CHAPTER XXIV
THE LETTER IN THE CHAPS
Though hours may drag themselves into the past so sluggishly that oneis fairly maddened by the snail's pace of them, into the past they mustgo eventually. Jean had sat and listened to the wheels of the GoldenState Limited clank over the cryptic phrase that meant so much."Letter-in-the-chaps! Letter-in-the chaps!" was what they had saidwhile the train pounded across the desert and slid through arroyas anddeep cuts which leveled hills for its passing. "Letter-in-the-chaps!Letter-in-the-chaps!" And then a silence while they stood by somedesolate station where the people were swarthy of skin and black ofhair and eyes, and moved languidly if they moved at all. Then theywould go on; and when the wheels had clicked over the switches of thevarious side tracks, they would take up again the refrain:"Letter-in-the-chaps! Letter-in-the-chaps!" until Jean thought shewould go crazy if they kept it up much longer.
Little by little they drew near to Los Angeles. And then they werethere, sliding slowly through the yards in a drab drizzle of one ofCalifornia's fall rains. Then they were in a taxicab, making for theThird Street tunnel. Then Jean stared heavy-eyed at the dripping palmsalong the boulevard which led away from the smoke of the city and intoHollywood, snuggled against the misty hills. "Letter-in-the-chaps!"her tired brain repeated it still.
Then she was in the apartment shared with Muriel Gay and her mother.These two were over at the studio, the landlady told her when she letthem in, and Jean was glad that they were gone.
She knelt, still in her hat and coat and with her gloves on, and fittedher trunk key into the lock. And there she stopped. What if theletter were not in the chaps, after all? What if it were but a trivialnote, concerning a matter long since forgotten; a trivial note that hadnot the remotest bearing upon the murder? "Letter-in-the-chaps!" Thephrase returned with a mocking note and beat insistently through herbrain. She sat back on the floor and shivered with the chill of afireless room in California, when a fall rain is at its drizzling worst.
In the next room one of the men coughed; afterwards she heard Lite'svoice, saying something in an undertone to Art Osgood. She heard Art'svoice mutter a reply. She raised herself again to her knees, turnedthe key in the lock, and lifted the trunk-lid with an air ofdetermination.
Down next the bottom of her big trunk they lay, just as she had packedthem away, with her dad's six-shooter and belt carefully disposedbetween the leathern folds. She groped with her hands under a couple ofriding-skirts and her high, laced boots, got a firm grip on the fringedleather, and dragged them out. She had forgotten all about the gun andbelt until they fell with a thump on the floor. She pulled out thebelt, left the gun lying there by the trunk, and hurried out with thechaps dangling over her arm.
She was pale when she stood before the two who sat there waiting withtheir hats in their hands and their faces full of repressed eagerness.Her fingers trembled while she pulled at the stiff, leather flap of thepocket, to free it from the button.
"Maybe it ain't there yet," Art hazarded nervously, while they watchedher. "But that's where he put it, all right. I saw him."
Jean's fingers went groping into the pocket, stayed there for a secondor two, and came out holding a folded envelope.
"That's it!" Art leaned toward her eagerly. "That's the one, allright."
Jean sat down suddenly because her knees seemed to bend under herweight. Three years--and that letter within her reach all the time!
"Let's see, Jean." Lite reached out and took it from her nervelessfingers. "Maybe it won't amount to anything at all."
Jean tried to hold herself calm. "Read it--out loud," she said. "Thenwe'll know." She tried to smile, and made so great a failure of itthat she came very near crying. The faint crackle of the cheap paperwhen Lite unfolded the letter made her start nervously. "Read it--nomatter--what it is," she repeated, when she saw Lite's eyes go rapidlyover the lines.
Lite glanced at her sharply, then leaned and took her hand and held itclose. His firm clasp steadied her more than any words could havedone. Without further delay or attempt to palliate its grimsignificance, he read the note:
Aleck:
If Johnny Croft comes to you with anything about me, kick him off theranch. He claims he knows a whole lot about me branding too manycalves. Don't believe anything he tells you. He's just trying to maketrouble because he claims I underpaid him. He was telling Art a lot ofstuff that he claimed he could prove on me, but it's all a lie. Sendhim to me if he comes looking for trouble. I'll give him all he wants.
Art found a heifer down in the breaks that looks like she might haveblackleg. I'm going down there to see about it. Maybe you better rideover and see what you think about it; we don't want to let anythinglike that get a start on us.
Don't pay any attention to Johnny. I'll fix him if he don't keep hisface shut.
CARL.
"Carl!" Jean repeated the name mechanically. "Carl."
"I kinda thought it was something like that," Art Osgood interruptedher to say. "Now you know that much, and I'll tell you just what Iknow about it. It was Carl shot Crofty, all right. I rode over withhim to the Lazy A; I was on my way to town and we went that fartogether. I rode that way to tell you good-by." He looked at Jeanwith a certain diffidence. "I kinda wanted to see you before I wentclear outa the country, but you weren't at home.
"Johnny Croft's horse was standing outside the house when we rode up.I guess he must have just got there ahead of us. Carl got off and wentin ahead of me. Johnny was eating a snack when I went in. He saidsomething to Carl, and Carl flared up. I saw there wasn't anybody athome, and I didn't want to get mixed up in the argument, so I turnedand went on out. And I hadn't more than got to my horse when I heard ashot, and Carl came running out with his gun in his hand.
"Well, Johnny was dead, and there wasn't anything I could do about it.Carl told me to beat it outa the country, just like I'd been planning;he said it would be a whole lot better for him, seeing I wasn't aneye-witness. He said Johnny started to draw his gun, and he shot inself-defense; and he said I better go while the going was good, or Imight get pulled into it some way.
"Well, I thought it over for a minute, and I didn't see where it wouldget me anything to stay. I couldn't help Carl any by staying, becauseI wasn't in the house when it happened. So I hit the trail for town,and never said anything to anybody." He looked at the two contritely."I never knew, till you folks came to Nogales looking for me, thatthings panned out the way they did. I thought Carl was going to givehimself up, and would be cleared. I never once dreamed he was thekinda mark that would let his own brother take the blame that way."
"I guess nobody did." Lite folded the letter and pushed it back intothe envelope. "I can look back now, though, and see how it come about.He hung back till Aleck found the body and was arrested; and after thathe just simply didn't have the nerve to step out and say that he wasthe one that did it. He tried hard to save Aleck, but he wouldn't--"
"The coward! The low, mean coward!" Jean stood up and looked from oneto the other, and spoke through her clinched teeth. "To let dad sufferall this while! Lite, when did you say that train left for Salt Lake?We can take the taxi back down town, and save time." She was at thedoor when she turned toward the two again. "Hurry up! Don't you knowwe've got to hurry? Dad's in prison all this while! And UncleCarl,--there's no telling where Uncle Carl is! That wire I sent him wasthe worst thing I could have done!"
"Or the best," suggested Lite laconically, as he led the way down thehall and out to the rain-drenched, waiting taxicab.