The Battle At Three-Cross (13 page)

“What was the present?”

Katherine unbuttoned the sleeve of her shirt and rolled it up to display a heavy silver arm clasp about two inches wide. She slipped it off and handed it to
Lance who examined it curiously, conscious of its warmth from the girl's arm. It was of extremely fine workmanship and looked like pure silver. Its surface was almost entirely covered with an orderly series of strange symbols, arranged in straight lines, down and across the armlet, raised slightly above the level of the silver.

Lance scrutinized the markings. “Looks like Indian work,” he said dubiously, “though I don't know.”

“Uncle Uly thought they were Aztec symbols, if not of an earlier race.”

“I'd take the professor's word for it if he knows about those early races the way he does cactus—cacti. I suppose your dad had this made up someplace. What was his discovery?—a silver mine?”

“That's what I'm inclined to think, but I don't know. Mr Fletcher claims he never heard anything of the discovery.”

“Where does Fletcher fit into this story? Does he deny your ownership of half the ranch—or anything of the sort?”

Katherine shook her head. “Not at all. He's really been very kind about the whole business. In a way I feel obligated to him. You see, it was he who wrote me of Father's death. Mr Fletcher wasn't at the Three-Cross when it happened. Some Yaquente Indians found Father's body and brought it to Pozo Verde. It was Fletcher who arranged to have it shipped to San Francisco for burial. He intended coming with it but at the last moment telegraphed me he was unavoidably detained but would come later to see me and tell me what he knew——”

“Did he know anything?”

“Nothing, except that the Yaquentes had found Father's body a short way from the ranch house. He
had been shot. But I didn't verify that until we arrived in Pozo Verde and I met Fletcher personally. You see, he'd kept writing from time to time that he was coming to San Francisco, and I kept postponing my visit here while awaiting his arrival. A whole year passed in such fashion. Finally I made up my mind to come here. Uncle Uly was about to start his cactus expedition, so we decided to make it a joint affair. He'll look for cactus, and I'll see what, if anything, I can learn regarding Father's death.”

“The professor came on here from Washington, of course?” Lance said.

“Why—oh yes, of course.” Katherine appeared flustered. She went on, “And Uncle decided you'd be the man to accompany us on the trip into Mexico. Will you?”

Lance slowly shook his head. “I'd like to, but I can't just see my way clear.” He tapped his deputy sheriff's badge. “You see, I couldn't very well resign after just taking on this job. It may prove to be a big job before I get through with it. If you're bound to go down there it seems to me Fletcher is the man you want. He knows the conditions and the country down there. Probably he'll be all right when he understands you insist on going.”

“I'm afraid not,” Katherine said, flushing a little. “You see, he's against my going there in the first place, and in the second—well, we quarreled over it—and something else. You may as well know. He asked me to marry him, and I refused.”

“What! I don't blame you,” Lance blurted.

Katherine smiled. “You don't like him, do you?”

What Lance might have answered the girl never knew. At that instant there came a sudden silvery
flattening of lead against a large chunk of granite situated near the girl's left shoulder. Almost instantly the report of a high-powered rifle reached their ears. A second shot whined viciously close to Lance's face, then a third!

Lance threw himself swiftly across the stretch of sandy soil intervening between himself and Katherine, threw one arm around her waist and forced her to the earth. Then he half dragged, half carried the girl behind the shelter of an upthrust of granite rock. Even as he moved another leaden missile scattered dust and gravel close to his body.

“You stay there—down, out of sight!” Lance snapped.

Turning, he sprang to his pony, gathered the reins and leaped into the saddle without touching stirrup. The roan gelding needed no more than a touch of the spur to get into motion.

“Lance,” Katherine wailed. “Come back! You'll be hit!”

“You stay out of sight,” Lance yelled back over his shoulder.

He was riding low in the saddle, crouched behind his horse's head. Those shots had come from an easterly direction, and Lance was heading toward a brush-covered ridge from which he calculated the shots had been fired. It wasn't easy going. There was too much brush and cacti barring the way.

“Damn cactus!” Lance growled, and touched the gelding again with his spurs.

He was nearing the side of the ridge now, momentarily expecting to ride straight into a hail of rifle fire. Lance's six-shooter was out, but he could see nothing at which to shoot. His eyes were intent on the ridge ahead. No further shots were forthcoming. Lance wondered if the hidden assailant was holding his fire for close-up work. The tough little gelding dug in its hoofs and scrambled, panting, up the side of the steep slope.

It was slow going, but finally horse and man reached the crest. From this position Lance had a wide view of the surrounding country, but there was nothing to be seen except a vast sea of mesquite, paloverde trees, creosote bush and cacti, with the hot sun making shimmery waves of the distant landscape.

Suddenly a dark, racing figure caught Lance's eye. It disappeared behind tall brush, again came into view farther on and once more disappeared, moving fast. It was a rider, all right, but too far away to be recognized. Lance swore softly under his breath. “That coyote is heading for Pozo Verde but he's got too much of a head start for me to overtake him before he gets there. Cripes! Once in town, he'd quickly lose himself. I reckon I'd better go back. This might be a trick to draw me off. After all, that first shot came a heap closer to Katherine than it did to me. I wonder which one of us that sidewinder was aiming to get. Maybe both. It was dang good shooting, at that. Blast the luck! There are too many good riflemen not getting caught.”

He turned his pony back down the ridge and
started toward the spot where he had left Katherine. The sun was swinging wide to the west by the time he returned. The girl was waiting anxiously, and a look of relief swept across her face as his pony moved out from the tall brush.

“Lance!” she exclaimed. “Thank heaven you didn't get hurt. Who was it?”

Lance shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn't find anybody. Probably just some fool hunter trying to get a brace of quail for supper——”

“Lance! You know that's not so. People don't hunt quail with rifles—not generally. I've hunted enough to know that much. Somebody was trying to shoot you.”

“Anyway, he didn't succeed, so there's nothing to worry about. The professor not back yet?”

Katherine shook her head. “He's probably neck-deep in cacti someplace. Even if he'd heard those shots he'd be so interested in his notes they wouldn't register on him. He should be along soon though. The afternoon's going.”

Jones put in an appearance in a few minutes though. He looked somewhat relieved at seeing Lance and Katherine. “I thought I heard some shots a time back,” he said. “Probably mistaken—what?”

“You're not mistaken.” Lance shook his head. “Some hunter was potshooting around. Anyway, it's about time to start back, I reckon.”

“Confound that hunter!” Jones exclaimed crustily. “I thought—something wrong. Very awkward. I'd just discovered—beautiful
Echinocereus
fendleri
—very unusual—late for bloom, y'understand—but just covered—magnificent magenta flowers. But, Katherine, you'll never believe it”—Jones's tones took on enthusiasm—“I found an almost perfect specimen of
Homocephala
texensis
—most unusual—these parts. That spot down there—veritable botanical garden. I've brought with me an Echinocereus
rigidissimus and a
Neomammillaria
macdougalii
—just seedlings—y'understand. Must return—tomorrow. Be no end interesting—stay beyond nightfall—any number
Penicereus
greggii
—due for blooming. Night bloomer, Lance—y'understand——”

“Uncle,” Katherine said impatiently. “Lance is not telling the truth. Somebody was shooting at us.”

“What, what! Bless me—can't believe it. No. I——”

“I wouldn't say for sure they were shooting at us, whoever it was,” Lance said quietly. “Howsomever, I figure we'd better be getting back.”

Jones was considerably upset at the news. Saddle cinches were tightened. Jones gathered his papers and specimens into saddlebags, and they mounted and turned the horses' heads toward Pozo Verde.

A mile or so was covered in silence before Katherine spoke. “It wasn't any go, Uncle Uly,” she said. “Lance refuses to take the job as our guide down into Mexico.”

“Ridiculous,” Jones snapped. “Nothing else to do—far as I can see. Is there, Lance? Any number men—for deputy jobs. You'll reconsider?”

Lance, smiling, shook his head. “No can do. I'm no guide——”

“Great Christopher! No need of a guide. I can get into a saddle and ride. Need a man to—hire crew—wagons—buy supplies—that sort of thing. We need you——”

“Sorry, Professor.” Lance shook his head. “I'm not so sure Katherine should go down there either.”

Katherine said “Fiddlesticks!” Jones continued to insist. Finally, to get his mind off the subject, Lance
pointed to a tall, polelike cactus some short distance off. “I suppose you'll be telling me that's not an organ-pipe cactus. The Mexes call it pitahaya
dulce
, meaning ‘sweet fruit' or something of the kind.”

Jones glanced briefly at the plant in question. “Only one of the organ pipes,” he jerked. “That one—
Lemaireocereus thurberi
. Now when we get down into Mexico I hope to show you a
Pachycereus
marginatus
—some term it—true organ pipe——”

“But I'm not going to Mexico,” Lance insisted.

Jones fell into a moody silence, for once, apparently, not content to discuss cacti. Four or five more miles drifted to the rear. Abruptly Jones broke the silence. “I still don't understand”—he appeared to be choosing his words with care—“that man Kilby not having time to tell you a few things about his gang before he died. You're quite sure, Lance, he didn't reveal anything of import?”

“Darn little.” Lance's irritation showed in his words. He hated to be questioned. He considered. Something might turn up if he told the professor what Kilby had said. “Kilby refused to talk about the gang at first,” Lance continued. “He confessed to killing Bowman and taking the body out to that wash. I remember Kilby mentioned something about it being too dark to notice the peyote in Bowman's hand——” Lance paused, struck by a sudden thought.

“What's that you said?” Jones pounced on Lance's words. “Too dark to notice—peyote in—Bowman's hand?”

Lance nodded. “And that's queer, too,” he said slowly. “There's been so much action today, I reckon my mind isn't working straight. I never thought of that until now——”

“Great Christopher, yes!” Jones exclaimed. “How
many men knew that you found that peyote in Bowman's dead hand?”

“Sheriff Lockwood, Oscar Perkins,” Lance said, “Katherine and yourself.”

Jones interrupted, “Fletcher overheard you telling me last night. Remember how he hurried from the hotel bar?”

“I'm thinking of it now,” Lance said ruefully.

Jones said quickly, “Only five people knew—one of them—told Kilby. Which one?”

Katherine put in, “It looks like Fletcher to me.”

“Couldn't be—anybody—else,” Jones said.

Lance nodded. “Let's push along. I'm aiming to talk to Fletcher when we get back——” Again he paused, wondering if he was telling Jones too much. After all, Kilby had confessed that somebody was supplying peyotes to the Yaquentes. Peyotes came from a cactus company. The professor could order those peyotes with immunity, so far as being suspected was concerned.

Jones said shrewdly, “Guilty conscience, what? Wondering if you've—revealed secrets—to me?” He laughed shortly. “Can't say—much interested in peyote cactus—that standpoint.”

“Whatever I'm thinking”—Lance smiled—“I've got to admit this much. Maybe you haven't improved my brain so far as cactus is concerned this afternoon but you sure started it working in another direction. That's twice I'm indebted to you.”

“Perhaps”—Jones returned to the old subject—“make further improvement—if you decide—come to Mexico with us. Mutual improvement, what?”

“Sorry.” Lance's lips compressed tightly. “I'm not going to Mexico. That's out, Professor.”

Jones sighed. He didn't press the matter further.
The remainder of the ride to town was made in quick time. Arriving in Pozo Verde, Jones and Katherine offered to take Lance's pony to the livery while Lance went directly to the hotel in search of Fletcher.

“Sorry,” the clerk informed Lance, “Mr Fletcher isn't in. No, I can't say where he went. I saw him riding a horse earlier today. If he's returned, I couldn't say. I haven't seen him. He may be eating his dinner.”

Lance left the desk and went to the hotel dining room. There was no sign of Fletcher there. He returned to the street and visited all the restaurants in town, then the saloons. He kept a sharp eye for those passing along the street, but of Fletcher there didn't seem to be any sign. Lance finally gave up the search and ate his own dinner. It was dark now. He finished his food and went to the sheriff's office. Oscar and Lockwood were there.

“Ah, the return of the cactus hunter.” Oscar grinned. “Did you get your itsy-bitsy hands full of nasty old spines?”

“No, but I dang nigh got my carcass full of lead,” Lance said.

“You don't say!” Lockwood sat straighter at his desk.

“Somebody tried to dry-gulch me—or Miss Gregory,” Lance said grimly. “I'm not sure which. I just know the slugs were too close to both of us to be comfortable.” He told the rest of the story, ending with, “And now I want to talk to Fletcher.”

Lockwood frowned. “If Jones has got a tie-in with Fletcher why in the dev il does he suggest things that make you suspicious of Fletcher?”

“For that matter,” Oscar put in, “it was Jones suggested you look for creosote on the overalls of Bowman's killer. What's his game—if any?”

“You got me.” Lance shook his head. “Maybe he's just what he says he is. Somehow I've got a hunch to the contrary but I'm damned if I can put a finger on anything definite. Of course, there was that remark he made last night about a gang getting rid of careless members, or something of the sort. Incidentally, have you hombres seen anything of Fletcher this afternoon?”

Oscar said, “I saw him mounted, riding west along Main, a short time after you pulled out with the professor. I don't know where he went though.”

“I might make a guess,” Lance said darkly, “but I've no proof to back it up. At any rate he's not back yet, according to the hotel clerk.”

“Cripes!” Lockwood growled, “that wooden-faced hotel clerk don't know what's going on anyway.” He paused, then: “By the way, Lance, I checked up with Johnny Quinn as you asked me to. There's no answer to your tele gram yet. Johnny's quite put out about the whole business. Says he had a notion not to close the depot until he learned just what was to happen to your aunt Minnie.”

Lance smiled. “Thank your stars there's something left in this world to laugh at. Things are so muddled in my brain that I can't seem to figure anything out. F'rinstance, why in the dev il is Jones so anxious to have me guide him down into Mexico?”

“Maybe he figures there isn't so much law down there.” Oscar chuckled. “Up here, in the States, we sort of enforce the law concernin' assault and battery. What I want to know, where does Jones' niece fit into the picture?”

“I'm betting that girl's straight,” Lance said earnestly.

“You would.” Oscar grinned. “I know—pure as
the lily in the dell. But a lily might get the wool pulled over her eyes.”

“By the way,” Lockwood put in. “I was passing Smith's Gun Shop this afternoon. I glanced through the window. Chiricahua Herrick was looking at six-shooters. I reckon he figured I wouldn't give him back that weapon you took off him, Lance.”

“That reminds me of something else,” Lance said gloomily. “I've been thinking I should have held that Yaquente that Herrick was beating up today. I let him go, at the time thinking it wouldn't be much use questioning him, but I should have tried.”

“It wouldn't have done you any good.” Lockwood shook his head. “I know those hombres. They don't talk unless they feel like it, and wild horses couldn't drag any information out of 'em.”

Lance nodded. “Just about what I was afraid of. This whole damn business is a puzzle. I'm just hoping when I meet Elmer Manley to night he'll have something to say that will give me a lead. By the way, where is Tony Pico's saloon?”

Oscar jerked one thumb toward the doorway. “That Mex joint across the street. You won't have far to go. You weren't to meet Manley until nine o'clock, were you?”