The trail of deception
“Perhaps not. And you would benefit thereby, not having to pay my hotel
expenses. Well, after all, why not?”
“Sure,” nodded the lawyer. “If they wanted to hang you they could do it
here as well as at the ranch. I’ll take you out there this afternoon.
Pack up your stuff.”
Jim Bailey grinned. Pack up his stuff! He could just about carry it all
in a folded handkerchief. McLean got to his feet, sighed with relief and
promised to be after Jim in a little while.
Old Hank Voigt listened to Jim’s explanation for leaving the hotel. He
shook his head sadly.
“I’d like to wish you luck, young man,” he said, “but it’ll take more’n
that to help yuh. There’s so many different ways of causin’ a demise
around a ranch. Accidental shot, bad broncs, some knot-headed ol’ cow,
which recognizes you as the one who took her calf to market--oh, a lot
of legitimate ways of openin’ your earthly envelope. But, as I say,--or
didn’t I?”
“You said quite a lot, Mr. Voigt.”
“Yeah, I reckon I covered the subject pretty well. Well, if I don’t see
yuh again, it’s nice to have knowed yuh, my boy.”
Jim Bailey winced over the handshake--not the physical hurt, but the
implied fact that he was rushing in where angels fear to tread.
He tried to grin, as he said, “I shall do my best.”
“I’d advise that yuh get some overalls, boots and a gun, and don’t be
too slick-jawed. When yore face starts to itch, that’s time enough to
shave.”
“I have never fired a gun, Mr. Voigt,” said Jim. “Why, I might shoot
myself--or somebody else.”
“That’s what they’re made for, my boy--somebody else.”
“I would hate to take that chance.”
“You’d hate to take _that_ chance?” Hank Voigt looked at him in
amazement. “You--uh--yo’re claimin’ the Lazy H, ain’t yuh?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Huh! Gaggin’ on a fox-tail and tryin’ to swaller a stack of hay!”
“I don’t believe I understand, Mr. Voigt.”
“You run along and keep claimin’, my boy, and maybe it’ll dawn on yuh
some day.”
“Well, thanks, anyway; you’ve been nice to me.”
“You paid and I ain’t cravin’ no cowranch.”
V
Ed McLean had his own horse and buggy. They tossed the valise into the
back of the vehicle and headed for the Lazy H. Jim told the lawyer what
Hank Voigt had said, but McLean only laughed.
“Hank is quite a joker,” he said.
“I _hope_ he was joking, McLean.”
“Of course he was. We’re all set now. Estabrook might have made trouble
for us, but it is clear sailing from now on.”
“I hope you are right, but something tells me that everything is not
right. These people, as I understand it, do not always depend on the
law to settle their troubles. The court might accept me as the legal
and lawful heir to the Lazy H, but some of these cowpokes, as they
are called, might not.”
“Forget that part of it. They’re law-abiding people. Just because they
carry guns and talk a queer lingo they are not necessarily killers.”
“Maybe not. I was thinking about that new man at the Lazy H. Skeeter
Smith, I believe. He intimated that they hang a man for a doublecross
in this country.”
Ed McLean shot a side glance at Jim Bailey.
“O-o-oh!” he exclaimed. “Just why did he say that?”
“Oh, we were talking about my claims. I intimated that perhaps the court
might not accept my credentials. He said that if the court decided that
I was a fraud the people would probably hang me.”
“Bosh!” snorted the lawyer. “My friend, you talk too blasted much! Let
others do the talking, you listen.”
“Of course,” remarked Jim, “my life doesn’t mean anything to you,
McLean. All you are interested in is using me for a cat’s-paw. You want
the Lazy H. If this deal works out, very likely you will get it. We are
a fine pair of crooks.”
“And we can’t afford to fall out, remember that, Jim.”
“Remember that yourself, McLean. I will not be bossed. You may suggest
something, but don’t order. I’ve taken orders all my grown-up life and
I don’t like it.”
“I’ll remember that, Jim. Sometimes you rub me the wrong way.”
“Sorry. I am going to need some overalls and boots. And if you know
where I can get a gun--”
“What in the world would you do with a gun?”
“That,” replied Jim soberly, “is something that no man knoweth, until
the experiment has been made. I want to be a man among men.”
“I see,” replied Ed McLean. “Well, I’d offer good odds that the first
time you pull that gun, you’ll be the only horizontal one among the
men.”
Mary Deal was the only one to greet Jim Bailey with a smile. Tex Parker
turned and walked away, and Tellurium backed into the kitchen. There
was an extra room in the ranch-house, which was turned over to Jim. Ed
McLean talked quite a while with the foreman, and then came up to have
a few words with Tellurium, out at the wood-pile.
“Listen t’ me, McLean!” Tellurium griped. “Do you think I’m going to
cook good food for that anteloper?”
“The word is interloper,” corrected McLean.
“The word,” declared the cook, “is no!”
“You need a job, don’t you, Tellurium? Well, just remember that this
young man is the heir to the Lazy H.”
“You don’t need t’ rub it in. As far as a job is concerned I can stretch
m’ apron at any spread west of the Mississippi. Don’t tell me what I’ve
got to do. You keep up this yappin’, and you won’t be hired to misquote
law to a strange dog in this man’s country.”
“Look at it this way,” suggested McLean. “The young man can’t help that
he was Clint Haverty’s nephew.”
Tellurium thought about that.
“All right. In mem’ry of Clint Haverty, I’ll feed him. But I ain’t goin’
to nurse him along. The boys won’t like it. He won’t be welcome, but if
he can stand it we’ll try.
“That’s fine, Tellurium. You’re sensible.”
“You git out of here, before I split yuh with the axe. Sensible! Huh!”
* * * * *
McLean went back to Pinnacle City in a happy frame of mind. At least
the expense problem was settled. He even decided to get Jim Bailey some
boots and overalls. As far as the gun was concerned, he felt that Jim
was a little too new for things like six-shooters.
Jim soon found that he was a pariah at the Lazy H. He ate with the
cowboys and they snubbed him completely. The food was plentiful and
very good. Archibald Haas was still sporting a discolored eye, and
he looked daggers at Jim Bailey, remembering that Jim had helped
Tellurium and Cactus drag him down the hotel stairs. Mary ate alone,
and after supper that night, Jim went out on the porch, where Mary
was sitting.
“Did you enjoy your supper?” she asked pleasantly.
“I enjoyed the food,” he replied, “but the company was entirely
anti-me.”
Mary nodded sadly. “I’m sorry, Jim,” she said. “It isn’t a thing that I
can help. I have talked with the boys, but they all have minds of their
own.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. “They treated me the same way in town.
Mary, let me ask you a question. If I left this country, gave up this
inheritance, would you get the Lazy H?”
Mary shook her head. “No, I am not--was not, I mean--related to Clint
Haverty. It would go to Ace and Dick Haverty because they are the next
of kin--all his remaining relatives, as far as anyone knows.”
“I have seen them both,” said Jim. “I think I’ll stay.”
“I believe you are sensible, Jim. Your going away would not help me in
the least.”
“Mary, tell me something about Clint Haverty. Didn’t he ever tell you
that you might share in the estate?”
“He told me that I would have nothing to worry about.”
“I see. Was he all right physically and mentally?”
“The only thing on earth wrong with Clint Haverty, as far as anyone
knew, was bad eyesight. He didn’t want anyone to know his eyes were
bad; and he wouldn’t wear glasses. I read most of his letters to
him.”
“He died a natural death, I suppose?” Jim asked.
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” asked Mary.
“Only that he died, Mary.”
“He was thrown from his horse, coming back from Pinnacle City, and had
a skull fracture. He usually rode a bad horse, and the doctor says this
one threw him and then kicked him in the head.”
“I didn’t know that,” sighed Jim. “I am afraid of horses.”
“You’ll get over that,” laughed Mary. “In a few months you’ll be wearing
chaps and riding the hills with the rest of the boys.”
“It sounds very romantic, but I still don’t believe I will.”
Skeeter Smith finished supper and came around to the porch to enjoy a
cigaret. After the customary greetings, he said to Jim:
“If yo’re goin’ to own and operate the Lazy H, here’s somethin’ you
ought to know, Meade. The Lazy H is bein’ robbed. At least, this is
the opinion of Tex Parker and the boys.”
“Tex has said that several times, Skeeter,” said Mary.
“I know. He says it shows up in the count. Tex has gone to town to talk
with the sheriff. This is serious, Mary.”
“How does one steal a cow?” asked Jim.
Skeeter’s brows lifted slightly, and he glanced at Mary, who was
smothering a smile.
“The methods,” replied Skeeter, “vary.”
“I see,” remarked Jim vaguely. “I really didn’t know.”
There was no conversation for a while. Then Skeeter said:
“How do you like the cattle country, Mr. Meade?”
“I am afraid of it,” replied Jim honestly.
* * * * *
Skeeter smiled. “The thing for you to do is to get on a bronc and learn
it first-hand.”
“A bronc is a horse, isn’t it, Mr. Smith?”
“It is--and call me Skeeter.”
“Thank you. I have never ridden a horse, but I suppose I must learn.
First I must get some overalls and boots, I suppose. Then I can get a
gun and--”
“Wait!” Skeeter laughed. “Have you ever fired a six-shooter?”
“Never. But I supposed--”
“You won’t need a gun. The longer yuh can get along without a gun, the
better off you’ll be. Take my advice, Jim, learn to ride and rope,
brand, judge beef and all that. That six-shooter don’t brand yuh as a
cowpoke--it brands yuh as a man, who, for some reason or another,
expects trouble to cut his trail some day.”
“Thank you, Skeeter--you have been very kind to me.”
Skeeter laughed and got to his feet.
“My friend,” he said, “somewhere in the Bible, I believe it says
somethin’ about being cautious about them who come bearin’ gifts.”
“But you haven’t brought me any gifts, Skeeter.”
“Friendship is a gift.”
“You mean that I should beware friendship?”
“Until it has been tried and proved--yeah.”
Skeeter went back to the bunk-house. Jim said:
“Mary, he is a queer sort of cowboy, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” replied the girl. “He is different. I believe he would make a
wonderful friend, and I would hate to be his enemy.”
“I don’t believe I have ever had a real friend, Mary.”
“Few people ever do, Jim. Uncle Clint used to say that a friend was
someone who knew all about you, but liked you in spite of it.”
“In my case,” said Jim slowly, “I could hardly expect it.”
“In the morning,” said Mary, “I’ll ask Archibald to saddle a horse for
you, Jim. You might as well learn to ride as soon as you can.”
“You are too kind to me, Mary,” he said earnestly.
“Say that tomorrow evening and I’ll believe you,” she said dryly....
It was midafternoon next day at the Lazy H. Archibald Haas sat on the
corral fence in the shade of a sycamore and looked at Jim Bailey,
astride an ancient charger called Peter the Hermit, so named from his
habit of staying alone as much as possible.
“That there lump on the front end of the saddle,” explained Archibald,
“is the horn. It’s used to dally a rope around, not to be hugged. If yuh
cain’t think of anythin’ to do with yore extra hands, let ’em dangle,
they won’t fall off.”
“_I_ might,” suggested Jim Bailey wearily.
“Uh-huh--yuh might. Now, the thing t’ do,” suggested Archibald, “when
the horse starts lopin’, you try and lope with him. You and Pete ort to