The Battle At Three-Cross (20 page)

Lanky started to speak. Now and then he was forced to use a word of Spanish or En glish but he was getting the idea across to Huareztjio. For a time the Indian listened in stony silence. Abruptly his eyes flashed, and an angry look passed across his flat brown features. Lance couldn't decide whether he was angry because of Fletcher's duplicity or because the scene in the temple had been spied on the previous night. Abruptly the stolid mask reappeared on the Yaquente's face.

Suddenly with a quick dramatic movement Lanky seized the burlap sack on his saddle, opened it and spilled the contents onto the earth at the Indian's feet. The feathered snake writhed, coiled, then straightened out to attempt escape. Huareztjio jumped back in alarm, then approached the reptile. Cautiously he stooped and seized the diamondback in both hands. His sharp, beady eyes took in the cruelly sewed mouth and the fake ridge of feathers along its back. The expression about the Yaquente's lips tightened, then suddenly he opened them in a wild, eerie cry that echoed along the village street.

The call brought an instant response. From every house along the way Yaquente heads appeared. Indians came leaping from all directions.

“What do we do now?” Lance asked.

“We ride like hell!” Lanky snapped. “They may
not like the idea of us being in their temple last night when your Horatio explains matters. Me, I'm not aiming to stay and learn what their attitude is. C'mon!”

Wheeling their ponies, they jabbed in spurs and went dashing out of the Yaquente village.

Once Lance glanced back over his shoulders. There weren't any Yaquentes following him, though back in the canyon village he could see the street filled with a packed mass of gesticulating white-clad forms. At the end of a quarter of a mile, when they were drawing near to Muletero, Lanky signaled for Lance to slow down.

They pulled the ponies to a walk. Lanky said, “Maybe we're lucky. Maybe their intentions would have been all right. Me, I wasn't taking any chances.”

“I got your idea,” Lance said dryly, “but I'd sure like to know what those Yaquentes will do next. I'd figured to stay long enough to learn from Horatio where Fletcher was.”

“Everything seems to be up to your Horatio from now on,” Lanky replied. “We'll just have to wait until he makes the next move.”

“You mean,” Lance asked, “that maybe we can go back and talk to Horatio later? Tomorrow, say?”

“You can if you like,” Lanky drawled, “and I'll go with you—providing we got a troop of U. S. cavalry to lead the way.”

“Otherwise,” Lance said, “you're staying away?”

“I'm staying away,” Lanky said promptly. “We've tipped our hand to those Indians. They know we're in on their secret. How they'll take it I don't know, and I'm going to take good care of my carcass until I find out.”

They were approaching Muletero now. The hot morning sun reflected a brilliant white glare from the plastered adobe houses. They turned their horses into the hoof-chopped roadway that ran through the town. Muletero looked about as it had when they'd passed through an hour or so earlier. There may have been a few more Mexicans in sight hugging the shadows. Even the naked children who'd been playing in the dusty road earlier had retreated to the backs of the houses where more shade was to be found. Lance and Lanky were drawing abreast of the town cantina now.

Lanky said, “If I thought they had any cold beer in that joint I'd stop and wash out some dust.”

“They'd have tequila and beer,” Lance observed, “but I'm betting plenty it wouldn't be cold.”

“Then we won't stop,” Lanky said. They rode on.

The horses had passed the cantina at an easy walk, when Chiricahua Herrick emerged from the doorway of the building. He stiffened suddenly at sight of Lance and Lanky riding through the town. An angry scowl contorted Herrick's face. His hand swept swiftly toward his holster. The gun came up, spitting flame and leaden death. At the same instant Herrick yelled, “Bert! Anvil! Come a-runnin'!”

Lance's pony jumped suddenly even before Lance caught the report of the bullet. Then he noticed blood on his pony's left ear. The flying slug had just removed the tip. Lance whirled in his saddle even as his pony went to bucking, drew his gun and thumbed one
swift shot. He saw a spurt of plaster and dust leap from the cantina wall at Herrick's back.

From the interior of the cantina Bert Ridge and Anvil Wheeler appeared, guns in hand. Lance heard Lanky swear, then from Lanky's six-shooter there came a heavy booming report. Wheeler grabbed at one of the uprights of the cantina porch to keep from going down.

Lance's horse was bucking madly by this time. Lance threw one leg across its back and dropped to the dusty roadway. A bullet fanned his cheek as he struck the earth. Again he fired and had the satisfaction of seeing Herrick stumble in mid-stride as he plunged toward the center of the road. Lance's pony went leaping and sun-fishing crazily off to one side.

Again Lanky fired. Bullets from Bert Ridge's gun were kicking up dust near Lanky's feet. Ridge suddenly gave a wild scream and pitched forward on his face. Herrick was still approaching Lance, limping slightly and cursing as he moved. His gun was swinging in a wide arc to bear on Lance.

Lanky swung his gun toward Herrick, fired, missed. Herrick fired once at Lanky, then turned back to Lance. Anvil Wheeler, supporting himself with one hand gripping the cantina upright, fired two swift shots at Lanky.

Lance's forty-five barrel tilted slightly. Smoke and fire mushroomed from the muzzle. Wheeler wilted suddenly, turned half around and stumbled to the earth. Bracing himself on one hand, he again shifted his aim toward Lanky.

Herrick was bearing in, planning to get close before he drew his bead on Lance. Lance waited coolly, then fired just a split instant before Herrick started to pull trigger.

Herrick's shot flew high in the air as he clutched at his breast, then he staggered back to a sitting position on the earth, the gun falling from his weakening grasp.

Even as Lance fired he heard Lanky's forty-five roar savagely. Wheeler groaned and slumped flat in the roadway.

Powder smoke drifted in the bright, dusty air. Lance's pony had bucked itself out by this time and stood docilely at one side of the road. Three men were down in the roadway, two of them motionless. Only Chiricahua Herrick showed any sign of life, though he was on his back now rolling from side to side in agony. Wild, excited Mexican yells sounded through the town, though none of the Mexicans put in an appearance.

The dust was commencing to settle. Lance swung toward Lanky. “You all right, pard?”

“Not a one touched me,” Lanky said grimly. “Reckon I'm lucky. You?”

“Not even a scratch. Some of those slugs were coming close though.”

“
You'r
e not telling
me
about 'em?” Lanky drawled. “Things was plenty hot for a minute. It looks like two of them hombres is finished.”

“I'm figuring the third, Herrick, won't last long,” Lance said tersely. “Slip into that cantina, will you, and see if there's any more of this breed looking for trouble?”

Lanky started across the road. Lance walked to Chiricahua Herrick who was quiet by this time. He knelt by Herrick's side. Herrick's eyes were open, but he hadn't much longer to live. He forced a wan, defiant grin as his fading gaze focused on Lance.

“Some hombres have all the luck,” he muttered. “I
muffed … my chance. Fletcher … will have … better luck….”

“Herrick,” Lance broke in, “Fletcher's game is just about up. We know about his plans for a revolution. Where is Fletcher now?”

Something of surprise entered the dying man's glazing eyes. “Know about … revolution, eh? You won't stop it … though. Even if you … get Fletcher. Somebody … bigger 'n Fletcher … running things——”

“Who?” Lance interrupted quickly.

Herrick smiled through his pain. “Think I'm … going to tell you? I ain't … no damned snitch. Go 'way. I'm tired. Want to sleep … long sleep——” His eyes closed.

“Herrick”—Lance spoke sharply to cut through the man's rapidly fading consciousness—“where is Fletcher now?”

Herrick's eyes opened slightly. “Fletcher … took Ordway and Johnson,” he said drowsily, “rode to … Apache Injun village … fifteen miles to the east. Going to get… more recruits … for revolutionary army ….”

The man was going fast. His eyes had again closed. His breathing was shallow. Lanky's shadow fell suddenly across Herrick's body. Lance looked up. Lanky said, “Looks like he won't last much longer.” He held out a bottle of tequila. “Give him a shot of this. You may learn something.” Lance took the bottle. Lanky went on, “Nothing but a bunch of frightened Mexes in that cantina. They don't want no part of this scrap. I reckon they're glad we downed the coyotes. Fletcher and his crew have been making things tough for Muletero. They've been living in one of the houses here. Put the rightful owners
out. I looked at Wheeler and Ridge. They're both dead.”

Lance scarcely heard what Lanky was saying, he was so busily engaged in trying to force some of the fiery tequila between Herrick's lips. Herrick opened his eyes again. “By Gawd!” he murmured, “that's good, Tolliver. Give me another swig.” Again Lance held the bottle to the man's lips. Herrick drank with deep satisfaction. A trifle more life came momentarily back to his eyes. “Now—if I had a cigarette.”

Lanky rolled and lighted a cigarette, placed it between Herrick's lips. Herrick inhaled, then coughed. Blood appeared on his pallid lips. Lance wiped the blood away with the man's neckerchief and gave him another swallow from the bottle.

Herrick commenced to talk again. “You ain't a bad hombre, after all, Tolliver. White, I call it. I suppose … Ridge and Anvil is dead. You two … was too fast for us. Mebbe I should go out clean, eh? Tell you what you want to know? You're … treating me … like a white … man….” Again his eyes closed. He was beyond help from the bottle now. Lance spoke to the dying man, trying to hold him to consciousness.

Lance said, “Who killed Katherine Gregory's father?”

For a moment there was no reply, then Herrick's lips moved slightly to frame one word, “Fletcher.” A shudder went through his frame, then he started to speak feebly again. The words were so low Lance could just distinguish them. “Fletcher … mean killer. Gregory wa'n't … the first. Fletcher killed Kilby that day to keep him from telling you … what he knew. Fired rifle … from hotel window, then ran down back stairs … hid rifle. Met you later … hotel
lobby. Made a fool of you that day, Tolliver. It was Fletcher … damn nigh got you and the girl … out in the Pozo Verde hills … that day. Back East … he killed a couple of hombres ….”

“Herrick,” Lance interrupted, “who's the man back of Fletcher? Tell me quick. You haven't much more time.”

“I'll tell … you … whole story … Tolliver. Got to have …' nother drink… first….”

Lance started to hold the bottle to the man's lips. Lanky stood near, ready with Herrick's cigarette in case he called for another drag. Then Lance paused. Herrick's eyes were wide open now. They were like glass. Blood was welling from his open mouth. Slowly Lance got to his feet. “Lord, how I hate to have to kill a man,” he said grimly.

“Gone?” Lanky asked.

“Gone.” Lance nodded.

A few Mexicans had moved timidly out to the road by this time and were looking in awe struck silence at the bodies of the dead gun fighters. Lance dropped the bottle of tequila to the road. “C'mon, Lanky, we'll get back to the Three-Cross. These Mexicans will take over the burying end of the business, I reckon.”

Lanky climbed into his saddle. Lance caught up his pony and examined the animal's wounded ear. Herrick's bullet had done little more than remove the tip, and the injury had already ceased bleeding. The animal was quiet now. Lance put his left foot in the stirrup and swung up. The two men started for the Three-Cross at an easy lope. Both were thinking deeply of the events of the past hour and wondering grimly what still lay in store for them.

As they neared the Three-Cross Lance noticed a saddled gray horse standing near the gallery of the house. The horse stood, head drooping and weary, as though it had covered a lot of miles in a short time. Lance said, “Damned if that doesn't look like Ethan Lockwood's big gray.”

Lanky nodded. “If that ain't the sheriff's horse I'm a jug-headed sheep thief.”

Even while they were talking about the matter Trunk-Strap Kelly rounded the corner of the house and led the beast away—probably to be watered and rubbed down. Lance yelled, “Hey, Trunk-Strap, wait and take our broncs with you.”

Kelly turned and saw the approaching riders. He waited until they came up, dismounted, then grasped the reins of the ponies. “Have any luck in that Yaquente camp?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Lanky drawled. “We escaped with our scalps. Had some more luck comin' through Muletero. I'll tell it later.”

“That's Sheriff Lockwood's gray, isn't it?” Lance asked.

Trunk-Strap nodded. “He got here just a spell ago—been riding all night, I reckon, from the looks
of the horse. Something's in the wind; I could tell it from his face. He's in the house.”

“Must have come through Muletero just before we staged our shindig,” Lanky commented.

Then from the doorway came a sudden hail. “Hi yuh, Lance! How they going, Lanky?” Ethan Lock-wood was standing there.

Lance and Lanky stepped up on the gallery and shook hands. “What you doing here?” Lance asked.

“Ran across something I thought you should know,” Lockwood replied. “Got a deputy from Saddleville to substitute for me, got on my horse and pushed hard. I even remembered to bring Oscar a fresh supply of lemon drops.” They entered the house. Katherine, the professor and Oscar were just beyond the door. The sheriff continued, “I've been hearing about the lively time you're having down here, what with snake temples and Aztec gods and that damned—excuse me, Miss Gregory—that damned Fletcher. If he ain't a dyed-in-the-wool blackguard I never seen one. Coming through Muletero a spell back I thought I caught a glimpse of Chiricahua Herrick going into a cantina, but I couldn't be sure. I was riding fast and didn't want to stop.”

“Ten to one it was Herrick.” Lance nodded. “Lanky and I had a fuss with 'em when we came through. Herrick, Wheeler and Ridge.”

“Lance!” Katherine exclaimed. “More trouble! What happened?”

“We won't be bothered with those three any more,” Lance said meaningly. “I'll give you the details later.” Everyone was silent for a minute. Lance went on, “What's on your mind, Ethan?”

“Quite a bit,” the sheriff said. “I've been saving it
until you get here so I wouldn't have to tell it twice. There's so much to tell I don't just know where to start. In the first place, Lance, that feller you were trailing is——” He broke off, then: “Is it all right to tell what brought you to Pozo Verde, Lance?”

“I'll tell it myself,” Lance said, and turned to the others. “You see, I'm an operative of the Special Agency Ser vice, U. S. Trea sury Department. I came to——”

“Lance,” Katherine exclaimed, her violet-blue eyes widening, “you mean that you're a secret-ser vice man?”

“Something of the sort.” Lance smiled.

“Great Godfrey!” the professor burst out. “Why didn't you tell us?”

“You never asked me.” Lance grinned. “Howsomever, I'm asking you something right now. Just where do you fit into the scheme? There isn't any Jonesian Institute in Washington, D.C., you know. I've already checked on that.”

Jones colored. “I suspected—as much. Deuced awkward. Made a fool—myself—no doubt. Posed as cactus expert. Bah! Should have known better. Just a rank amateur. Small knowledge of cacti. Embarrassing, what? Didn't intend—deceive you—Lance.' Pon my word. I—I——” He paused, his face crimson.

Katherine came to his rescue. “It's all right, Uncle Uly. Lance, Uncle may say he's not an expert on cacti but he's pretty close to it. It's been his hobby, his ruling passion for years—more years than I can remember. But in addition to that Uncle Uly is one of the finest criminal investigators in the country. Out in California it's that phase of his career, rather than for his collection of cacti, for which he is best known.”

Jones looked embarrassed. “Katherine laying it on—too thick,” he said disparagingly. “Had—great deal—luck—one or two criminal problems. Reputation overrated—assure you.”

“Don't take his word for it,” Katherine said earnestly. “Anyway, I wanted to come down here and see if anything could be learned regarding Father's death. Uncle Uly consented to lend me his assistance. We decided it was best for him to pose as being sent on a cactus-hunting expedition by some big institute, so as not to arouse suspicions. From the first Uncle suspected Fletcher of a hand in Father's death but couldn't get the necessary proof. He also guessed that Frank Bowman was on Fletcher's trail, though for what purpose he didn't know. Fletcher kept trying to dissuade us from the trip down here. Later, when Bowman had been killed, Uncle Uly wanted a man he could count on in a pinch rather than a guide. He liked Lance's looks in that capacity. Uncle has also wondered if Lance wasn't a law officer of some sort.”

Lance crossed the room, hand outstretched. “I reckon I owe you a heap of apologies, Professor.”

“Not at all.” Jones smiled. “Natural mistake, what?”

Katherine added, “He really was a professor of botany once too. But the search for cacti was secondary. It was a desire for news regarding Dad's death that really brought us down here.”

“I can help out there,” Lance said. “Fletcher killed your father, Katherine. Herrick confessed that much——”

“That's one of the things I had to tell,” Lockwood broke in. “You'll be telling me next that you know where Matt Foster is and——”

“At least I know who he is,” Lance interrupted.

“Wait a minute, Ethan.” He turned to the others. “I was sent on the track of a man named Matt Foster. Foster had robbed a Trea sury Department messenger of thirty thousand dollars. A record of the numbers on the bills had been kept, and they were traced to Pozo Verde. Last night I recognized Matt Foster.”

Lance took from his pocket a photograph. “Here's a picture of Matt Foster and his gang—the gang he had at the time they held up the Trea sury Department messenger. Lanky—Oscar, take a look at this photo. This one at the back of the group is Matt Foster—the one with the heavy growth of black whis kers.”

Oscar said, “You showed that picture to Ethan and me once.”

Lanky said slowly, “There's something looks familiar about that Foster hombre, but I can't just place him.”

“I'll help you,” Lance said. “Just pretend that derby hat is a helmet and those black whis kers are black feathers. Remember, last night in the Temple of the Plumed Serpent?”

“Fletcher, by Gawd!” Lanky exclaimed.

Oscar said, “Sure it's Fletcher. Well, I'll be danged!”

Lance nodded. “Malcolm Fletcher is Matt Foster. I recognized him last night. Remember, I told you to remember that face?”

“By cripes,” Lockwood said disappointedly, “that's another of the things I came down here to tell you, Lance. Don't tell me you already know that we found Elmer Manley——”

“Dead or alive?” Lance asked quickly.

“Alive—plenty alive.”

“Tell it,” Lance said. “You've been interrupted enough, Ethan. Where did you find him?”

Ethan laughed. “You can credit Johnny Quinn and his hemoglobinuria scare with the discovery of Elmer. Old Johnny saw Banker Gill Addison taking some stomach pills one day and he got to wondering if Gill had hemoglobinuria. The more he thought about it the more he became convinced he should tell Addison to drink bourbon for the disease. So he went to Addison's house. Addison wasn't home. The house was dark. But Johnny Quinn thought he heard someone inside making strangling noises. Johnny came running to me, all in a dither, saying that Gill Addison was dying of hemoglobinuria and that I'd better enter the house and call a doctor. To cut a long story short, I went to the Addison home—he lives alone, you know—broke down the door after I'd heard those same strangling noises and discovered Elmer Manley, roped and gagged. Elmer had been trying to call for help through his gag. About the time I untied Elmer and got him on his feet, Gill Addison came home. I put him under arrest pronto.”

Lanky growled, “Don't tell me Banker Addison was mixed up with Fletcher?”

“He was mixed up plenty.” Lockwood nodded. “Once I got him in a cell and worked on him a mite he broke down. Addison never did have much nerve, so it wa'n't hard to make him talk. It seems that Matt Foster—or call him Fletcher—had known Addison some years back, just about the time Addison got out of prison after serving a forgery sentence. Fletcher had that stolen money, but the bills' numbers having been recorded, they were risky to get rid of. Addison took them over at a discount and from time to time slipped them in with the bills that Manley passed through his cashier's cage. Addison got rid of quite
a few of the bills himself when he handled the cage while Manley was out to dinner.”

“Being a banker,” Lance put in, “Addison could pass such stolen money without being suspected, of course.”

“It was a cinch,” Lockwood said. “Addison, like other bankers throughout the country, had a list of the numbered bills. By accident Elmer Manley had a short look at that list and remembered some of the numbers. Thus he recognized some of the bills Addison had slipped into his cash drawer. He didn't know how they'd come there. When he reported the matter to Addison, Addison insisted he was mistaken in the numbers. However, he refused to let Elmer see the list of missing bills. In short, he told Elmer to stick to his cashier's cage and forget about stolen money. That aroused Elmer's suspicions.”

Lockwood paused to assemble his facts, then continued, “Meanwhile, Jared Gregory had been looking for a partner to take a half-share in his ranch and buy some blooded stock to raise the quality of his cows. He asked Addison to suggest someplace where he could find a partner. It looked like a good proposition. Fletcher was looking for an investment. He bought a half-interest in the ranch. A few days later Jared Gregory discovered on the property an ancient Aztec temple. Well, gold and jewels are usually found in such places. Fletcher and Addison decided they wanted the temple all to themselves, so it was planned for Fletcher to kill Jared Gregory and——” Lockwood broke off in some embarrassment. “Gosh, Miss Gregory, I hate to be reminding you——”

“Go on,” Katherine urged. Her eyes were a trifle
moist. “After all, we've got to know the facts so we can—can——”

Her voice broke. Lance moved closer and took one of her hands in both his own. Lockwood went on, a trifle hurriedly, “Anyway, they were mistaken about the gold and jewels. They never did find any trea sure beyond a few silver trinkets that weren't worth much. Meanwhile, an Indian—half Yaquente, half Apache—had witnessed the killing of Jared Gregory. This Indian decided to blackmail Fletcher. Fletcher was in a tight. He asked Addison's advice. Addison advised him to hire Chiricahua Herrick to kill the Indian. Instead, Herrick made friends with the hombre who had certain ideas about cooking up a revolution in Mexico.”

“He was probably that interpreter Fletcher used last night,” Lanky put in, “at the temple of the snake.”

“Might be,” Lockwood agreed. “Anyway, this Indian knew about the Yaquente ceremonies that were being carried on in the temple. He also knew that anyone who would furnish mezcal buttons to the Yaquentes could get a lot out of them and make it an easy matter to work them into fomenting a religious war. They talked it over with Addison and Fletcher. It looked good. Once the revolutionists had conquered a few towns and picked up strength they planned to attack Chihuahua City. Thereafter Herrick, Addison and Fletcher had plans of their own. The government mint is located at Chihuahua City, you know. Once the mint was in their hands they planned to seize the gold and silver bullion, transport the loot to the States, double-cross the Indians and forget the revolution.”

“Jeepers!” Lance exclaimed. “They reckoned to
work on a big scale, didn't they? What a plot! Going to raid the Chihuahua mint, eh? The nerve of the skunks!”

“There isn't much more to tell,” Lockwood resumed. “Frank Bowman had arrived in Pozo Verde on the trail of those stolen bills. He worked himself in with the Herrick gang. Some of them talked too much—as they later admitted, Addison told me. Addison thinks that Bowman must have commenced to grow suspicious of Fletcher. Fletcher was friendly with Professor Jones. Probably Bowman didn't know what the tie-up was but by that time he must have begun to suspect the game was bigger than he had at first thought. Anyway, when the professor stated he was going to make a trip down into Mexico Bowman got the job as his guide. Then Bowman made his bad mistake.”

“What was that?” Lance asked.

Lockwood said, “Apparently he wasn't making much headway on finding the stolen money. Thinking he'd be dealing with an honest banker, he went to Addison, told Addison he was a government agent and asked for cooperation in watching for the missing bills. Addison passed the news to Fletcher, of course, and that sealed Bowman's fate. He was put out of the way. By this time, though, Addison was getting scary about so much killing and he balked on Elmer being rubbed out.”

“What happened to Elmer, anyway?” Lance asked.

Lockwood explained, “That day you talked to Elmer in the bank and he promised to meet you that night he gave you two of the missing bills, didn't he?” Lance nodded. Lockwood continued, “Addison saw the bills in your hand and became suspicious
of Elmer's actions. That afternoon he told Fletcher what he had seen. Fletcher said Elmer would have to die. Addison bucked on the proposition. He promised to keep Elmer a prisoner until such time as their plot had been pulled off. That afternoon he sent Elmer to hire a horse and buggy for him with the excuse that he had to drive to Saddleville with a satchel of money to deliver to a bank there. Elmer drove the rig to Addison's bank. Addison came out with a grip packed with old newspapers which he pretended was money. Then he said he had to stop at his home to get some ledgers to take to the Saddleville bank. He asked Elmer to drive the rig that far. At Addison's home Addison asked Elmer to come in and help him carry out the ledgers. Once Elmer was in the house Addison hit him on the head, knocked him unconscious and tied and gagged him. Later Addison drove the horse and buggy out to the edge of town and turned it loose. Elmer was kept a prisoner at Addison's home until old Johnny Quinn and I released him. Incident'ly, the State Banking Board has put Elmer in charge of the Pozo Verde bank.”