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Crooked Trails and Straight, a fiction by William MacLeod Raine |
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Part 2. Luck - Chapter 13. A Conversation |
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_ PART II. LUCK CHAPTER XIII. A CONVERSATION Bucky O'Connor and his prisoner swung down the street side by side and turned in at the headquarters of the rangers. The officer switched on the light, shut the door, and indicated a chair. From his desk he drew a box of cigars. He struck a match and held it for the sheepman before using it himself. Relaxed in his chair, Fendrick spoke with rather elaborate indolence. "What's your evidence, Bucky? You can't hold me without any. What have you got that ties me to the W. & S. robbery?" "Why, that hat play, Cass? You let on you had shot Cullison's hat off his head while he was making his getaway. Come to find out you had his hat in your possession all the time." "Does that prove I did it myself?" "Looks funny you happened to be right there while the robbery was taking place and that you had Luck's hat with you." The sleepy tiger look lay warily in the sheepman's eyes. "That's what the dictionaries call a coincidence, Bucky." "They may. I'm not sure I do." "Fact, just the same." "I've a notion it will take some explaining." "Confidentially?" "Confidentially what?" "The explanation. You won't use it against me." "Not if you weren't in the hold-up." "I wasn't. This is the way it happened. You know Cullison was going to prove up on that Del Oro claim on Thursday. That would have put the C. F. ranch out of business. I knew he was in town and at the Del Mar, but I didn't know where he would be next day. He had me beat. I couldn't see any way out but to eat crow and offer a compromise. I hated it like hell, but it was up to me to hunt Luck up and see what he would do. His hat gave me an excuse to call. So I started out and came round the corner of San Mateo Street just in time to see the robber pull out. Honest, the fellow did shape up a little like Luck. Right then I got the darned fool notion of mixing him up in it. I threw his hat down and shot a hole in it, then unlocked the door of the express office carrying the hat in my hand. That's all there was to it." "Pretty low-down trick, wasn't it, to play on an innocent man?" "He was figuring to do me up. I don't say it was exactly on the square, but I was sore at him clear through. I wanted to get him into trouble. I _had_ to do something to keep his mind busy till I could turn round and think of a way out." Bucky reflected, looking at the long ash on his cigar. "The man that made the raid of the W. & S. shaped up like Luck, you say?" "In a general way." The ranger brushed the ash from the end of the cigar into the tray. Then he looked quietly at Fendrick. "Who was the man, Cass?" "I thought I told you----" "You did. But you lied. It was a moonlight night. And there's an arc light at that corner. By your own story, the fellow took his mask off as he swung to his horse. You saw his face just as distinctly as I see yours now." "No, I reckon not," Fendrick grinned. "Meaning you won't tell?" "That's not how I put it, Bucky. You're the one that says I recognized him. Come to think of it, I'm not sure the fellow didn't wear his mask till he was out of sight." "I am." "You are." "Yes. The mask was found just outside the office where the man dropped it before he got into the saddle." "So?" "That's not all. Curly and I found something else, too--the old shirt from which the cloth was cut." The sheepman swept him with one of his side-long, tiger-cat glances. "Where did you find it?" "In a barrel back of the Jack of Hearts." "Now, if you only knew who put it there," suggested Cass, with ironic hopefulness. "It happens I do. I have a witness who saw a man shove that old shirt down in the barrel after tearing a piece off." "Your witness got a name, Bucky?" "I'll not mention the name now. If it became too well known something might happen to my witness." Fendrick nodded. "You're wiser there. She wouldn't be safe, not if a certain man happened to hear what you've just told me." "I didn't say _she_, Cass." "No, I said it. Your witness is Mrs. Wylie." "Maybe, then, you can guess the criminal, too." "Maybe I could, but I'm not going to try." "Then we'll drop that subject. I'll ask you a question. Can you tell me where I can find a paroled convict named Blackwell?" Fendrick shook his head. "Don't know the gentleman. A friend of yours?" "One of yours. Better come through, Cass. I'm satisfied you weren't actually in this robbery, but there is such a thing as accessory after the fact. Now, I'm going to get that man. If you want to put yourself right, it's up to you to give me the information I want. Where is he?" "Haven't got him in _my_ pocket." The officer rose, not one whit less amiable. "I didn't expect you to tell me. That's all right. I'll find him. But in the meantime I'll have to lock you up till this thing is settled." From his inside coat pocket, Fendrick drew a sealed envelope, wrote the date across the front, and handed it to O'Connor. "Keep this, Bucky, and remember that I gave it to you. Put it in a safe place, but don't open the envelope till I give the word. Understand?" "I hear what you say, but I don't understand what you mean--what's back of it." "It isn't intended that you should yet. I'm protecting myself. That's all." "I guessed that much. Well, if you're ready, I'll arrange your lodgings for the night, Cass. I reckon I'll put you up at a hotel with one of the boys." "Just as you say." Fendrick rose, and the two men passed into the street. _ |
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