Chapter XV: On the Cañon Rim

“Quit worryin’, son,” advised Goober, as they rode along the rusty old highway. “It’ll all turn out right.”

Hal shook his head. “It gets worse all the time, Mr. Glendon.”

“Worse?”

“You probably don’t know the inside of things,” said Hal hopelessly.

“No, that’s true--I don’t.”

“Well, I’m going to tell you something. Perhaps you’ll wonder why I tell you these things; but I can explain that, too. You know Mrs. Diaz?”

“Yeah, I knowed her a good many years.”

“She likes you.”

Johnny grunted quickly and looked at Goober, who coloured beneath his tan.

“Oh, I don’t mean it the way it sounded,” said Hal quickly. “She meant that you were on the square.”

“I’ll thank her for that,” grinned Goober.

“She’s fine,” continued Hal. “Comes from a good Mexican family. Mexican! What has race to do with it, anyway?”

“Do with what?” asked Goober.

“Marriage.”

“Hell, yo’re gettin’ me in deep water now, kid,” Goober protested.

“I beg your pardon--you don’t know what I mean. You see, my father shipped me down here to learn the cattle business. I suppose I was wild in town. I had too much money to spend. But that part doesn’t matter now. I came here and I met Juana Diaz. She was Sands’s girl--so he said. That wasn’t true. But Juana and I hit it off pretty well, and it made Sands mad. He made things miserable at the ranch for me; so I pulled out.

“It didn’t help Sands, as far as the girl was concerned; so he wrote lies to my father about me. That was why dad, mother and Betty came out here--to snatch a brand from the burning, as they say. I’m of age--but I never took advantage of that fact. I’m not ashamed to say that I wanted to marry Juana Diaz--and I’m going to do it.

“The night the folks came to Silver Bar, I rode over there with Jigger Slade, one of the Star A cow-punchers. I liked Slade better than any other man at the ranch. He was a little different--treated me as a man. I got blind drunk in Silver Bar that night. I didn’t know my folks were coming, although I feel now that Slade knew it. He merely said that some one was coming on the train, and he must be there. Perhaps you know what happened that night.”

“We were both there,” said Goober.

“You didn’t see the shooting?”

“No. We saw you, when the sheriff brought you into a saloon, and he told what happened.”

“All right--that’s fine. He said it was self-defence, and laid the blame on some cow-puncher from the Flask River country, because they didn’t want my father’s name connected with it. Did you see the body--examine it?”

“No, we didn’t examine it, Hal.”

“I wish you had. They made it self-defence--but Cal Sands--this is the awful part of it, Mr. Glendon: Cal Sands told my father that it wasn’t self-defence at all.”

“Said it wasn’t?”

“No. He said I shot Slade twice in the back--murdered him.”

“Hell’s delight!” exploded Johnny angrily. Goober pulled his hat a little lower over his eyes and lit a cigarette.

“That’s what Sands told my father, in my presence,” continued Hal.

“Branded yuh with murder before yore father, eh?” grunted Goober.

“Exactly. And,” bitterly, “as a mark of gratitude, I suppose, dad gave Sands a half interest in the Star A cattle outfit.”

“I heard about that,” Goober put in. “He must like Sands.”

“It would seem that way. They’ve not only branded me as a murderer, but they are trying to prevent my marrying Juana Diaz.”

“You wouldn’t marry her, with that hangin’ over yuh, anyway,” said Goober.

“Not if I thought for a minute I was guilty.”

“Yuh can’t prove yore innocence.”

“That is true,” Hal said bitterly. “But men who will lie about one thing will lie about another. The sheriff said Jigger Slade and I were both drunk and quarrelling.”

“Weren’t yuh?”

“I was drunk; I’ll admit that. But no man ever saw me quarrelsome when I’m drunk. I’ve never found any fighting whisky yet. But they overlooked one thing in their lies, Glendon--Slade never drank.”

“He didn’t?” Goober was keenly interested.

“Not a drop. Every time we bought a drink, Slade took a cigar. Ask any of the bartenders about it, and they’ll tell you Slade never drank.”

“That makes it kinda funny.”

“It does!” affirmed Hal.

“Was yore mother and sister comin’ down to Indian Wells to see you to-day?” Goober asked after a brief pause.

“Yes. You see, Mrs. Diaz said she would consent to Juana’s marrying me, if I got my father’s consent to the match. I knew I couldn’t get that. Dad is poison on a white person marrying a Mexican. You see, I hadn’t been out to the ranch to see mother and Betty; so I went out there and had a talk with them about it. Mother was dead against it, but she was willing to go to Indian Wells to meet Juana and her mother, and to talk things over.

“Dad came to the ranch, while I was there, and he almost exploded over their going to Indian Wells. He bawled me out plenty. You see, I told mother and Betty about the shooting in Silver Bar; so I had nothing to conceal. Dad was mad about that. He said I shouldn’t have told them. He tried to talk them out of coming to Indian Wells. I only wish he had. It is all my fault!”

“Forget that part,” advised Goober soothingly. “Didja know Terrill?”

“The--oh, I knew who he was, and I’ve seen him around Silver Bar.”

“Did he ever come over to the Star A?”

“Not while I was there. He was murdered, wasn’t he? I heard about it in Indian Wells.”

“Where was Jigger Slade from?”

“Northern Wyoming, he said.”

“Did he ever mention San Francisco?”

“No, I don’t believe he ever was down there.”

“Nobody ever said he might be a cattle detective, did they?”

“Why, no; was he?” Hal asked.

“I dunno. You know, yore father had the body shipped back to ’Frisco.”

“I didn’t know that. Could he have been a detective, I wonder? Do you suppose he was, and that he wanted to meet that train--to meet dad?”

“The Star A has lost quite a lot of cattle and horses, I understand.”

“Sands said they had--lost some.”

“Well, you quit worryin’. Keep yore ears and eyes open. Everything will be all right, kid; jist set tight.”

Frank Austin and Cal Sands rode slowly back toward Keno City. Austin was positive that the women were being held for ransom, but Sands had little to say about it.

“Too bad about poor Riecho,” said Austin sadly. “Do you suppose the same men tried to kill Glendon, Cal?”

“It’s likely,” growled Sands.

“For a while I was afraid Dave and Hank had double crossed us,” said Austin.

“They wouldn’t.”

Austin hadn’t seen the two men. Sands had ridden up the mouth of the cañon and told them about what had happened, and rejoined Austin further down the road.

“They heard the shots, eh?” asked Austin.

“Sure. It worried them a lot. They’re probably back at the ranch now. I told ’em to cut a wide circle and dodge everybody, ’cause it might be hard for them to explain bein’ down that far at that time.”

“That’s true. What about that cheque I gave Riecho? If the sheriff finds it, he might wonder about my giving him that much money.”

“Pete La Plante is not a detective, Frank; don’t worry about that. If he asks about it, which he won’t, we can say you paid off yore losses in a poker game.”

“That’s a good alibi,” Austin said thoughtfully. “I told all three of them to be sure and cash the cheques in Silver Bar. They wouldn’t question my cheques.”

“Don’t worry about that part of it; and those boys won’t talk.”

“I hope not, Cal.”

“I know ’em pretty well. To-morrow you stay at the ranch, in case any word is brought in. I’ll take the two boys and investigate a few places back in the hills around Silver Bar. Later they can get those cheques cashed in Silver Bar.”

“All right; that might be a good scheme. But why not take the sheriff with you?”

“Don’t need him, Frank. Three of us can handle anythin’ that might come up.”

“Well,” dubiously, “go careful, Cal. We can’t take any chances on the kidnappers injuring my wife and daughter. They might, you know, if they saw that the game was all up with them.”

“I’ll handle all that, Frank.”

“I know you will,” sighed Austin. “If I didn’t think I could trust you, I’d never have made you my partner.”

Goober and Johnny browsed around Indian Wells until late in the evening, and rode back to Keno City. They did not see Hal after he had talked with Juana and her mother, but Hal’s story had given Goober plenty of food for thought. Keno City was excited over the killing and the disappearance of the two women, but Goober and Johnny arrived too late to hear much of the talk, and they left town again early in the morning. Goober showed Johnny the diamond ring and told him about the cheque.

“It’s a cinch that Tony Riecho was one of the two men who held up the stage that mornin’ and robbed the women--but what was the cheque for?” Goober puzzled. “This case grows angles every day.”

“Are yuh goin’ to give the ring to the sheriff?” asked Johnny.

“Might as well, I suppose--but not yet.”

They were out where the road forked to the 7 Bar 7 early that morning, and rode on to a point where they could watch the old ranch house. They tied their horses out of sight and sprawled on a rocky point, not more than three hundred yards from the ranch house. Smoke poured from the stovepipe in the kitchen, indicating that some one was preparing breakfast. About fifteen minutes after they began their vigil, two men came from the rear of the house and went down to the stable.

“That would be Shafer and Blewett,” said Goober. “Wish I had a pair of glasses.”

Ten minutes later the two 7 Bar 7 hands rode away from the ranch, going north; and as soon as they went out of sight Goober and Johnny went down and investigated the house, which was unlocked. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, they got on their horses and rode north.

“Do yuh figure these two men know anythin’ about the women?” queried Johnny, as they skirted along the side of a swale and headed for higher ground.

“Yuh can’t overlook any bets,” replied Goober. “I don’t like the looks of this outfit. Terrill was a sure enough crook, and he never worked with honest men. He--oho! Set still!”

A lone horseman was cutting along the side of a hill above them, too far away for them to identify him. He was also working north. They let him top the hill and disappear, before they continued.

“That’s three ahead of us,” mused Goober aloud.

“What’s yore main idea of follerin’ ’em?” queried Johnny.

“Suspicion. Terrill was too crooked to hire anybody except crooks. With Terrill dead, why would these two cow-pokes keep on workin’? Nobody to pay salaries. Where’d they be goin’ this early in the mornin’? Mebbe I’m loco, but I’d like to make a bet that they’re not on an honest job.”

“What about this third person, Goober?”

“He can be one of three things; one of their gang, trying to catch up with ’em; somebody trailin’ ’em, like we are; or some ordinary puncher, ridin’ about his business. Anyway, we’ll mosey along and see what we can see. Keep yore eyes open, pardner, and remember that they’ve tried twice to tear the end off my earthly envelope.”

“Do yuh still think Terrill shot yuh in the belt-buckle?”

Goober laughed shortly. “I’ll give him credit, until I find a better candidate.”

They kept on over the hill, watching closely. It was unfamiliar country to both of them. The hills were higher over here, the cañons deeper, than over around Keno City. Most of the way they were obliged to stay on the ridges but finally struck a sloping mesa, through which angled a fairly wide cañon which seemed to open wide on the flatter range a couple of miles to the eastward. From there they struck the cañon rim where they were able to follow its course in that direction.

The sides were nearly perpendicular, possibly a hundred and fifty feet deep at this point, but seemed to deepen farther on. They rode along this rim for about a mile, until they came to an abrupt angle, where the cañon ran south-west, apparently sprangling out in several smaller cañons. Goober dismounted and stepped over to the rim, where he squatted on his heels and looked things over.

“She’s a box cañon with a blind end,” he told Johnny. “Looks as though there’s a sheer drop of a hundred feet or so below the junction of all them little cañons. Yuh can’t see much of the cañon below here on account of the trees.” He came back and mounted his horse.

“We’ll circle the heads of these little cañons and come back on the other side. There’s a clear rim over across there and no trees.”

“Do yuh reckon them fellers would go into a blind cañon?” asked Johnny.

“I dunno about that. This hill slopes all the way back to the main range, and I don’t believe they headed up there. We can swing back along the other rim, and if we don’t find a place to cross, we can foller her down to the flat range and head for Silver Bar from there.”

Johnny nodded, and they began cutting around the heads of the brushy little cañons, following an age-old cattle trail. There were no horse tracks in the trail. They were obliged to take a much longer circle than they had thought necessary, due to a deep erosion caused by a cloudburst at some remote time, and it was nearly an hour later when they reached the rim opposite the place where they had decided to make the circle.

Dismounting some distance from the rim, they walked out carefully to the edge and knelt down. It was at least three hundred feet to the bottom of the cañon, almost a sheer drop, and they were almost over its blind end.

Both men grunted simultaneously. Not over two hundred yards down the cañon from the blind end, concealed entirely from any one on the west rim, and probably from any place on the east rim, except the very spot where Goober and Johnny were crouched, was a rather large pole corral, built in against the west wall, and in the corral were thirty or forty horses. Coming up the bottom of the cañon were the two horsemen who had left the 7 Bar 7 ranch house that morning. Goober and Johnny instinctively drew back from the rim, realising that they were silhouetted against the sky for any one down in the cañon at that distance. They sprawled flat on the edge, hats off.

The two horsemen came on to the corral, where they dismounted, climbed up on the fence, where they humped together, apparently looking at the horses.

“What do yuh make of it?” asked Johnny. Goober grinned and again expressed the wish that he had a pair of binoculars. “Betcha forty dollars that them are Star A horses,” he said. “What a place to hold stolen stock! See that green stuff. Betcha there’s plenty water right in the corral. Two men could let ’em out to feed in the cañon, and never lose a horse. What a place!”

“Here comes the third man,” said Johnny. “Look away down the cañon, where yuh see that big bunch of willers. He’s headin’ this way.”

“I can see him now. Betcha he’s one of the gang, or he wouldn’t be comin’ along so bold. I tell yuh we’ve----”

Goober’s remark was broken off abruptly, when the stillness was shattered by the echoing crash of a rifle shot, magnified many times, and flung back and forth from the cañon walls until it sounded like a dozen shots.

One of the men pitched forward off the corral fence, his foot catching between the poles, where he hung suspended by one leg. The other one jumped down, sprang for his horse and tried to mount. The shots and their echoes were coming in a continuous roar now. The horse went down, throwing the man to his knees.

He was up, staggering around, trying to fight his way along the fence; trying to reach the cover of the brush. And then it seemed that a whole volley struck him at once, spinning him around, crashing him against the fence; and he went down in a limp huddle.

“Gawd’s sake!” blurted Johnny. “Both of ’em riddled. They’re bein’ sure the one hangin’ on the fence is dead. Them shooters ain’t more’n a couple hundred yards below us,” he added hoarsely. “Down there along this same rim. If they come this way, they can’t miss seein’ us.”

“That’s right. C’mon.”

They scuttled back toward their horses and dropped in behind a clump of brush and rocks.

“We’re close enough to the horses now for six-gun work,” grunted Goober.

They had been there about ten minutes, when from far down the cañon came the echo-rousing report of another shot. They held their position for possibly another fifteen minutes, before they went back to their horses. Riding cautiously along the rim, they found the spot from which the shots had been fired. It was almost directly above the corral. Goober picked up a dozen empty 30-30 cartridges and put them in his pocket.

They sat there a while, but finally retraced their way around to the west side again. This time they kept in closer to the rim, watching for a trail which might lead to the bottom of the cañon. They found it about a hundred yards below where they had first come to the rim; a trail so well concealed that they might have passed it, except that Goober’s horse swung his head toward the rim, snorted explosively and stepped aside.

“Another dead man!” exclaimed Goober, checking his horse quickly.

They both dismounted, after making a complete scrutiny of the surrounding country. The man was lying on his face, almost concealed in some tiny jackpines on the rim. Within ten feet of him was the top of a trail, which led down the side of the cañon, masked by a few larger jackpines.

Goober turned the man over and grunted with surprise. It was Nolan, the sheriff of Silver Bar, and a gory stain just above the left-hand pocket of his faded shirt told the story. It had been a dead-centre shot, probably fired by a concealed assailant, as Nolan topped the rim of the cañon. In Nolan’s hip pocket was a huge red handkerchief, which Goober hung flag-like on the top of the tallest jackpine.