The loot of the Lazy A
That’s how she gits along, Shif’less. He can’t be such an awful jigger,
if he does that for her.”
“Must be all right,” mumbled Shif’less. “Don’t yuh reckon the feud
between the Lazy A and the Star X is ended?”
“It ort to be, Shif’less. Still, yuh never can tell. They tell me that
this niece of Jud Ault’s is named Ault--Mary Ault. Ordinarily I’d say
that a woman ain’t got no business runnin’ a cow ranch, but if she keeps
Idaho Breen there she won’t have to do much of the runnin’. Idaho’s been
in charge ever since Jud Ault got shot.”
“Uh-huh. The Lazy A is worth a lot of money, Cleve. I had a talk with
one of them minin’ engineers ’bout a year ago. He was pokin’ around
the hills out near our place, and he told me that the surface showin’
on the Lazy A was worth a cold million.”
“Yeah, I heard it, too. Old Jud knowed it was there. But the Lazy A
made him plenty of money--and he hated holes in the ground. I asked
Miles Lane if the old man’s will stated that no minin’ was ever to be
done on the Lazy A, but he said it didn’t.”
“I was jist wonderin’ if Faith Keene couldn’t contest that will, Cleve.”
“Miles says she can’t, because the old man left her one whole dollar.
He says he disowned her and didn’t want to even leave her the silver
dollar, but Miles showed him where she could bust the will, if he
didn’t mention her at all.”
“Uh-huh,” Shif’less picked his teeth with a match. “It ’pears to me
that them damn’ lawyers jist _has_ to be accurate, even if it wrongs
the right folks. Well, I’m all out of peanuts. See yuh later, Cleve.”
“S’-long, Shif’less.”
Shif’less sauntered on up the street. He saw Idaho Breen in front of
Miles Lane’s office, talking with Lane. They nodded coldly to him, as
he went past and entered the store just beyond.
Miles Lane was above average height, slightly stooped. His sandy hair
was thin and wiry; his eyes, close-set, were buried beneath beetling
brows, which grew together over the bridge of his thin nose. The hinges
of his wide jaws were knobby from incessant gum-chewing. But although
the jaw was wide at its hinge, it tapered down to a weak chin, which
gave his head the appearance of being top-heavy.
He invariably wore a winged collar and a stringy black tie, which no
doubt gave him a judicial air. Lane was a bottle drinker. Perhaps so
because of its economy. And as a result he was very often under the
influence of liquor.
“You said she’d be here Wednesday, eh?” questioned Idaho Breen, his cold
eyes studying the flushed face of the lawyer.
“Yes; Wednesday, Breen.”
“Uh-huh. When is the will to be read?”
“Oh, after she gets here. We’ll have the judge and the sheriff there
to hear it. I suppose the best thing to do will be to take her right
out to the Lazy A as soon as she comes.”
“That’s what I aim to do, Miles. I was just wonderin’ if Faith Keene
will make any move to contest the will. It looks as though she could
do that.”
“If she had enough money to make a fight of it, Idaho. I’m goin’ to
have a talk with her and see how she feels about it. But she can’t
do much. The will gives her one dollar. That’s a legal point. And
everybody around here knows that Jud Ault wouldn’t let her in his
house. He disowned her.
“No, I don’t think she’s got a chance to contest the will. In fact, I
don’t think she ever thought of such a thing. She’s proud.”
“How much do yuh really think the Lazy A is worth, Miles?”
The lawyer smiled thoughtfully. “The mineral rights are easily worth
a million. I talked with those engineers when they prospected it and
they said it was so rich that they were afraid to estimate. One of
’em got drunk and talked. They were employed by Eastern capital, and
I happen to know that Jud Ault was offered more money than he knew
existed, just for the mineral rights.”
“I know that,” said Idaho. “I’ve had assays made, too. Oh, it’s there,
Miles.”
“You bet it’s there. Now, what about those cow-hides?”
“Just what I told you. That prospect hole is full of Lazy A hides. That
damn’ Star X outfit used that deep shaft to get rid of Lazy A hides.
They’ve been eatin’ Lazy A meat for years, and I’ve wondered where they
threw the hides.”
“Any proof?” asked Lane judicially.
“Proof? No! How can yuh prove who shot a beef? They’ve all been shot.”
“Then drop the subject until you’ve got proof, Idaho. There’s no use
starting a battle with the Star X.”
“Just let ’em keep on eatin’ our meat, eh?”
“Have you ever eaten any Star X beef?”
“Yo’re damn’ well right, I have! But not that much.”
“The amount doesn’t matter. What I want you to do is to forget those
hides. If you can get the goods on the Star X, I’m for it. But right
now we don’t want to stir up any war. Get this girl established out
at the Lazy A, Breen. I suppose every cowpuncher in the country will
want to marry her.”
Breen laughed coldly. “I suppose. My own outfit have taken to washin’
their necks, ever since they heard she was comin’.”
“She’d be a good catch,” Lane laughed softly. “I might marry her
myself.”
“You better quit drinkin’,” advised Idaho coldly.
“I don’t drink enough to hurt me.”
“Well, I don’t want yuh to drink enough to hurt _me_.”
Miles Lane laughed. “I guess you won’t get hurt much. Just forget those
cow-hides, Idaho. We’ll deal with the Star X when we get the goods on
’em. Anyway, rustling is petty larceny beside what we’ll get.”
Something prompted Idaho to step over to the front window, which
looked out on the crooked main street. Leaning against the wall, near
the window, was Shif’less Hill, still eating peanuts. Idaho motioned
to Lane, who came over to the window. Apparently Shif’less was merely
engaged in eating more peanuts.
Idaho watched the big Cross Arrow puncher, who finally dusted the peanut
shells off his shirt front, shoved the remainder in his chaps pocket and
walked away. He did not even glance toward the window. Idaho stepped
back, his eyes squinting narrowly.
“Do yuh suppose that big fat-head was listenin’ to what he might hear?”
“I don’t think so, Breen. Anyway, what could he hear?”
“Nothin’, I reckon. I don’t like him.”
“He’s harmless.”
“Yeah, I suppose he is. Except when it comes to stealin’ calves.”
“Anyway, our conversation was none of his business.”
But perhaps Shif’less Hill felt differently about it. He untied his
horse at the New York Store hitch-rack, mounted and rode toward home. He
had not stopped in front of Miles Lane’s office with the intention of
listening. In fact, he had heard only the dull mumble of conversation,
until Lane had raised his voice slightly and said:
“Just forget those cow-hides. What do we care? Rustling is petty larceny
beside what we’ll get.”
“Beside what we’ll get,” muttered Shif’less. “Now, jist why did he say
that, I wonder?”
* * * * *
Dear Al:
You heard about me getting shot? It was over a year ago. Since
then I’ve been a cripple--paralysis. Bullet lodged against my
spine, and the doctors are afraid to take it away. I’ve lost
my nerve, Al. I’m as old as hell, and they say I’m as bitter
as gall. Maybe I am. I haven’t a kindly feeling towards anyone.
You don’t know how it is, Al; to be old, crippled, nothing to
look forward to. I can’t get around. The damn’ doctor won’t
tell me the truth. If you want honesty, don’t expect it after
you’re old and crippled.
Al, I’m not appealing to the Association. I don’t want no cozy
detective hanging around me. But I do want a man who can find
out things. I’ll pay well. Maybe I’m crazy. I know they are
saying I am. But I feel that everything is not right. The old
Lazy A is worth a lot of money. I’ve made my will. But something
makes me feel like an old bull, dyin’ out in the open, surrounded
by coyotes and buzzards, waiting. I suppose they hate me. I don’t
blame ’em. I’ve hated a lot in my time. See if you can find the
right man, Al. The Lazy A can pay well for what it gets. Hope
I’ll see you some day.
Yours truly,
Jud Ault.
Cultus Collins looked up from reading the letter. A gray-haired man,
with kindly blue eyes, was seated at a desk beside him, idly drawing
circles on a desk blotter with a pencil. On the walls were detail maps
of Arizona, a meat packer’s calendar, a framed picture of a longhorn
steer. From the adjoining room came the clicking of a typewriter.
“I had a hard time locating you, Collins,” said the gray-haired man. “I
got that letter nearly three weeks ago.”
“Yuh say this Lazy A is at Oreana City?”
“Yes. Have you ever been there?”
Cultus smiled grimly, but shook his head.
“No. Do you believe in fate?”
“In fate? Why, I don’t know, Collins. Do you?”
“I’m beginnin’ to,” Cultus smiled softly, as he folded up the letter.
“That’s a queer sort of a letter, Al. There’s a lot in it; a lot of the
soul of a bitter man. Mebbe I better see if I can help him. I dunno what
he wants done, do you?”
“No. Perhaps it’s merely hallucinations, Cultus. I don’t know much about
the place. If you take the job, it’ll be up to you to go there and see
what you can find out. I’ll give you a note to Ault so he’ll know you’re
on the job.”
“All right.”
The secretary of the Cattlemen’s Association penciled a note for Cultus,
while the lean-faced cowboy grinned softly over the manufacture of a
cigarette; grinned to himself, because he still had an hour to catch the
same train that Mary Smith was taking to Oreana City.
Cultus had had no inkling that the Cattle Association was going to send
him to Oreana City. He had told Mary Smith good-by, and had promised to
join her as soon as possible to help carry out the deception. Neither of
them knew what it meant, but there was no question that it was a crooked
deal. And now the Association was sending Cultus to the same location.
“What seems so funny to you?” queried the secretary, as he folded
the note. Cultus grinned widely, but did not reply. They shook hands
and Cultus went back to the busy street of an Arizona metropolis. He
headed for the depot, where he found Mary Smith.
Part of the hundred-dollar bill had been invested in a modest gray suit
and a small hat. There were roses in her cheeks now, as she sprang up to
greet Cultus.
“I’ve got to buy a ticket to Oreana,” he grinned.
“Oh, are you going with me?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, I’m so glad, Mr. Collins!”
“Well, that’s nice of yuh, Miss Janice Lee,” Cultus sobered quickly.
“Don’t forget that’s who yuh are, little woman. Forget Mary Elizabeth
Smith. And my name ain’t Collins. My name’s Jones, and I’m from
Oklahoma. All you know about me is that yuh met me on the train, and
yuh think I’m buyin’ cattle.”
“But--but what is the idea?”
“Strictly business. Miss Lee. Unless I’m mistaken, there’ll be someone
to meet yuh in Oreana City. You don’t know, and I don’t know what the
game is. But let ’em do the talkin’, and you’ll soon know. I can’t be
with yuh. But don’t be scared. They won’t hurt yuh; that ain’t what they
want yuh for. But I won’t be far away. Play the game, Mary Elizabeth.”
“Oh, I’ll do that, Mr. Jones of Oklahoma.”
“_Buena muchacho_,” smiled Cultus. “I have a feelin’ that yo’re goin’ to
be a help in my business this time.”
“What is your business, anyway?”
“Bein’ Jones of Oklahoma--a cattle buyer.”
* * * * *
“Off that shirt! Off that shir-r-r-rt!” Pie Ide’s voice almost lifted
the shingles off the Lazy A bunkhouse. Mex Leone stopped putting on a
cerise creation, and stared at Ide, who had been shining his boots
with Rising Sun stove-polish, which was smelling to high heaven.