The loot of the Lazy A
She had had no chance to talk with Cultus. Breen had treated her
respectfully enough, for which she was grateful, but she did want a
few words with Cultus. Idaho Breen took no chances on her, and stayed
close to the ranch, while Miles Lane handled the legal end of the
inheritance.
As yet she had been told nothing of what they wanted, except that she
was Mary Ault, the new owner of the Lazy A. She had been given the room
formerly occupied by Jud Ault, which had been scrupulously cleaned by
Hop. As far as physical comforts were concerned, she was all right.
The Lazy A had furnished Cultus with a horse and saddle, and Breen had
told him to do as he pleased. Cultus realized that Mary was more or
less of a prisoner, but there was nothing he could do to relieve the
situation. He also knew that Breen was little interested in the stolen
cattle, except that he would like to make some trouble for the Star X.
That Idaho Breen and Miles Lane intended to loot the Lazy A was easy
to see. Cultus realized how easy it would be for him to prove that
Mary Smith was not Mary Ault, but it would be difficult to prove that
there was no Mary Ault. It would only serve to brand Mary Smith as an
impostor, and him as her confederate.
Cultus surmised that Breen and Lane intended to merely use the girl
as a tool to get the ranch cheap. The letters proved that the girl
who was shot in San Francisco was Janice Lee, or at least she was not
Mary Ault. After associating with the three cowpunchers at the
Lazy A, Cultus decided that they were not in the plot. It was evident
that they believed, as did everyone else, that Mary Ault was genuine.
In fact, there was no reason for anyone to think otherwise.
On the same day that Lane brought the letter from Dude Wheeler, Cultus
rode in at the tumbledown Cross Arrow, and met Badger and Shif’less
Hill. The old man was sitting on his little porch, clad in a sleeveless
undershirt, faded pair of overalls, without boots or socks--his bare
feet resting on the porch-rail, while he slumped back in a rickety
chair, smoking his pipe.
He unbent enough to remove his pipe from his mouth and to grunt a
welcome. Cultus dismounted, tied his horse, and sat down on the steps.
As Cultus rolled a cigarette, Shif’less came out, stooping a little, as
he stepped through the doorway.
“Howdy,” he said pleasantly. “I didn’t know we had company. Yo’re Jones,
ain’t yuh?”
“Yeah, I’m Jones,” Cultus got up and shook hands with Shif’less.
“Somebody--I reckon it was the sheriff--said who yuh was. Yo’re with the
Lazy A, ain’t yuh?”
“I’m over there,” smiled Cultus.
“Damned outfit!” snorted the old man. Shif’less smiled.
“Don’t like ’em, eh?” queried Cultus.
“No! Why should I like ’em?”
“No reason, I suppose,” Cultus smiled over his cigarette. “Seems like a
good outfit. What’s wrong with ’em?”
“I reckon it’s all right since Jud Ault died,” said Shif’less, before
the old man could speak. “This girl can’t be blamed for what Jud Ault
done. Mebbe she’s mighty fine.”
“She’s a fine girl,” said Cultus. “How’s things with you folks?”
“We can’t kick,” smiled Shif’less.
“As long as the other outfits raise plenty of calves--we’re doin’ well,”
said the old man. “At least that’s what they say about us.”
Shif’less tried to stop him, but the old man shook his head violently.
“What’s the difference? They all say it.”
Shif’less smiled grimly at Cultus, who smoked slowly, looking at the old
man.
“It just happens,” said Shif’less slowly, “that Mr. Jones is an
Association detective, sent here to try and find out who is stealin’
Lazy A cattle.”
The old man jerked slightly, and looked at Cultus, his eyes blazing.
Cultus remarked to himself how much the old man did look like a gray
old badger, angry over something.
“So that’s what yuh are, eh?” he snarled. “Kinda lookin’ over the Cross
Arrow, are yuh? Well, go ahead!”
Cultus looked at Shif’less, ignoring the old man. “Who told yuh that?”
he asked.
“Miles Lane, the lawyer.”
Cultus nodded. He had suspected this. He wondered if all the cattle
outfits in the Oreana country didn’t know what he was doing.
“Are you a pretty good friend of Lane?” he asked.
Shif’less hesitated for a moment. “Well, I’ve known him quite a long
time, Jones. He didn’t lie about yuh, did he?”
Cultus shook his head slowly. “No, he told the truth--as far as he knew
it, Hill.”
“As far as he knew it?”
“Even a lawyer don’t know it all.”
“Well, what in hell are yuh doin’ here at my ranch?” rasped the old man.
“Tryin’ to be friendly.”
“Tryin’ to be--what?”
“Friendly.”
“Oh, yeah. And then see what yuh can find out, eh?”
“If you don’t steal cattle, you’ve got nothin’ to fear,” said Cultus
slowly.
“Well, that’s nice of yuh.”
Shif’less studied the tall, homely cowboy. There was a world of power in
that lean body. He sat, humped over on the steps, and his cotton shirt,
drawn tight, showed the ripple of his back and shoulder muscles as he
moved the slightest. His wide, lean hands, with the long fingers, the
broad bony wrists, bespoke vise-like power.
“I didn’t come over here, because of what I’ve heard,” said Cultus
slowly, “because I hardly ever believe what I hear. I’m not denyin’
that I was sent here by the Association, but it was because Jud Ault
wanted me to come.”
“But he’s been dead quite a while, Jones.”
“It took quite a while to locate me, and they didn’t know the old man
was dead.”
“Now, what in hell did that old crook want of a detective?” demanded
Badger Hill.
“I don’t know,” confessed Cultus. “He didn’t know either. But he thought
things wasn’t just right.”
“You bet they wasn’t right!” said Shif’less hotly. “Jud Ault turned his
daughter out of his house, because she married a man he didn’t like. And
after the man left her without any support, the old man wouldn’t help
her.”
“She’s a pretty nice sort of a girl, I hear,” said Cultus. He was
looking at Shif’less Hill, as he spoke. He saw the jaw of the big,
indolent-looking cowboy shut tightly, and his wistful blue eyes stared
out across the hills.
“Yeah, she’s--nice,” said Shif’less slowly. The old man glanced at
Shif’less and at Cultus, and Cultus saw an expression of amusement in
the old man’s eyes.
“They say her husband is still supportin’ her,” said Cultus.
Shif’less nodded, but did not speak.
“Has he been here since he left his wife?”
“No.”
“Yes,” said the old man quickly. “I saw him. Yuh don’t need to argue
with me, Shif’less,” said the old man, when Shif’less opened his mouth
to speak. He turned to Cultus. “I saw Jack Keene in Oreana City, talkin’
to Miles Lane, one night. Shif’less says I was mistaken, but I know what
I see.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Over a year ago.”
“A year ago last June,” said Shif’less. “I think it was about the
fifteenth of the month. We’ve argued about it enough, that I remember
the date.”
They talked for a while about cattle conditions, but rustling was not
mentioned again. Old Badger Hill shook hands with Cultus when he left,
and asked him to visit them again.
Cultus had been to the prospect shaft, where Idaho Breen found the
Lazy A cowhides, but there was no clue in a lot of hides. The animals
had all been shot, and the hides showed that the cattle had been killed
at intervals for several months.
He rode back to Oreana City, and found the sheriff talking to Mrs.
Keene in front of his office. The sheriff introduced them. Mrs. Keene
was carrying several packages, which Cultus offered to take. The little
boy accepted Cultus at once, when Cultus smiled at him, and the three
of them walked to Mrs. Keene’s home.
Mrs. Keene was interested in Mary Ault, and asked Cultus about her.
Cultus confessed that he could tell little about her. Cultus carried
the packages through the little living-room to the kitchen, and on the
way back he stopped to glance at a photograph on the center table.
“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.”