17

WARING FAIRLY exploded with anger.

“So the blankety-blank did it!” he bawled. “I’ll get the boys together and ride over there and clean out that nest of snakes!”

“Hold it!” Slade said. “You’ll do nothing of the kind; you’ll stay right here. If you tried that, you’d be in the wrong from the start and Parr would have the law on his side.”

“Don’t take up for the blankety-blank!” Waring shouted. “You—” His voice trailed off, for the look in Slade’s cold eyes boring into his struck him to silence.

“I’m not taking up for him, and I’m not taking up for you,” Slade told him. “I am taking up for law and order and the integrity of the state of Texas. By your own admission, that is open range over there, state land, and Parr has as much right, under the law, to run sheep onto it as the cattlemen have to run cows. Do what you threatened to do, and the law as embodied in Sheriff Ross will be against you. You’ll be playing right into Parr’s hands. You can’t bull this thing through, Phil, so don’t try it. Besides, if you went sashaying over there looking for trouble, it’s very likely that you’d ride into a trap. If Parr has run in sheep, you can rest assured that he has made provisions to keep them in. The chances are you’d just get mowed down by hellions holed up in the brush, and the law would be on their side. You wouldn’t have a leg to stand on, if any of you happened to be in a condition to stand at all, which is unlikely. Al only saw half a dozen herders, he said, but you can bet a hatful of pesos that there were more than half a dozen somewhere around. The half-dozen may have been set out as bait. I’ve a notion that would be Parr’s way of doing things. Do you understand, now?”

Under the lash of the Ranger’s voice, Waring had cooled considerably.

“Yes, I guess so,” he said. “But what the devil are we going to do? If those infernal woollies are allowed to remain, they’ll ruin all that range, you can depend on that. Parr won’t give a hang, and he won’t do anything to prevent it.”

“Right now we’re doing nothing,” Slade replied. “But I think I can guarantee that Parr’s sheep won’t spoil the range. Right now, sit tight and wait.”

“Walt is right, Phil,” Marie, who had joined them, broke in. “You listen to him and do what he tells you to do. I’m half-owner, and I’m backing him to the limit.”

“All right! All right!” growled Waring. “With the two of you lined up against me, what the devil can I do but knuckle under.”

“You won’t regret it,” she said. “Walt knows what he’s about.”

“I hope so,” Waring replied. “Oh, the devil, let’s eat. Getting mad always makes me hungry.”

After his third cup of coffee, Waring brightened considerably and achieved a more equable frame of mind.

“Neale Ross says you’re never wrong,” he observed to Slade. “So I reckon I’m doing the right thing by stringing along with you.”

“You certainly are in this instance,” Slade agreed. “First thing in the morning I’m riding to town to have a confab with Ross, and to learn what steps he’s contemplating to combat possible trouble.”

“May I ride with you?” Marie asked quickly.

“Well, you being a cattle spread owner, your presence should tend to enhance my status,” he admitted. “Okay with you, Phil?”

“Go ahead,” replied Waring. “I’ll promise to be good while you’re away.”

When Slade lay down that night, it was not to sleep for some time. He pondered recent disturbing developments. His problems were multiplying fast. In addition to a murderous outlaw bunch to capture or exterminate, he now had an incipient range war crawling up his pants leg. Swift and strenuous measures were required to prevent that from exploding all over the section. When the word got around, and it wouldn’t be long, the cattlemen would be up in arms and a clash between the two factions inevitable if nature were allowed to take its course.

On the surface, Eldon Parr’s action appeared to be a deliberate invitation to trouble, but if he read the man aright, and he was convinced he did, Parr would be prepared against trouble. Also, he believed he knew Parr’s objective in bringing in the sheep. Well, that objective would not be achieved. The sheep angle must be taken care of, but it was only incidental to the main problem that confronted him.

With Marie accompanying him, Slade set out for town early the following morning. When they pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office, Slade drew something from his saddle pouch that glinted in the sunlight. He tucked it under his arm, where it was not conspicuous. Entering, they found Sheriff Ross in his office and in a bad temper.

“Yes, I heard about it,” he said without preamble. “The devil’s to pay, and no pitch hot! Why in blazes did Parr do it? He must have known he was going to stir up trouble.”

“Neale,” Slade said, “did you ever hear of a red herring?”

“A red herring!”

“Yes. A red herring has a very strong and pungent odor, an odor that for some reason known to themselves is very attractive to dogs. A pack will carry the trail of a red herring breast-high without a fault for hours.

“And in the course of rival deer hunts, an unscrupulous contender would drag a red herring across the trail of a deer. The dogs would leave the deer scent and follow the trail of the herring. Finally got to be a saying applied to any distracting practice—’trail of a red herring.’

“And that,” he concluded impressively, “is the explanation of the bringing in of sheep by Eldon Parr. He knew well it would kick up a grand hullabaloo, and people in general would for the time being pay little attention to anything else. Which would include yourself. With sheep troubles on your hands, you’d have little time to devote toward the apprehension of the outlaw bunch that masqueraded as men of steel to frighten the superstitious herders and peons and therefore simplify their wide-looping operations. Begin to understand?”

“Why—why, in a way,” the bewildered peace officer replied. “But why should Parr want to do something that would work to the advantage of an outlaw bunch?”

“Because,” Slade replied, “Eldon Parr is the leader of the men of steel.”

Marie gasped. Ross nearly jumped out of his chair.

“Walt, have you gone plumb loco?” he sputtered.

“No,” Slade answered. “I mean just what I said, and when the proper time comes I’ll prove it to your satisfaction and that of everybody else. Straighten this out and take a good look at it.”

As he spoke, he laid a folded sheet of metal on the sheriff s desk.

Muttering under his breath, Ross did straighten it out, smoothing the creases.

“Why, it’s one of those blasted tin shirts!” he exclaimed.

“Right,” Slade nodded. “Now look at the lettering down in the left-hand corner.”

With puckered brows, Ross leaned close. H—A—S—J—no, K—I—” he hesitated. “Yes, that’s it, Haski.” He glanced up expectantly.

“When we looked over the packing plant yesterday” Slade said, “you’ll recall we watched some workmen solder rolled sheets of tin to make cans. Well, I got a close look at one of those sheets. Not only was the metal identical with this, but in one corner was the name of the fabricator—‘Haskins Mills.’ That was where a bad slip was made when the ‘suits of armor’ for the men of steel were fashioned. It’s quite logical to believe that the tin shirts, as you call them, were made in Parr’s packing plant. Don’t you think so?”

“Why—why, I’ll be hanged if it don’t look that way,” Ross admitted.

“Of course, it’s not proof positive that Parr had anything to do with the manufacturing of the phony armor,” Slade added. “If questioned, he could say that it was done by somebody in the plant without his knowledge, and without some corroborating evidence, it would be hard to contradict him and make it stick. So let’s see what else we’ve got.

“First, remember the slug Al Hodson stopped on the trail the other day, the slug that was undoubtedly meant for me? Well, aside from you and Doc Price, Eldon Parr was the only person who knew I planned to take that ride. But somebody had a dry-gulcher planted up on the ridge all set to mow me down when I rode past.

“Next. Somebody started a whispering campaign against Phil Waring, insinuating that he was the leader of the outlaw bunch, the men of steel. Another case of a red herring. For Phil is about as capable of originating such a fantastic scheme to play on the superstition of the herders as he is to fly to the moon. Once more, it’s logical to think Parr started the whispers. So we come to the wide-looped sheep.

Those stolen sheep were loaded onto a ship and brought to Parr’s packing plant, supposedly from a sheep ranch Parr owns somewhere over east. How? I am positive that I know how it was done, and I plan to put it to the test very soon. And only a man with a more than superficial knowledge of tides and currents and geological formations could have figured that one out. And if there is anyone else in the section who fits into that category, I certainly haven’t contacted him.”

“Darned if you ain’t making out a case against the hellion,” growled Ross. “What else?”

“One little thing in particular,” Slade replied. “Really a very small thing, but with everything else considered, significant. You’ll recall telling me that Parr claimed to have been born and brought up in east Texas. Well, the other night he used a word that no true Texan would be likely to use.”

“And that was—” prompted Ross.

“ ‘Deestrict,’ “ Slade answered. “A Texan says ‘section,’ or if for some reason or other he happens to say district, that’s how he will pronounce the word—district not deestrict. The pronunciation deestrict is strictly Down East colloquialism. So I was at once convinced that Parr originated someplace other than Texas. And if a man endeavors to cover up his place of origin, he’ll bear watching, or so has been my experience.”

“I’ll throw that ornery toad in the calaboose!” the sheriff raved.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Slade differed. “Right now there is not an iota of proof against Eldon Parr that would stand up in court. I am confident, in my own mind, that Parr is the man we’re after, but being confident about something and proving it to twelve gentlemen in a jury box are horses of a different color. There is no doubt in my mind but that Parr wrecked that ship, the “Compostella,” murdered her crew and stole whatever of value was in the captain’s safe, but I couldn’t prove it—yet. I’ll need a little more time to make it possible for you to drop your loop. And that’s got me bothered, I’ll admit. If the hellion is allowed to run loose, it won’t be long before somebody else is murdered.”

“What are we going to do?” the sheriff asked helplessly.

“First, we’re going to try to prevent a range war between sheep-and cowmen,” Slade replied. “Parr’s other activities must wait for a while. Get your horse, we’re going to pay a visit to the cowmen of the section. Perhaps between the three of us we can cool them down a bit and persuade them not to start a ruckus right off.”

Ross hurried out to throw the rig on his mount. Marie turned to Slade.

“Walt,” she said, “why are you so intensely interested in this business? Do you, as Felipe, the cook, maintains, ‘just go about doing good?’”

“Not exactly, I fear,” he replied. “Well, I guess you have a right to know; but it must be strictly a secret between us.”

“Another one?” she questioned, with a smile. “Well, I’m used to it.”

He drew something from a cunningly concealed secret pocket in his broad leather belt and handed it to her. She gazed at the famous silver star set on a silver circle—the feared and honored badge of the Texas Rangers.

“I suppose I should have guessed it,” she said slowly. “You are just what I’ve always heard a Ranger is. Well, just so you don’t range too far. I’m not very hopeful, however,” she added.

Outside sounded the sheriff’s shout. Slade slipped the badge back into its hiding place, and they joined Ross at the hitchrack.

All day long they rode from ranchhouse to ranchhouse. The section was thoroughly aroused, and threats were voiced. But Sheriff Ross declared flatly that he wouldn’t stand for an unprovoked attack on the sheepmen, while Slade used all his powers of persuasion in an endeavor to induce the cowmen to view the matter with equanimity. He felt that Marie’s presence and support had a moderating effect.

Ultimately, from each was extracted a reluctant promise not to resort to violence unless the herders first committed some overt act.

It was a promise, however, that was usually tempered with, “But I can’t guarantee the boys won’t get out of hand if the blasted critters stray onto our range.”

As they rode back to town, under the stars, Slade remarked, “Well, we’ve done the best we can. I believe we did cool them down a bit, but it won’t last. I’ve got to rustle my hocks and bring this thing to a head.”

“What do you plan to do?” Ross asked.

“Think it over, for the present,” Slade replied evasively.

He was “thinking it over,” very seriously, planning and reviewing his next move. He did not see fit to confide in his companions because he felt the chore he had in mind could be performed better alone.

They reached town rather tired and very hungry, for they’d had nothing to eat since a cup of coffee and a snack at a ranchhouse around noon.

“We’ll put up the broncs and then head for the Post Hole,” said Ross. “I’m about ready to topple over.”

They proceeded to do just that. Frog-lip Fogarty greeted them warmly.

“Cat’s fine,” he replied in answer to Slade’s question. “Getting better all the time; scratched the cook again because he was slow handing out the liver. We’ve named him Eat ’Em Up.”

They had just finished a very bountiful repast when Eldon Parr entered. Ignoring the hostile glances cast in his direction, he approached the table. Sheriff Ross regarded him with decided disfavor.

“So you did it!” he growled.

“I am within my legal rights in running sheep onto open range,” Parr replied coldly. “Is that not so, Mr. Slade?”

“You are within your legal rights,” the Ranger conceded.

“And, Sheriff,” Parr continued meaningly, “I expect my men to enjoy the protection of the law.”

“They’ll get it, so long as they stay within the law,” Ross answered.

“Thank you,” Parr said, and walked out.

“The nervy sidewinder!” Ross snorted. “I believe he’d mosey into a den of grizzlies if he took a notion.”

“Yes, a cold proposition,” Slade agreed. “I notice he was wearing a coat tonight,” he remarked with apparent irrelevance.

“Meaning?”

“Also noticed that there was a slight bulge under the left shoulder,” Slade added.

“A shoulder holster man, eh?” commented the sheriff. “It’s a fast draw, for a man who knows how to use it.”

“And I’ve a notion Parr knows how to use it, despite his protestations that he is not adept in the use of a gun,” Slade said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised at anything where he’s concerned,” grunted Ross. “Well, let’s have another drink. How about you, Marie?”

“I’ll take some more coffee, if you don’t mind,” the girl replied.

“Goes for me, too,” Slade said.

“Oh, all right, I’ll string along with you,” the sheriff surrendered. “I hope it don’t keep me awake.”

“Nothing will keep me awake tonight,” Slade answered. “It’s been an exhausting day.”

Marie smiled.