Crooked Trails and Straight

  CHAPTER III

  AN INITIALED HAT

  Mackenzie was reading the _Sentinel_ while he ate a late breakfast. He hadit propped against the water bottle, so that it need not interfere withthe transportation of sausages, fried potatoes, hot cakes, and coffee totheir common destination.

  Trying to do two things at once has its disadvantages. A startlingheadline caught his eyes just as the cup was at his lips. Hot coffee,precipitately swallowed, scalded his tongue and throat. He set down thecup, swore mildly, and gave his attention to the news that had excitedhim. The reporter had run the story to a column, but the leading paragraphgave the gist of it:

  While the citizens of Saguache were peacefully sleeping last night, a lone bandit held up the messengers of the Western and Southern Express Company, and relieved them of $20,000 just received from El Paso on the Flyer.

  Perry Hawley, the local manager of the company, together with Len Rogers, the armed guard, had just returned from the depot, where the money had been turned over to them and receipted for. Hawley had unlocked the door of the office and had stepped in, followed by Rogers, when a masked desperado appeared suddenly out of the darkness, disarmed the guard and manager, took the money, passed through the door and locked it after him, and vanished as silently as he had come. Before leaving, he warned his victims that the place would be covered for ten minutes and at any attempt to call for help they would be shot. Notwithstanding this, the imprisoned men risked their lives by raising the alarm.

  Further down the page Mackenzie discovered that the desperado was still atlarge, but that Sheriff Bolt expected shortly to lay hands on him.

  "I'll bet a dollar Nick Bolt didn't make any such claim to the reporter.He ain't the kind that brags," Mackenzie told himself.

  He folded the paper and returned to his room to make preparation to returnto his ranch. The buzz of the telephone called him to the receiver. Thevoice of Cullison reached him.

  "That you, Mac. I'll be right up. No, don't come down. I'd rather see youalone."

  The owner of the Circle C came right to business. "I've made a raise, Mac,and while I've got it I'm going to skin off what's coming to you."

  He had taken a big roll of bills from his pocket, and was counting offwhat he had lost to his friend. The latter noticed that it all seemed tobe in twenties.

  "Twelve hundred. That squares us, Mac."

  The Scotchman was vaguely uneasy without a definite reason for hisanxiety. Only last night Cullison had told him not a single bank in townwould advance him a dollar. Now he had money in plenty. Where had he gotit?

  "No hurry at all, Luck. Pay when you're good and ready."

  "That's now."

  "Because I'll only put it in the Cattlemen's National. It's yours if youneed it."

  "I'll let you know if I do," his friend nodded.

  Mackenzie's eye fell on a copy of the _Sentinel_ protruding from theother's pocket. "Read about the hold-up of the W. & S. Express? Thatfellow had his nerve with him."

  "Sho! This hold-up game's the easiest yet. He got the drop on them, andthere was nothing to it. The key was still in the lock of the door. Well,when he gets through he steps out, turns the key, and rides away."

  "How did he know there was money coming in last night?"

  "There's always a leak about things of that sort. Somebody talks. I knewit myself for that matter."

  "You knew! Who told you?"

  "That's a secret, Mac. Come to think of it, I wish you wouldn't tellanybody that I knew. I don't want to get the man who told me in trouble."

  "Sure I won't." He passed to another phase of the subject. "The _Sentinel_says Bolt expects to catch the robber. Think he will?"

  "Not if the fellow knows his business. Bolt has nothing to go on. He hasthe whole Southwest to pick from. For all he knows, it was you."

  "Yes, but----"

  "Or more likely me." The gray eyes of the former sheriff held a frostysmile.

  In spite of that smile, or perhaps because of it, Mackenzie felt againthat flash of doubt. "What's the use of talking foolishness, Luck? Courseyou didn't do it. Anybody would know that. Man, I whiles wonder at you,"he protested, relapsing into his native tongue as he sometimes did whenexcited.

  "I didn't say I did it. I said I might have done it"

  "Oh, well! You didn't. I know you too well."

  But the trouble was Mackenzie did not know him well enough. Cullison washard up, close to the wall. How far would he go to save himself? Thirtyyears before when they had been wild young lads these two had hunted theirfun together. Luck had always been the leader, had always been ready forany daredeviltry that came to his mind. He had been the kind to go thelimit in whatever he undertook, to play it to a finish in spite ofopposition. And what a man is he must be to the end. In his slow, troubledfashion, Mac wondered if his old side partner's streak of lawlessnesswould take him as far as a hold-up. Of course it would not, he assuredhimself; but he could not get the ridiculous notion out of his head. Itdrew his thoughts, and at last his steps toward the express office wherethe hold-up had taken place.

  He opened a futile conversation with Hawley, while Len Rogers, the guardwho had not made good, looked at him with a persistent, hostile eye.

  "Hard luck," the cattleman condoled.

  "That's what you think, is it? You and your friends, too, I reckon."

  Mackenzie looked at the guard, who was plainly sore in every humiliatedcrevice of his brain. "I ain't speaking for my friends, Len, but formyself," he said amiably.

  Rogers laughed harshly. "Didn't know but what you might be speaking forone of your friends."

  "They can all speak for themselves when they have got anything to say."

  Hawley sent a swift, warning look toward his subordinate. The latter cameto time sulkily. "I didn't say they couldn't."

  Mackenzie drifted from this unfriendly atmosphere to the courthouse. Hefound Sheriff Bolt in his office. It was that official's busy day, but hefound time not only to see the owner of the Fiddleback, but to press uponhim cordially an invitation to sit down and smoke. The Scotchman wanted todiscuss the robbery, but was shy about attacking the subject. While heboggled at it, Bolt was off on another tack.

  Inside of a quarter of an hour the sheriff had found out all he wanted toknow about the poker game, Cullison's financial difficulties, and the newsthat Luck had liquidated his poker debt since breakfast time. He hadturned the simple cattleman's thoughts inside out, was aware of the doubtBillie had scarcely admitted to himself, and knew all he did except theone point Luck had asked him not to mention. Moreover, he had talked socasually that his visitor had no suspicion of what he was driving at.

  Mackenzie attempted a little sleuthing of his own. "This hold-up fellowkind of slipped one over on you last night, Bolt."

  "Maybe so, and maybe not."

  "Got a clew, have you?"

  "Oh, yes--yes." The sheriff looked straight at him. "I've a notion hisinitials are L. C."

  Billie felt himself flushing. "What makes you think that, Nick?"

  Bolt walked to a cupboard and unlocked it. His back was toward thecattleman, but the latter could see him take something from a shelf.Turning quickly, the sheriff tossed a hat upon the table.

  "Ever see this before?"

  Mac picked it up. His fingers were not quite steady, for a great dreaddrenched his heart like a rush of icy water. Upon that gray felt hat withthe pinched crown was stamped the individuality--and the initials--of LuckCullison.

  "Don't know as I recognize it," he lied, not very readily. "Not to knowit. Why?"

  "Thought perhaps you might know it. The hold-up dropped it while gettingaway."

  Mackenzie's eyes flinched. "Dropped it. How was that?"

  "A man happened to come along San Miguel street just as the robber swungto his horse. He heard the cries of the men inside, guessed what wasdoing, and exchanged shots with the miscreant. He shot this hat off thefellow's head."

  "The _Sentinel_ didn't tell any such
a story."

  "I didn't give that detail to the editor."

  "Who was the man that shot the robber?"

  "Cass Fendrick."

  "But he didn't claim to recognize the hold-up?" Mackenzie forced himselfto ask this in spite of his fears.

  "Not for certain."

  "Then he--he had a guess."

  "Yes, Mac. He guessed a man whose initials are the same as those in thathat."

  "Who do you mean, Nick?"

  "I don't need to tell you that. You know who."

  "If you mean Luck Cullison, it's a damned lie," exploded the cattleman. Hewas furious with himself, for he felt now that he had been unsuspectinglyhelping to certify the suspicions of the sheriff. Like an idiot, he hadlet out much that told heavily against his friend.

  "I hope so."

  "Cass Fendrick is not on good terms with him. We all know that. Luck hasgot him in a hole. I wouldn't put it a bit above Cass to lie if he thoughtit would hurt Luck. Tell you it's a damned conspiracy. Man, can't you seethat?"

  "What about this hat, with the two holes shot through the rim?"

  "Sho! We all wear hats just like that. Look at mine." Billie held it outeagerly.

  "Has yours an L. C. stamped in the sweat band?" Bolt asked with a smile.

  "I know you ain't his friend, Nick. But you want to be fair to him even ifhe did oppose your election." Mackenzie laid an appealing hand on the kneeof the man seated opposite him.

  "I'm sheriff of Papago County. It doesn't make any difference who workedfor or against me, Billie. I was elected, and I'm going to enforce thelaw."

  "And you think Luck would do a fool thing like this?"

  "I didn't say I thought so, but it's my business not to overlook anybets."

  "But you do believe it. Now, don't you?"

  "Since you've got to have an answer--yes, I do."

  "By heaven, I'd as lief think I did it myself."

  "You're a good friend," Bolt conceded. "By the way, I've got to pay forsome supplies this morning. Can you cash a check for a hundred?"

  "I reckon so." Mackenzie drew from his pocket the roll Cullison had givenhim two hours before. He peeled five twenties from it. The sheriffobserved that the prevailing denomination was the same.

  "Get these from Luck?" he asked carelessly.

  The cattleman stared at him, and the suspicion grew on him that he hadbeen trapped again.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because it happens the bills stolen from the W. & S. were all twenties."

  "No, I didn't get them from Cullison. This is money I had," he answeredsullenly.

  "Then I dare say you can let me see the money you got from him."

  "He paid me by check."

  "Banked it yet?"

  "That's my business, Nick."

  "And mine, Billie. I can find out from the bank if you have. Besides, Ihappen to know that Luck's bank account is overdrawn."

  "Some one has been at you to prejudice you, Bolt."

  "Nobody but Luck Cullison himself--and his actions."

  From the office of the sheriff, Mackenzie wandered to the club in searchof Luck. He was thoroughly dispirited, both dreaded to meet Luck, and yetwas anxious to do so. For he wanted to warn him, wanted to see him fallinto one of his chill rages when he told him there were suspicions againsthim.

  Cullison had left the club, but Alec Flandrau was still there. Billie drewhim into a corner, and learned that Luck had just settled with him.

  "Anyone see him give it to you, Alec?"

  "No. He took me upstairs to the library and paid me."

  "In bills?"

  "Yes--in twenties."

  "For God's sake, don't tell anybody that." In a dozen jerky sentences theowner of the Fiddleback told Flandrau of the suspicions of the sheriff.

  Together they went in search of Luck. But though they looked for him allday, he was not to be found. They might have concluded he had ridden outto the ranch, but his horse was still at the stable where he had left it.

  The last that had been seen of him Luck was walking along the plaza towardthe hotel, not a hundred and fifty yards from the latter. A dozen men hadspoken to him in the distance of a block. But he had not been seen toreach his hotel. He had not called for his room key. Somehow he hadvanished, and none could tell how or where.

  To Bolt his disappearance was as good as a confession of guilt. Hesearched Luck's room at the hotel. Among other things, he found an oldenvelope with interesting data penciled on it.

  Before nightfall the word was whispered all over Saguache that LuckCullison, pioneer cattleman and former sheriff, was suspected of theW. & S. Express robbery and had fled to save himself from arrest. At firstmen marveled that one so well known and so popular, one who had been soprominent in affairs, could be suspected of such a crime, but as theylistened to the evidence and saw it fall like blocks of a building intoplace, the conviction grew that he was the masked bandit wanted by thesheriff.