The Wingham Advance-Times, 1936-06-11, Page 6BAOU SIX
L.P. HOLM£S .
SECOND INSTALMENT
SYNOPSIS . . .Silas Spelle, high
handed, low-principled cattle baron,
is out to smash the local bank and
force foreclosure on the small ranch
ers of the Kanab desert country so
that he can seize their range lands.
He is opposed by Ed. Starbuck, pres
ident of the Cattleman's Bank, and by
San Juan Delevan, prominent ranch
er who has been crippled by a fall
■from his horse. Johnny Clehoe and
his partner, Tex Whipple, are cow
punchers looking for work.
Art “Four-finger” Spelle, so called
before his prison days because the
third finger of his right hand was
missing, leaned over and lifted the
Colt .45 from the holster dangling
at his father’s hip.
“I’ll keep this ’till yuh get back,”
he sneered. “No—I don’t trust yuh.
I did once—an’ got twenty years in
the pen for it. I’d o’ rotted there for
all o’ yuh. Don’t try an’ double-cross
me again, or I’ll crawl through hell
on my hands an’ knees to get yuh.
Don’t forget.”
Silas Spelle nodded and left the
room. The moment he was gone, ex
convict No. 8214 crossed to the shelf
and took down a nearly full quart
bottle of whiskey. Drawing the cork
he drank greedily. He sighed deeply
as he replaced the bottle. He crossed
to his father’s desk and sat down,
sweeping papers and tally books as
ide. Shortly Silas Spelle reappeared,
his arms loaded with dishes.
Four-finger Spelle ate voraciously,
wolfishly—like a starving man would.
When he finally ceased the dishes
were empty. He lit one of his fath
er’s black stogies. He leaned back
in the chair and put his heel on the
desk.
“This is somethin’ like,” he grin
ned mockingly. “Now where yuh go-
in’ to bed me down so nobody’ll know
I’m here?”
“I been usin’ yore room for a store
room since—since—well, yuh was
gone,” replied the father. “Nobody
ever goes in there an’ the windows
are boarded up. Yore bunk’s still
there an’ some blankets. Yuh can
hang out there for a while. Mebbe
we can make other arrangements lat
er.”
“Don’t go to figgerin’ too deep,”
sneered the son. “I’ll make the ar
rangements. I’m goin to turn in now.
I’m tired as hell. But I take this six-
gun with me an ’a Winchester be
sides . Remember what I said about
tryin’ to double-cross me.”
“I’m not thinking anything of the
sort,” was the angry reply. “Mebbe
we can get together on somethin’
pretty quick what’ll be a payin’ pro
position for both of us.”
“Bueno. I think yuh’re tellln’ the
truth for once in yore life. Me for
the blankets.”
Later Silas Spelle sat again in his
office thinking. But now the baffled,
thwarted look about him was gone.
He was smiling slightly. The answer
to his problem concerning Ed Star
buck was at hand.
Old “San Juan” Jim Delevan sat
in his invalid’s chair on the wide ver
anda of the Box D ranchhouse and
stared down the slope to where a herd
of Hereford cattle were milling and
bellowing about the eight big troughs
set out in the rolling meadows be
yond. the barns and corrals below.
The troughs were kept filled with
water piped from the reservoir which
lay beyond the dam in the ravine
which cut in one one edge of the
slope a hundred yards above the
ranchhouse. Still highed up lay the
pine ridged crest of the San Juan
Plateau, that great, verdant tableland,
which Delevan controlled and which
had been the source of Delevena’s
nickname.
At Dclevan’.s elbow lay a pair of
powerful binoculars. For the past
three hours he had used the glasses,
watching the slow, weary progress
of the herd as it had wound up out
of the terrible red gulf of the Kanab
Desert, which lay beneath the San
Juan Plateau on the southwest,
spreading out through a shimmering,
blasting inferno to where, far on the
horizon, reared the volcanic crown of.
rthe Vermillion Cliffs,
San Juan Delevan had been a big
man, but since the accident two
months previous the flesh had-wasted
from his craggy frame until to look
nt him was to liken him to a gaunt,
gnarled old oak tree. His face was
square hewn, and harsh as granite,
his mouth grim—his jaw jutting He
stirred restlessly, The ddor of sweat
and dust risihg from the cattle came
strong to his nostrils. He was hun
gry io be among them; to hear the
creak of tendon and clack of hoof as
they moved .about; to note their hard
won content about the watering
troughs more closely. For San Juan
Delevan loved cattle. Sturdy breed
that they were, he knew desert travel
was hard on the heavy, bulky Here-
fords and it did his heart good to
see them slaking parched, dust coat
ed throats at the troughs filled with
the sweet, sparkling water of the
plateau.
But there was a furorw of worry
between his keen eyes. He turned
to a slender, dark-haired girl sitting
beside him,
“Honey, make a count ‘of those
cattle,’ ’he asked, “Don’t look to me
like they’s six hundred haid there.”
Ronella Delevan, “Ronny” for
short, laid down a bit of lacy em
broidery and directed her calm, clear
eyes at the cattle. Brown eyes those
were, fringed wiht long curling lash
es, Bellow .them was a straight, tip-
titled nose, bewitchingly freckled
Her mouth was made for laughter
but in repose there was a hint of
brooding tenderness about it. Her
chin was rounded but firm. She wore
a cool, dainty, but serviceable ging
ham dress. There were no frills about
Ronny Delevan. She didn’t need
them.
After a moment she looked at her
A pale moon lighted their trail.
father gravely.
“No dad, there isn’t. I doubt if
there is more than five hundred.”
“Humph,” grunted Delevan gruffly.
“That means Wade had trouble cross
ing the desert. Rustlers again, I’ll
wager. Why in hell don’t the man
report? What’s he waiting or?”
As though in answer a thin man
with a dark saturnine face left the
group of punchers and climbed slow
ly up the slope towards the ranch
house. His face was inscrutable, his
black eyes opaque, as he faced Dele
van.
“Lost near a hundred haid, boss,”
he stated flatly. “Rustlers rushed the
cattle night ’fore last where they was
bedded down at Skeleton Springs.
The whole herd got on the run but
we managed to turn ’em. But come
daylight I made a count an’ found
around ninety-five haid missin’. I left
Fair and Donnelly at the Springs.
They’re tryin to trail the rustlers.”
Anger gleamed in Delevan’s eyes.
“What in hell’s the matter, Wade?”
he rumbled. “I thought yuh were a
cattleman. Cain’t yuh an’ four punch
ers drive six hundred haid of cottie
without lettin’ rustlers clean up on
yuh? By God, I ain’t made of gold.
I cain’t stand to lose cattle like I
been doin’.”
“Yuh got no kick cornin’,” retort
ed the foreman, blood flaming in his
face. "Yuh was headin' the gang yer-
self when they put over the big steal
two months ago.”
“True,” snapped Delevan darkly.
“But they was somethin’ about the
big steal I ain't fellin' everybodj' just
yet. I’m waitin ’an' listenin’ an’
watchin’ till the right time comes to
talk. What I know’d surprise yuh.”
“Don’t know nothin’ about that,”
replied Wade sullenly. “We did the
best we could with this herd. Damn
lucky I say we didn’t lose the whole
smear.’*
“It wouldn't have suprised me/’ re
marked Delevan sarcastically.
Wade stiffened and looked at his
employer, with hard eyes. “See here,
Delevan,” he snarled, “If yuh don’t
like the way I’m roddifi yore spread,
jest say so, I ain’t anchored to this
outfit/*
“Wade,” said Delevan steadily, “I
think that’s a damn good idea. D’yuh
slippers slapping at his heels. Short-.
want yore time tonight or in the
mornin’?"
“Seein’ yuh put it thataway, I’il
take it tonight. I’ll come for it right
after supper,”
“I’ll be waitin’,” rumbled Delevan.
An hour later Montana Wade, fol
lowed by two other punchers, came
clanking onto the veranda. Delevan
was seated there, a check book across
his knees.
“Casnow an’ Durbin are quittin’
with me,” announced Wade harshly.
“Seein’ they were with me on the
drive they figger yore talk again me
hits them too.”
“Suits me,” rumbled Delevan. “The
Box D won’t miss any of yuh. I. hir
ed two good men today.”
Delevan scrawled three checks and
handed them to the scowling punch
ers, who left immediately and sjiortly
after rode away on the Carillion trail.
Delevan watched them out of sight,
his brow furrowed, his eyes thought
ful.
“Things kinda dovetail,” he mut
tered. “Bet I’m figgerin ’right. Hi—
Chang!” he bellowed. “Come here.”
There was a patter of feet from
within the ranchhouse and a wrinkled,
aged little Chinaman, emerged.
“Drift down to the bunkhouse an’
tell Whipple I want to see him.”
The Chinaman shuffled off, his
ly after Tex Whipple climbed the
slope and took a chair beside Dele
van.
“Whipple,” said Delevan, “Yuh
look like a pretty wise ole fox to me.
I got somethin’ I want yuh to do. I
lost damn near a hundred haid of
that herd that came in across the des
ert today. I got my own suspicions
as to what happened. But I ain’t say
in’ a word yet. I want yuh an’ that
kid pardner of yores to fork a pair of
broncs an’ amble out to Skeleton
Springs. I want yuh to read sign on
what happened there. If I tell yuh
what I think happened it might in
fluence yore line o’ reasonin’, so I
won’t say a word. Yuh better leave
right away because come mornin’ the
wind’ll fill in the tracks most likely
an’ cover everythin’ up. Skeleton
Springs lies about sixteen miles due
west. Keep that north point of Ver
million Cliffs dead between yore
bronc’s ears an’ yuh can’t miss it.”
Tex nodded, rolling a cigarette.
“Don’t get anxious boss, if’n we don’t
show up fdr a couple, three days. If
we hit somethin* phoney we’ll foller
it through ’till we get the whole lay
out figgered. Mebbe yore Chink
could get a Jeetle grub together for
us while we’re throwin’ our hulls on
the broncs.”
“Shore. I’ll get him busy.”
It lacked an hour of midnight when
Tex and Johnny rode up to Skeleton
Springs. For the last five or six miles
a pale moon had eased their trail
somewhat. A mammoth hush lay ov
er the Kanab Desert, a stillness so
potent and impressive that Johnny
was moved to remark about it. He
and Tex dismounted and were squat
ting on their heels smoking, watching
their broncos sip gingerly at the
brackish pools which seeped from be
neath a tongue of ragged sandstone.
“Gosh, it’s owly out here,” he mum
bled, looking about at the ghostly out
lines of cactus and thorn brush,; “A
good night for hoot-nannies an’ speer-
its to be aflittin’.”
“Reckon from what ole San Juan
told me they’s wuss things than that
boldin’ out in these parts,” answered
Tex.
“Yeah? Suppose yuh open up an’
fell me what the idee of this HI* jaunt
is all about, I likes to know what
I’m tidin’ into.”
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Business and Professional DirectoryTex related Delevan’s instructions
and added a bit of his own deduc
tions.
“Looks to me like Delevan ain’t no
where near satisfied with the yarn
Wade told him about how they lost
; those cattle. He done canned Wade
, over it. He’s figgerin’ we’ll find
somethin’ kinda phoney if we look out
right smart.”
When the horses had finished
drinking they unsaddled and staked
the animals out. Then they lay down
on the warm sands and dozed through
the slow hours to the first break of
dawn. A merger breakfast was cook-
over the acrid flames of a handful of
greasewood twigs, then the saddles
were slung and the horses were giv
en a final drink.
(Continued Next Week)
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