The trail of deception
* * * * *
Ed McLean looked narrowly at Jim. Maybe this wasn’t as easy as it had
looked.
“How much do you expect?” he asked.
“All I can get. Tonight has proved to me that I am not here for my
health.”
“Oh, they were just drunk.”
“You die just as dead when a drunk kills you, McLean. What about this
Mary Deal?”
“She has no legal claims. She wasn’t even legally adopted.”
“I’m not talking about that. Why didn’t this Haverty person name her in
the will?”
McLean shrugged his shoulders, and Jim continued:
“That banker is suspicious, McLean. The will should have been read two
weeks ago. Me being here right on the dot is a coincidence that the
banker doesn’t want to swallow. And another thing I’d like to mention.
If that banker stops to think things over, he’ll realize I should have
known that my mother’s maiden name was Haverty. Me knowing I had
relatives around here and not knowing the name!”
McLean scowled thoughtfully. “Bob Hawley said you were dumb,” he
remarked.
“I am, McLean. If I wasn’t I’d leave here tomorrow. Just what will I
make out of this deal?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“I see. From what I can learn, listening around, there must be more
cash than that in the local bank. The ranch and cattle are worth over a
hundred thousand. There was something else. I heard two men talking in
the lobby and one said, ‘The best gold prospect of them all is located
on the Lazy H.”
“A prospect doesn’t mean a paying mine,” said McLean.
“Taking it all in all, isn’t ten thousand small money for my share of
the deal, McLean?”
“All right,” said the lawyer grimly. “How much do you want?”
“At least half.”
“Ridiculous!”
Jim Bailey shrugged. “Fifty percent. Without me you are lost.”
Finally the lawyer nodded. “All right. I’d like to punch Bob Hawley
right in the nose.”
“He would probably take it lying down,” said Bailey dryly. “You make out
the papers, McLean.”
“Papers? You--do you--wait a minute! You mean papers on our agreement?”
“Why not?” asked Jim. “I’m afraid we don’t trust each other.”
“We better!” snapped the lawyer, getting to his feet. “There will be no
papers.”
“Suit yourself. I might claim more than fifty percent. In fact, I might
take over the whole of the estate.”
“Listen, my friend,” warned the lawyer, “you play the game my way or
you won’t get anything. I’m not threatening you--I’m merely stating
facts. Accidents happen. Think it over, and I’ll talk with you later.
Doublecrossing won’t pay dividends in this part of the country.”
McLean walked out and closed the door. This time Bailey locked it and
went to bed. He pounded the pillow into shape and lay down. He wasn’t
in the habit of talking to himself, but he did say:
“Cliff De Haven, I don’t wish you any bad luck, but I do wish you had
lived to take over this job.”
IV
Clint Haverty had told Mary one day that she did not need to worry
about her future and he had not even mentioned her in his will. She
had nothing now, but she did not complain. Clint Haverty had been
more than generous with her, and she was very grateful. The crew of
the Lazy H had finished up their first day of the spring count, and
the new man, Skeeter Smith, had proved himself a good worker with
cattle.
Late in the evening, after the men had eaten, Skeeter drifted around to
the front porch, smoking a cigaret, and found Mary sitting there alone.
“Hello,” she said.
Skeeter sat down on one of the steps.
“It’s shore nice around here, Ma’am,” he said.
“I love it,” she said quietly. “It has been my home for eight years. I
love the sunsets, the sunrise and the moonlight.”
“They’re pretty,” he admitted. “The boys was tellin’ me about the
readin’ of that will, and I’d like to say that I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” she said simply.
“Folks don’t call me mister--I’m Skeet.”
“They don’t call me ma’am either.”
“I reckon we’re even.”
“Is your home in Arizona?” she asked.
“Home? No, I haven’t any home--Mary. Wherever I hang my hat. I’m sort of
a pilgrim I reckon.”
“I’ll have to be a pilgrim now, I suppose,” said Mary. “I can’t make
this my home much longer. As soon as the will is probated the new owner
will take over the Lazy H.”
“Yeah, I reckon that’s how they do it. Life’s a funny thing. Yuh never
know what you’ve got--not for sure. Where will yuh go?”
“Oh, I suppose I can find a job--maybe.”
“Yeah, I reckon so. Still, a woman can always marry somebody, and not
have to work.”
“I haven’t given much thought to marriage,” she said.
“I didn’t dare to,” grinned Skeeter. “Have you ever seen the feller
they’re givin’ the Lazy H to?”
“I came in from Northport on the stage with him.”
“Yeah? What sort of a feller is he, Mary?”
“Oh, just--well, I’d say he was average--as far as I could see. I didn’t
know he was the heir to the Lazy H at that time.”
“City feller, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes. He said he had always lived in a city.”
Dell Howard, one of the cowboys, came around the corner.
“Skeet, do yuh want to ride to town with me and Dan?” he asked. Skeeter
got to his feet.
“I’ll be with yuh, Dell,” he replied, and to Mary he said:
“Keep yore chin up, Mary. Speakin’ as a drifter, the things yuh worry
most about never happen. A feller died once and willed me his socks,
but I never got ’em.”
“What happened to them?” asked Mary.
“Oh, nothin’ much. They buried him with ’em on before they read his
will. See yuh later.”
Going up the street in Pinnacle City that evening, Skeeter Smith and
Dell Howard found Cactus Spears and Jim Bailey talking in front of
the hotel. Dell introduced Skeeter to Cactus, who in turn introduced
Jim to them.
“Meade, eh? So yo’re the heir to the Lazy H?” Dell asked.
“That’s what they say,” replied Jim. No one had any comments, nor
anything else, it seemed to Jim. Dell said:
“I’ll go to the postoffice, before it closes, Skeet,” and went on.
“Glad to have met yuh, Smith,” Cactus said. “I’ve got to go to the
office.”
That left Jim Bailey and Skeeter Smith together.
“This happens all the time,” Jim said. “As soon as they find out who I
am they leave me alone. They resent me.”
“Don’t feel too bad about it,” advised the tall cowpoke. “If you can
prove that yo’re entitled to the property, I don’t see what they can
do about it.”
“Something happened last night,” said Jim soberly.
“Yeah, I heard about that at supper tonight. Tellurium was tellin’ us
how Archibald got his black eye.”
“It wasn’t funny--not to me.”
“You was prejudiced,” grinned Skeeter.
“One man threatened me with a gun.”
“Yeah, I reckon he did. But that’s nothin’, he didn’t shoot. They resent
you takin’ over the Lazy H of course. But if you are entitled to it, why
worry? They’ll make yuh prove it.”
“But suppose the court won’t accept my proof?” asked Jim.
“That,” replied Skeeter seriously, “would be too bad. Folks in this kind
of country believe the court is right.”
“What do you mean?”
“If the court says yo’re a fraud--they’ll hang yuh.”
“They wouldn’t do that!” exclaimed Jim.
“My friend,” said Skeeter earnestly, “there’s boot-hills made up of
tombstones of men who made that same remark and believed they were
right. This is no country to doublecross the people. I’ll see yuh
later, Mister Meade.”
* * * * *
Jim went back into the hotel and sat down. That was the second warning
he had received on a double-cross. If he double-crossed Ed McLean he’d
suffer, and if he double-crossed the people, they’d hang him.
“Fifty percent is entirely too little for my job,” he told himself. “I
should get it all--and a bonus.”
Still, he mused, fifty percent of a hundred thousand dollars was an
awful lot of money. And then the thought struck him that Ed McLean
had been all too quick to agree to a fifty-fifty split. It wasn’t
what a lawyer would do. Offer ten percent, and then agree to a fifty
percent. There was something fishy about the whole thing. Of course,
he could understand why McLean did not want any written agreements.
Jim was very careful to lock his room that night, but no one came to mar
his slumber.
It was after ten the next morning when Jim Bailey came down from his
room. It was very hot in Pinnacle City, and the little hotel lobby was
deserted. Jim flung his key on the desk and had turned toward the door
when he heard a sound that was very much like a partly muffled shot.
Through the open doorway he could see several men over in front of
the Antelope Saloon, looking across the street. Two of them started
to cross the street, traveling at a fast pace. At that moment Hank
Voigt, the hotelkeeper, skidded around to the entrance of the hotel,
and fairly fell into the place.
“Bank robbery!” he exclaimed. “Bank robbery!”
He caught his balance and looked at Jim Bailey.
“Well, do somethin’!” he barked at Jim.
“Do what?” asked Jim, watching more men run from across the street. Hank
flopped his arms helplessly.
“Shot at me,” he said in amazement. “Imagine that, will yuh?”
“I shall try, Mr. Voigt.”
“Well--good! You’ll-- There goes the sheriff!”
Jim Bailey walked out and went up to the bank, where a goodly crowd had
gathered.
Cactus Spears was trying to keep them out of the bank.
“Thomas Estabrook is prob’ly dead,” he reported. “We’ve sent for the
coroner. Now, dang yuh, keep out and give us room!”
No one seemed to know any of the details. Thomas Estabrook was dead,
sprawled behind the counter, a gun on the floor beside him. He had
apparently tried to defend himself. The robber, or robbers, had left via
the rear doorway. No money had been touched, the bandits frightened away
after having shot the banker.
Old Hank Voigt said he didn’t see how many men were in there. He had
gone to make a deposit, and as he came into the doorway he heard a shot
fired. A moment later a bullet blew splinters from a side of the doorway
near his head, and he didn’t stop running until he skidded into his own
hotel.
Estabrook was alone in the bank at that time, the bookkeeper having gone
to Northport to have a tooth repaired. He was expected to be back later
in the day. The sheriff closed the bank for the day.
Jim Bailey saw Ed McLean at the bank, but did not get a chance to
talk with him. Jim went back to the hotel and sat down on the shaded
porch. The town buzzed over the killing of their banker, who was a
much respected citizen. McLean sauntered over to the hotel porch and
sat down with Jim.
“Well,” he remarked quietly, “there is another coincidence. The one man
we feared has been removed.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” said Jim. “It was a terrible thing.”
“I have some news for you,” said the lawyer. “I had a talk with the
judge a while ago. He won’t be back on the bench for another two weeks.
We discussed the will, and I suggested that you be allowed to live at
the Lazy H, at least, until the will has been probated. The judge said
that if I was satisfied that you are the legal heir to the Lazy H, it
will be all right for you to take up your residence out there. I said I
was satisfied.”
* * * * *
Bailey thought it over for a while.
“Meaning,” he remarked, “that I must be out there with Mary Deal, who--”
“Hang it!” snapped the lawyer. “Can’t you understand that she wasn’t
even mentioned in the will? She has no more claim than I have!”
“Pinnacle City seems to think she has, McLean.”
“Hang Pinnacle City!”
“With pleasure, McLean--and Pinnacle City feels the same way about me.
I have a feeling that the men at the Lazy H hate me, and if I am out
there--I have heard that a broken neck is quite a nuisance.”
“They won’t harm you.”