The Wateree messenger. (Camden, S.C.) 1884-1942, July 10, 1935, Image 7
-ALAN LE MAY
SYNOPSIS
Kentucky Jones, veteran cowman, at
tends the inquest Into the death of
John Mason, banker. Jean, daughter of
Campo Ragland, owner of the Bar
Hook ranch, where Mason met death,
?urreptltiously pauses to J6nes the bul
let which had killed Mason. Kentucky
goes to work on the Bar Hook ranch.
The Mason verdict is accidental death.
Bob Elliot, owner of the adjoining
range, drives his cattle on the Bar
Hook range. Lee Bishop, Ragland'B
ranch boss, expostulates, and Bill Mc
Cord, Billot's foreman, insults him.
Bishop and Jones are astounded at
Jtagland'a Indifference to Elliot's ac
tion. Bishop urges Kentucky to try to
influence Jean to arouse her father.
CHAPTER IV ? Continued
? 5?
She said slowly, "Do you mean that,
Kentucky?"
"It stands."
^ ??Then?" she spoke with diffloulty? I
"you're free to go. Itlde out of this, and
try to forget everything that has hap
pened here ! Some day I hope to see
you again; I swear that I truly appre
ciate what you've done. Rut there's
nothing more that you can do here
now."
"I'm not so sure of that." he an
swered. "Tell me this. Who asked
you to try lo get that bullet out of
the evidence. Miss Ragland?"
He had failed to surprise her. She
looked directly at him, and the blue of
her eyes appeared paler, like the color
of clear Ice, and as little revealing.
"No one," she answered flatly. "I
wanted It for a souvenir."
At this suggestion Kentucky could
not suppress a chuckle. "If by any
chance that were so," he told her
frankly, "that would be far and away
the coolest thing I ever heard of be
ing done."
He Baw her color slowly, and her
gaze flickered, but she stood her
ground. "You? you don't know what
you're saying. But? of course you're
right. It was a silly, loco thing to do;
maybe the worst thing I could hnve
done."
"And yet," he said gently, "you'd do
It again."
She averted her face abruptly, "it
seems like," she said, half to him and
half to herself, "I ask too much of peo
ple, way too much, always."
"You've never asked anything of
me."
"I made you carry the bullet away
for me."
"That doesn't count."
She turned to face him. "Then I'll
ask something of you now."
"Bueno."
Taking that bullet was a fool, crazy
thing to do. You say I'd do It again.
That's as may be. But now I want
you to forget that It ever was done.
Do you understand?"
"That's all right," he agreed; "as far
as that Is In my control."
"As far as ? what do you mean?"
I think, ' he said, "that somebody
saw you take It.
"The man that saw It Isn't sure of
what ho saw ; but he's made a sharp
guess. He even suspects that you gave
the bullet to me."
Her question tumbled out of her.
"IIow do you know that?"
"He came Into the sheriff's office
while I was there, nnd he accused me
of having received the bullet. He even
Bald I probnbly had it with me then?
which I did."
"Who?" she demanded. "Who was
that?"
"Bob Elliot," he told her.
She turned from him with a queer
dull swaying movement, like n little
tree turned by the wind. "Oh, dear
God!" she whispered. Abruptly she
turned back to him. "What did you
nay? What did the sheriff do?"
"Whnt could I say? I just stepped
into Klliot and cracked him down. He
ducked Into my left, nnd dropped like
a thrown down rope. The sheriff?"
"Stop I" she ordered him. Turning
his eyes to her he was astonished to
?ce that her fnce had gone white with
anger. "That was the worst thing jrotj
could possibly have donel I wish? I
Wish you'd never set foot on Wolf
Bench 1"
He said slowly, "I can't blame you
for that. But ? H
The Intensity of her anger cut him
oft. "For heaven'n sake, shut up I |
don't want to talk fc? you now."
*8ha climbed the fence, swinging
ever It easily, like a man.
"Walt a minute," fcnid Kentucky; a
midden qhlckenlng of hU Voice arrested
her. "I Just now got an Idea, here."
"I don't think anything you can say
can Interest ma," she told him.
"This * III Interest you/' he said
gravely. "If I happen to be rlffht."
Ha bad been watching I,ee Bishop
Hda In at a walk from the look-over he
had bean giving the road to Waterman.
Vwantjr yards from the place where
Kentucky Jones sn<l Jean ita^land
stood, Bishop strnck a match to the
clgaratta ha had rolled. As he rained
tha copped Da ma to the cigarette, bis
ihlad With a Sharp sidelong whip
fc :V , .
that put out the match, and they saw
Lee Bishop's lips move bb he swore.
Kentucky crawled through the fence.
"That's happened ten times today." ho
said. "How Is It, Lee, that half the
ponies shy when they paBS that rock?"
"Cussedness. I guess. Maybe that
rock looks like a bear, to them ? I
dunno."
"Looks like they'd get used to It.
then. Have they always done that
right there?"
"Well, no, come to think of It. Say ?
I wonder If there's a dead coyote un
der that snow?"
I^ee Bishop dropped to the ground,
and the two walked back to the rock
which conceivably, to horses' eyes,
looked something like a bear. Lee
Bishop explored the drift with his
boot.
"Uh huh," he exclaimed, "that's Just
what It la!" He thrust gloved hands
Into the snow.
Then Bishop hesitated, stood up, and
stared at Kentucky Jones blankly. The
blood that had come Into his face as he
bent over drained away rapidly and
completely, leaving his face gray, and
somewhat silly of expression. "No, It
Isn't," he said in a curious voice.
It was Zack Sanders they found, un
der the drift. He had been shot twice,
and had died where he fell ; and they
saw that he had fallen in this spot be
fore the first of the snow.
CHAPTER V
If It had been a shock to the people
of the Bar Hook when Zack's horse
came In, the finding of Zack's body
was a bombshell In truth. Examination
established definitely In the minds of
them all that Zack's death could have
occurred at no other time than that
ascribed to the death of Mason; for
the same factors which had estab
lished the time of Mason's death ap
plied here also ? the time of snowfall,
and the brief hour during which the
Bar Hook had been deserted before
the fall of the snow.
Campo Ragland made repeat-id Rnd
Insistent efforts to get In touch with
the sheriff by phone, but Floyd Hopper
was not In Waterman, nor could he be
located. Under the Intense pressure
of the Implications carried by the un
welcome discovery, the par Hook peo
ple found that they had little to say to
each other. More than the death of a
cowboy cook was Involved here. No
one could any longer suggest that Ma
son's death was an accident. The man
whose death so desperately weakened
the position of rlmrock cattle had been
murdered ? almost within the 6hndow
of this house.
Yet, until the sheriff could be lo
cated, there seemed to be nothing that
they could do that night but wait.
Kentucky had hoped to sntlsfy him
self as to what had actually happened
in the Mason case before the Irresisti
ble march of events brought disaster
to the Bar Hook. Instead, all the rim- I
rock would know tomorrow that the
Bar Hook had been the scene, not of an
accidental denth, but of a murder, the
result of which promised to ruin half
the brands of Wolf Bench.
"Put Up Your Hands."
Tift wns unable to make headway
toward rearrangement of what tie
know. It would have boon easy to miK
Ke*t thnt Joe St. Marie, who hnd Mod
nboiit hla whereabouts At t ho hour of
the crime, might have killed Zack Snrt
dern ah the reault of aotne obscure
quarrel And then killed Mason because
Mafion was a witness. Thin did not,
however, explnln Jean Iltigland's theft
of the bullet that killed Mason; nor
her Alnrm over the fact that a picture
had been stolen from a frame! nor her
Anxiety to conceal thin loan from her
father.
WhAt he knew war that Jean wax
InextrlcAbly Involved In a murder
which waa a dlnaftter to all of Wolf
| Bench; and that as a result of thin
murder the 88 herds were pouring
across the Bar Hook range. For the
present he lmd to admit that he was
I sure of nothing more. He closed his
mind to the puzzle, and tried to drowse.
But presently he found himself
roused sharply to a neu wakefulness.
For some moments he lay listening ln^
ten fly, unable to decide what was
wrong. Then there came to his ears
the slip of cold wood on wood. He
knew at once that someone's hand had
fumbled In an effort to take down the
bars of a gate in silence.
Kentucky Jones stepped to the open
window. Against the clean sparkle of
the snow all snowless objects stood our
In etched relief. Nenr the down-coun
try trail a horse and rider appeared, to
disappear at once behind the stone
pump house. Kentucky swore under
his breath. He had been unable to
recognize the rider, but the horse he
knew a tall black with a long white
stocking on the off fore leg. It was
the horse Joe St. Marie had ridden that
day.
Kentucky Jones returned to hlh blan
kets with his nerves on a peculiar edge.
He rolled a cigarette, and thought of
Joe St. Marie.
The crack bronc rider was a man
of peculiarly mixed type. Almost no
trace of accent or guttural came into
*hl8 speech. St. Marie was unusual In
that he mude no effort to conceal the
dark strain In his blood. The big steel
conchos on his five-Inch belt and the
sliver work of his spurs and bit were
barbarian touches hardly ever seen In
the Wolf Bench rlmrock any more.
So little further Insight into this man
was afforded by better acquaintance
that many must have supposed that
this was all there was to know about
Joe St Marie. But: Kentucky was not
so sure. St. Marie was too compactly
self sufficient, he thought, to be so
easily known.
Ue was able to fix upon one ftnme
dlate probability. .If Joe St. Marie had
gone out, he would presently return.
Had he meant to Jump the range he
could have used any number of sub
terfuges for giving himself a long start
before his absence was noted. St
Marie would be back that night ; and,
since he had not bothered to pick a
fresh horse, he probably did not mean
to be long gone. Kentucky dressed,
and propped himself up in the corner
of his bunk to watch the pump house
trail.
An hour passed; more than an hour.
Looking at his watch he was aston
ished to learn that it was only quarter
past eleven o'clock. Sometime he had
dozed, but he was certain thathevdould
have heard St. Marie's horse If it had
come in. He smoked again, and wait
ed ten minutes more.
Upon the snow, a spot appeared. It
pulled up, shifted and separated, and
he saw that it was not one horse but
two, and the watcher made out that
the second horse appeared to be a
pinto, for he could not see the ani
mnl's fore legs, and thus knew thai
they must be white. Suddenly he knew
that he was looking at. the pinto horse
of Bob Elliot.
Kentucky Jones spat through his
teeth, and anger rose Into his head like
a rising wind. Here was something
definite and conclusive, upon which a
man could lay his hands. The Bar
Hook rider, whom he was now cer
tain was Joe St. Marie, had ridden out
to confer with the boss of the 88. He
promised himself that within five mln
utes he would know exactly what that
exclusive saddle conference meant.
Ihe pinto horse now turned, going
back the way It had come; and the
other rider, coming on, was lost to view
again in the dip of the ground.
Kentucky Jones took up the long
barreled Colt which hnd so seldom
emerged from the bottom of his war
hag, stepped through the window, and
ran to the corner of the house. Against
the far corral stood a stable shed of
peeled logs. To this lie made his way
keeping it between himself and the
trail. Within the long shed, across one
end was fixed a horizontal log, used as
a saddle rack ; he knew the rider would
return his saddle here. Beside It in
black shadow, he took his post
It seemed to him that the night was
silent for a long time before finally he
heard again, close at hand, the small
crunching complaint of the snow under
the hoofs of a wn lklng horse.
Flattening himself against the wall
he could see neither horse nor rider
as he pony was led close to the stable
shelter. The animal wns still out of
his angle of vision as he heard the
rider drag the saddle off. not three
yards from where he stood.
Then close beside him the rider an
peared, and for a moment was a sil
houette against the snow; a figure
made shapeless by the shouldered sad
Within the stable he could see noth
ing at all, though the other eased fliM
saddle upon the rack so close at hand
that a swinging stirrup struck his
knee. So little space separated them
that he could hear t?.^ rider breathe
could have touched him by raising his
hand.
Kentucky Jones said sofrlv, "Put un
your hands" ' '
lie heard the breath Jrr* |n the
other s throat ; and for a n*>> ient thev
stood in utter silence, as 1/ other of
them any longer breathed at ?||. Me
could not fell whether or not he hnd
been obeyed.
j The other said, "Who- who In it?"
The wjjul went our or Kentucky
.Tones. iW volco was hardly more
than a whisper, twisted almost past
recognition by shock and strain-but
, he would have known It anvwhere In
the world as the volco of Jean W
land.
For a moment both of them stood
motionless in the dark. Then Ken
tucky Jones said, "What In the n?rne
o "e stepped out from the watl
so that he ronld nee her silhouetted
figure against the snow outside. With
out the saddle there was nothlDg about
her outline to suggest the man he had
expected. Be had a queer shocked
feeling that somehow a substitution
had been made by unnatural means, so
definitely had ho expected Joe S*.
Marie. Then he saw her sway ; and
he stepped forward In tinse to catch
her iu his arms.
Even then she would hare slipped to
the ground If he had not held her up.
Th? starch had gone out of her and
she stood limp, not inert but trembling
violently.
"Don't ?don't ever do anything like
that again," she gasped at last.
"Good" Lord! Do you think I hnd
e/iy idea it was you? I thought ? I
thought you were Joe St. Marie."
"St. Marie?"
"I saw someone slide out of here on
the horse St. Marie rode today. I saw
that horse come back, and I saw Its
rider talk to Hob Billot, on his big
paint."
The shock of surprise she hnd sus
tained In t lie dark was turning into
anger. "And what did you think yon
were going to do about It?" she de
manded.
"That hardly matters now, does it?"
"I askyd you a question," she said
hotly.
"I'll answer it then. If anybody but
you had gone wolf prowling out of here
in the night to powwow with your fa
"All Right, Could You Make Out
How He Died?"
ther's worst enemy, and I caught him
at It ? I'd have had the reason for that
out of him, If I had to choke It out of
him with these two hands."
Jean's anger lilted. "You're bad
luck for me," Bhe whispered. "Every
thing that you have anything to do
with goes wrong for me."
"Maybe," he said, "that's because I
don't know what yo:t're f-jing to do."
"Why should I tell you what I'm try
ing to do?"
"No reason ; except that It seems to
work out badly when you don't."
She turned to him sharply, "I can
tell you this," she snld. "I know what
I'm doing here. I know more about
what's happening here than you can
possibly know. Can't you trust that?
Haven't you any faith In me at all?"
"You still won't tell me whiii you're
trying to do?"
"I can't 1 I can't possibly do that,"
All day long the liar Hook had tried
to reacli Sheriff Floyd Hopper without
success ; he had lost himself somewhere
among the ranchers who had no phones.
Campo Itagland yas unwilling to take
up the death of Sanders ? with Its
definite Implication that Mason had
been murdered ? with any of the depu
ties. And the ease hung (Ire, awaiting
Hopper's return to Waterman.
liut when word reached the sheriff at
last, two hours after dark, he lost no
time In getting on the Job. He drove
steaming Into the I?ar Hook within an
hour of his first notice.
Floyd Hopper came into the kitchen
briskly. His eyes were wary, and he
did not Rmlle at all.
"So poor Zack has turned up at last,"
he said, warming his hands over the
stove. "How come you to find him,
Lee?"
"My horse kept shying one particu
lar place." Lee Bishop said. "Soon
as Kentucky called It to my notice I
begun to wonder If there wasn't a dead
coyote or something under the snow.
So Kentucky and me looked, and rhere
he was."
"'Soon as Kentucky called It to your
notice,'" the sheriff repeated. "So It
was really Kentucky Jones who thought
of looking In this place ? Is that right?"
"Well, yes, though he only said ? "
"All right. t'ouid you make our
how he died?" ,
"Fighting," said Hlshop. "He wns
l>'.ng In a kind of heap, face down, hut
partly on his Bide. He'd been shot
twice, once In th?j left shin, and once
In the back. His gun wan under him
In hlj right hand, and It was fired three
tlmcft "
"Hl? gun belt ? " began the sheriff.
"He didn't wear a gun belt? didn't
own one, far's I know ? Just carried hid
gun In his pocket, I guess."
The sheriff nodded. "Let'* see his
gun, then." A* Lee Bishop went out,
the sheriff turned to Kentucky Jones.
"Could you tell which way Znck' was
firing when he went down?"
Kentucky exhaled smoke and shook
his head. "A man's liable to spin and
fall most any way, when he's nit."
"Zack was lying beside a rock, wasn'<
he? Now, the trail from down canyoa
comes past that atone pump houn*
I)ld It look to yon like he might hflv?
took cover behind that rock, to flr?
down the trull?"
(TO OK CONTI1HJKI ?
i
FEW UNABLE TO "
FIND THRILL IN
UNCOVERED PAST
What type of heart could It be that
would not beat Just a little faster
over the news that a Harvard expe
dition will delve Into the wilderness
of Sinai for the secrets of the Moon
GfdacKs?
What type of mind could It he that
did not get a thrill out of Richard
Halliburton's experience In the tun
nel through which Jonb led David's
army Into the Jebuslte city of Jeru
salem 700 years before Christ trod
Its streets? Isn't there a thrill In
contemplation of digging into the
Mayan ruins. In Mexico and Central
America, or in uncovering the stone
written history of Rome?
It was In the wilderness of Sinai
that the Hebrews, led out of Egypt
by Moses, wandered 40 years work
ing up the nerve to enter the Land
of Canaan. It was on Mt. Sinai that
Moses obtained the tablets bearing
the Ten Commandments.
Jerusalem, a shrine to Jew and
Gentile alike, a pawn in wars that
reach back Into the dimmest history,
holds Becrvts most normal persons
yearn to solve.
The Mayans had a civilization on
this continent when our ancestors
still were dodging the powerful In
Europe and dallying with the idea
of political and religious freedom.
It wns In Rome that Paul preached
the new gospel, and where martyrs
to It were burned In pitch to light
the nrenn for gladiatorial con>hnt\
In the Colosseum, which still stands.
Most of our thrills over expeditions
of thut type are vicarious. We don't
go, we can't go;' must of us wouldn't
go if we could, hut that doesn't pre
vent us from believing we would not
from envying the fortunate few who
do go. ? Kansas City Star.
Work
Many of us regard work as a nec
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can't help ourselves. It never oc
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curse. Work is Just what you make
it ? your best friend or your worst
enemy. ? Grit.
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