The loot of the Lazy A
was left to his niece, Mary Ault, his brother’s only child--an orphan.
The old judge nodded over the legality of the instrument, and the
reading was over. The will had been witnessed by Idaho Breen and Pie
Ide.
As they came from the office, Cultus Collins met them near the door. He
nodded pleasantly to everyone. Idaho turned to Pie Ide and asked him to
go over to the livery stable and secure a rig to take Mary out to the
ranch.
Cultus moved in close to Idaho. “I’d like to speak to you on a little
business matter,” he said.
Idaho squinted narrowly at Cultus, as they moved down the street a short
ways away from the crowd. Cultus drew out the letter he had brought to
Jud Ault, and let Idaho read it.
“Now, I don’t know what it’s all about,” confessed Cultus. “It kinda
seems to me that I’ve arrived too late; but mebbe you know what the
old man wanted done.”
Idaho’s eyes hardened slightly. “I dunno just what--oh, yeah.” He looked
at Cultus, a half smile on his lips. “I reckon I know what it was about.
Yuh see, we’ve been losin’ a lot of cattle. Jist a while ago I found a
lot of Lazy A hides in a prospect hole about three miles from our ranch.
Somebody has been killin’ our stock, and the old man was worried about
it. There’s been bad blood between our outfit and the Star X for years,
and that bothered him, too. If you can clean up all this cattle
stealin’, yore a wonder. Do yuh think yuh can?”
Cultus smiled widely. “I dunno; I’ll try.”
“Fine!” Idaho fairly beamed.
“Yuh better give me a job on the Lazy A,” suggested Cultus. “It would
kinda mask my real work, don’t yuh see?”
“Well,” Idaho rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, I can. You ain’t got
no horse here, have yuh? No? Say, you git yore stuff out here and put
it in the buggy, and you can drive Miss Ault out to the ranch. We’ll be
along with yuh.”
“All right. But I ain’t got nothin’ to take along. Mebbe I better buy a
couple of shirts. Anyway, I’ll get along.”
“Yeah. Git what yuh need. Ide will be here with the buggy in a few
minutes.”
Cultus nodded and went to the New York Store, while Idaho went back
and drew Miles aside, showing him the telegram he had, which was sent
to Jud Ault. Then he told Miles about the letter of introduction
Cultus had from the secretary of the Cattlemen’s Association, and of
how he was going to keep Cultus out at the Lazy A, to hunt rustlers.
“His name is Jones, isn’t it?” asked Lane.
“That’s the name he gave last night. The letter he had didn’t mention
any names. But Jones or not Jones, he’ll hunt rustlers to his heart’s
content: and I’ll have him where I can watch him all the time.”
Lane laughed softly. “It’s working out fine.”
“Better than that, Miles. How do yuh like our heiress?”
“Better than I thought I would. She sure fits the part. Why, you’d
almost take her for a decent girl.”
“Almost,” grinned Idaho. “Loring knew what we needed. The only thing
that worries me is that Loring is in a position to demand more money.
He knows too much.”
“Let him try anything like that, and I’ll send him to the penitentiary
for life,” growled Lane. “Here comes the rig.”
They helped Mary into the buggy, while one of the boys got her suitcase
from the hotel. She gave Lane the check for the trunk, and Idaho
promised to send a wagon after it. Cultus came from the store, carrying
a bundle, and Idaho motioned for him to take the lines. Lane hastened
to introduce Mary, and Cultus smiled.
“I met Miss Ault on the train,” he said. “I didn’t know who she was at
that time.”
“We’ll lead the way,” said Idaho. “Head straight out of town and take
the road that leads to the left.”
Cultus nodded and drove slowly up the street, while the men crossed the
street and mounted their horses.
“Hang onto yore nerve,” cautioned Cultus. “I’m goin’ to stay at the
Lazy A and hunt rustlers. I had to show my hand, in order to keep an eye
on you, Mary Elizabeth. This is a game, and we’ll play it together; but
don’t let anybody know, because it’s a dangerous pastime. They’re goin’
to ride in close now; so be careful what yuh say to me.”
Mary nodded and looked straight ahead as the cowboys spurred in close to
them.
“Yore name is Jones, ain’t it?” said Idaho, leaning from his saddle.
Cultus nodded quickly. “Bill Jones, to be exact.”
“From Oklahoma?”
“That’s the place.”
“Uh-huh,” Idaho straightened in his saddle, and there was a smile on his
lips, as he looked straight ahead. Perhaps he didn’t know it, but there
was also a smile on the lips of Jones of Oklahoma, too, and he was also
looking straight ahead.
* * * * *
Old Jud Ault had had little pride in appearances, and as far as the
Lazy A was concerned he was content to let it run down. The old
ranch-house was half adobe, two stories; a very livable place, but
not much to look at. A wide veranda extended the width of the front,
on the ground level, with the old flagged floor still intact. The
big living-room was much the same as that of the Star X, which was
of decidedly masculine flavor.
Old Wang Lung, a wizen-faced old Celestial, presided over the culinary
end of the Lazy A. He had been with the Lazy A for many years, and was
known as “Hop,” for no reason at all. He had accepted both Mary and
Cultus without comment. He was jealous of his kitchen, and woe to
anyone who intruded.
Idaho Breen had told the boys confidentially that Bill Jones, of
Oklahoma, was an Association detective. Cowboys, as a rule, do not care
much for a range detective; and this rangy, homely specimen, with the
solemn visage, rather amused them.
Pie Ide tried to frame up some practical jokes to play on the detective,
but discarded each one shortly after its inception.
“I jist can’t do it,” he confided to Omaha, as they sat on the top pole
of the corral together. “I git a swell idea for a joke on him, and then
I can’t seem to pull it off. He looks at me with them funny eyes, and I
kinda--you know how the hair raises up on the back of a dog when it’s
scared? That’s the way I kinda crinkle.”
“Well, you ain’t scared of him, are yuh?” Omaha smoothed his mustache
and stared at Pie Ide. The tall cowboy shook his head.
“It ain’t exactly bein’ scared, Omaha. But somethin’ tells me that he
knows all about that joke. Even when I think of a new idea, he looks
at me just as though he knowed what I was thinkin’ about, and that the
joke was as old as the hills.”
“Aw, he ain’t so smart,” said Omaha “He’s been here a week and he ain’t
done nothin’--much.”
“I know. He was over to that prospect hole, where Idaho found them
cowhides. I asked him what he thought of ’em, and he jist looks at me
kinda funny and says, ‘I think the cows that wore all them hides are
dead.’”
Omaha snorted. “He did, eh? Gawd, he sure is a detective!”
“Idaho don’t think much of him,” said Pie. “I heard him ask Jones the
other day how long he figured the Lazy A was goin’ to pay him a salary,
if he didn’t do some detectin’.”
“What did he say, Pie?”
“He said he was doin’ his best. Idaho asks him how he goes about it to
find a rustler, and he says he usually tries to put himself in the
place of the rustler. I dunno what he meant, and I don’t think Idaho
did, but Idaho says, ‘Well, have yuh done it in this case?’ Jones says
he had, but it didn’t seem to work out. Idaho asks him what he intends
to do now, and Jones says, ‘Well, mebbe I’ll put myself in the cow’s
place, and kinda work it out from that angle.’”
“I think Jones is a plain damn’ fool,” said Omaha.
“I think,” said Pie slowly, “that that is jist what Jones of Oklahoma
wants us to think. Omaha, the Association ain’t in the habit of sendin’
fools on a job of this kind.”
“Thasso? Huh! I never seen a cow-detective that had sense enough to pour
sand out of a boot.”
“Allasame, I’m glad I’m pure,” grinned Pie. He lifted his head and
squinted toward the main gate. “Here comes Miles Lane. Do yuh know,
Omaha, I’m beginnin’ to suspect that he’s stuck on our new boss.”
“Danged fool!” growled Omaha. Pie laughed softly. “Lotsa fools around
here, it seems to me. Even Cleve Sears, our estimable sheriff, ain’t
losin’ no chances to come out here.”
All of which was very true, much to the disgust of Idaho Breen, who met
Miles Lane at the front door.
“Well, what do yuh know?” asked Idaho.
Miles produced several pieces of mail, among which was a letter directed
to Mary Ault. Idaho looked closely at it, put it in his pocket, and
looked over the rest of the mail. The front door was closed behind them.
“That letter was mailed in Oreana City,” observed Lane. Idaho nodded,
and walked to the far end of the veranda, followed by the lawyer. Idaho
took out the letter and tore open the flap. It read:
My dear Miss Ault:
By this time you probably realize that there is little
friendship lost between your ranch and mine, but after
all there is no reason why we cannot be friends. You
understand that I can’t very well come to see you at the
Lazy A, and I do want to see you again. Can’t you meet
me in town? Just drop me a note, and I’ll be waiting
there for you. Make it soon.
Sincerely yours,
“Dude” Jack Wheeler.
Idaho snorted disgustedly and tore the letter into shreds, scattering
them in the breeze.
“Not going to give it to her, eh?” queried Lane.
“Don’t look like it, does it?”
“Suits me. How is she?”
“All right. Sa-a-ay! Dude Wheeler’s got a lot of nerve! I’d like to see
him moonin’ around here!”
Lane laughed softly. “You’ve got to expect those things. She’s a pretty
girl.”
Idaho looked closely at Lane. “You ain’t lettin’ that bother you, are
yuh? Her looks don’t mean anythin’ to you, do they?”
Lane flushed slightly. “Not a bit.”
“Well,” said Idaho softly, “they better not, Miles. I’ll be glad when
everythin’ is fixed up, and she’s out of here. By God, I can’t git any
work out of three fool punchers, who insist on wearin’ white collars
and takin’ baths.”
“How about Jones of Oklahoma?”
Idaho grinned. “That poor fool. I wonder if the Association was playing
a joke on the Lazy A, or if they jist wanted to git rid of Jones. Every
day he saddles his horse and goes ridin’ in the hills--alone. But he
ain’t found out anythin’.”
“Where does he ride?” asked Lane.
“Oh, I dunno. I don’t pay much attention to him.”
They sauntered back to the front door and went into the house. Mary was
curled up on a couch, reading an old magazine, but started to leave the
room, when they came in. She had grown to dislike the Oreana attorney.
“Don’t go,” said Lane. “You’re always running away, it seems.”
“She wanted to go to town today.” offered Idaho. “But I told her we’d
get anythin’ she wants.”
“Sure we will,” nodded Lane.
“Does that mean that I’m a prisoner here?” asked Mary indignantly.
“Have it that way, if yuh want to,” replied Idaho. “This deal is almost
settled, and we’re not takin’ any chances on you.”
“But what harm would there be in going to town?” she asked.
“You’ll stay here,” declared Idaho. “You can go when we tell yuh to
go--and then we don’t care where yuh go, just so yuh go a long ways from
here. You’ll be well paid for the job, and yore only instructions, after
yuh leave here, is to forget that yuh ever seen the place. I reckon
Loring explained that to yuh.”
Mary turned her attention to the magazine, glad to drop the subject.
Lane and Idaho went outside and finished their conversation, while Mary
stared out of the window. She had virtually been a prisoner since she
arrived at the Lazy A. Hop served her meals to her in the living-room,
keeping her away from the dining-room and from any contact with the
men.