Trouble Shooter (1974) (17 page)

The disappearance of Hopalong and Pike helped to increase suspicion against them, and some people now thought Rig was also involved. Yet Tredway was not satisfied. He wanted attention definitely fixed on Cassidy, and he suddenly arrived at a very simple method of attaining his objective. Towne was gone, but money could be planted on Sarah, who lived with Cindy Blair in her wagon in the bottoms.

He had seen Cindy about town and was aware she disliked him, but aside from the possibility that she might be suspected of complicity in the holdup, he had thought of no way to eliminate her. For the first time since the death of Pete Melford, he was worried. His well-laid plans seemed to come to nothing, and despite his efforts he needed money badly. If that fact once became known around Kachina, he doubted whether there would be much loyalty remaining.

Who had sent that note warning him of Cassidy? Sorting over the possibilities, he decided it had to be Tote Brown. That implied that Tote knew who his employer was. Bad as that was, it did simplify things to an extent.

Bitterly he mulled over the situation. He had come a long way in those past years, those hard young years when he had ridden easily and carelessly, confident of his gun skill. In those days he had been proud of his reputation as a killer. By the time

he was nineteen, he had slain seven men in gun battles. There had been a few others murdered for their money, a horse, or rifle, and one man killed in his sleep over a petty thing, an argument over a scratched saddle.

All that was in the past, but now the ranch and his wealth were in danger, and all the old viciousness that had lain dormant in his nature returned to the surface. Cassidy, Taylor, and Cindy Blair represented a very definite danger. From the window of the hotel he watched her now as she rode down the street. Anger mounted within him, anger at her coolness, her pride of bearing, her refusal to accept the fact that she was under a cloud.

At that very moment Cindy was thinking the same thing. In the manner of some people she had noticed a certain reserve, but most of them accepted her as she wished to be accepted, and refused to admit that either she or Sarah Towne was at fault. Even the women of the town were friendly, although more reserved than the men. Cindy Blair had the attitude and manners of a lady, and that was enough for them.

Where was Hopalong? Cool as she looked, worry inwardly gnawed at her composure. Out there somewhere were Hoppy, Pike, and especially Rig, who her feelings for, she had come to discover, ran considerably deeper than she ever realized. Right now they might be fighting for their lives, dying in the brush of the pear forest or hiding in some lonely, barren place. There was nothing she could do, and she could not even warn them.

Earlier, she had seen Tote Brown ride out of town, and from talk about the camp she knew who Tote was and what Pike believed of him.

Buck Lewis led his weary posse back into town and they trooped in a dust-covered, straggling line toward the restaurant. He caught the quick gladness in Cindy's eyes as she saw their expressions of disgust and defeat, and he smiled grimly. "Find 'em?" Buck snorted in reply to a question from a bystander. "In that brush? They sent the women to town an' took off. They didn't even leave a trail, no more'n Apaches do. It'll be like lookin' for a coyote on the plains. You know they are there, but you can't see 'em."

Day came at last to the little camp by the water hole, and Hopalong was up and getting the breakfast fire started before Rig rolled out. "You're sure an energetic cuss," Rig commented. "I figured I was an early riser, but you beat me."

"We'll get across the canyon today," Hopalong said, "and we may look around Sipapu a little. Mostly I want to see what we can find up that Chimney Butte trail."

Finally they found a place about six miles above Sipapu where the creek canyon might be bridged, and in a short time, by using an ax they had brought with them from the wagon, they managed to fell logs across the creek from among the bigger trees that grew along the rim. Following that, they built pole rails for each side and led the horses across.

"We'll ride to Sipapu," Hopalong said. "I'd like a talk with Bill Saxx."

They turned their horses down the grass-grown trail and cantered toward the town. As they drew up they detected the slight trail of smoke from the bunkhouse and turned toward it. The men were camped outside and all three looked up in shocked surprise.

Carter reached for his gun, but Saxx dropped a hand to his wrist. "Howdy." The big blond man got carefully to his feet. "Heard you were on the dodge."

'That's funny," Hopalong replied. "I heard you were!"

Saxx studied him without pleasure, not liking the remark or the man. His eyes went beyond Cassidy to Rig Taylor and Pike Towne. The latter had come down from the brush and had fallen in behind Hopalong. Now he moved up beside him, but wide of him. "No visitors," he whispered as he moved past, "but they've been waitin'."

"What do you want here?" Saxx demanded.

"Us?" Hopalong shrugged, looking surprised. "Why, we're rounding up cattle for the Box T. You even visited our camp!"

"I don't mean that!" Saxx snapped impatiently. "What are you doin' over this side of the canyon?"

"Explorin'," Pike Towne said. "We've been seein' lights on that mesa."

"Lights?" Pres didn't like that. He glanced over his shoulder at the dark looming mesa. "Lights up there?"

"Sure. Right above this town. More of 'em over near Brushy Knoll." He looked at them seriously. "You think it's hanted?"

Pres shifted and glanced at Vin Carter, who spat with disgust. "I ain't seen no hants." He sneered. "It's those Brothers ... the monks."

'Teah, what do you think they're doin' up there?"

"I don't know, and as long as they don't come down here, I don't care!"

Cassidy dismounted and walked toward them. "How's the coffee?" he asked pleasantly. "Being on the dodge must be rough. I heard the marshal was huntin' you."

"Huntin' us?" Carter demanded angrily. "What would they be huntin' us for? We've got no posse on our trail!"

Bill Saxx narrowed his eyes and stared at Hopalong. Cassidy seemed casual, unconcerned. If he was being pursued, would he act so? Suppose they were being tailed and Tredway knew it but did not tell them. Suppose he was too busy trying to save his own skin.

"Maybe he just wants to ask questions," Hopalong suggested innocently. "Maybe he just wants to know where you were on the day of the holdup."

"If it's any of your business," Saxx replied shortly, "we were on the Box T, right at the house. We left there that night."

Rig Taylor's saddle creaked, but fearing he might speak and give away their knowledge of the foreman's lie, Hopalong said, "Well, then, you've got an alibi. Where was your boss?"

Saxx glared. "You ask a lot of questions!" he snapped. "If you ain't got any business, you better ride on."

Hopalong's blue eyes twinkled over the frost in their

depths. "We might argue that question," he said, "but we won't right now."

As he turned to his horse Pike stepped forward. Looking straight at Saxx, he said, "Ask Tredway whatever became of Ben Hardy, will you? Just to see what he says."

Hopalong grinned as he mounted up. "Well, be sure the marshal doesn't catch you," he said, "or the ghosts."

Bill Saxx watched the three ride off the way they had come, and he scowled. Vin Carter moved up beside him. "I'd like to kill that hombre!" he snarled.

"When you try it," Saxx replied dryly, "be sure you've got an edge. That hombre's gun slick. An' those two with him are not pigeons, neither! That big one, he bothers me. I'm bankin' he's a mean one. Notice his eyes? The way he looks at you?"

"Skeered?" Carter sneered.

Saxx turned sharply around, his gray eyes flat and ugly. "When you ask that question," he said, "you'd better have your hand on your gun!"

Carter drew back warily. "No offense," he said irritably, "but I'm fed up with layin' around. I want action."

"You'll get it, but don't try to tree those boys unless you want to go all the way. They won't run or back down, not that crowd. We'll tangle someday, but when we do, four or five of the six will be dead when it's over. You figure on that, unless"-- he smiled--"unless we take a page from Tredway's book an' play it smart."

"You got any ideas?" Carter squinted up at him.

"Yeah," Saxx said, "I got a few. We got to split that bunch up. Take 'em one at a time. Me, I want Cameron."

Hopalong rode swiftly for half a mile, then slowed to listen, but hearing no sounds of pursuit, they continued on. Neither Saxx nor Carter had the balance and cunning of Tredway, and their conversation with Cassidy might stampede them into some hasty and thoughtless action. While such action might give them away, it would be fraught with danger for Hopalong himself and all his friends, particularly for Cindy Blair, at whom they might decide to strike.

Around them the woods grew thicker, and high above them towered the wall of the mesa. Before them, still some distance off, was Brushy Knoll. The air was very still and quiet. Not a breath of wind, not a sound, and there was the smell of dried pine needles, leaves, and hot earth. Hopalong mopped the sweat from his face and dried his hands. His blue eyes were restlessly watching the woods around him and the trail ahead. Despite his common sense, the quiet of the place and the strange stories told of the inhabitants of the mesa worked on his nerves.

"Hoppy." Rig's voice was low and it was worried. "I don't like this! It's too durned quiet!"

"There's no sound but the wind off in the chaparral," Pike agreed, "no sound but the wind."

"Probably," Rig half whispered, "there ain't a soul in miles."

The wind was a low, far-off sound, almost no sound at all, but a background more silent than silence. Rig's eyes shifted to the mesa's rim, then to the trees. He dried his palm on his chap leather and touched his gun.

Two pairs of eyes watched their progress. One pair was high on Brushy Knoll behind an ancient field glass, another was in the chaparral three hundred yards away, and this man held a rifle. Colonel Justin Tredway had succeeded in contacting Tote Brown, and Brown was ready to do his job. His narrow eyes on the trail below, he watched the riders and steadied the rifle in the crotch of a tree.
A
t the very moment when Hopalong Cassidy talked to Bill Saxx, Sarah Towne was standing at the counter of the general store in Kachina, her face pale and sick. Before her, his hands flat on the counter, was Ira Arnold, the storekeeper. Beside Sarah herself was Buck Lewis, the marshal who had been called back as he was about to leave town. In his hand he held a twenty-dollar bill, a bill that was brand spanking new.

"You're right, Iry," he said dubiously, "this here is sure an unsigned bill, an' as such ain't legal tender, but I don't reckon Missus Towne knowed it or she wouldn't have tried to spend it."

Ira Arnold had never been noted for graciousness. "Ain't necessarily so," he snapped irritably. "Folks try to get away with anything these days, just to keep from payin' their just dues."

Sarah Towne lifted her chin. She looked tired, and now she was frightened. She had found the money in the pocket of Pike's spare pants--had he been implicated in that holdup? The

thought had scared her, and while she refused to believe it, there remained a tiny lingering doubt. "Everything I ever bought," she said firmly, "I paid for. I don't owe you anything,

do I?"

"No, an' you ain't likely to!" Arnold sniffed. "I know your kind! Traipsin' about the country, no good to nobody!"

"If my Pike was here, you wouldn't say that!" Sarah Towne was suddenly angry.

"That ain't no way to talk, Iry," Lewis interrupted gently. "After all, none of us was born here, an' we'n our folks been movin' for years. That goes for you, too, Iry. Remember I knowed your pa in St. Louis, an' you, too, an' them days neither of you had nothin'."

Arnold glared at him, furious beyond words. Before he could think of anything to say, Lewis turned to the woman. "Where'd you get this bill, ma'am? Ain't no call to be frightened. We here in Kachina don't aim to make trouble for no women." Ignoring Ira Arnold's sniff of contempt, he continued, "Just tell us where you got it."

"It was in Pike's other pants!" she returned quickly. "And wherever it came from, Marshal, it's honest money!"

"Lady, it's unsigned." Arnold sneered. "Honest money! We all know it came from the stage robbery."

Buck Lewis looked at the storekeeper with ill-concealed irritation. He held his job as a result of selection by a half-dozen men, of whom Ira was one; nevertheless, he disliked the man intensely and admired this quiet, courageous woman in her threadbare garments and with her work-worn hands. She had a

quality of courage and an innate fineness that he understood and could appreciate.

"May I see the bill?" Lewis turned at the voice. He knew that voice at once and was relieved. The authority of Colonel Tredway counted for much and far outweighed any opinion held by Ira Arnold.

Lewis handed him the bill, and Tredway glanced at it, then turned it over. "It is unsigned," he commented. "Does anybody have a description of the money taken from the stage? I can imagine no other way in which an unsigned bill could get into circulation."