CHAPTER VII—Continued
—11—
“He can’t be all bad,’’ Ruth broke
in, her eye3 shining like stars. ‘T
knew it all the time, only all the
evidence was pgainst him. I don’t
believe he is the mor. who shot at
Father at Tail Holt. Kc may be
bud. That is, he may heve done
bad things. But he isn’t mean. He
wouldn’t lie about it. He’d come
straight out, with that defiant, mock
ing smile of his.’’
“That’s ail very well, daughter,”
Lee assented. “I’ll grant you he
isn’t a villain like that killer Morg
Norris. Fact is, I never could quite
get myself to think so, spite of all
the proof. We sure owe him a lot
on account of what he did fer Frank.
But very likely he's that train rob
ber they want in Texas. Must be
some reason he’s hiding here. You
don’t want to get too sympathetic
to him.”
"No, if we get a chance we mignt
arrest him and send him back to
Texas,” Ruth suggested scornfully.
"There must be a reward for him.”
"Now — now! No use getting
highty-tighty, Miss. He can come
and si«iy at the L C long as he
wants. We’ll do all we can for him,
since we don’t know he is an out
law,” her father said.
“And if we find he is we can kick
him out,” the girl added. “All he
has done is save most of our lives.”
Her father grinned ruefully.
"You're sure a gadfly, Missy. You
talk like I was starting right out to
hunt this fellow down. No sense in
getting all steamed up about it. If
we get a chance to help him we
will. That’s all I can promise.”
Ruth nodded. She knew her fa
ther would pay the family debt if he
were given a chance. For herself,
she felt a great lift of relief at what
her brother had told them.
She desperately wanted to believe
in Jeff Gray, to get assurance at
least that he was not mean and
treacherous. A queer joy flooded
her heart.
Jeff Gray fitted himself easily into
the life of Tail Holt. Frequently he
dropped into the blacksmith shop of
Hank Ransom and listened to tall
stories of the days when Hank had
campaigned against the Apaches un
der Generals Crook and Miles. He
struck up an acquaintance with the
cobbler, little Ed Godfrey.
He showed no curiosity about
those he met. When they came and
went, where they lived, what their
ostensible occupations were, held no
visible interest for him. He ac
cepted each man for what he gave
himself out to be. The riders drift
ing in and out of Tail Holt no long
er looked at him suspiciously. Curly
Connor liked him, and Curly was a
leader. The only man who seemed
to resent his presence was Morg
Norris, and this was discounted by
the fact that the surly youth was
friendly to few.
Sensitive to atmosphere, Gray de
duced one day that something un
usual was in the air. He saw Nor
ris in momentary furtive talk with
Sherman Howard. The big man was
giving the other instructions. Nor
ris picked up Kansas and took him
out of the Golden Nugget with him.
Mile High came in, sauntered over
to Howard, held a low-voiced con
versation with him, and departed.
Presently Gray announced, with a
yawn, “Tired of poker," and cashed
in his chips. He strolled down to
the Alamo corral. Sid Hunt and
Kansas were saddling their horses.
One of them tied back of the saddle
a gunnysack containing oats.
“What about that lame sorrel,
Sid?” asked Reynolds. “You be
back tonight?”
"You look after it, Jim," Hunt
said. "Don't look for us till you see
our dust coming up the road.”
“We got a hen on down Live Oak
canyon way," Kansas said with a
grin.
Back of the horse Hunt kicked
him on the ankle.
Kansas added a rider to his in
discreet remark: "Or somewheres
else.”
Each of the men had a rifle
strapped beside his saddle.
Gray watched them ride out of
town. They took the road to the
west, the one Lee Chiswick and his
daughter had followed the night of
their adventure in front of Sanger’s
store. Half an hour later, Norris,
Mile High, and young Howard left
Tail Holt headed in the same direc
tion.
Darkness was falling when Jell
Gray rode out of town. He had
never been in Live Oak canyon, but
he knew from Pat Sorley that it was
on the L C range, not more than
three or four miles southwest of the
line-cabin.
Were the night riders out to make
a raid on L C cattle? That was pos
sible. But why cross 20 miles of
Chiswick’s range into hill country
when plenty of stock could be picked
up in the Sweet Spring valley with
a much shorter drive to safety?
As he rode through the darkness,
mind focused on the problem, an
other likelihood flashed upon Gray.
Occasionally smugglers from Sono
ra brought silver to Tough Nut to
buy goods for consumption in Mex
ico, thus escaping the Mexican ex
port duty on silver and the import
duty on merchandise. In such Illicit
trading there was a fat profit. Be
tween El Paso and Nogales there
was no port of entry. The only
custom-house was a shack on the
San Pedro river at the point where
it runs into the United States. One
of the routes followed by smugglers
wound through Live Oak canyon.
From it the descent to Tough Nut
was by an easy grade.
The longer he mougnt oi 11
more convinced he was that the raid
was against smugglers. A pack
horse had accompanied the Norris
party, probably to carry back the
silver. Moreover, the personnel of
the group pointed to something oth
er than cattle - stealing. Neither
young Howard r.or Kansas were top
hands with cows. Why bring them
along and leave an expert like Curly
at home?
From chance remarks Gray had
gathered that Curly was the leader
of the rustler group. But Curly was
no wanton killer.
Gray did not ride straight for the
canyon, but took the road that led
to the L C ranch-house. The Chis
wicks would know much better than
he what to do, since they were fa
Finally they drew rein.
miliar with the terrain. If he played
a lone hand he might miss the
smugglers and let them ride on to
destruction.
It was in the small hours when he
reached the ranch. At his approach
to the house a dog barked furiously.
Presently someone opened the front
door and came out on the porch.
A voice demanded, “Who’s
there?”
"Tell Lee Chiswick that Jeff Gray
wants to see him,” the night visitor
answered, at the same time swing
ing from the saddle on the far side
of the horse.
There was a moment of silence.
“What you want with him?” Bob
Chiswick asked.
•Til tell him that when I see
him,” Gray said dryly. "You run
along in and tell him I’m here.”
A head was thrust out of an up
per window. “Who is it, Bob?"
"Says he is Jeff Gray, Father”
Bob called up.
“Wait a minute.” The head was
withdrawn.
Five minutes later Lee Chiswick
stepped out on the porch.
Gray told him why he was there.
To his son Lee said, “Light a
lamp in my office, Bob.” To Gray,
"Tie your horse and come in.”
Gray followed the cattleman into
his office and took the chair to which
his host waved him. Lee sat across
the table from him. Young Chis
wick remained standing.
“First'off, Mr. Jeff Gray, if that’s
your name, let’s get it clear where
you stand. I’ll ask you to come
clean, sir. Are you one of Sherm
Howard’s scoundrels?”
“Would I be here if I were?”
Gray asked.
Ruth stood in the doorway, her
dark eyes dilated with surprise. She
had flung a wrap over her night
gown and she held it caught close to
her slender, gracious body. Above
the slippers into which her feet had
been thrust there was a glimpse of
white ankle.
“I’m not asking for a Yankee an
swer, sir,” Lee said impatiently.
“I’m not giving you one,” Gray
told him curtly. “I’ve been in the
saddle all night to bring you the tip
off. Take it or leave it.”
“There’s a story in Tail Holt that
you are Clint Doke, the fellow who
robbed the Texas and Southern,”
persisted Lee.
“Not much time for gossip right
now if we aim to head off those
scalawags,” Gray said.
Ruth broke into the talk. "I don’t
believe it. I don’t think Mr. Gray
is a train robber or a rustler, Fa
ther. And I know he isn’t one of
Sherman Howard’s men. Look what
he did for Frank."
Her father turned in his chair.
"Might have known you’d be butting
in,” he scolded, '‘seeing it’s none of
your business."
"I heard voices," she explained,
"and 1 came down to see who it
was."
“Now you know, you can go back
to bed,” Lee told her crustily.
"Not Just yet, please." Gray
smiled blandly. "I’m gaunt as a
piedcd steer after a long drive.
Since you’re so sure I’m innocent,
Miss Chiswick, how about a cup of
coffee and some ham end eggs? I’ll
have just time for them before we
start if you move lively."
“Start where?” she asked.
The red - headed man waved a
hand debonairly at his host. “Ask
Mr. Chiswick. I wouldn’t know
where.”
Lee said: “Go ahead, girl. Fix
him up some food.” He added to
his son: “Rout Frank and Dan
Brand and Buck Conrad out of their
beds. See they get horses saddled.”
3efore she left to make breakfast,
Ruth flung a question at Gray.
“You are innocent, aren’t you?”
“I never blocked a brand or ran
one over. I never bought or sold a
wet horse.”
“Did you hear me tell you to
rustle some grub, Ruth?” her fa
ther asked harshly. “Better fix
breakfast for all of us. No telling
when we’ll eat again.”
Ruth vanished. Presently they
could hear the rattling of stove-lids
and the crackling oi wood.
“I don’t know how to take you,”
Lee complained. “You certainly
came through for Frank when he
needed a friend. You claim you’re
not one of Howard’s thieves, but
you were with them when they ran
that bunch of L C stuff up Box can
yon. Pat Sorley checked up on your
horse’s hoofs."
“He didn’t check up well enough.
I went up the gulch after the
thieves, not with them. They passed
close to the line-camp in the night.
I heard them and went out to see
who they were. Pat hadn’t been
feeling well the night before, so I
didn’t wake him, but followed the
rustlers alone.”
“You’re a detective for the Cat
tlemen’s association. That what you
mean?”
“You can do yore own guessing.
Right now I’m- giving no informa
tion.”
Chiswick threw out a hand in a
gesture of defeat. “All right. Have
it your own way. I’ll take a chance
on you. If you’re right about it and
this bunch you followed are headed
for Live Oak canyon, it is a cinch
they are not figuring on running off
any of my stock. My guess is the
same as yours. They have heard
word of some silver smugglers on
their way to Tough Nut. At least,
that would look reasonable to me.
Probably they will lie in wait for
them at the rock slide. A. thousand
big boulders crashed down a mil
lion years ago, and filled up the
trail so a traveler has to wind
around among them. It’s a fine
spot for an ambush. Question is,
can we get to the smugglers before
they reach the canyon?”
“If not, they will probably oe
wiped out, You know that killer
Morg Norris. He’ll figure dead men
tell no tales.”
“Yes. Three smugglers were dry
gulched and killed last year. In
Skeleton canyon, not in Live Oak.
Norris was in that, they say.”
“Unless the Mexicans fool them
and come up some other way,”
Gray said, thinking aloud.
"Through Live Oak would be the
nearest for them.”
“Howard must have a spy in Mex
ico who is in with the smugglers.”
“Looks like," Chiswick agreed.
Presently Frank Chiswick came
into the room. He told his father
that the horses were being caught
Post Office Department Aids Bureau
of Identification in Finding People
Consciously and unconsciously,
post office departments the world
over perform odd non-postal serv
ices.
The United States post office gets
into banking with its postal savings
work. In rare emergencies, it aids
the federal bureau of investigation
in identification by turning over to
G-men fingerprints taken of each
person who opens a postal savings
account.
Occasionally, says a writer in the
Washington Post, our post office
delves into the business of locating
missing people. Here’s how its fan
ciest bit of service works. You pay
3 cents postage; plus 15 cents mini
mum registration fee; plus 10 cents
restricted delivery charge (the let
ter is then delivered to the ad
dressee only); plus 23 cents for a
return receipt snowing tne aaaress
where the letter was delivered and
the signature of the addressee I
That’s 51 cents on one letter 1
Thus the post office turns detec
tive, finds your friend even if he
has moved, tells you where he’s
living. The idea came from outside
the department and was made law
by congress.
As for postal savings, Canada,
Germany and other countries run
banking branches. German post of
fices, in addition, arrange excursion
trips, collect license fees from every
radio owner in Germany, maintain
buses which serve as traveling post
offices. Likewise, traveling post of
fices are used in Switzerland, Rus
sia and elsewhere.
Back in 1900 Belgium offered an
odd service. It was a 10-centime
stamp. The detachable tag on the
bottom reads in French and Flem
ish: “Do not deliver on Sunday.”
If the tag was left on the stamp,
the letter wasn’t delivered on Sun
day. But if you didn’t care and
tore the tag off, the letter was de
livered any day of the week.
“Name Writ in Water”
Poet Keats asked that the follow
ing inscription be placed on his
grave: “Here lies one whose asms
was writ in water.”
and saddled. “Tony Flores stayed
at the bunk-hou3e last night. Do you
want him to go?” the young man
a9ked
"I reckon so. How many riflat aH
told?"
"Four, counting the buffalo gun.
The other men trooped into tha
house for breakfast. They ate by
the light of lamps, Ruth and Nelly
waiting on them. Plate after plate
of biscuits vanished before them.
Platters of fried eggs appeared and
disappeared. Nelly poured great
quantities of coffee. The men ate
with the lusty, hearty appetites of
hard riders who did not know when
they would see food again. During
the meal there was little conver
sation.
After breakfast Gray drew Lee I
Chiswick aside.
“Maybe we’re figuring this thing
out wrong,” he said. “Maybe when
Kansas let slip Live Oak canyon,
that was just bait for me. Don't
you reckon you had better leave
a guard at the ranch to look after
the women?”
Lee considered this. “No. Men
in this country don’t make war on
women, not even a fox like Sherra
Howard.”
Gray rode with Lee Chiswick at
the head of the little cavalcade.
They came into rough country, a
wild jumble of hills and draws
which made for slow and hard go*
ing. In the darkness the horses felt
their own way. From the summit
of one of the hills Chiswick pointed
down to a gash in the rock wall fac
ing them.
“Canyon Diablo, he said. That
was the Spanish name. We call it
Live Oak now.”
Chiswick left the rest of his party
in a mesquite draw while he and
Gray rode forward to reconnoi
ter. The younger man carried Dan
Brand’s rifle, since he had not one
of his own. They rode cautiously,
searching the darkness in front of
them with their eyes as they moved
forward. Of the two Chiswick was
the more uneasy. He could not be
sure that his companion was not
leading him into a trap from which
he would never come out alive.
Neither of them saw any sign of
another party. Finally they drew
rein and dismounted. Back of a
small elevation 50 yards from the
mouth of Live Oak canyon they tied
their mounts. Very carefully they
covered the remaining distance.
Within rifle range were a hundred
boulders behind which enemies could
find cover.
Safely they reached the trail.
“They’re ahead of us.” Gray
pointed to fresh tracks.
They examined the footprints,
striking matches as they stooped to
make out the impressions. One
horse had a broken front hoof. An
other wore very large shoes and
stepped a long way.
"I’ve seen both of those tracks be
fore,” Chiswick said.
“The horses that made them be
long to Morg Norris and Mile High,”
Gray replied. “Where do we go
from here? My idea is to follow
them into the canyon or along the
rim.”
Chiswick called to the rest of his
posse and the others joined them.
Brand recovered his rifle from the
red-headed man.
“Norris and his crowd are in the
canyon, boys,” Lee said. “We are
going in after them. But get this
right. We have no evidence as to
why they are here. So we can’t'
cut loose at them promiscuous. May
be they’ll show their hand before
we reach them. Anyhow, till I give
the word there isn’t to be any gun
play. We’re law-abiding citizens.”
“How many of them are there?”
asked Buck Conrad, chewing tobac
co stolidly. He was a short, thick,
bowlegged man with an imperturb
able face.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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Make up in percale, pique, ging
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Interlaced Stitches
In Tones of Pink
DINK is the newest color in dec
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The man who stops to calculate
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