Chapter Twelve: THE FINEST MAN IN THE COUNTY

Major Fitz’s office reflected, as did everything else in this clean, white house, a military neatness. It held a roll-top desk, a safe, three chairs, and a book-shelf filled mostly with copies of the Stockman’s Gazette.

Major Fitz was there examining a small ledger. Before he took it out of the safe, he carefully pulled down the blinds and locked the door. He didn’t spend much time over the ledger, for he knew its contents almost by heart. When he was finished and had the ledger back in the safe again, he allowed himself a thin smile of satisfaction. Then, because he was waiting for someone, and idle time always hung heavy on his hands, he pulled out some back issues of the Gazette and leafed nervously through them, glancing often at the wall clock.

He waited almost twenty minutes before he heard a soft knock on the outside door, and he crossed the room to open it. Carmody stepped in, followed by a smaller man, a puncher. The look on this man’s face made Major Fitz frown. “Well?” he said.

“It went all right,” Carmody said in a businesslike tone, following Fitz across to his desk. He laid down two sheets of paper, which Fitz picked up after he sat down at his desk.

“Did he get to the claim recorder’s?” Fitz asked.

“We left him stretched out almost on the steps of it,” Carmody said.

Fitz looked at one of the papers and handed it to the puncher. “That’s the same location paper, isn’t it, Barney?”

The puncher came over and glanced at the paper. “Sure, that’s the one I give him.”

Fitz, his hands trembling ever so slightly, deliberately opened the other paper, which was Hugo’s falsified assay report. He read it swiftly, and Carmody heard him sigh a little.

Carmody said, “What is it?”

“Better than I had hoped for,” Fitz said softly. He stared at the paper a long moment, then raised his eyes to Barney. “Barney, you did a good job. I thought maybe old Pick was onto something, but I never dreamed it would be this good.”

“I did,” Barney said, his voice bragging and arrogant. “I could tell by the way he acted up there in the Calicoes when we was followin’ him. When a man’s got a strike, everything he does gives him away—even an old tough jasper like him.”

“Well, he had a strike, all right,” Fitz said dryly. “Describe this canyon to me again.”

Barney did. He obviously knew something about minerals and mining. He described the dike at some length, guessed at its probable length and depth, while Major Fitz took careful notes.

“How many claims would it need to cover it?” Fitz asked, looking up from his writing.

“Six would blanket it.”

“You’re sure Pick didn’t register it before he was killed?”

“I looked through the register this mornin’,” Barney asserted. “There ain’t a thing registered in that canyon, not a thing.”

“How do you explain all his test pits?”

“Why, Pick was like any other prospector. He dug around, puttin’ in a lot of pits and gettin’ no color at all, or maybe just a little. He didn’t go deep enough. There wasn’t no sense in payin’ good money to locate a worthless claim. On the other hand, he might have knowed that the gold was there, or somewhere close. He wanted to make sure of the best claims before he recorded anything. That’s natural enough, ain’t it?”

“I suppose,” Fitz said, rising. “Well, Barney, you’ve earned a nice cut out of this. One of those claims—the best one in fact—will be yours.”

“It ought to be,” Barney bragged. “If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t ’ve known anything about it.”

“That’s right,” Fitz said. “Good night, boys.”

Barney turned to the door and went out, Carmody swinging in behind him. As Carmody was about to step out, he shuttled his gaze to Fitz, and it was questioning. Imperceptibly Fitz nodded, and Carmody closed the door.

Major Fitz stood utterly still, his hand traveling to the breast pocket of his coat, from which peeped the tips of five cigars. He drew one out, his head cocked as if listening, and bit the end off it. Striking a match, he held the flame to the tip of the cigar, just as the muffled explosion of a gunshot sounded out in the night. Major Fitz paused long enough for the corners of his mouth to turn up in a slight smile, and then he lighted his cigar.

He was sitting at the desk when Carmody returned. “Where do you want him?” Carmody asked quietly.

“I don’t care. Get rid of him on your way over to Warms. Did the boys wake up?”

“I told them I shot at a dog nosin’ around the corrals.” Slowly Carmody walked over to Fitz’s desk and looked down at him, his slack face thoughtful and grave. “I didn’t like that much, Fitz,” he murmured.

“Did you want him getting drunk in Cosmos and babbling the whole thing?” Fitz inquired.

“It isn’t Barney. He’d ’ve got it in the back sooner or later.” Carmody paused, his face still grave, his eyes meditative. “It’s you, Fitz. When you’re through with a man, you throw him away—like you’ll throw that cigar butt away.”

“I don’t deny it.”

“I wonder if—” Carmody’s voice died, and his face settled into an unpleasant hardness. Leaning both hands on the desk, he put his face close to Fitz’s. “Don’t try it with me, Fitz. I’m a careful man.”

“Hoke, you’re a fool!” Fitz said angrily. “You’ve been with me almost since I took over the Bar 33. We’ve built ourselves a nice stake by trusting each other. If your cut doesn’t suit you, say so. If you want to pull out of here, saddle up and ride out—only I’d hate to see you go.”

Carmody straightened up. “I’ll stick,” he said briefly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as a man can be when he’s runnin’ with a man like you,” Carmody murmured. “What do you want me to do about Westfall over in Warms?”

Fitz indicated the papers before him. “Take those over and tell him what I want. He’s to take his crew to the canyon and put up his monuments. Then he’ll go down and file on these six claims, buy his supplies, and start work. Once he’s operating, I’ll expect to see his books once a month. The expense funds, all cash, have been deposited in the Warms bank. If he ever mentions my name, either in public or private, tell him what he may expect.” Here Fitz smiled thinly. “Also, you might impress upon him what he’s to expect if I even suspect that his books are crooked. Have you got all that?”

“Sure, but he’s honest, right enough.” Carmody cuffed his Stetson off his forehead and drew out his sack of tobacco dust. Fitz relighted his cigar and sat scowling at his desk.

Presently, as they both smoked in silence, the old feeling of close camaraderie returned. But Fitz was drumming on the desk with his fingers.

Then he said abruptly, “You know, Hoke, there’s only one thing in all this business that I can’t explain.”

“What’s that?”

“Barney and Tohill were sent to follow old Picket-Stake Hendry. Barney comes back with the news that Pick has been shot, blown off the rim. By whom? Presumably Lee Tohill. But where is Tohill?”

Carmody studied his cigarette. “My guess has always been that Pick Hendry tagged him, and that he died up there.”

“But we searched the country.”

“No man can cover that country like it should be covered. Besides, a man that’s shot bad ain’t so careful about directions.”

“But how could Pick shoot him when he got a load of buckshot right in the face?”

“Maybe Pick got first shot at Tohill.”

“That could be,” Fitz said. “However, my mind’s not at rest on that point. Where is Tohill? If I knew that, I’d feel a lot better.”

“What difference does it make?” Carmody said. “You’ve got the location papers. And they’re the true ones, because they’re in Pick Hendry’s own handwritin’. If they weren’t, maybe you could accuse Barney and Tohill of double-crossin’ you, of fakin’ the location papers, and keepin’ the real ones Pick had with him. But you can’t do that. That handwritin’ checked.”

“So it did,” Fitz said quietly. “Well, get along, Hoke. And good luck.”

When Carmody was gone, Major Fitz rose and blew out the light. On the way back to his room, he let the memory of this evening filter through his mind, and it gave him pleasure. Once he had something tangible like this gold mine, he would be fixed for life. It pleased him, too, to recall how neatly he was cleaning up all the evidence that pointed to him. Pick had found the claim, and he was dead. Lemrath was dead, for Fitz had not wanted the claim recorded; he had only wanted the assay. And Barney was dead, too, now. That left only himself and Carmody—and Westfall, a legitimate mining man. Sooner or later Carmody and Westfall would go the way of the others.

It was all working smoothly. Soon no one could touch his back trail. And in a short time, he would be a man of wealth and power, not just a salaried manager of a cow outfit. Yes, life was good. But to Barney, slacked over the saddle of a horse out in the night, he did not give a thought. That was over.

Next morning Major Fitz rode into Cosmos. He went first to several stores and ordered supplies. Major Fitz had a gift for making storekeepers talk. They valued his advice as well as his trade, and he gave both impartially.

Standing with legs outspread, big sombrero on the back of his head, duck coat over his singlet, he was talking to Bledsoe about Johnny Hendry in the Miners’ Emporium when he caught sight of Nora at another counter. He left Bledsoe and walked over to Nora, who greeted him with gravity, taking his hand. The major’s foxy face was carefully gloomy.

“I’ve heard about this deal they shoved off on Johnny. What’s behind it?” he asked bluntly.

“A frame-up,” Nora answered simply.

“Of course, but whose?”

“Baily Blue found the gun.”

Fitz eyed her keenly. “You think he planted it?”

“I don’t know, Major Fitz. Johnny didn’t, either.”

Major Fitz rapped on the counter and bellowed, “Bledsoe! Bledsoe!”

A clerk called the storekeeper, who hustled over to Fitz and Nora. Bledsoe looked harried, as if he had spent a sleepless night, and his manner contrived to be both ingratiating and defiant.

“You’re a commissioner here, Bledsoe. Why can’t you do something about clearing Hendry?” he snorted. “You know as well as I do that he didn’t do it!”

Bledsoe shrugged. “What can we commissioners do, Major Fitz?”

“Get a decent sheriff!” Fitz answered sharply. “You had one and let him go.”

“Please,” Nora said, putting a restraining hand on Major Fitz’s arm. “He did what he could, Major Fitz.”

Fitz scowled, and drummed on the counter top with his fingers. “Do you think it would do any good to give Baily Blue a dressing down?”

“It never has, has it?” Bledsoe asked.

Suddenly, a gleam of inspiration appeared in Major Fitz’s eye. “I’m going to talk with that gentleman,” he declared firmly. Maybe he’ll change his tune. You wait until I get back and you’ll hear something,” he promised, as he tipped his hat to Nora and walked out of the store.

Baily Blue was in his office. Fitz stomped in and closed the door, and immediately he relaxed.

“Take a chair,” Baily said amiably. “It ain’t often you pay me a call in broad daylight.”

Fitz chuckled and sat down. “Are we alone?”

Baily nodded.

“That was a nice job at the bank,” Fitz said. “Where’d you cache the stuff?”

“Two bars are in this bottom drawer here,” Baily drawled, indicating his desk. “The other two are under a bunch of junk in the closet.”

“Tell me about it,” Fitz said. “How’d Hendry take it?”

“Just like we thought he would. The girl kept him from flyin’ off the handle, Turk Hebron jumped me, and then they decided to run. They had Leach and his hardcases figured pretty good. It was Turk that said Leach would likely breed a lynch mob.”

“Did they suspect you?”

“I don’t think so. They think I crooked the election, all right, but Hendry said he didn’t think I framed this bank robbery on him.” Baily grinned slyly. “I’m quite an old duffer, Fitz. They got me down for a little bit of a fox, but that’s all. Johnny don’t think I’m crooked. Leastways I never give him cause to while he was my deputy.”

Fitz nodded. “I’ve got an idea. I was just talking to the girl, and to Bledsoe. Of course, they believe it’s a frame-up. I sided in with them, naturally. But I want to make my sympathy look plenty real now, Baily. We’ve got too much at stake for them to suspect me.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m supposed to be in here now, arguing with you. When I go out, I’m going to tell them I’ve offered a thousand dollars reward for the capture of the real bank robbers—not Hendry and Hebron and Brender. That’ll leave you in the clear, since you only did your duty in trying to arrest them on the evidence found. You haven’t put a reward on their heads. This bounty I offer for the bandits will be with your full knowledge. You can say in public that you approve it, providing anybody can prove to you that it wasn’t Johnny and those other two.” He paused, regarding Baily. How does it sound?”

“I dunno. There’s a lot of feelin’ against me.”

“All right. That’s a way to show you’re open-minded, isn’t it?”

“I reckon. Only don’t say we’ve had a row about it. Say I was reasonable and agreeable, that I was only doin’ my duty.”

“Fine.” Fitz shifted in his chair and pointed a finger at Baily. “Here’s something else that will give it weight, Baily. Tonight have Leach Wigran steal a hundred head of steers off that south range of mine. They’ll be along the creek, with no one riding herd. I’ll have them pushed over today. It’ll make it look like the robbers—just to mock my reward offer—are beginning to raid my stock.”

“What’ll the company say about that?” Baily asked.

“I’ll take care of the company. I haven’t showed them any losses so far. Besides, once the excitement has blown over, the steers can be returned, can’t they?”

“Sure.” Baily plucked at his lower lip. “You don’t want anything planted, do you, like somethin’ of Temple’s or Hart’s or kennicott’s—anything from one of them honest ranchers?”

Fitz shook his head. “Not a thing. All I’m interested in doing is showing the girl and Bledsoe and anybody else who’s apt to make trouble that my sympathy is with Johnny.”

“What are we goin’ to do about him?” Baily drawled.

Fitz made a wry face. “That young man has a charmed life. First he managed to survive that shot of Carmody’s. Next, he discovered that trap-door set-gun. I’m beginning to believe he can’t be killed.”

“I could have told you that.”

“Well, he’s taken care of now. At least, he can’t harm anybody where he is. And if we ever get a try at him again, we’ll make it stick.”

Baily nodded, and Fitz rose.

Baily said, “I’ll get those two bars up to you tonight. I’ll give the other one to Leach, like you said. Tip Rogers was in here all day rawhidin’ me to take a posse out. That all right with you?”

“Go ahead.” Fitz started out, and suddenly turned and asked, “Has the Esmerella got a reward out?”

“Two thousand.”

Fitz only grinned and stepped out on the walk.

Back at Bledsoe’s, he found Nora still talking to the storekeeper. They looked at him expectantly as he approached.

“Well, I found him reasonable,” Fitz said briskly. “I’ve offered a thousand dollars reward for the capture of the real bank robbers—the reward not to apply to the capture of Johnny or Turk or Hank, because I don’t believe they did it.”

“You darling!” Nora cried, and her voice was tight with gratitude.

“What did Blue say?” Bledsoe asked.

“Oh, he was reasonable. He said he’d only worked on the evidence he found, which was inescapable. He admitted the gun and spur might have been planted by the real robbers, but he said he only did his duty in acting on the evidence at hand.” He snorted loudly. “The fool!”

“Let’s hope your offer will make the Esmerella officers change theirs, too,” Bledsoe said, shaking his head.

“Three thousand dollars is a lot of money,” Fitz said wisely. “Many a man has sold out his companions for less. I believe these robbers will.”

He chatted a moment longer, then left them. Watching his trim figure mingle with the crowd, Bledsoe, as if voicing Nora’s own thought, said, “There goes the finest man in this county—or any other county.”