The trail of deception
mail, and they held up the bank and killed Mr. Estabrook!”
“I didn’t!” husked McLean. “Those two ignorant fools took the mail. I
told them--they tried to rob the bank and--”
“Thank you, McLean,” smiled Skeeter. “I had the deadwood on yuh for
alterin’ the Lazy H to the Box Four H, but I had to have you tell me
about the mail robbery. I figured out the brand deal right away, and
I suspected the mail robbery, but I had to wait for it to stew a
while.”
The judge fixed a baleful eye on Jim Bailey. “Well, young man, what have
you to say for yourself?”
“Not a thing, Judge,” replied Jim wearily. “I admit everything. I
told McLean I would not go through with the deception; so he had Mary
Deal kidnapped to force me to appear. You see, Judge, after Mary
disappeared, I received a note, saying that if I did not go through
with my agreement, she would never come back.”
“Have you that note, sir?”
Jim Bailey smiled and drew a paper from his pocket.
“It was written in disappearing ink, Judge--here is the paper.”
The judge examined the paper and placed it on his desk.
“Young man, do you admit that you are not Jim Meade?”
“I insist that I am not, Judge.”
“The kid is all right, Judge,” said Skeeter Smith. “He started wrong,
but he’s all right now. McLean saw a chance to steal the Lazy H.
Haverty’s eyesight was bad, so McLean shuffled the wills, and tricked
Haverty into signing the one he made to suit his own needs, givin’ the
Lazy H to Jim Meade, instead of to Mary Deal. Yuh see, Judge, I knew
all the time that this boy was not Jim Meade.”
“You knew it all the time, sir? And just how did you know that this boy
was not Jim Meade?”
Skeeter smiled. “Because I am Jim Meade, Judge. A few years ago I was
reported killed in an explosion.”
“I see. So you are Jim Meade. Well, I--isn’t it rather coincidental that
you should come here at this particular time, sir?”
“Not exactly, Judge,” smiled Skeeter. “You see, I am a deputy U. S.
Marshal, sent here to investigate that mail robbery, but I use the
name of Smith, especially when I smell a rat.”
* * * * *
Mace Adams snapped handcuffs on McLean who stared at them with stony
eyes.
Tellurium said, “And they say the kid shot both of the Haverty boys.
Seein’ is believin’ on my part--I saw what he didn’t do to a tin can.
Why don’t somebody get a doctor for Ace Haverty--he ain’t dead. C’mon,
Jim--I’m takin’ you out to the ranch, where I can fix yuh up with some
horse-liniment.”
Jim shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tellurium,” he said, “the masquerade is
over. I won’t be going out to the ranch again.”
Jim Bailey limped toward the doorway, going out alone. No one said
anything, but they looked at Mary, who got to her feet and limped after
him. They disappeared outside.
“I ain’t no bettin’ man,” Archibald Haas said, “but I’ll bet a dollar
agin a bent-nail that he goes out to the Lazy H again.”
Skeeter and Tex Parker stepped over to the open window, where McLean had
done his high-dive. Mary and Jim were only a few feet away, facing each
other.
Jim said, “But, Mary, I’m a cheat. I’ve lied to everybody. I’m just a
no-good hound. And you--”
“I’m glad you realize it,” said Mary soberly. “You said that love had to
be honest--and you are honest, Jim.”
“Anybody want to take m’ bet?” asked Archibald.
Skeeter and Tex turned away from the window, and Skeeter said seriously:
“I don’t like to ruin what looks like a good bet, boys, but keep yore
bent nails in yore pockets.”
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the Spring, 1948 issue
of _Giant Western_ magazine.]