CHAPTER III
_Donovan's Hand_
Waring was up with the first faint streak of dawn. He threw hay to thehorses and strode briskly to the adobe. Juan Armigo was bending over thekitchen stove. Waring nodded to him and stepped to the next room. TheMexicans were asleep; young Ramon lying face down beneath the crucifixon the wall, where he had knelt in prayer most of the night.
Waring drew back quietly.
"Let them sleep," he told Juan in the kitchen.
After frijoles and coffee, the gunman rose and gestured to Juan tofollow him.
Out near the corral, Waring turned suddenly. "You say that young Ramonis straight?"
"Si, senor. He is a good boy."
"Well, he's in dam' bad company. How about Vaca?"
Juan Armigo shrugged his shoulders.
"Are you afraid of him, Juan?"
"No. But if he were to ask me for anything, it would be well to let himhave it."
"I see. So he sent young Ramon in here for two extra horses, and youwere afraid to refuse. I had thought you were an honest man. After Ihave gone, go hunt up those horses in the canon. And if any one fromSonora rides in here and asks about Ramon or Vaca or me, you don't knowanything about us. Sabe? If your horses are found before you get tothem, some one stole them. Do these things. I don't want to come back tosee if you have done them."
Juan Armigo nodded, gazing at Waring with crafty eyes. So the gringo wastempted by the gold. He would ride back to Sonora, find the stolen moneyin the house of Pedro Salazar, and keep it. It would be a very simplething to do. Young Ramon would be afraid to speak and Jose Vaca wouldhave disappeared. The gringo could swear that he had not found thebandits or the gold. So reasoned Juan, his erstwhile respect for thegunman wavering as the idea became fixed. He grinned at Waring. It wouldbe a good trick; to steal the gold from the stealers. Of a certainty thegringo was becoming almost as subtle as a Mexican.
Waring was not pleased as he read the other's eyes, but he said nothing.Turning abruptly, he entered the corral and saddled Ramon's horse andhis own.
"Get Jose Vaca out of here as soon as he can travel," he told Armigo."You may have to explain if he is found here." And Waring strode to theadobe.
Ramon was awake and talking with his uncle. Waring told him to getsomething to eat. Then he turned to Vaca.
"Jose," he began pleasantly, "you tried to get me yesterday, but youonly spoiled a good Stetson. See? You shot high. When you go for a managain, start in at his belt-buckle and get him low. We'll let that gothis time. When you can ride, take your cayuse and fan it anywhere--_butdon't ride back to Sonora_. I'll be there. I'm going to herd young Ramonback home. He is isn't your kind. You are free. Don't jabber. Just tellall that to your saints. And if you get caught, don't say that you sawme. Sabe?"
The wounded man raised himself on his elbow, glaring up at Waring withfeverish eyes. "You give me my life. I shall not speak."
"Bueno! And you said in the house of Pedro Salazar?"
"Si! Near the acequia."
"The Placeta Burro. I know the place. You'll find your horse and asaddle when you are able to ride."
The bandit's eyes glistened as he watched Waring depart. If the gringoentered the house of Pedro Salazar, he would not find the gold and hewould not come out alive. The gringo gunman had killed the brother ofPedro Salazar down in the desert country years ago. And Salazar had hadnothing to do with the Ortez Mine robbery. Vaca thought that the goldwas still safe in his tapaderas. The gringo was a fool.
Waring led the two saddled horses to the house. Ramon, coming from thekitchen, blinked in the sunlight.
"It is my horse, but not my saddle, senor."
"You are an honest man," laughed Waring. "But we won't change saddles.Come on!"
Ramon mounted and rode beside Waring until they were out of sight of theranch-house, when Waring reined up.
"Where is that money?" he asked suddenly.
"I do not know, senor."
"Did you know where it was yesterday?"
Ramon hesitated. Was this a trap? Waring's level gaze held the youngMexican to a straight answer.
"Si, senor. I knew--yesterday."
"You knew; but you didn't talk up when your uncle tried to run me intoPedro Salazar."
"I--he is of my family."
"Well, I don't blame you. I see that you can keep from talking when youhave to. And now is your chance to do a lot of keeping still. I'm goingto ride into Sonora ahead of you. When you get in, go home and forgetthat you made this journey. If your folks ask where your uncle is, tellthem that he rode south and that you turned back. Because you did didn'tlie to me, and because you did didn't show yellow, I'm going to give youa chance to get out of this. I let your uncle go because he would havegiven you away to save himself the minute I jailed him in Sonora. It'sup to you to keep out of trouble. You've had a scare that ought to lastyou. Take your time and hit Sonora about sundown. Adios."
"But--senor!"
Waring whirled his horse. "A good rider shoves his foot clear home," hecalled as he loped away.
Ramon sat his horse, gazing at the little puffs of dust that shot fromthe hoofs of the big buckskin. Surely the gringo was mad! Yet he was aman of big heart. Perplexed, stunned by the realization that he wasalone and free, the young Mexican gazed about him. Waring was a tinyfigure in the distance. Ramon dismounted and examined the emptytapaderas.
Heretofore he had considered subtlety, trickery, qualities to bedesired, and not incompatible with honor. In a flash he realized thedifference, the distinction between trickery and keenness of mind. Hehad been awed by his uncle's reputation and proud to name him of thisfamily. Now he saw him for what he was. "My Uncle Jose is a bad man," hesaid to himself. "The other,--the gringo whom men call 'The Killer,'--heis a hard man, but assuredly he is not bad."
When Ramon spoke to his horse his voice trembled. His hand drifted up tothe little silver crucifix on his breast. A vague glimmer ofunderstanding, a sense of the real significance of the emblem heartenedhim to face the journey homeward and the questions of his kin. And,above all, he felt an admiration for the gringo that grew by degrees ashe rode on. He could follow such a man to the end of the world, evenacross the border of the Great Unknown, for surely such a leader wouldnot lose the way.
* * * * *
Three men sat in the office of the Ortez Mines, smoking and sayinglittle. Donovan, the manager; the paymaster, Quigley; and the assistantmanager, a young American fresh from the East. Waring's name wasmentioned. Three days ago he had ridden south after the bandits. Hemight return. He might not.
"I'd like to see him ride in," said Donovan, turning to the paymaster.
"And you hate him at that," said Quigley.
"I don't say so. But if he was paymaster here, he'd put the fear of Godinto some of those greasers."
Quigley flushed. "You didn't hire me to chase greasers, Donovan. I'm nogunman."
"No," said Donovan slowly. "I had you sized up."
"Oh, cut out that stuff!" said the assistant manager, smiling. "Thatwon't balance the pay-roll."
"No. But I'm going to cut down expenses." And Donovan eyed Quigley. "JimWaring is too dam' high and mighty to suit me. Every time he tackles ajob he is the big boss till it's done. If he comes back, all right. Ifhe don't--we'll charge it up to profit and loss. But his name goes offthe pay-roll to-day."
Quigley grinned. He knew that Donovan was afraid of Waring. Waring wasthe one man in Donovan's employ that he could not bully. Moreover, thebig Irishman hated to pay Waring's price, which was stiff.
"How about a raise of twenty-five a month, then?" queried Quigley.
To his surprise, Donovan nodded genially. "You're on, Jack. And thatgoes the minute Waring shows up with the money. If he doesn't showup--why, that raise can wait."
"Then I'll just date the change to-day," said Quigley. "Take a look downthe street."
Donovan rose heavily and stepped to the window. "By God, it's Waring,all right!
He's afoot. What's that he's packing?"
"A canteen," said the assistant manager. "This is a dry country."
Donovan returned to his desk. "Get busy, at something. We don't want tosit here like a lot of stuffed buzzards. We're glad to see Waring back,of course. You two can drift out when I get to talking business withhim."
Quigley nodded and took up his pen. The assistant manager studied a map.
Waring strode in briskly. The paymaster glanced up and nodded, expectingDonovan to speak. But Donovan sat with his back toward Waring, his headwreathed in tobacco smoke. He was apparently absorbed in a letter.
The gunman paused halfway across the office. Quigley fidgeted. Theassistant superintendent stole a glance at Donovan's broad back andsmiled. All three seemed waiting for Waring to speak. Quigley ratherenjoyed the situation. The assistant superintendent's scalp prickledwith restrained excitement.
He rose and stepped to Donovan. "Mr. Donovan, Mr. Waring is here."
"Thanks," said Waring, nodding to the assistant.
Donovan heaved himself round. "Why, hello, Jim! I didn't hear you comein."
Waring's cool gray eyes held Donovan with a mildly contemptuous gaze.Still the gunman did not speak.
"Did you land 'em?" queried Donovan.
Waring shook his head.
"Hell!" exclaimed Donovan. "Then, what's the answer?"
"Bill, you can't bluff worth a damn!"
Quigley laughed. The assistant mopped his face with an immaculatehandkerchief. The room was hot.
"Bill," and Waring's voice was softly insulting, "you can't bluff wortha damn."
Donovan's red face grew redder. "What are you driving at, anyway?"
Quigley stirred and rose. The assistant got to his feet.
"Just a minute," said Waring, gesturing to them to sit down. "Donovan'sgot something on his mind. I knew it the minute I came in. I want youfellows to hear it."
Donovan flung his half-smoked cigar to the floor and lighted a freshone. Waring's attitude irritated him. Officially, Donovan was Waring'ssuperior. Man to man, the Sonora gunman was Donovan's master, and theIrishman knew and resented it.
He tried a new tack. "Glad to see you back, Jim." And he rose and stuckout a sweating hand.
Waring swung the canteen from his shoulder and carefully hung the strapover Donovan's wrist. "There's your money, Bill. Count it--and give me areceipt."
Donovan, with the dusty canteen dangling from his arm, lookedexceedingly foolish.
Waring turned to Quigley. "Bill's got a stroke," he said, smiling."Quigley, give me a receipt for a thousand dollars."
"Sure!" said Quigley, relieved. The money had been stolen from him.
Waring pulled up a chair and leaned his elbows on the table. Quigleyunscrewed the cap of the canteen. A stream of sand shot across a map.The assistant started to his feet. Quigley shook the canteen and pouredout a softly clinking pile of gold-pieces. One by one he sorted themfrom the sand and counted them.
"One thousand even. Where'd you overtake Vaca and his outfit?"
"Did I?" queried Waring.
"Well, you got the mazuma," said Quigley. "And that's good enough forme."
Donovan stepped to the table. "Williams, I won't need you any moreto-day."
The assistant rose and left the office. Donovan pulled up a chair."Never mind about that receipt, Quigley. You can witness that Waringreturned the money. Jim, here, is not so dam' particular."
"No, or I wouldn't be on your pay-roll," said Waring.
Donovan laughed. "Let's get down to bed-rock, Jim. I'm paying you yourown price for this work. The Eastern office thinks I pay too high. I gota letter yesterday telling me to cut down expenses. This last holdupwill make them sore. Here's the proposition. I'll keep you on thepay-roll and charge this thousand up to profit and loss. Nobody knowsyou recovered this money except Williams, and he'll keep still. Quigleyand you and I will split it--three hundred apiece."
"Suppose I stay out of the deal," said Waring.
"Why, that's all right. I guess we can get along."
Quigley glanced quickly at Waring. Donovan's proposal was an insultintended to provoke a quarrel that would lead to Waring's dismissal fromthe service of the Ortez Mines. Or if Waring were to agree to thesuggestion, Donovan would have pulled Waring down to his own level.
Waring slowly rolled a cigarette. "Make out my check," he said, turningto Quigley.
Donovan sighed. Waring was going to quit. That was good. It had beeneasy enough.
Quigley drafted a check and handed it to Donovan to sign. As thepaymaster began to gather up the money on the table, Waring pocketed thecheck and rose, watching Quigley's nervous hands.
As Quigley tied the sack and picked it up, Waring reached out his arm."Give it to me," he said quietly. Quigley laughed. Waring's eyes wereunreadable.
The smile faded from Quigley's face. Without knowing just why he did it,he relinquished the sack.
Waring turned to Donovan. "I'll take care of this, Bill. As I told youbefore, you can't bluff worth a damn."
Waring strode to the door. At Quigley's choked exclamation of protest,the gunman whirled round. Donovan stood by the desk, a gun weaving inhis hand.
"You ought to know better than to pull a gun on me," said Waring. "Neverthrow down on a man unless you mean business, Bill."
The door clicked shut.
Donovan stood gazing stupidly at Quigley. "By cripes!" he flamedsuddenly. "I'll put Jim Waring where he belongs. He can't run a whizzerlike that on me!"
"I'd go slow," said Quigley. "You don't know what kind of a game Waringwill play."
Donovan grabbed the telephone and called up the Sonora police.