IT was a thoroughly dejected Barry Weston who rode to the Flying W that evening. This was the crowning blow. Had the Flying W remained, he had intended to ask Barbara to share it with them; now it seemed that he and his mother would be as homeless as she.
Lola saw him ride into the yard and came running to meet him. There was a smile of welcome on her lips, but the lovely eyes were clouded.
“Oh, Bar-ree!” she cried, and flung herself into his arms. He held her absently, patting her shoulder.
“How is ma?”
“She ees not well, but brave. Ah, Bar-ree, she ees won’erful! Ees break her ’eart to let go the rancho, for she ees theenk of you all the tam; but she say she can not do anything else. These step-father of yours, he ees a peeg! I’m lak to scratch hees eyes out.”
“Lola, I reckon I could watch you do it and feel right happy about it. But the thing’s done, and we mustn’t let her see how badly we feel.”
“You ’ad no luck weeth the man you ’unt?”
“No.” He told her about it while he off-saddled and cared for his tired horse. They walked to the house together.
“Me, I’m feex you nice dinner. You go to your madre; she weel be glad to see you. Bar-ree, these ’Orace Moley ees mak her all upset.”
He nodded and went into her room. She had heard his voice and was waiting for him. Kneeling, he let her take him in her arms and cry over him for a little while, then disengaged himself and looked at her severely.
“Doctor Barry Q. Weston back on the job again,” he told her. “No more tears, young lady! How’s the appetite? and have you been takin’ your exercise?”
She smiled through her tears. “Lola has been very kind to me, Barry; but, oh, Barry! we’ve lost our home. I had to give up the one thing I had been saving so carefully for you.”
“Shucks, that’s nothin’ to worry about. What’s a few hundred acres of dry land and a hatful of skinny cows? Forget it, lady. You’ve spent most of your life in the Basin as it is; it’s time you had a change. I’m goin’ to take you up into Montana—let you see some new country. Now dry those eyes. Shame on you, carryin’ on like this, and you a pioneer! Get that chin up.”
Although the heart within him was sick, he stayed with her joking and laughing until the sparkle came back to her eyes, the faint color to her cheeks. Lola brought a tray with her supper, and added her smile and word of cheer. Deftly and tenderly she arranged the covers, then seated herself by the bed.
“Your supper ees on the table,” she told Barry. “Go eat eet; I weel stay weeth your madre. We are ver’ good frien’s, madre and me; no?”
Barry’s mother laid a white hand on Lola’s brown one. “She has been very sweet, Barry; she has cared for me as though she were my own daughter.”
“See?” cried Lola. “Barbara, she ees my sister, and ’ere I’m fin’ a madre. All I’m need now ees w’at you call father and I’m got ’ole fam’ly.”
“Where do I come in?” asked Barry.
For an instant she sobered, regarding him from her big eyes with a look that he could not fathom; then she laughed again and answered gaily.
“You are my bro-ther; my nice, beeg bro-ther. I’m ver’ proud of heem.”
Their banter, together with the excellent supper Lola had prepared, helped to dispel to a great extent his dejection. As he ate, he thought. Moley had triumphed; the Basin spreads were his even to the Flying W. Deceit, treachery, fraud—all had been combined to bring about his victory; yet, with all this double-dealing, Moley must have left a loophole. Man is by no means a perfect creature; somewhere there must have been a slip. But where?
Steve, of course, would know things; but Steve was in the game and he would not talk. Tug Groody and Frothingham were gone. So was Sam Hodge. There remained his step-father and possibly Ace Palmateer. The former had disappeared, although Barry did not believe he had gone far. Chet Lewis was too timid and entirely unused to depending upon himself.
Ace and his gunmen? The former might know something, but Barry did not credit the two bouncers with Horace Maley’s confidence. One thing they did know, and that was the truth about Garth’s killing. This angle was brought more strongly to his mind when Nip and Tuck arrived at the ranch.
“Barry,” said Nip, “Clement’s trial comes up tomorrow. Barbara didn’t say anything to you, but she’s worried sick. Seems like Horace Moley made her some kind of a proposition whereby he’d git Clement off if she deeded the ranch over to him. Said somethin’ about witnesses bein’ mistaken. She turned him down cold.”
“Now that Sam Hodge is dead, Ace and his bouncers are the ones who will convict him.” For a short space Barry stood looking at the darkening horizon; then he made a sudden gesture and spoke shortly. “Get Lola to fix you some supper, then saddle up fresh horses. We’re goin’ to Mescal.”
As they were about to enter the house, Lola came to the door. Tuck nodded and tipped his hat; Nip walked swiftly to her and stood looking down into her pert face.
“Lola! Ain’t you glad to see me?”
She permitted a look of puzzlement to cross her face. “Who he ees? He spik to me lak he know me. Ah! I ’ave eet! Ees the beeg vaquero who work for Bar-ree Wes-ton. Lemme see; ees eet Neep or Tuck?”
“Aw, Lola, quit your funnin’. You know who I am. Gosh; I’d hoped you would miss me like I missed you.” He appeared so crest-fallen that Lola relented. Her eyes softened and she placed a hand on his arm.
“Of a certainty I know. You are Neep, my ver’ good frien’. And I’m mees you ’ole, ’ole lot. Now you come een, and we feex the supper, no?”
An hour later Barry and the two cowboys were riding slowly towards Mescal. As they rode he outlined his plan. It was a desperate one, but they adopted it without protest.
“Ace and his gunmen, Cliff Bender and Doug Pell, are the ones who know about that holstered gun. As sure as they testify Clem will be convicted. I aim to prevent their testifyin’. Nobody in town knows we have returned, and I told Lola to ride to the Cinchbuckle and warn Clay to keep out of sight. What we must manage to do is to get the three of them and take them to that line cabin on the Cinchbuckle south range and keep them there. If we’re lucky we can force an adjournment or a postponement of the trial.”
Tuck swore. “And if we apply a couple of hot irons in the right place, mebbe we can force the truth from one of them.”
“I’ve half a mind to try. The whole deal has been a crooked one from the start, and one way of fightin’ fire is with fire.”
They talked it over, holding their horses to a walk. When they finally picked up the lights of the town they halted and dismounted. They were in no hurry to reach Mescal. It was close to one in the morning when they resumed their way. Circling the town, they approached it from the west, halting again in the darkness behind the hotel stable. Barry advanced on foot and investigated, finding the stable deserted save for the horses which were kept there. Among these were two belonging to Bender and Pell. Working silently, he found saddles and bridles, and, after adjusting them, led the two animals to where their own mounts were waiting. Returning to the barn, he selected a horse and outfit for Ace Palmateer.
“We better get to work,” he told his companions as he rejoined them. “The lights are out except for a couple in the rear. Tie those horses good.”
As silently as three shadows they stole past the barn and along the side of the hotel. At the front corner was the room of the two gunmen. Is was the only bedroom on the first floor, and was used by them in order that they might be near the safe where Ace locked the day’s receipts.
The routine followed by Palmateer each night was well enough known to them. At closing time the bouncers shook the sleepers into life and sent them staggering on their way. The doors were locked and they remained with Ace while he checked with his gamblers and counted the contents of the till. The three then walked to the hotel where Ace put the money in the safe and ascended the stairs to his room on the second floor.
At a window of the gunmen’s room they halted.
“Open,” said Barry, and lifted himself to the sill. Nip and Tuck followed, and, according to their plan, remained in the dark room. Barry peered through the front doorway. The clerk had gone to bed, leaving a lamp burning on the counter. Swiftly and noiselessly Barry slipped into the lobby and ascended the stairs. Ace’s door was locked, so he lowered the wick of the corridor lamp until it gave only the feeblest of glows, then stationed himself at the end of the hall nearest the stairs.
Presently he heard low voices and the thud of booted feet. He judged that Ace and the two gunmen had entered the lobby. The click of the safe lock came clearly to him as Ace snapped the handle in place. He heard a careless, “Hasta Mañana, boys,” grunted replies from the bouncers, and the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Barry crouched in the shadows and drew his gun. There must be no noise. The footsteps drew nearer, and he heard Ace swear and mutter something about the dimmed light. The next instant he stepped around the corner and brought up against the muzzle of Barry’s Colt.
“Not a word,” came the whispered command. “Up with your hands.”
Ace stood staring, taken entirely by surprise. Slowly his hands crept upward. “You’re all wrong, buddy,” he whispered. “I haven’t a dime on me.”
“Turn around.”
Ace obeyed, and Barry swiftly tied his hands behind him with a rope he had brought for the purpose. Standing close to the man, his gun pressed against his back, he said, “This is Barry Weston. Know me, don’t you? One little peep and I’ll drill you. Stand where you are.”
Not a sound had reached him from below. Ace stood stock still; he had been a sure-thing gambler too long to risk taking a chance now. They were at the head of the stairs, and Barry was peering intently at the thin light which illuminated the lobby. Suddenly this was extinguished, and he knew Nip and Tuck had carried out their part of the program. He heard their soft footsteps as they forced the gunmen to walk ahead of them into the dining room and through the kitchen doorway.
“Get gain’,” commanded Barry. “Take it easy, and don’t make the mistake of thinkin’ you can get away.”
Taking a couple turns of the rope about his wrist, he followed Ace down the stairs. At the bottom he moved close to him, putting the gunmuzzle against his back. Down the dining room aisle they walked, through the kitchen and into the starlight behind the hotel. Straight to the horses he marched Ace, to find Nip and Tuck with their prisoners awaiting them.
Here the three were searched and their weapons removed. Then, one at a time, they were forced to mount and were tied securely to their horses. A rope around the body of each connected them with their captors. Still enforcing strict silence, they rode slowly across the range, out to the south and east, and finally headed for the Cinchbuckle. Presently the horses were urged to a running walk, and by the time dawn overtook them the cabin was in sight. A man was standing in the doorway awaiting them. It was Clay.
“Got your message,” he told Barry. “Thought you might need me.”
“Good. Start a fire in the stove and fix some breakfast for us. Don’t bother with Ace and his friends; they ain’t hungry yet.”
The prisoners were allowed to dismount and seat themselves on the ground. Their hands were still tied, and they were not permitted to communicate with each other. Bender and Pell were grinning; Ace’s face held a defiant sneer.
“You’re wasting time,” he told Barry scornfully. “Keeping us from testifying won’t help Clement a bit. We gave our testimony at the inquest, and in our absence they’ll simply read what we said then into the record.”
The blow told, but Barry’s face did not betray that fact. “We’re not worryin’ about that,” he said calmly. Nevertheless, when Clay was guarding the prisoners and they were eating their breakfast, he admitted that this contingency had not occurred to him.
“Then we got to git the truth outa them,” said Tuck savagely. “Heat up a poker and burn a few fancy crosses on the bottoms of their feet.”
“We’re supposed to be civilized.”
“So are they, but they ain’t. And it won’t do much damage; we brand cows and they live to eat grass.”
“We might bluff them.”
“They’re too wise to bluff.”
“Maybe. Boys, somebody in that outfit reloaded Cal Garth’s gun and put it back into his holster; which of the three do you think did it?”
“Ace,” answered Nip. “He’s the brains of the outfit, and the boss.”
“Keno,” agreed Tuck. “That’s my guess too.”
“All right; we’ll work it on that theory. This is what we’ll do.” He went on to explain in a voice too low for any outside to hear.
Presently they got up and walked out to where Ace and his gunmen were seated. They did not seem in the least disturbed. As though in accordance with a prearranged plan, Nip and Tuck led the horses off into the brush, returning presently on foot.
Barry addressed them shortly. “All right, boys; take Pell and Bender away. Don’t let them talk to each other. I’ll be down presently when I’m finished with Ace.”
For the first time the sneer left Polmateer’s lips. “What are you going to do with me?”
Barry adopted the harshest tone he could command. “Clement Dawn is a friend of ours. We don’t aim to stand on one side and see him railroaded on lyin’ evidence. Clay is heatin’ a poker in the stove, and we aim to get the truth out of you three before we finish. Take ’em away, boys. Ace, walk into the cabin.”
For a moment the man stared wildly. “You can’t do that! You’re bluffing!” Barry had judged him correctly; he was soft and sensitive and had a yellow streak a yard wide.
“Get inside,” said Barry, and slapped him across the face. It was an act of which he was not proud, but he was acting a part designed to impress Bender and Fell.
The two protested as their captors relentlessly drove them through the brush to the stagnant pool which lay hardly within shouting distance of the cabin. Here at its edge they were tied to trees some distance apart, while Nip and Tuck grimly seated themselves on the ground. Bender and Pell were no longer grinning.
“You know,” said Nip to Tuck, “they oughta repeal that part of the law which forbids torture. A good hot iron can draw more from a man in a minute than a whole flock of prosecutin’ attorneys can in a year.”
“Trouble is it draws out as many lies as it does truths.”
“Yeah, but in time a fella can git to the bottom of things. Take this case. Barry ain’t aimin’ to stop with Ace; he’ll take those jiggers and hear what they have to say too. Then he can add up the stories and strike an average.” Glancing carelessly at the two gunmen, Nip caught the swift apprehensive looks they exchanged.
And then there came to them the sound of a cry of sheer agony. The shriek was muffled by distance, but there was no mistaking the note of horrible pain and fear it held. The two gunmen started, and Bender struggled fiercely with his bonds.
“Hold still,” said Nip, “or I’ll bust you over the head with a rock. You think Ace is bein’ tortured; well, what about Miss Dawn and all of Clement’s friends? You dirty low-down skunks were fixin’ to torture them a million times worse by sendin’ Clement to the gallows with your lyin’ testimony. For gosh sake, take your medicine like men.”
Again the agonized cry reached them. Even Nip and Tuck felt the chill creep up their spines. They exchanged uneasy glances; surely such a horrible sound could not be drawn from human lips except through torture. Bender and Pell were standing stiffly, eyes staring, beads of sweat on their brows.
Nip forced himself to speak callously. “Reckon that last touch brought somethin’ out, eh, Tuck?”
“Sure. He’ll talk. He’ll say plenty.” Tucked rolled a cigarette and puffed on it thoughtfully. “Stinks like heck down here,” he complained.
“That’s the comp’ny you’re smellin’.”
Presently they heard the sounds of a man approaching through the brush, and Barry stepped into sight. His face was drawn in harsh lines and his eyes burned. He stood looking from one to the other of the gunmen.
“Ace talk?” inquired Nip.
The answer was short. “Yes. Reckon I’ll take Bender next.”
Bender strained again at his bonds, twisting and writhing, his face livid. “You ain’t gonna torture me!” he screamed. “You can kill me first.”
“We could do that long ago if we wanted to,” said Barry calmly. “Quiet down or I’ll clap you with a gun barrel; then we can tie you to the bunk without any trouble.”
“I tell you you won’t torture me!” panted Bender. “I’ll talk. What is it you want to know?”
“You’ll talk all right. Just like Ace. Untie him, boys.”
Nip and Tuck started working on the bonds.
“Dang you,” growled the former. “You’ve pulled those knots so tight we’ll have to cut ’em. Give him an extry brand for me, Barry.”
“Wait a minute!” Bender had suddenly become calm. “I’ll bet Ace put the blame on us; didn’t he, Weston?”
“I’m not sayin’,” answered Barry, but there was a look in his eyes which convinced Bender he had spoken the truth.
“You hear that, Doug? The lousy son blamed us! Well, we didn’t do it. We was busy holdin’ back the crowd. Ace done it himself. I seen him.”
“Hush your mouth!” cried Pell.
“I won’t! I ain’t gittin’ the bottoms of my feet burned for nobody. Tell the truth, Doug. By Godfrey, I will! And I’ll tell it under oath.”
“Reckon your oath ain’t worth much,” said Barry. “We’ll get the truth in our own way. Cut the rope, Nip.”
The man fell to cursing Pell for his failure to support him until finally Doug gave in.
“All right, Weston; you win. Ace reloaded that gun and put it back.”
“Untie them both; we’ll give them a chance to say that in Ace’s presence.”
They were forced to lead the way to the cabin. Clay was waiting at the door. “Two of ’em? Well, the more the merrier. Poker’s good and hot; bring ’em right in.”
They entered the cabin, and even Nip and Tuck for the moment stood appalled. Ace Palmateer was bound to a bunk. His boots and socks had been removed and both feet were roughly bandaged. He lay limp and panting, eyes closed, sweat standing out on his white forehead.
Barry addressed him roughly. “Ace, here are pour two bouncers. We aimed to give them a dose of your medicine, but they swear that you reloaded Garth’s gun and put it into his holster.”
“It’s a lie,” said Ace thickly.
“It ain’t no lie!” blazed Bender. “You know you did it. I seen you. Me and Doug both.”
“Conflictin’ stories,” said Barry shortly. “Clay, get Ace off there; we’ll work on Bender a bit.”
“No use,” said Pell, his eyes on Ace’s bandaged feet. “Ace, you got to take it this time. I figgered they were bluffin’, but I see they ain’t. I don’t aim to be crippled. Take us to town, Weston; we’ll testify.”
“All right; but we’ll put the confession in writin’ first.”
He found paper and pencil and dictated a short statement for each to sign. The statements were witnessed and pocketed by Barry.
“Stay with Ace, Clay. We’ll take ’em in.”
The horses were brought up and the five mounted and rode away, the two bouncers again securely tied.
“Better stick to your stories, boys,” Barry warned. “If you don’t, we’ll have the sheriff hold you on the strength of these confessions, and Ace will have a chance to save his hide by blamin’ you.”
It was their one chance and they took it. A wave of excitement swept the court room when two of the missing witnesses appeared in the custody of their three guards. Barry saw Barbara staring at him, lips parted, a question in her eyes, and smiled reassuringly. Both the prosecuting attorney and Clement’s lawyer rushed to meet them.
The two gunmen went on the stand and in unfaltering voices told of the frame-up, putting the blame on Ace Palmateer. The building rocked with applause and the case was dismissed. Matt Billings promptly placed Bender and Pell under arrest for perjury at the inquest.
Barry and his friends escorted Clement and Barbara from the court room. On the way out they passed Horace Maley and his son. Steve’s face was livid, and only his father’s restraining hand kept him from leaping at Barry. The lawyer’s face was inscrutable, but his burning gaze met Barry’s triumphant one and in it Barry read suppressed fury and implacable hate.
They reached the jail just as Matt Billings came out after locking up his prisoners. Barry called to him to join them.
“Got another perjury prisoner for you. Ride with us to the Cinchbuckle south line cabin and I’ll turn Palmateer over to you.”
Nip and Tuck drew Barry aside. “How are you goin’ to explain his burned feet?” they demanded.
Barry chuckled. “Ace isn’t hurt a bit; he just thinks he is. You see, I’d heard that if you make a fella believe you’re goin’ to burn him and then touch him with a piece of ice, he’ll think sure enough you used a hot iron. I didn’t have any ice, but I put a pewter knife in a bucket of that cold spring water and it served the same purpose. We tied him to the bunk and Clay held the hot poker close to his feet. Then I yelled ‘Now!’ and touched him with the cold knife handle. He sure hollered.”
Nip shuddered at the memory. “I’ll say he hollered! You must have touched his conscience. I always figgered he carried it in his feet.”