CHAPTER XXXII
JACK TAKES OFF HIS COAT
Afterward, when Kirby Lane looked back upon the weeks spent in Denvertrying to clear up the mysteries which surrounded the whole affair ofhis uncle's death, it seemed to him that he had been at timesincredibly stupid. Nowhere did this accent itself so much as in thatpart of the tangle which related to Esther McLean.
From time to time Kirby saw Cole. He was in and out of town. Most ofhis time was spent running down faint trails which spun themselves outand became lost in the hills. The champion rough rider was indomitablyresolute in his intention of finding her. There were times when Rosebegan to fear that her little sister was lost to her for always. ButSanborn never shared this feeling.
"You wait. I'll find her," he promised. "An' if I can lay my hands onthe man that's done her a meanness, I'll certainly give them hospitalsharks a job patchin' him up." His gentle eyes had frozen, and thecold, hard light in them was almost deadly.
Kirby could not get it out of his head that James was responsible forthe disappearance of the girl. Yet he could not find a motive thatwould justify so much trouble on his cousin's part.
He was at a moving-picture house on Curtis Street with Rose when theexplanation popped into his mind. They were watching an old-fashionedmelodrama in which the villain's letter is laid at the door of theunfortunate hero.
Kirby leaned toward Rose in the darkness and whispered, "Let's go."
"Go where?" she wanted to know in surprise. They had seated themselvesnot five minutes before.
"I've got a hunch. Come."
She rose, and on the way to the aisle brushed past several irritatedladies. Not till they were standing on the sidewalk outside did hetell her what was on his mind.
"I want to see that note from my uncle you found in your sister'sdesk," he said.
She looked at him and laughed a little. "You certainly want what youwant when you want it! Do your hunches often take you like that--rightout of a perfectly good show you've paid your money to see?"
"We've made a mistake. It was seein' that fellow in the play that putme wise. Have you got the note with you?"
"No. It's at home. If you like we'll go and get it."
They walked up to the Pioneers' Monument and from there over to herboarding-place.
Kirby looked the little note over carefully. "What a chump I was notto look at this before," he said. "My uncle never wrote it."
"Never wrote it?"
"Not his writin' a-tall."
"Then whose is it?"
"I can make a darn good guess. Can't you?"
She looked at him, eyes dilated, on the verge of a discovery. "Youmean--?"
"I mean that J. C. might stand for at least two other men we know."
"Your cousin James?"
"More likely Jack."
His mind beat back to fugitive memories of Jack's embarrassment whenEsther's name had been mentioned in connection with his uncle. Swiftlyhis brain began to piece the bits of evidence he had not understood themeaning of before.
"Jack's the man. You may depend on it. My uncle hadn't anything to dowith it. We jumped at that conclusion too quick," he went on.
"You think that she's . . . with him?"
"No. She's likely out in the country or in some small town. He'shavin' her looked after. Probably an attack of conscience. Even ifhe's selfish as the devil, he isn't heartless."
"If we could be sure she's all right. But we can't." Rose turned onhim a wistful face, twisted by emotion. "I want to find her, Kirby.I'm her sister. She's all I've got. Can't you do something?"
"I'll try."
She noticed the hardening of the lean jaw, the tightening of themuscles as the back teeth clenched.
"Don't--don't do anything--rash," she begged.
Her hand rested lightly on his arm. Their eyes met. He smiled grimly.
"Don't worry. Mebbe I'll call you up later tonight and reportprogress."
He walked to the nearest drug-store and used the telephone freely. Atthe end of fifteen minutes he stepped out of the booth. His cousinJack was doing some evening work at the offices where he was now incharge of settling up his uncle's affairs.
Kirby found him there. A man stenographer was putting on his coat toleave, but Jack was still at his desk. He looked up, annoyed.
"Was that you telephoned me?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I told you I'd let you know when I wanted to see you."
"So you did. But you didn't let me know. The shoe's on the other footnow. I want to see you."
"I'm not interested in anything you have to say."
The stenographer had gone. Kirby could hear his footsteps echoing downthe corridor. He threw the catch of the lock and closed the door.
"I can promise to keep you interested," he said, very quietly.
Jack rose. He wore white shoes, duck trousers, a white pique shirt,and a blue serge coat that fitted his graceful figure perfectly. "Whatdid you do that for?" he demanded. "Open that door!"
"Not just yet, Jack. I've come for a settlement. It's up to you tosay what kind of a one it'll be."
Cunningham's dark eyes glittered. He was no physical coward.Moreover, he was a trained athlete, not long out of college. He hadbeen the middle-weight champion boxer of the university. If this toughbrown cousin wanted a set-to, he would not have to ask twice for it.
"Suits me fine," he said. "What's your proposition?"
"I've been a blind idiot. Didn't see what was right before my eyes. Ireckon you've had some laughs at me. Well, I hope you enjoyed 'em.There aren't any more grins comin' to you." Kirby spoke coldly,implacably, his voice grating like steel on steel.
"Meaning, in plain English?"
"That you've let a dead man's shoulders carry your sins. You heard usblame Uncle James for Esther McLean's trouble. An' you never said aword to set us right. Yet you're the man, you damned scoundrel!"
Jack went white to the lips, then flushed angrily. "You can't evermind your own business, can you?"
"I want just two things from you. The first is, to know where you'vetaken her; the second, to tell you that you're goin' to make this rightan' see that you do it."
"When you talk to me like that I've nothing to say. No man living canbully me."
"You won't come through. Is that it?"
"You may go to the devil for all of me."
Their stormy eyes clashed.
"The girl you took advantage of hasn't any brother," the Wyoming mansaid. "I'm electin' myself to that job for a while. If I can I'mgoin' to whale the life outa you."
Jack slipped out of his coat and tossed it on the desk. Even in thatmoment, while Kirby was concentrating for the attack, the rough riderfound time to regret that so good-looking a youth, one so gallantlypoised and so gracefully graceless, should be a black-hearted scamp.
"Hop to it!" invited the college man. Under thick dark lashes hisblack eyes danced with excitement.
Kirby lashed out with his right, hard and straight. His cousin duckedwith the easy grace of a man who has spent many hours on a ballroomfloor. The cattleman struck again. Jack caught the blow and deflectedit, at the same time uppercutting swiftly for the chin. The counterlanded flush on Kirby's cheek and flung him back to the wall.
He grinned, and plunged again. A driving left caught him off balanceand flung him from his feet. He was up again instantly, shaking hishead to clear it of the dizziness that sang there.
It came to him that he must use his brains against this expert boxer orsuffer a knockout. He must wear Jack out, let him spend his strengthin attack, watch for the chance that was bound to come if he couldweather the storm long enough.
Not at all loath, Jack took the offensive. He went to work coolly toput out his foe. He landed three for one, timing and placing his blowscarefully to get the maximum effect. A second time Kirby hit the floor.
Jack hoped he would stay down. The clubman was a lit
tle out ofcondition. He was beginning to breathe fast. His cousin had landedhard two or three times on the body. Back of each of these blows therehad been a punishing force. Cunningham knew he had to win soon if atall.
But Kirby had not the least intention of quitting. He was the toughproduct of wind and sun and hard work. He bored in and asked for more,still playing for his opponent's wind. Kirby knew he was the strongerman, in far better condition. He could afford to wait--and Jack couldnot. He killed the boxer's attacks with deadly counter-blows, movingin and out lithely as a cat.
The rough rider landed close to the solar plexus. Jack winced and gaveground. Kirby's fist got home again. He crowded Jack, feeling thathis man was weakening.
Jack rallied for one last desperate set-to, hoping for a chance blow toknock Kirby out. He scored a dozen times. Lane gave ground, slowly,watchfully, guarding as best he could.
Then his brown fist shot out and up. It moved scarcely six inches,straight for the college boxer's chin. Jack's knees sagged. He wentdown, rolled over, and lay still.
Kirby found water and brought it back. Jack was sitting up, his backpropped against the wall. He swallowed a gulp or two and splashed therest on his face.
"I'll say you can hit like the kick of a mule," he said. "If you'dbeen a reasonable human, I ought to have got you, at that. Don't youever stay down?"
Kirby could not repress a little smile. In spite of himself he felt asneaking admiration for this insouciant youth who could take a beatinglike a sportsman.
"You're some little mixer yourself," he said.
"Thought I was, before I bumped into you. Say, gimme a hand up. I'm abit groggy yet."
Kirby helped him to his feet. The immaculate shirt and trousers werespattered with blood, mostly Kirby's. The young dandy looked athimself, and a humorous quirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.
"Some scrap. Let's go into the lavatory and do some reconstructionwork," he said.
Side by side at adjoining washbowls, perfectly amicably, they repairedas far as possible the damages of war. Not till they had put on againtheir coats did Kirby hark back to the purpose of the meeting.
"You haven't told me yet what I want to know."
Out of a damaged eye Jack looked at him evenly. "And that's only partof it. I'm not going to, either."
He had said the last word. Kirby could not begin all over again tothrash him. It was not reasonable. And if he did, he knew quite wellhe would get nothing out of the man. If he would not talk, he wouldnot.
The bronco buster walked back to his hotel. A special-delivery letterwas in his box. It was postmarked Golden. As he handed it to him theclerk looked him over curiously. It had been some time since he hadseen a face so badly cut up and swollen.
"You ought to see the other fellow," Kirby told him with a lopsidedgrin as he ripped open the envelope.
Before his eyes had traveled halfway down the sheet the cowman gave amodulated whoop of joy.
"Good news?" asked the clerk.
Kirby did not answer. His eyes were staring in blank astonishment atone sentence in the letter. The note was from Cole Sanborn. This iswhat Kirby read in it:
Well, old-timer, there aint no trail so blamed long but what its got aturn in it somewheres. I done found Esther up Platte Canon andeverythings OK as you might say. I reckon you are wondering howcomethis to be postmarked Golden. Well, old pardner, Im sure enoughmarried at last but I had a great time getting Esther to see this myway. Shes one swell little girl and theres only one thing I hate.Before she would marry me I had to swear up and down I wouldnt touchthe yellow wolf who got her into trouble. But she didnt say nothingabout you so I will just slip you his name. It wasnt your uncle at allbut that crooked oil broker nephew of his James Cunningham. If you canmuss him up proper for me youll sure be doing a favor to
yours respectably
COLE SANBORN
P.S. Esther sends bushels of love to Rose and will write to-morrow.I'll say Im going to make her one happy kid.
COLE
Kirby laughed in sardonic mirth. He had fought the wrong man.
It was James Cunningham, not Jack. And, of course, Jack had known itall the time and been embarrassed by it. He had stuck loyally to hisbrother and had taken the whaling of his life rather than betray him.
Kirby took off his hat to Jack. He had stood pat to a fighting finish.He was one good square sport.
Even as he was thinking this, Kirby was moving toward the telephonebooth. He had promised to report progress. For once he hadconsiderable to report.