Skeeter Smith smiled wearily.

“You may not have a candidate for the Lazy H, McLean,” he said.

McLean turned away and walked toward the frame building, which housed the court of Pinnacle City. The men looked curiously at Skeeter.

“What did yuh mean, Skeet?” Cactus asked.

“They’re probatin’ that Haverty will this mornin’, Cactus.”

Cactus nodded. The men were all too tired to care much. They stood around, waiting for the sheriff to suggest their next move.

“Boys,” he finally said, “I don’t know what to do next. We’ve covered every likely place, and--” Mace Adams stopped, staring up the street, where a lone rider had appeared. He seemed to be sitting drunkenly in his saddle, as he came slowly into town.

“That’s Ace Haverty!” exclaimed Cactus. “He wasn’t drunk, when he left us last night.”

“This mornin’,” corrected the sheriff.

Ace Haverty pulled up in front of the court-house, tried to get out of his saddle and fell off into the dirt. He staggered to his feet and headed for the door of the court house.

“That’s queer,” declared the sheriff. “We better find out--”

Ace had trouble, trying to open the door. The men came in behind him, and he snarled:

“Keep away from me--I’ll kill yuh!”

“He’s been shot!” whispered someone.

There were several men in the big court-room. The elderly judge was at his desk, and McLean was with him, talking fast, asking the judge to postpone probating the will, while he looked for Jim Meade, who had disappeared. Then the door was flung open and Ace Haverty staggered in. His left shoulder and arm were blood-caked, his knees rubbery, as he came haltingly toward the judge’s desk.

“What in the name of heaven!” gasped the judge.

Ace Haverty tried to say something, tried to hold his balance, but suddenly collapsed in front of the desk. The men were crowding in through the doorway. McLean’s face was the color of wood-ashes, as he stared from Ace Haverty to the crowd.

From outside came a shrill yell.

“Here’s Mary Deal and the tenderfoot!”

McLean’s move was totally unexpected. He whirled, leaped to an open window, which opened on the main street, and dived through it like a trained dog going through a hoop. He landed on his hands and knees on the sidewalk, rolled into the dusty street, and landed against the legs of Jim Bailey, who had just dismounted. The horse whirled away, but Jim Bailey fell on top of the lawyer. A moment later Jim Bailey had a tight grip on McLean’s two ears and was bouncing his face up and down in the dust.

Then strong arms reached through the dust cloud, lifted Jim Bailey away, picked up the choking lawyer and carried him into the court house. Jim Bailey followed them in. Mary was there, and everybody was trying to talk at once.

McLean, half-choked from the dust, pointed a shaking finger at Jim Bailey and spluttered:

“He’s a liar! That man is an impostor! Arrest--”

“Shut up!” snapped the sheriff. “Stop the noise! Let’s get some sense out of this. Mary, what happened to you? The rest of yuh shut up and let her tell it.”

* * * * *

Mary told them all about it. She told them how Jim Bailey found her, fought with an unknown man on the cliff and what he told her about himself. The crowd was silent, until Tellurium came galloping through the doorway, waving a piece of paper.

“Look at this, will yuh?” he yelled. “I--I just found it! It’s Clint Haverty’s own writin’. It’s what he told McLean to put in the will! I had it in my pocket and-- Whoa, Blaze!”

“You dirty thief!” screamed the lawyer. “You held me up! You--” McLean stopped short, his eyes blinking tearfully.

“Let me see that, Mr. Woods,” said the judge.

Tellurium handed it to the judge, who peered at it closely.

“This is Clinton Haverty’s writing,” he said. “It appears to be instructions regarding his will. It says, ‘Give Tex Parker one thousand dollars, Tellurium and Archibald five hundred apiece, one dollar each to Ace and Dick Haverty. The rest of the Lazy H I wish to give to Mary Deal. This includes the ranch, stock and everything I own, including any money in the bank. That covers it. Make it up like this right away.’”

The judge looked up at the crowd and said, “It is signed by Clint Haverty, gentlemen. Mr. McLean, what do you know about this paper?”

McLean shook his head.

“Judge, the man lies,” Skeeter Smith said. “He worked with Ace and Dick Haverty, robbin’ the Lazy H. They robbed the stage and took registered mail, and they held up the bank and killed Mr. Estabrook!”

“I didn’t!” husked McLean. “Those two ignorant fools took the mail. I told them--they tried to rob the bank and--”

“Thank you, McLean,” smiled Skeeter. “I had the deadwood on yuh for alterin’ the Lazy H to the Box Four H, but I had to have you tell me about the mail robbery. I figured out the brand deal right away, and I suspected the mail robbery, but I had to wait for it to stew a while.”

The judge fixed a baleful eye on Jim Bailey. “Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Not a thing, Judge,” replied Jim wearily. “I admit everything. I told McLean I would not go through with the deception; so he had Mary Deal kidnapped to force me to appear. You see, Judge, after Mary disappeared, I received a note, saying that if I did not go through with my agreement, she would never come back.”

“Have you that note, sir?”

Jim Bailey smiled and drew a paper from his pocket.

“It was written in disappearing ink, Judge--here is the paper.”

The judge examined the paper and placed it on his desk.

“Young man, do you admit that you are not Jim Meade?”

“I insist that I am not, Judge.”

“The kid is all right, Judge,” said Skeeter Smith. “He started wrong, but he’s all right now. McLean saw a chance to steal the Lazy H. Haverty’s eyesight was bad, so McLean shuffled the wills, and tricked Haverty into signing the one he made to suit his own needs, givin’ the Lazy H to Jim Meade, instead of to Mary Deal. Yuh see, Judge, I knew all the time that this boy was not Jim Meade.”

“You knew it all the time, sir? And just how did you know that this boy was not Jim Meade?”

Skeeter smiled. “Because I am Jim Meade, Judge. A few years ago I was reported killed in an explosion.”

“I see. So you are Jim Meade. Well, I--isn’t it rather coincidental that you should come here at this particular time, sir?”

“Not exactly, Judge,” smiled Skeeter. “You see, I am a deputy U. S. Marshal, sent here to investigate that mail robbery, but I use the name of Smith, especially when I smell a rat.”

* * * * *

Mace Adams snapped handcuffs on McLean who stared at them with stony eyes.

Tellurium said, “And they say the kid shot both of the Haverty boys. Seein’ is believin’ on my part--I saw what he didn’t do to a tin can. Why don’t somebody get a doctor for Ace Haverty--he ain’t dead. C’mon, Jim--I’m takin’ you out to the ranch, where I can fix yuh up with some horse-liniment.”

Jim shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tellurium,” he said, “the masquerade is over. I won’t be going out to the ranch again.”

Jim Bailey limped toward the doorway, going out alone. No one said anything, but they looked at Mary, who got to her feet and limped after him. They disappeared outside.

“I ain’t no bettin’ man,” Archibald Haas said, “but I’ll bet a dollar agin a bent-nail that he goes out to the Lazy H again.”

Skeeter and Tex Parker stepped over to the open window, where McLean had done his high-dive. Mary and Jim were only a few feet away, facing each other.

Jim said, “But, Mary, I’m a cheat. I’ve lied to everybody. I’m just a no-good hound. And you--”

“I’m glad you realize it,” said Mary soberly. “You said that love had to be honest--and you are honest, Jim.”

“Anybody want to take m’ bet?” asked Archibald.

Skeeter and Tex turned away from the window, and Skeeter said seriously:

“I don’t like to ruin what looks like a good bet, boys, but keep yore bent nails in yore pockets.”

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the Spring, 1948 issue of _Giant Western_ magazine.]