CHAPTER XIV: LACY LEARNS THE TRUTH
Westcott straightened the body out, crossing the dead hands, andcovered the face with a blanket stripped from a bunk. The brief burstof flame died down, leaving the room in semi-darkness. The miner wasconscious only of a feeling of dull rage, a desire for revenge. Theshot had been clearly intended for himself. The killing of Jose hadbeen a mere accident. In all probability the murderer had crept awaybelieving he had succeeded in his purpose. If he had lingered longenough to see any one emerge from the hut, he would naturally imaginethe survivor to be the Mexican. Good! This very confidence would tendto throw the fellow off his guard; he would have no fear of Jose.
Westcott's heart rose in his throat as he stood hesitating. The deadman was only a Mexican, a servant, but he had been faithful, had provenhimself an honest soul; and he had died in his service, as hissubstitute. All right, the affair was not going to end now; this waswar, and, while he might not know who had fired the fatal shot, healready felt abundantly satisfied as to who had suggested its efficacy.There was only one outfit to be benefited by his being put out of theway--Bill Lacy's gang. If they already had Fred Cavendish killed, orheld prisoner in their power, it would greatly simplify matters if heshould meet death accidentally, or at the hands of parties unknown.Why not? Did he not stand alone between them and fortune? Once hislips were sealed, who else could combat their claims? No one; not ahuman being knew his secret--except the little he had confided thatafternoon to Stella Donovan.
The thought of the girl served to break his reflections. This was alla part of that tragedy in New York. Both were in some way connectedtogether, the assassination in the Waldron apartments, and the shootingof Jose here in this mountain shack. They seemed far apart, yet theywere but steps in the same scheme.
He could not figure it all out, yet no doubt this was true--thestruggle for the Cavendish millions had come to include the gold he haddiscovered here in the hills. Bill Lacy was merely the agent of thoseothers, of Ned Beaton, of Celeste La Rue, of Patrick Enright. Aye,that was it--Enright! Instinctively, from the very first moment whenhe had listened to the girl's story, his mind had settled on Enright asthe real leader. The lawyer's arrival in Haskell with the La Rue womanonly served to strengthen that conviction. For certainly a man playingfor potential stakes as big as those Enright was gaming for, wouldintrust no cunning moves to a mere Broadway chorus-girl. No, Enrightwas on the ground in person because the matter in prospect needed adirector, an excessively shrewd trickster, and the others were with himto do his bidding. If Cavendish really lived, all their plans dependedon his being kept out of sight, disposed of, at least until they hadthe money safe in their grasp.
He reached beneath the blanket and drew forth the dead Mexican'srevolver, slipped the weapon into his own belt, opened the door andwent out, closing it tightly behind him. Jose could lie there untilmorning. While the darkness lasted he had work to do. His purposesettled, there was no hesitancy in his movements. His was the code ofthe West; his methods those of the desert and the mountains, the codeand method of a fighting man.
A dim trail, rock strewn, led to the spring, where it connected with anore road extending down the valley to Haskell. Another trail acrossthe spur shortened the distance to the La Rosita shaft-house. ButWestcott chose to follow none of these, lest he run into someambuscade. The fellow who had fired into the shack was,unquestionably, hiding somewhere in the darkness, probably along one ofthese trails in the hope of completing his work.
To avoid encountering him the miner crept along the far side of thecabin through the dense shadow, and then struck directly across thehill crest, guided by the distant gleam of light. It was a roughclimb, dangerous in places, but not unfamiliar. Slowly and silently,cautious to dislodge no rolling stone, and keeping well concealed amongthe rocks, he finally descended to the level of the shaft feelingconfident that his presence was not discovered. He was near enough nowto hear the noise of the hoisting-engine, and to mark the figure of theengineer in the dim light of a lantern.
Rock was being brought up the shaft, and cast onto the dump, but wasevidently of small value, proof to the mind of the watcher that thegang below were merely engaged in tunnel work, and had not yet struckore in any paying quantity.
He lay there watching operations for several minutes, carefullystudying out the situation. He had no clearly defined plan, only adesire to learn exactly what was being done. The office beyond theshaft was lighted, although the faint gleam was only dimly revealedalong the edge of lowered curtains concealing the interior. However,this evidence that some one was within served to attract Westcott'sattention, and he crept around, under the shadow of the dump, andapproached the farther corner. He could perceive now two men on thehoisting platform, and hear the growl of their voices, but withoutbeing able to distinguish speech. Every few moments there sounded thecrash of falling rock as the buckets were emptied. Revolver in hand hemade the round of the building to assure himself that no guard had beenposted there, then chose the window farthest away from the shaft, andendeavoured to look in.
The heavy green curtain extended to the sill, but was slit in onecorner. With his eye close to this slight opening he gained a partialglimpse of the interior. It was that of a rough office with a cot inone corner as though occasionally utilised for a sleeping room, theother furniture consisting of a small desk with roll-top, an unpaintedtable, and a few chairs. In one corner stood a rusty-looking safe, thedoor open, and a fat-bellied wood-stove occupied the centre of thefloor.
There were three men in the room, and Westcott drew a quick breath ofsurprise as he recognised the two faces fronting him--Bill Lacy at thedesk, a pipe in his mouth, his feet elevated on a convenient chair, andBeaton, leaning back against the wall, apparently half asleep with hiseyes closed. The third man was facing Lacy, but concealed by thestove; he seemed to be doing the talking, and held a paper in his handresembling a map. Suddenly he arose to his feet, and bent over theedge of the desk, and Westcott knew him--Enright!
The man spoke earnestly, evidently arguing a point with emphasis, butthe sound of his voice failed to penetrate to the ears of the listenerwithout. Desperately determined to learn what was being said, theminer thrust the heavy blade of his jack-knife beneath the ill-fittingwindow sash, and succeeded in noiselessly lifting it a scant half inch.He bent lower, the speaker's voice clearly audible through the narrowopening.
"That isn't the point, Lacy," the tone smooth enough, yet containing atrace of anger. "You are paid to do these things the way I plan. Thismining proposition is all right, but our important job just now is atthe other end. A false move at this time will not only cost us afortune, but would send some of us to the pen. Don't you know that?"
"Sure I do; but I thought this was my end of it."
"So it is; but it can wait until later, until we have the money inhand, and have decided about Cavendish. You say your tunnel is withintwenty feet of the lead, which it must be according to this map, andyou propose breaking through and holding on until the courts decide.Now don't you know that will kick up a hell of a row? It will bring usall in the limelight, and just at present we are better offunderground. That's why I came out here. I am no expert in mininglaw, and am not prepared to say that your claim is not legal. It maybe, and it may not be--we'll waive that discussion. The point isthis--from all I can learn of Westcott, he is the kind who will fightto the last ditch. Perhaps he hasn't any chance, but if he ever doeslearn how we got hold of his letters and discovered the location ofthat vein of ore, he's going to turn this whole affair inside out, andcatch us red-handed. You made a fool play to-night."
"That wasn't my fault," Lacy protested sullenly. "The fellowmisunderstood; however, there won't be no fuss made over a Mexican."
"I'm not so sure of that; Westcott will know it was meant for him andbe on his guard. Anyhow it was a fool's trick."
"Well, we do things different out here from what you do in New York.It's my way to t
ake no chances, and when a man's dead he can't talk."
"I'm not so sure of that; there's been many a lad hung on the testimonyof a dead man. Now see here, Lacy, this is my game, and I proposeplaying it in my own way. You came in under those conditions, didn'tyou?"
"I reckon so, still there wasn't much to it when I came in. Thismining stunt developed later out of those letters Westcott sent East.This man Beaton here offered me so much to do a small job for him, andI named my price without caring a whoop in hell what it was all about.I don't now, but I've learned a few things since, and am beginning tothink my price was damn low. You never came way out here just to stopme from tunnelling into Westcott's mine."
The other hesitated.
"No," he admitted at last, "I did not even learn what was being doneuntil after I got here."
"Beaton sent for you?"
"Not exactly. I never had any personal connection with him in thecase. I am not sure he ever heard of me, unless the woman told him.He was working under her orders, and wired her when Cavendish got awayto come out at once. He didn't know what to do."
Lacy laughed, and began to refill his pipe.
"That was when I first began to smell a mouse," he said, more at ease."The fellow was so scared I caught on that this was no commonkidnapping outfit, like I had thought before. He wasn't easy pumped,but I pumped him. I told him we'd have the guy safe enough inside oftwenty-four hours--hell! there wasn't no chance for him to get away,for the blame fool headed East on foot straight across the desert--buthe sent off the wire just the same. That's what I thought brought youalong." He leaned over, and lowered his voice. "There was a dead manback East, wasn't there?"
"What difference does that make?"
"None, particularly, except to naturally increase the worth of myservices. I'm not squeamish about stiffs, but I like to know what I amdoing. What are you holding on to this other fellow for?"
Enright walked nervously across the room, chewing at his cigar, only tocome back and face his questioner.
"Well, I suppose I might as well tell you," he said almost savagely."You know so damn much now, you better know it all. You're in too deepalready to wiggle out. We made rather a mess of it in New York, andonly a bit of luck helped us through. We had the plans ready for threemonths, but nothing occurred to give us a chance. Then all at onceCavendish got his first telegram from Westcott, and decided to pullout, not telling any one where he was going. That would have been allright, for we had a man shadowing him, but at the last moment hequarrelled with the boy we had the woman slated up with."
"Hold on; what boy? Let me get this straight."
"His nephew, and only relative--John Cavendish."
"Oh, I see; he was his heir; and you had him fixed?"
"We had him where he couldn't squeal, and have yet. That was Miss LaRue's part of the game. But, as I was saying, there was a quarrel andthe uncle suddenly decided to draw up a will, practically cutting Johnout entirely."
"Hell! Some joke that!"
"There was where luck came to our help. He employed me to draw thewill, and told me he planned to leave the city for some time. As soonas I could I told the others over the phone, and we got busy."
Lacy struck his knee with his hand, and burst into a laugh.
"So, he simply disappeared! Your idea was that an accident mighthappen, and our friend Beaton here took the same train to render anynecessary assistance."
"No," said Enright frankly, "murder wasn't part of our plan; it's toorisky. We had other means for getting this money--legally."
Lacy stared incredulous.
"And there hasn't been no killin'?"
Enright shook his head.
"Not by any of us."
"Then how about that dead man in New York--the one that was buried forCavendish? Oh, I read about that. Beaton showed it to me in thepaper."
"That's the whole trouble," Enright answered gravely. "I do not knowwho he was, or how he came there. All I know is, he was not FrederickCavendish. But his being found there dead in Cavendish's apartments,and identified, puts us in an awful hole, if the rest of this affairshould ever become known. Do you see? The charge would be murder, andhow are we going to hold the real Cavendish alive, and not have it comeout?"
"The other one--the stiff--wasn't Cavendish?"
"Certainly not; you know where Cavendish is."
"I never saw Fred Cavendish; I wouldn't know him from Adam's off-ox.I've got the fellow Beaton turned over to me."
"Well, he's the man; the dead one isn't."
"How do you know?"
"Because Frederick Cavendish bought and signed a round-trip ticket toLos Angeles, and boarded the midnight train. My man reported that tome, and Beaton just had time to catch the same train before it pulledout. Isn't that true, Ned?"
"Yes, it is, and I never left him."
"But," insisted Lacy stubbornly, "did you see the dead one?"
"Yes. I kept away from the inquest, but attended the funeral to get aglance at his face. It seemed too strange to be true. The fellowwasn't Cavendish; I'd swear to that, but he did look enough like him tofool anybody who had no suspicions aroused. You see no one so much asquestioned his identity--Cavendish had disappeared without a word evento his valet; this fellow, despite the wounds on his face, lookingenough like him to be a twin, dressed like him, is found dead in hisapartments. Dammit, it's spooky, the very thought of it."
"But you saw a difference?"
"Because I looked for it; I never would have otherwise. Of course whatI looked at was a dead face in the coffin, a dead face that was searedand burned. But anyway, I was already convinced that he was not theman. I am not sure what I should have thought if I had met him aliveupon the street."
Lacy appeared amused, crossing the room, and expectorating into theopen stove.
"You fellows make me laugh," he said grimly. "I am hardly idiot enoughto be taken in by that sort of old wives' tale. However, if that isyour story stick to it--but if you were to ever tell it in court, itwould take a jury about five minutes to bring in their verdict. StillI see what you're up against--the death of this fellow means that youare afraid now to leave Cavendish alive. If he ever appears again inthe flesh this New York murder will have to be accounted for. Is thatit?"
"It leaves us in an awkward position."
"All right. We understand each other then. Let's get to business.You want me to help out in a sort of accident, I presume--a fall over acliff, or the premature discharge of blasting powder; these things arequite common out here."
Neither Enright nor Beaton answered, but Lacy was in no way embarrassedby their silence. He knew now he had the whip-hand.
"And to prevent any stir at this end, before you fellows get hold ofthe stuff, you want me to call off my working gang and let Westcottalone. Come, now, speak up."
"Yes," acknowledged Enright. "I don't care so much for Westcott, but Iwant things kept quiet. There's a newspaperwoman down at the hotel. Ihaven't been able to discover yet what she is doing out here, but she'sone of the big writers on the New York _Star_. If she got an inklingof this affair----"
"Who is she? Not the girl you had that row over, Beaton?"
The gunman nodded.
"She's the one."
"Do you suppose Jim Westcott knew her before? He brought her to thehotel and was mighty touchy about her."
"Hell, no; she told me all about that--why she cut that fellow dead inthe dining-room when he tried to speak to her the next day."
Lacy whistled a few bars, his hands thrust deep into histrouser-pockets. Then, after a few minutes' cogitation, he resumed:
"All right then; we'll take it as it lies. The only questionunsettled, Enright, is--what is all this worth to me?"