16

SLADE FOUND HE WAS wearier than he thought, and it was mid-morning when he awakened to a feeling of well being. Not only had he frustrated the attempted wide-looping of the sheep and the murder of the herders, but he was beginning to get a nebulous idea as to the solution of the mystery of the vanished stock. The thing seemed incredible, but he believed the theory he had developed after viewing the rock formation near the wrecked vessel might well be sound. Anyhow, he resolved to put it to a test as soon as possible.

Descending to the living room, he found Marie already up. “Oh, I had it easier than you did,” she replied when he commented on her early rising. “You had the responsibility of—looking after me.”

“Well, did I discharge that responsibility in a satisfactory manner?” he asked, his eyes smiling.

“You did,” she answered, with emphasis. “Come on, breakfast is waiting and I’m starved, as usual.”

After breakfast, Slade examined the wounded herders and was satisfied with their condition.

“When Doc gets here he’ll put on a few finishing touches and you’ll be okay,” he told them. “And now, Marie, it’s time we were heading for home. Your brother will be pawing sod for fair.”

“Chances are he won’t even miss me, and if he does, he’ll just conclude that I decided to spend the day in town,” she replied. “Don’t worry about Phil—he’s used to me.”

Slade chuckled. “I’m beginning to understand what he’s had to put up with all these years,” he said.

“Not so many,” she retorted. “Remember, I’ve just turned twenty-one.”

When they were out of sight of the ranchhouse, after the Telos had called down blessings on them and commended them to the care of St. Julian, the patron saint of travelers, Slade said, “Mind if we take a roundabout way home? Will make us a bit late.”

“The longer, the better,” Marie returned cheerfully.

Instead of following the track to the main Lavaca trail, Slade turned north across the prairie. By doing so, he figured he could cut the route followed by the fleeing raiders the night before.

With the instinct of the plainsman for distance and direction, he had no difficulty reaching the spot where they had burst from the belt of growth. And here the trail they left was easy enough to follow—that is, to the eyes of El Halcón.

For a while the track continued due north. Then, after the rustlers had slowed their breakneck pace, it veered east, as he figured it would.

They rode east at a good pace, for Slade was confident he knew exactly the route the bunch would follow, the same route followed by Garcia’s stolen flock. He was anxious to be sure, however, and was highly pleased to learn that he was right.

The miles flowed past, and at length they sighted the strip of sandy, semi-arid land. To Slade’s satisfaction, the tracks ran straight to it.

“Here we turn south to the Lavaca trail,” he told Marie. “No sense in crossing that hot patch.”

“Did you learn what you hoped to, Walt?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, that they continued due east,” he replied, turning Shadow’s nose. He did not tell her what else he believed he had learned. Corroborating his deductions was a chore for him alone.

It was well past dark when they reached Port Lavaca, and the town’s lights twinkled a friendly welcome.

“And I’m hungry again,” Marie said plaintively.

“We’ll eat as soon as we care for the horses,” he replied. “Looks like you’re stuck a night in town, after all. Well, there should be vacant rooms at the hotel.”

“Convenient,” she commented, with a sideways glance through her lashes.

Slade gave the tired horses a good rubdown and made sure all their needs were provided for. Afterwards they repaired to the Post Hole, to find it lively and gay, as usual. While they were eating, Sheriff Ross came in and occupied a chair at their table.

“Well, did you learn anything about the ship?” Slade asked. The sheriff nodded,

“Spanish registry, American agents at Galveston. Sailed from Tampico, Mexico, with cargo of hides and tallow. Presumably bound for Galveston. What she was doing in Matagorda Bay nobody seems to know. Agents disavow any knowledge. They are sending a salvage crew to see what can be done about her.”

Slade nodded thoughtfully. “She can be salvaged, if they show up ahead of a storm,” he said. “Looks like she was conducting a little clandestine trading on the side.”

“Uh-huh, smuggling I’d say,” replied the sheriff. “Well, that angle is up to the Customs people.”

“Yes,” Slade conceded. “But the wrecking and, presumably, killings took place on Texas soil, which concerns Texas peace officers.” Ross nodded gloomy agreement.

“Did you learn what crew she carried?” Slade asked.

“Captain, mate and crew of eleven,” Ross replied.

“Check,” Slade said. “There were eleven duffelbags in the forecastle, the crew’s quarters.”

“Any notion how the hellions got on and off the ship without leaving any tracks?” Ross asked.

“I’m beginning to get one,” Slade answered. “Will discuss it later, when I get the loose ends tied up. That is, if they’ll tie. I may be way off trail.”

“Never knew you to be,” grunted the sheriff.

“Always a first time,” Slade returned cheerfully. Marie glanced at him sideways and smiled.

“Well, what have you two been up to?” the sheriff asked. “I heard Doc Price rode south this morning, so I figured Slade must have started a ruckus somewhere, seeing as he was down in that direction.”

Marie told him, and the story from her lips lost nothing in the telling, especially the part Slade played. The sheriff shook his head in wordless admiration.

“With only a gal to lend a hand, he stampedes a whole herd of owlhoots,” he said when Marie paused for breath. “Feller, you’re the limit.”

“The girl lent a very helping hand,” Slade said. “She made more racket than a dozen. I figured those sheep thieves thought a banshee was after them, especially if there happened to be any of Irish descent in their number.”

“Is my voice that bad?” Marie asked in shocked tones.

“Normally it’s as sweet as a nightingale singing on the Tree of Paradise, but when you take a notion to screech, it sounds like a coyote carnival in an owl’s nest,” Slade replied.

Sheriff Ross shook with laughter. Marie appeared to turn the matter over in her mind.

“He always leavens any compliment he pays,” she said at length. “One moment he’ll say my hair is as a forest pool brimful of sunset, the next that it reminds him of a scrambled egg. What is a girl supposed to do with such a man?”

“Well, I could offer a number of suggestions, but I think you’re capable of handling the matter yourself,” the sheriff answered. “But talking of scrambled eggs makes me hungry. Waiter!”

After the sheriff finished his meal, Marie said, “I’m tired. Mind if I go to bed?”

“A good notion,” Slade answered. “I’m going to follow your example before long; it’s been a busy week. I’ll walk you to the hotel; I have to register for a room, too. See you in the morning before we head for the ranchhouse, Neale.”

The hotel desk clerk, who knew Marie well, called her by name.

“I’ll give you Number Twelve, the room you usually have, Miss Waring,” he said. “Mr. Slade, you can have Thirteen, if you’re not superstitious.”

“I’ve always considered thirteen my lucky number,” Slade replied. Marie smiled.

After breakfast the following morning, Slade said, “I want to see Ross a few minutes before we ride.”

“All right, dear, I’ll wait for you in the hotel lobby,” Marie answered. “Take your time.”

When he reached the office, Slade found the sheriff just leaving.

“I’m going over to the packing house and see if I can locate Parr,” he explained. “Yesterday one of Garcia’s hands rode in with a message about a flock Garcia is getting ready to trail. Parr was off somewhere, so I offered to relay the message. Like to come along?”

“Yes, I would,” Slade replied.

At the packing house they failed to find the owner. “He hasn’t been here since yesterday morning,” the superintendent, an affable person, said. “Glad to know you, Mr. Slade. Would you like to look over the plant while you wait for Mr. Parr?”

Slade signified that he would, and the super showed them around, explaining the various angles of the business. Finally they came to a small room where men were soldering big sheets of tin into cylinders, one end of which they capped.

“For canned mutton,” the superintendent said. “Something of a novelty, but it’s going over well. Mr. Parr has progressive ideas.”

“He certainly has,” Slade conceded, and meant it. There was a glow in his eyes as they returned to the office to await Eldon Parr.

However, after waiting a while without Parr putting in an appearance, Slade decided to leave.

“I want to get Marie back home,” he explained. “I’m afraid her brother will be worried. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, I expect.”

Without delay, he got the rigs on the horses and rejoined Marie. They reached the W Diamond ranchhouse before noon to find Phil Waring puttering about the yard.

“Hello, have a nice ride?” he greeted them, and immediately started talking about something else.

“Remember what I told you?” Marie said to Slade, after Phil had headed for the kitchen to tell the cook to rustle his hocks. “He doesn’t even realize that we’ve been gone two nights instead of one. I guess all men are impossible.”

“I won’t forget either of them,” he protested.

“I hope not,” she said, with a sigh. “And you’ll think of me sometimes, when you’re riding over the next hilltop?” she added, her eyes suddenly wistful.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Come and get it, or we’ll throw it away!” Phil shouted, appearing from the kitchen before Slade could say more.

At the table, Marie recounted their adventures for the benefit of her brother, who listened with absorbed interest.

“Must have been quite a shindig,” he chuckled. “Wish I could have been there with you.”

“I tried to keep her out of it, but it was no go,” Slade remarked.

“Try and keep her out of anything!” Waring snorted. “I gave up years ago. She’s stubborn as a blue-nosed mule when she takes a notion to be, and twice as contrary. And you figure it was the same bunch that was gallivanting around in tin shirts?”

“Undoubtedly,” Slade said. “They have changed their dress, but not their mode of operation; leave no witnesses alive appears to be their motto. Killers of the worst sort.”

“Uh-huh, all of that,” Waring nodded. “But I’ve a notion they’re going to get their comeuppance, and soon,” he predicted.

Later, when they were alone, Marie gave the Ranger a bit of a start with an unexpected remark.

“Walt,” she said, “I purposely refrained from mentioning those cave mouths in the rocks to Phil and Neale Ross. I have a feeling you prefer not to have them talked about.”

“I do, for the time being at least,” he admitted. “Don’t miss much, do you?”

“A woman must develop a certain sympathetic understanding where a man is concerned, if she hopes to hold his regard,” she replied.

He nodded sober agreement. “You’re right,” he conceded. “Unfortunately, many do not.”

At that moment, Waring entered. “What say, Walt, like to take a little ride with me and look things over?” he suggested.

“Not a bad notion,” the Ranger replied. “Let’s go. See you later, Marie.”

As they rode away from the ranchhouse, Waring made a sweeping gesture to the northeast.

“Over there’s the open range,” he said. “A lot of it—runs way up north.”

Slade nodded. “I still think,” he said, “that it would be a good notion for you folks to get title to that land; may save you a lot of trouble some time.”

“I’ve been thinking about it ever since we had our talk,” Waring admitted. “In fact, I think I will make a try for a section. We have a little spare cash on hand right now, and I reckon there couldn’t be a better investment. I’m sure Marie will go along with the notion. Especially if you sort of suggest it,” he added with a grin. “She seems to think anything you do must be okay. How about talking to her?”

“I will, if you wish it,” Slade agreed.

As they rode, Slade was favorably impressed with the W Diamond. The grass was good, there were plenty of groves and thickets, and sufficient water. Most of the land was level or rolling prairie easy to work.

“A good holding,” he summed up. “This has always been excellent country, and always will be, although I’ve a notion some of it will be turned into farming land in the future.”

“I hope not,” Waring said. “I hate to see the range spoiled.”

“It will be to your advantage in the end,” Slade pointed out. “You will be able to purchase fruit and vegetables and grain at a much lower cost. The land down by the bay will be excellent for farming, but not overly good for cows, and there is no sense in adopting a dog-in-the-manger attitude toward it. And meanwhile you might as well reconcile yourself to the inevitable. Farming is coming to Texas, and there is no stopping it. That’s one reason why I advised you to get title to that state land if you really wish to hold it, before somebody beats you to the draw.”

“Sounds like good advice, and if Marie is agreeable, I’m prepared to act on it,” Waring said. “Much obliged for the tip.”

When they returned to the ranchhouse, in the late evening, they received some disquieting news. Al Hodson was waiting for them, bursting with excitement.

“Boss!” he called, as soon as Waring was within earshot, “there’s sheep on the range over to the east, a thundering big flock, with half a dozen salty looking hellions herding them. I started to ride to the flock, but they waved me around. I figured the next thing to wave wouldn’t be a hat but a rifle barrel, so I headed for home.”