Part 6

“That is little Jackie’s father,” said Mrs. Keene. Cultus nodded thoughtfully, as he looked down at the unmistakable features of Loring, the San Francisco lawyer, who had been killed in the café gun battle; the man he had knocked into the muddy street.

“Jack Keene?” queried Cultus.

Faith Keene nodded. “Did you know him?” she asked softly.

Cultus shook his head and turned toward the door.

“I’m mighty glad to have seen yuh, ma’am,” he said, as he held out his hand.

“It was kind of you to carry the packages for me,” she replied. He shook hands gravely with the little boy, and went down to the main street, wearing his sombrero pulled down over his eyes. He was finding out more than he had expected.

Jack Keene was the man who was sending the woman to pose as the niece of Jud Ault, and it was very evident to Cultus that Keene, or Loring, as he was known in San Francisco, was in some plot to loot the Lazy A. But Keene was dead, and Cultus did not think that either Lane or Breen knew of the shooting. The girl, Janice Lee, was probably dead or in a hospital, and possibly she did not know enough about the details of the plot to ever let Lane and Breen know what happened.

As Cultus sauntered up the crooked street, Miles Lane rode in and took his horse to the livery stable. Cultus leaned against a post in front of the Oreana saloon until Lane went to his office, and then crossed the street.

Lane greeted him pleasantly and they sat down together in the office. Lane told him that he had just returned from the Lazy A.

“I was just talkin’ to Mrs. Keene,” said Cultus.

“A nice girl,” said Lane briskly. “Too bad she lost out on the Lazy A. Possibly Jud Ault was too severe. But he hated Jack Keene, and---- Oh, well, it was his business, I suppose. What have you found out in regard to the missing cattle?”

“Not very much. What do yuh know about the Cross Arrow?”

“Less than nothing--except hearsay. I know the Hill family to speak to them. They haven’t a good reputation.”

“And the Star X?”

“You’ve heard about the feud?”

“Sure. They staged a battle in the street here the night I came. Breen talks about ’em killin’ Lazy A stock, and all that, but I can’t quite swallow it, Lane. The Star X is as big as the Lazy A, and they don’t need to kill Lazy A cattle.”

Lane looked up quickly. “Have you been at the Star X?”

“I was out there yesterday and had a talk with the Wheelers.”

“And they knew you were from the Lazy A?”

“They knew I was from the Association,” corrected Cultus.

Lane smiled crookedly. “That information won’t help you any, Jones.”

“Mebbe not,” smiled Cultus. “Yuh see, I wasn’t the one that told ’em.”

“No? Who do you suppose----?”

“They say you did, Lane.”

“That I told them? Why, that is preposterous, Jones!”

“And old man Hill----”

“Did he say I told him?”

“Shif’less did.”

“Pshaw!” Lane colored, tried to swallow, failed. “I don’t know why they would say such a thing, Jones.”

“Nor you,” said Cultus softly. “Unless yo’re tryin’ to get me killed off.”

“Why, the idea is ridiculous. Jones. I haven’t any interest in your affairs, except as they affect the Lazy A. I have been attorney for Ault for years, and naturally I am interested in anything affecting the Lazy A ranch. Idaho Breen wants you to clean up this rustling. Why, I’d be the last person on earth to seek to injure you, Jones.”

“Well, that’s fine of yuh,” drawled Cultus. He shook hands with Lane and sauntered out. Dude Wheeler was just going into the post office, and waved a salute to Cultus, who walked up and met him.

“I want to ask yuh somethin’, Jones,” said Dude, a bashful grin on his face. They moved close to the door of the post-office. “Yuh know I met Miss Ault the night she came in.” said Dude. “She’s sure a nice girl.”

Cultus grinned widely. “Go ahead, cowboy.”

“I’m glad yuh understand,” sighed Dude. “It’s thisaway, Jones. I ain’t seen her since that night, and yuh see I can’t very well go out there to the Lazy A. I wrote her a letter and posted it to her this mornin’. I just found out that Miles Lane took the Lazy A mail out to the ranch today.

“And Miles Lane,” Dude hesitated. “He’s dressin’ up to go out there. Yuh see, I don’t trust him, and I’m wonderin’----”

“If he delivered the letter, eh?”

“Yuh might put it thataway, Jones. I know him pretty well.”

“All right,” grinned Cultus. “What can I do for yuh?”

“Will yuh hand her a note from me?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it. I ain’t seen her to speak to for a long time, but if it’s possible, I’ll see that she gets it.”

Dude secured some paper and an envelope, and when Cultus rode back to the Lazy A he carried the note to Mary. It was almost supper time, and the boys were all at the ranch. Cultus went to the long wash-bench just outside the kitchen door, and began washing, while Hop stood in the kitchen door, dangling a ladle in his hand.

“Hop, do you happen to know a Chinaboy in Frisco, whose name is Wang Lee?” asked Cultus.

Old Hop smiled widely. “Yessa--my clousin. He lun chop-suey lestlant.”

Cultus grinned and nodded his head. “That’s the feller, Hop. Wang Lee good friend of mine.”

This was not true, because Cultus did not know Wang Lee, and only knew of a popular chopsuey restaurant of that name. But old Hop beamed. “Wang Lee velly lich--my clousin.”

“That’s fine,” Cultus mopped his face with a towel, as he moved in closer to the Chinaman. “Wang Lee my friend, Hop. You, his cousin, must be my friend. You sabe?”

“Yessa.”

“Good.” Cultus took the envelope from his pocket, caught it in a fold of the towel and handed it to Hop.

“That note is for Miss Ault, Hop. Nobody must see.”

The old Celestial accepted the towel, slipped the envelope inside his shirt and turned away without a word. It was evident that Mary received the note, but her reply was to Cultus, which was given to Cultus by old Hop, after they had finished supper. She wrote:

Am virtually a prisoner. Tell Mr. Wheeler I will see him as soon as possible. Would like to talk with you, but Breen says I am to talk with no one. If Hop will carry notes, it will be of some help to us. They are treating me all right.

The note was unsigned. The fact that she was a prisoner was no news to Cultus, and he knew Dude Wheeler was right in suspecting that Miles Lane had not delivered the letter to Mary. Cultus realized that under the law, it would require nearly a year to probate the will of Jud Ault, advertise for creditors, and to follow out all the legal phases of the instrument, but he also knew, that, while hardly ethical, it would be legal for an heir to sell out his or her interests to anyone who was willing to take a chance on the legality of the will in question.

And if Breen and Miles Lane intended doing such a thing, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Mary, without the advice or assistance of anyone, would be obliged to sign the name of Mary Ault to a bill of sale to the Lazy A. Of course he could notify the authorities of fraud, possibly defeat the purpose of Breen and Lane; but only serve to throw the will into courts indefinitely--or until it might be proved that no Mary Ault existed.

Cultus decided that there was nothing for him to do, except to wait until something happened that would give him a chance to puzzle out a solution of the case. In the meantime he decided to keep working on the cattle stealing end of the case. He had a talk with Idaho Breen about the cattle that night, but the Lazy A foreman did not seem interested. He tried to lead Breen into a discussion of Jack Keene, husband of Faith Ault, but Idaho side-stepped the subject; so Cultus dropped it and went to bed, after deciding to visit Welcome Creek the next day.

* * * * *

Earlier that afternoon Shif’less Hill had ridden to Oreana City, and gone to the depot. He had sent a rifle to a San Francisco gunmaker for some repairs, and it was due back. He paid the express charges and took the package outside, where he sat down on the edge of the station platform and unwrapped the rifle. It had been encased in a light wooden box and packed tightly with newspapers.

Shif’less tried the action, found it functioning perfectly, and began putting the papers back in the long, narrow box, when his eyes happened to get a flash of a pictured face on one of the wrinkled newspapers. Quickly he spread it out, emitting a grunt of wonderment.

The unmistakable features of Jack Keene stared up at him, along with the face of a pretty girl, beneath whose portrait was the name Janice Lee. But the name beneath Keene’s picture was J. Loring. Connecting the pen and ink scroll, which joined the two portraits, was an artist’s conception of the gun battle between two men, and behind one of them was a girl, dressed in a traveling suit.

The story told of a gun battle in a San Francisco café, in which J. Loring, an attorney, and Speed Evans, alleged gangster and dope peddler, had killed each other. Janice Lee had been struck twice and had died twelve hours later, without regaining consciousness. It had little to say about Loring, except that he was little known outside the tenderloin.

Shif’less read it through twice, the rifle lying across his lap. There was no question in his mind about this man being Jack Keene. He noted the date of the paper, carefully tore out the article and put it in his pocket.

Picking up the rifle and the box, he walked around the depot, threw the box into a weed patch and went back to his horse. He rode back up the street to Miles Lane’s office. It was getting late, but he found Lane there.

“What’s on your mind, Shif’less?” asked Lane, when Shif’less placed his rifle on the desk and drew out the clipping. The Oreana City attorney took the clipping and stared at the picture of Jack Keene. And as he read the story he seemed to sway slightly and his eyes blinked painfully.

He lifted a hand and wiped the tears from his eyes; not tears of grief or remorse, but tears like a man might get whose eyes had stared into a bright light. For a long time he did not speak, although Shif’less knew he had read the article.

“What do yuh know about that?” asked Shif’less softly.

“My God!” breathed Lane hoarsely. “Jack Keene dead!”

“Well, he’d prob’ly finish thataway,” said Shif’less.

Lane looked at Shif’less blankly. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I said he’d prob’ly finish thataway.”

“Oh--yes,” Lane looked at the clipping again. Shif’less had torn it through, leaving the dateline at the top of the page. Lane looked at this and glanced quickly at a calendar on the wall.

“We’ve got to keep Faith from finding it out, Miles,” said Shif’less softly. “We can’t let her know.”

“Faith? Oh, yes. Yes, we must keep it quiet, Shif’less. You won’t tell anyone, will you? I can trust you, can’t I?”

“Well, I’d be the last to tell her,” drawled Shif’less. “Heck! I wouldn’t have her find it out--not now.”

“That’s fine!” Lane almost pawed for Shif’less’ hand. “We’ll keep it dark, eh? Don’t let anybody know. If one person finds it out, they’ll all know it.”

“I won’t tell,” Shif’less shook his head. “Nossir. Say, Miles, Jack must ’a’ been pretty tough, eh? I wonder if that was his girl. Prob’ly was. Faith still thinks he’s all right,” Shif’less looked wistfully out through the window. “Still thinks he’s all right, Miles.”

“Yes, yes,” impatiently. “You never can figure a woman, Shif’less.”

“Nor anybody else,” softly. “Jack Keene took a different name and left his wife----”

“I know how you feel, Shif’less. You love Faith Keene. No, don’t shake your head. Maybe she thinks a lot of you. I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need no help, Miles. I asked her the other day why she didn’t get a divorce from Jack, and she said he was still supportin’ her; and that she couldn’t never marry anybody as long as Jack was alive. Now, Jack’s dead--and we can’t tell her. Still, what difference does it make? If she’d marry----”

“No, don’t tell her!” Lane grasped him by the arm. “Don’t do it, Shif’less. Anyway, it isn’t for you to do. Don’t you see, she’d think you--you were trying to hurry things? Don’t you see?”

“Yeah, I see,” Shif’less nodded slowly. “I reckon we better keep it dark for a while. Well, I’m headin’ home. Miles. Hang onto that piece of paper, won’t yuh?”

“Oh, I’ll keep it safe, Shif’less. Good night.”

Shif’less mounted his horse and rode out of town, carrying the rifle in the crook of his right arm, while Miles Lane locked his front door and flopped in his office chair, trying to gather his scattered senses. He studied the clipping again. Janice Lee! That was the name on the note of identification! It was evident that the girl out at the Lazy A was not Janice Lee. But who was she? Miles Lane’s brain whirled. Did this Association detective, Jones of Oklahoma, have anything to do with it, he wondered. Where did this girl come from, and where did she get the identification papers?

Jack Keene, alias J. Loring, was the man who wrote the note--and he was dead. Lane wondered if this girl at the Lazy A had stolen the papers at the time of the gun battle. And if she did, who was behind her masquerade?

Lane drew a big bottle from a desk drawer and took a drink. He left the bottle uncorked, and every few minutes he would lower the contents perceptibly. He decided to go to the Lazy A ranch and show the clipping to Idaho Breen, but the quart bottle was empty when he got his horse at the livery stable--and Mr. Lane was very drunk.

In fact, he was so muddled from drink that he took the wrong road out of Oreana City in the dark, and when he sobered to the extent that he cared to realize anything he found that he was not on any road, had no sense of direction--and nothing to drink. So he just rode on and on, wondering dully if the moon would ever come up and show him some familiar landscape.

After a while he saw the silhouette of an old building, which he recognized as being the deserted stamp-mill and buildings of the abandoned Suicide mine. It had not been worked for several years. Jim Scott, the original owner, had sunk every cent he owned in it, failed to make it pay, and hung himself in the shafthouse--thus giving it a new name. Others had tried in vain to make it pay, and it was finally abandoned.

Lane did not realize that the night was nearly over; so he was not going to take any chances on getting lost. As long as he had the buildings of the old mine as landmark, he knew it would not be difficult in daylight to cut across the hills to the Lazy A.

He struck one of the old trails and rode up closer to the old shaft-house, where he intended to dismount. A cold breeze was sweeping across the hills, and Miles Lane, not dressed too warmly, needed shelter.

Suddenly he saw the dull gleam of a light shining through a crack in the old building, and almost at the same instant he realized that he had ridden in beside a saddled horse. He was still a little dazed from the liquor, but instinct told him that something was not just right.

Turning his horse around he rode slowly back down the trail, turned his horse into the shelter of a mesquite clump in a dry wash, and dismounted. Curiosity prompted him to climb back up the trail again, but this time he circled to the opposite side of the building. He took plenty of time and was particular about making unnecessary noises.

He came in against the wall of the building and worked his way around to when a broken board gave him a fairly good view of the interior. The machinery had been moved away, but there still remained the old framework of the hoist parts of the old trades, and the huge timbers were where the hoisting engine had stood.

But Miles Lane was not interested in the details of the old building. An old lantern hung from a nail in the old hoist frame, and in its faint illumination Lane could see the huge bulk of a man, his shadow dancing grotesquely on the walls, as he skinned out the carcass of a steer, which was also suspended from the hoist-frame.

Another whole beef, all dressed, hung near him. Lane could recognize him now. It was Shif’less Hill. He was working swiftly, his skinning knife flashing in the yellow light. Lane licked his lips and swallowed heavily. He could see the lantern light flash on the cartridge-heads in his belt, and against the wall near him stood a Winchester rifle. Lane was unarmed, and he suddenly realized that it might not be healthy for him, in case Shif’less suspected his presence. As though fascinated he leaned against the building and watched the big cowboy strip off the hide. He did not realize that daylight was creeping over the hills.

Shif’less finished skinning the animal and threw the hide down the shaft. Lane grinned to himself. He had plenty of evidence to send Shif’less Hill over the road for a long time--in case he needed to use it.

He shoved away from the wall, realizing it was daylight, and crept away in the direction of his horse. He did not want Shif’less Hill to find him there.

* * * * *

The three Lazy A cowboys were a snoring trio when Cultus left the bunkhouse and went to the stable, where he saddled his horse. It was still early, and Cultus knew that Hop would not serve breakfast for another hour, at least: so he decided to postpone his morning meal until he reached Welcome Creek.

Cultus had never been to Welcome Creek, but he knew it was not over fifteen miles east of the Lazy A, and that by traveling past where Idaho Breen had found Lazy A hides in the prospect hole, he would strike the wagon road, which led from Oreana City to Welcome Creek.

Cultus mounted and rode away from the south. Breen had given him a tall roan gelding, which had plenty of speed, and the cool of the early morning gave it plenty of condition to go ahead. The going was fairly good, and Cultus let the roan pick its own speed.

Cultus had never seen the old Suicide Mine, but had heard the boys speak about it. He rode around the side of a hill and came in view of the old buildings, shortly after daylight. His horse made little noise in the sandy soil, and he was within a hundred yards of the old shaft-house, when he saw Miles Lane sneaking away from beside the building. Cultus’ horse was poorly masked by the brush; so Cultus quickly dismounted. He recognized Lane immediately. Leading his horse to the post, he was able to watch the lawyer, who walked down a dry wash, mounted his horse behind a mesquite clump, and rode quietly away, going toward the Lazy A. “That’s kinda queer,” observed Cultus. “Now just what was a lawyer doin’ there this time in the mornin’?”

Cultus watched Lane ride across a ridge and disappear, before moving on down to the shaft-house. He dropped his reins and walked boldly to the sagging old door, where he stepped inside and jerked to a standstill, when he found himself looking the muzzle of a rifle in the hands of Shif’less Hill.

It was still half dark in the old building. Shifting his eyes from the menacing gun muzzle, Cultus could see the two beeves hanging. Neither of the men spoke for several moments. The gun muzzle did not waver.

“Well, what about it?” asked Shif’less in a flat voice.

A smile chased across Cultus’ lips and he shook his head.

“I reckon that’s up to you, Shif’less.”

“Yeah? I’m wonderin’ how yuh guessed I’d be here.”

“I didn’t,” grinned Cultus.

“No? Kinda early in the mornin’, ain’t it?”

Cultus nodded. “Yeah. I was on my way to Welcome Creek.”

“And jist stopped to look, eh?”

“Well, no-o-o. Yuh see, I didn’t have no idea of stoppin’ here until I seen our friend the Oreana City lawyer sneak away from outside there, grab his horse and fog for the Lazy A.”

“Miles Lane?”

“That’s the feller.”

Cultus could see that the big cowboy was puzzled.

“What was Miles Lane doin’ here?” he demanded.

“Search me: but he was here. Put down the gun, Shif’less.”

“I suppose I might as well, Jones. I’m caught with the goods. If Lane is headed for the Lazy A, he’ll prob’ly bring back the whole gang.”

Cultus walked past him and looked at the beef. “Threw the hides in the old shaft?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Intendin’ to pack the meat to Welcome Creek tonight, eh?”

The big cowboy leaned against one of the uprights and nodded gloomily. “I dunno how yuh guessed it; but yo’re right.”

“That wasn’t hard to guess. You killed those animals that wore all them Lazy A hides----”

“That Breen found,” finished Shif’less. “Yeah, I did.”

“Welcome Creek was the only possible market, I figured. You couldn’t sell all that beef. Breen had an idea that the Star X was the ones that was killin’ off his stock; but the Star X don’t need to kill beef.”

“I’ve been killin’ oft Lazy A beef for over a year,” said Shif’less slowly. “I couldn’t handle much at a time. It’s quite a job for one man. Dad wouldn’t help me. He said I was a damn’ fool; and I sure was. Now, what are yuh goin’ to do about it?”

“How deep is this shaft?”

“Two hundred feet. There’s big stopes, of course.”

“All right. How could the Lazy A find those hides? Is there any way to get down there?”

“Not unless they go down on a rope.”

“Which they won’t do,” said Cultus. “Where’d they ever find a two hundred foot rope? Lane thinks you don’t know he saw yuh; so we’ll just heave them two beeves down the shaft, which will destroy all the evidence. What little blood is scattered around won’t convict anybody. C’mon, let’s get busy.”

“What’s yore game?” queried Shif’less.

“Helpin’ out a damn’ fool.”

The Lazy A was at breakfast when Miles Lane rode in. Breen left the table and met him at the front door.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Breen. “You look pretty tough, Miles.”

The lawyer took hold of Breen’s sleeve and drew him off the porch and around the corner.

“Is Jones and the girl still here?” he asked.

“The girl is; Jones has gone to Welcome Creek. What’s the matter?”

Lane drew out the newspaper clipping and showed it to Breen.

“There’s what’s the matter, Idaho. Jack Keene is dead. Look at the date-line on that paper. That girl’s name is Janice Lee, and she’s dead.”

Idaho lifted his eyes from the paper, staring blankly at the lawyer. “But what does it mean?” he whispered.

“What does it mean? It means that this girl is not Janice Lee; that she is somebody else! This is not the girl Jack Keene sent us. We’ve been double-crossed, Idaho!”

“You think----?”

“I know! What’s behind it--I don’t know. But this girl came on the same train with Jones, the detective. Idaho, we’ve got to work fast. They don’t know that I know this; so that helps.”

“Does anybody else know it, Miles?”

“Shif’less Hill. He gave me the clipping.”

“Then we’ve got to stop him from meetin’ Jones. I’ll bet Jones knows that Keene is dead, and he figures we don’t. If he knows that we know----”

“I’ve got the goods on Shif’less Hill!” exclaimed Lane, and then he told of seeing Shif’less butchering cattle in the old shaft-house of the Suicide mine.

“By God, we’ll get him!” snorted Breen. “Here’s what we’ll do. You beat it for town and get the papers. I’ll send the boys over to investigate this butcherin’ and we’ll make this female sign the paper while they’re gone. Jones is headin’ for Welcome Creek, and when he comes back we’ll settle with him.”

“And turn this girl loose to tell all she knows?”

“What you don’t know won’t hurt yuh. Get yore bronc and go after them papers.”

Lane got his horse and rode back toward Oreana City, while Breen went back to the dining-room. The cowboys were rolling their after-breakfast cigarette when Breen called them outside.

“You fellers saddle up and go to the old Suicide mine,” he ordered. “Lane just brought word that somebody has been doin’ a job of butcherin’ down there in the old shaft-house, and we’ve got a hunch that Shif’less Hill is the one who has been doing it. If yuh find Hill around there, yuh better watch him.”

“All right,” said Pie Ide shortly. “Supposin’ we go and _get_ him, Idaho?”

“Yo’re runnin’ that end of it, Pie,” said Idaho grimly. “Better be sure--first Shif’less will fight. He threw the hide in the old shaft, and the devil himself couldn’t get down there to find ’em; we’ve got to take a chance that he killed Lazy A cattle. You’ll find the beef in the shaft-house.”

The cowboys hurried after their horses. Not that they disliked Shif’less Hill, but that they desired action. They rode away with their rifles, and Idaho went back to the house, where he found Mary in the living-room.

“I’m goin’ to talk turkey to you,” he told her. “In an hour or so. Miles Lane will be out here with the papers for you to sign--and you better sign ’em without any argument, sabe?”