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Show wB; mm 1 Wl.iALAN LE MAY CHAPTER I Tr FXTUf'K Y JONES, Indoppndcnt live stock trailer, plunger In cattle, whirled li is lljjlit roadster Into tlie main street of the little cow town of Waterman, and picked himself him-self a parkins place. Waterman was very full of people peo-ple for a Tuesday afternoon. Generally Gen-erally at this time of year the Wolf liencli cowmen were only to be found scattered among the white-faces white-faces that perpetually lost themselves them-selves Into the overpowering rag-Eedness rag-Eedness of the rlmrock, or haying winter-weakened cows In the long pole corrals. Today, though, either side of tti treet was lined with cars for three blocks ; and between the automobiles stood saddled horses, dejected In the wet down-press down-press of the snow. Wolf Bench was not home range to Kentucky Jones; but six months In the rlmrock had acquninted him with most of Its people. ne stepped out Into the snow, a tall, leanly lazy figure, his ordinarily humorous face relaxed In an unaccustomed gravity. It was a rocky face, made Irregular by the uneven line of a nose that had been broken; but no one In the rlmrock had ever seen It so nusterely somber as It was now, as he turned Into the restaurant restau-rant known to all cowboys as the Greasy Sppon. As he entered, however, his face lightened somewhat. He kissed the girl at the counter absent-mindedly, "Jean Ragland Testified Yet?" and helped himself to a wedge of pie. "Where's the Inquest going to be?" he asked. "They're having It In the hall over Kerry's store. It started nearly near-ly half an hour ago. They "Good Lord I" He hurriedly pushed the pie wedge Into the girl's hands. "Save this." lie took to the street again at a trot. Kerry's store Itself was appropriately appropri-ately closed, but the hall above was full to overflowing. Here Inquest was being held over the body of John Mason. It was hard to believe that John Mason was dead, his name had so long represented unassailable strength In the Wolf Bench rim-rock. rim-rock. That he was head of the Waterman bank had been an Index but not the key to his significance. He had been a cowman once, and tip to the very end he had thought as a cowman, never losing touch with the farthest corners of the Wolf Bench range. He had been In the saddle on one of his long circuits of the range la the hour that he died. His common understanding under-standing of both cows and money had made him more than the kingpin king-pin of Wolf Bench finance; almost he was the economic structure Itself. It-self. Through the hard times which low beef prices had brought to Wolf Bench. Mason had managed to carry along many a weakening outfit out-fit where a nervous banker, or one less a cattleman would have abandoned aban-doned all hope. But with Mason dead the bank swayed precariously, teetering on the edge of a smash that might carry down with It half the outfits of the Bench. To many it seemed that only another Mason could avert disaster and there was no other. This was the man whose Inquest Jammed the little town hall above Kerry's store nntll the overflow filled the stairway and left a milling mill-ing bunch of the less aggressive In the street. . Son of those at the foot of the stair spoke to Kentucky Jones as he came up. "Inauest got any place?" he asked. "Been running about twenty min utes," some one told him. "Campo Kagland's been on already. He didn't know anything new." ".lean Itagland testified yet?" "Uh huh. She Just said that her and her father was away." "Thanks." Kentucky moved upward, up-ward, exchanging monosyllables here and there as he wormed his way toward the room above. Water-terman's Water-terman's hall was packed, bulging with people. At a plain table sat Sheriff Floyd Hopper, looking bedeviled; at the end of the table sat the coroner, who was also the sheriff's brother. There was Cllve Plerson, the banker who must step Into Mason's shoes; his face was an unwholesome gray, and a muscle In the side of his face kept twitching, for In the last three days he had hardly slept. Near him was Bob Elliot, who had gambled the future of his cow outfit out-fit upon the backing which Mason would have given him, but which he could no longer expect. And there was Ted Baylor of the Running M, and the owner of the Lazy Deuce, and the Circle Five, and the J Z men who could cut a thousand beef steers from their herds In a week's notice, but might easily be set back to their beginnings begin-nings If Mason's death should cause the bank to close its doors; and many others. Lee Bishop, the blocky, almost burly foreman of the Bar Hook, was In the' witness chair, very red In the face from public speaking and the heat. "I was going out to the pump house, carrying a couple of pails of hot water from the kitchen," he was saying. "I aimed to thaw out the pump. Then I seen this hump In the snow thought maybe a calf had drifted in and fell down. I went out and looked; and it was Old Ironsides I mean John Mason." "How long did you think he had been dead?" "He wasn't lying there around one o'clock, when we left the home ranch. And there wasn't any snow under him. It begun snowing around two o'clock, out there." "Then you figure Mason had this accident between one and two o'clock?" "That ain't what I said. I only said there was no snow under him." Sheriff Floyd Hopper exhibited annoyance. "Let's not quibble over words! What we want Is to get done, here." "Well," Lee Bishop went on with an unnecessary air of stubbornness. "I turned him over, and I saw that he'd been shot. His gun was In his hand that long-barreled .45 he always carried to take a pop at a coyote with It. If he should see a coyote." "Is this the gun?" said the sheriff's sher-iff's brother, turning toward a cluttered clut-tered window ledge at one side. A deputy handed the coroner the required re-quired weapon. Bishop identified It "Well," he went on, "I sent up a long yell but nobody answered; and I took out and run for the house. . . ." Kentucky Jones had been searching search-ing all the room for a sight of Jean Ragland, and now he was surprised to discover her so near the focus of Interest that he had missed her In searching too far away. She was sitting beside her father, the big stoop-shouldered owner of the Bar Hook. The two sat almost under un-der a window ledge where a deputy kept his eye upon a muddled collection col-lection of exhibits. The sheriff was bombarding Lee Bishop with questions of little point. "Is that cut-off trail between the S3 and the Bar Hook often used?" "Almighty little!" It was the first emphasis Bishop had used. Kentucky's eyes sought Jean Ragland Rag-land again. Suddenly he perceived that she had leaned back so that she could peer between the standing stand-ing deputies and was looking directly di-rectly at him. He smiled at her but her face did not change. Then suddenly he was aware that she had signaled him to draw nearer. near-er. It had been the faintest narrowing nar-rowing of an eye, the slightest Inclination In-clination of her head; yet he knew absolutely, as she again averted her face, that a signal had been conveyed. con-veyed. Deeply puzzled, he began to work his way along the side of the hall. The sheriff, he noticed, was persplringly pushing ahead with his questions, evidently very conscious of his far-gathered audience. The sheriff's brother," the coroner, was nudging him, but he was barging ahead, as Kentucky Jones presently reached a point not more than three yards from Jean Ragland. He was trying to catch Jean Rag-land's Rag-land's eye as a sound of scufflin-and scufflin-and contention broke forth is thi back of the room. The sheriff glared, faltered, and stopped. A tall deputy left Jean Ragland's side to go pushing back through the crowd. Watching the disturbance at the back, Kentucky did not see that Jean Ragland had left her chair until she stumbled almost against him. Her handkerchief was at her mouth, and she seemed even paler than before, as If turned suddenly faint by the stifle of the close air. Campo Ragland, her father, sprang up and was beside her In a stride, supporting her in his arms. For a moment the press of the crowd was too much and they could not get through. Her shoulder pressed hard against Kentucky, but although he spoke to her by name she did not appear to hear. Then unexpectedly, In the smother smoth-er of the crowd, her fingers closed upon his In a quick, hard grip. She had pressed a small heavy object Into his hand. Turning it over In the pocket of his coat, Kentucky Jones discovered with a queer slow stir of the blood that the thing she had left In his hand could be nothing else but a used bullet. He knew at once that this was the slug which had killed a man. Campo Ragland said through his teeth, "Will you let us out, or not?" and the standing cattlemen flattened against the wall to let Campo and his daughter by. Kentucky Jones lost sight of Jean as the crowd closed behind them. But for Kentucky Jones the atmosphere at-mosphere of that packed room had changed. He was no longer simply a cattleman interested In a death which threatened to shift the economics eco-nomics of a range. The thing that had pulled him over four hundred miles of snow-clogged ruts in the last eighteen hours suddenly took on a new aspect, as acutely personal person-al and definitely sinister as If he had himself been accused of murdering mur-dering the man who was dead. And now the inevitable sequel broke. A deputy who had stood by the cluttered ledge where the exhibits ex-hibits were sung out sharply, interrupting inter-rupting the sheriff. "Wait a minute I Hold everything! every-thing! There's something missing here !" In the momentary silence a lower voice said: "Maybe It's fell on the floor." "What Is It?" the coroner demanded. de-manded. "What's gone?" "This here bullet's gone, that we had on the window sill with the other things!" "Bullet? What bullet? You mean " "The slug that killed Mason!" There was a sudden moment of struck silence all over the crowded room. This was followed Immediately Immedi-ately by a rising buzz, as almost every man of all the great number In that room turned to speak low-toned low-toned to his neighbor. Watching the stir about the coroner's cor-oner's table, Kentucky saw that Bob Elliot, owner of the 88, was looking look-ing at him curiously. Kentucky grinned faintly at Elliot as he worked a hole In the seam of his pocket with a thumbnail, and pressed the bullet through, so that it fell deep into the lining of his coat. Over the buzz of confusion he heard the coroner almost shouting, "You sure it was there?" "It's been here all the time, but just now I reached back, and " The sheriff jumped to his feet, and his chair clattered over backward. back-ward. His voice rose In an angry bellow. "Lock that door," he ordered. or-dered. "By G d, I'm not going to have It!" An abrupt silence fell at the Impact of his voice. "Some of you fellows are no better than children. chil-dren. I suppose you'd steal the shirt off your own back if you figured fig-ured it was a souvenir! I " "Walt a minute, Floyd." The coroner cor-oner caught the sheriff's arm, and pulled him down to whisper In his ear; and there followed an Inaudible Inaudi-ble but apparently a heated discussion. discus-sion. It seemed to take effect upon the sheriff's plans, for he sat down abruptly, his square face flushed with exasperation. "All right, let It go, for now. But somebody hasn't heard the last of this! ... Go ahead and give 'era cause of deRth.' Kentucky Jones drew a deep breath. He had come up Into this crowded room to attend a routine hearing, calculated to confirm the death of a man who, however Important Im-portant to these people, had only-died only-died foolishly, accidentally, by his own gun. But now the Inquest as such had lost all meaning, turning Into a sham, an apparently unconscious uncon-scious fraud. A sudden Incomprehensible anger an-ger overshadowed reason as he wondered won-dered If Campo Itagland knew that the bullet which killed Mason was not what it seemed and had prompted his daughter to get It out of the sheriff's possession. If her theft of this scrap of evidence was not In behalf of her father, then who? If Jean Ragland was being used by her father or anyone else as a cat's-paw in a dangerous situation, situ-ation, he meant to find It out. Once more he worked his way sideways through the crowd along the side of the room, this time toward the exit. Campo Ragland had taken his daughter to Waterman's rambling one-story hotel, and had returned to the street again by the time Kentucky Ken-tucky Jones, after a fifteen-minute search through Waterman, again located lo-cated the boss of the Bar Hook. Kentucky strolled up, greeting Ragland 'with the slow singularly Infectious grin that servod him as a passport through hard times and slack, wherever he wenl. Campo Ragland, grim as was his mood, half smiled In return - as they shook hands. "Seems like people didn't hardly realize how Important Mason was around here, until now he's dead," Kentucky began. "Of course, he naturally had enemies." "You can't run a bank right," said Ragland lifelessly, "without raising up an enemy here and there." The boss of the Bar Hook was not quite as tall as Kentucky Jones, but his lean, stooped shoulders were very broad. His eyes were blue, like his daughter's. And though the general gen-eral aspect of his face was benign It was a face which could set grimly grim-ly and stubbornly, turning Into a fighting face. "Curious," said Kentucky Jones, watching Ragland closely, "that everybody was so ready to accept that he went to work and shot himself him-self accidentally." "What else could It have been but accidentally?" Ragland said impatiently. impa-tiently. "Nothing, I guess," said Kentucky Ken-tucky ; "but on pretty near any other oth-er range somebody would most likely like-ly have tried to prove there was a shenanigan." For a moment Campo Ragland's eyes turned upon Kentucky. Watching Watch-ing him Intently, Kentucky Jones could not, however, see that the man's face changed. "I suppose so," said Ragland, without expression ; and he half turned, as if he would walk on. Kentucky Jones wavered an Instant. In-stant. His cautious prodding had failed; but Its failure was more challenging than a revealing answer. an-swer. He plunged. "Mr. Ragland," he said, "can you use a man?" Ragland's eyes quickened. "I don't want no more of these flivver fliv-ver tourists we get for cow hands today. But if you got In mind some good steady " "I was speaking for myself," said Kentucky Jones. "Come off! You're a cattle trader." trad-er." "Times are bad, Mr. Ragland ; the more so with Mason dead. I was a brush popper before I was a trader, and I'm a good one yet. And I'd sure like to fill In at it for a while. Plain cow walloping Is all I want." (TO BE CONTINUED) |
