Chapter VIII

At the request of relatives the body of Thomas Estabrook was shipped to Philadelphia. The incoming head of the Cattlemen’s Bank was James Wells, a new man to the country. Ed McLean, still suffering from a sore nose and outraged feelings, lost no time in taking up the matter of the Haverty will with the new banker. Wells, naturally, had no suspicions, and McLean was very persuasive. Wells said he was willing to leave everything to the court and McLean breathed easier.

However, McLean was far from satisfied with the way things were going. Jim Bailey had proved belligerent and Skeeter Smith had thrown a monkeywrench into McLean’s machinery. Between the two of them it would seem that McLean could expect very little from the Lazy H.

There was some small activity around the Lazy H that morning. Mary was upstairs, watching through a window, while Tellurium and Archibald were safely ensconced in the kitchen. Sitting on a corral fence near the stable were Jim Bailey and Cactus Spears. Jim was examining an old Colt .41, with a sicklebill handle, and Cactus was patiently explaining the deal.

“It’ll cost yuh twenty dollars, but I’m willin’ to wait for my money, until yuh--until the court passes judgment on yuh, if yuh live that long. Anyway, I’d get the gun back--I hope.”

“What do you mean--if I live that long, Cactus?”

“The way you’ve been handlin’ that hog-leg would indicate a awful sudden de-mise for you--or somebody.”

“I can learn, can’t I?” asked Jim.

“Do you know what a moot is?” asked Cactus soberly.

“A moot? No, I don’t believe I do, Cactus.”

“Well, this is a moot question. You’ve got a long ways t’ go, before you ain’t a menace to yourself. After that, yo’re a menace to everybody else.”

“I want to learn how to handle a gun,” sighed Jim. “I feel it is necessary, Cactus.”

“All right, we’ll try her again. You don’t shoot with both hands. If that was the right way, they’d put two handles on it. That there thing is the hammer. That point on the face of it is supposed to puncture the cap on the shell, not yore left thumbnail, as heretofore demonstrated.

“That doo-jingus under there is the trigger. Yuh don’t _yank_ it. Now, let’s get together on it. Go ahead and cock it. He-e-ey! Don’t point it at my knee! That’s better. Now it’s cocked. Grip it in yore right hand. That’s right. Now, yuh place the first finger of yore right hand around the trigger and--”

_Wham!_ Part of Cactus’ left heel disappeared, the gun bucked out of Jim’s hand and fell behind him and Cactus Spears swiftly bow-legged his way toward the house and safety!

“Come back here and show me something!” called Jim, but Cactus merely flinched and kept on going into the kitchen.

“I hope yo’re satisfied!” barked Tellurium. “Git away from that door--it’s thin wood!”

“Look at m’ boot-heel!” complained Cactus.

“Too bad it wasn’t yore head,” said Tellurium. “Bringin’ a gun out to that kid! He can’t shoot.”

Jim Bailey came up and peered through the window at them.

“Git away from there, you--you menace!” howled Archibald, grabbing at the curtain.

“I can’t shoot any more--this gun is empty,” called Jim.

“Good!” breathed Cactus. “He shot twice accidently and three times unconsciously. One thing--he ain’t scared of the gun.”

“I suppose yuh call that a virtue!” snorted Tellurium. “I was out there, cuttin’ wood, and that first bullet hit the axe.”

“I done told him to select a simple target for his first shot,” sighed Cactus.

“Yuh mean--he was really shootin’ _at_ Tellurium?” gasped Archibald.

“That’s enough out of you!” snorted Tellurium. “You was scared so bad yuh ate two yeast-cakes, thinkin’ they was crackers!”

“I thought they tasted kinda fuzzy. They won’t hurt me, will they?”

“Keep out of the sun,” advised Tellurium. “If they ever get heated up and start to raise--you better tie yore feet down.”

* * * * *

Jim walked around and sat down on the porch, placing the gun beside him. Mary came out, and he smiled at her.

“Lesson over, Jim?” she asked.

“I ran out of ammunition--and instructors,” he replied. “I am not what you would call an apt pupil, Mary.”

“You will learn,” she said encouragingly.

“I doubt it. I never do anything well. In fact, all I know is how to keep a set of books and not too well, at that. Out here, all that seems so far away and hazy, like something you dream and try to remember.”

“Don’t you love it out here?” she asked.

“Love?” Jim smiled slowly. “No, I can’t say I do. I don’t fit in, Mary. You see, at first I thought most everybody out here was rather dumb. When I try to do the things that they do, I know I am the dumb one.”

“You’ll learn, Jim,” she said quietly. “After you have owned the Lazy H for a while, you wouldn’t trade one little dogie for a whole city. You’ll never want to go back there.”

Jim shook his head slowly. “I don’t understand you, Mary. You will be the only one really to suffer, and still you don’t resent me. Everybody else resents me.”

“Why should I?” she asked. “It isn’t my ranch.”

“But don’t you resent the fact that--that Clint Haverty did not leave you anything?”

“No, Jim, it is not resentment. It hurt a little--at first.”

“You’re a mighty sweet girl,” said Jim slowly, but he did not look at her as he said it. “I think you are the sweetest girl I have ever known. I’ve always been afraid of girls--but I’m not afraid of you.”

There was a chuckle in Mary’s voice as she said:

“You’re not trying to make love to me, are you, Jim?”

“No,” replied Jim, getting to his feet. “I--I couldn’t do that. I guess I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you. I don’t know anything about love--except that it should be honest.”

Then he walked off the porch and went down to the stable. Tellurium came out cautiously and squinted at his back.

“He didn’t find no more shells, did he, Mary?” asked the cook.

“I don’t think so, Tellurium; there’s his gun on the porch.”

“He ain’t such a bad feller, Mary,” remarked the cook. “I don’t reckon he’d hurt anybody intentionally, but, man, what he’d do to yuh accidently! I’d better put that gun away before he finds some more shells. He’s got more, ’cause Cactus gave him almost a full box.”

“I’m sure Jim will be careful next time, Tellurium.”

“He will, huh? Listen, my dear, if he was jist six times more careful next time, there wouldn’t be enough of us left to go to the polls next election. What he needs is a pea-shooter with a busted spring.”

Archibald found a quart of hard liquor hidden in the oat-box at the stable that afternoon. Some one of the cowpokes had cached it there, but Archibald wasn’t choosey. He took his liquor where he found it. Then he notified Tellurium and they went down to the stable and sat on the oat-box. They didn’t need anything for a chaser. After a few drinks Tellurium said thoughtfully:

“Archie, I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’ f’r myself.”

“Gettin’ yore brain all wrinkled, huh?” remarked Archie, who was not interested in Tellurium’s conclusions. “Hit her again, she’s still a-standin’ up.”

* * * * *

They had another drink.

“Yuh know, Archie,” Tellurium said, “I’ve been cogitatin’ to myself. Why didn’t Clint leave somethin’ to Mary? Don’t answer that--you’ll only confuse me. He loved her like a daughter, and you know it.”

“What’r yuh tryin’ t’ do--make me cry?”

“I’m tryin’ to make yuh understand, Archie. There’s been crooked work done. What’d Clint care about this young gallinipper? Why, he never seen Jim Meade in his life. Archie,” Tellurium lowered his voice to a stage-whisper, “there’s dirty work at the crossroads.”

“Which one?” asked Archibald.

“Yo’re a big help,” sighed Tellurium. “What I mean is this; that will ain’t right. Clint Haverty never intended it thataway.”

“There’s three, four big swallers left for each of us,” said Archibald, “and we don’t want the owner of that bottle to find us. We’ll hide the empty in the oats.”

“Archibald,” said Tellurium severely, “how good are you as a holdup man?”

Archibald stared owl-eyed at Tellurium.

“Yo’re tryin’ to dig into m’ past, huh?” he grunted. “Yo’re a-gettin’ me drunk, so yuh can put some deadwood on me, huh?”

“Archie, yo’re the past-master of the Loco Lodge!”

“All right--heap me with honors, but yuh can’t slicker me. Let sleepin’ dogs lie--that’s my motter. Well, who do yuh want to rob?”

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.”