Crooked Trails and Straight by William MacLeod Raine (top business books of all time .txt) 📕

Cass Fendrick, C. F. Ranch, Arizona.

The room that had been assigned to him was 212.

“Anything you want in particular, Lieutenant?” the clerk asked.

“No-o. Just looking to see who came in to-day.”

He turned away and went up the stairs, ignoring the elevator. On the second floor he found 212. In answer to his knock a voice said “Come in.” Opening the door, he stepped in, closed it behind him, and looked at the man lying in his shirt sleeves on the bed.

“Evening, Cass.”

Fendrick put down his newspaper but did not rise. “Evening, Bucky.”

Their eyes held to each other with the level even gaze of men who recognize a worthy antagonist.

“I’ve come to ask a question or two.”

“Kick them out.”

“First, I would like to know what you paid Luck Cullison for his Del Oro claim.”

“Thinking of buying me out?” was the ironical retort of the man on the bed.

“Not quite. I’ve got another reason for wanting to know.”

“Then you better ask Cullison. The law says that if a man sells a relinquishment he can’t file on another claim. If he surrenders it for nothing he can. Now Luck may have notions of filing on another claim. You can see that we’ll have to take it for granted he gave me the claim.”

It was so neat an answer and at the same time so complete a one that O’Connor could not help appreciating it. He smiled and tried again.

“We’ll put that question in the discard. That paper was signed by Luck to-day. Where was he when you got it from him?”

“Sure it was signed to-day? Couldn’t it have been ante-dated?”

“You know better than I do. When was it signed?”

Fendrick laughed. He was watching the noted officer of rangers with narrowed wary eyes. “On advice of counsel I decline to answer.”

“Sorry, Cass. That leaves me only one thing to do. You’re under arrest.”

“For what?” demanded the sheepman sharply.

“For abducting Luck Cullison and holding him prisoner without his consent.”

Lazily Cass drawled a question. “Are you right sure Cullison can’t be found?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you right sure he ain’t at home attending to his business?”

“Has he come back?”

“Maybe so. I’m not Luck Cullison’s keeper.”

Bucky thought he understood. In return for the relinquishment Cullison had been released. Knowing Luck as he did, it was hard for him to see how pressure enough had been brought to bear to move him.

“May I use your ’phone?” he asked.

“Help yourself.”

Fendrick pretended to have lost interest. He returned to his newspaper, but his ears were alert to catch what went on over the wires. It was always possible that Cullison might play him false and break the agreement. Cass did not expect this, for the owner of the Circle C was a man whose word was better than most men’s bond. But the agreement had been forced upon him through a trick. How far he might feel this justified him in ignoring it the sheepman did not know.

O’Connor got the Circle C on long distance. It was the clear contralto of a woman that answered his “Hello!”

“Is this Miss Cullison?” he asked. Almost at once he added: “O’Connor of the rangers is speaking. I’ve heard your father is home again. Is that true?”

An interval followed during which the ranger officer was put into the role of a listener. His occasional “Yes——Yes——Yes” punctuated the rapid murmur that reached Fendrick.

Presently Bucky asked a question. “On his way to town now?”

Again the rapid murmur.

“I’ll attend to that, Miss Cullison. I am in Fendrick’s room now. Make your mind easy.”

Bucky hung up and turned to the sheepman. The latter showed him a face of derision. He had gathered one thing that disquieted him, but he did not intend to let O’Connor know it.

“Well?” he jeered. “Find friend Cullison in tolerable health?”

“I’ve been talking with his daughter.”

“I judged as much. Miss Spitfire well?”

“Miss Cullison didn’t mention her health. We were concerned about yours.”

“Yes?”

“Cullison is headed for town and his daughter is afraid he is on the warpath against you.”

“You don’t say.”

“She wanted me to get you out of her father’s way until he has cooled down.”

“Very kind of her.”

“She’s right, too. You and Luck mustn’t meet yet. Get out of here and hunt cover in the hills for a few days. You know why better than I do.”

“How can I when I’m under arrest?” Fendrick mocked.

“You’re not under arrest. Miss Cullison says her father has no charge to bring against you.”

“Good of him.”

“So you can light a shuck soon as you want to.”

“Which won’t be in any hurry.”

“Don’t make any mistake. Luck Cullison is a dangerous man when he is roused.”

The sheepman looked at the ranger with opaque stony eyes. “If Luck Cullison is looking for me he is liable to find me, and he won’t have to go into the hills to hunt me either.”

Bucky understood perfectly. According to the code of the frontier no man could let himself be driven from town by the knowledge that another man was looking for him with a gun. There are in the Southwest now many thousands who do not live by the old standard, who are anchored to law and civilization as a protection against primitive passions. But Fendrick was not one of these. He had deliberately gone outside of the law in his feud with the cattleman. Now he would not repudiate the course he had chosen and hedge because of the danger it involved. He was an aspirant to leadership among the tough hard-bitted denizens of the sunbaked desert. That being so, he had to see his feud out to a fighting finish if need be.

“There are points about this case you have overlooked,” Bucky told him.

“Maybe so. But the important one that sticks out like a sore thumb is that no man living can serve notice on me to get out of town because he is coming on the shoot.”

“Luck didn’t serve any such notice. All his daughter knows is that he is hot under the collar. Look at things reasonably, Cass. You’ve caused that young lady a heap of trouble already. Are you going to unload a lot more on her just because you want to be pigheaded. Only a kid struts around and hollers ‘Who’s afraid?’ No, it’s up to you to pull out, not because of Luck Cullison but on account of his daughter.”

“Who is such a thorough friend of mine,” the sheepman added with his sardonic grin.

“What do you care about that? She’s a girl. I don’t know the facts, but I can guess them. She and Luck will stand pat on what they promised you. Don’t you owe her something for that? Seems to me a white man wouldn’t make her any more worry.”

“It’s because I am a white man that I can’t dodge a fight when it’s stacked up for me, Bucky.”

He said it with a dogged finality that was unshaken, but O’Connor made one more effort.

“Nobody will know why you left.”

“I would know, wouldn’t I? I’ve got to go right on living with myself. I tell you straight I’m going to see it out.”

Bucky’s jaw clamped. “Not if I know it. You’re under arrest.”

Fendrick sat up in surprise. “What for?” he demanded angrily.

“For robbing the W. & S. Express Company.”

“Hell, Bucky. You don’t believe that.”

“Never mind what I believe. There’s some evidence against you—enough to justify me.”

“You want to get me out of Cullison’s way. That’s all.”

“If you like to put it so.”

“I won’t stand for it. That ain’t square.”

“You’ll stand for it, my friend. I gave you a chance to clear out and you wouldn’t take it.”

“I wouldn’t because I couldn’t. Don’t make any mistake about this. I’m not looking for Luck. I’m attending to my business. Arrest him if you want to stop trouble.”

There came a knock on the door. It opened to admit Luck Cullison. He shut it and put his back to it, while his eyes, hard as hammered iron, swept past the officer to fix on Fendrick.

The latter rose quickly from the bed, but O’Connor flung him back.

“Don’t forget you’re my prisoner.”

“He’s your prisoner, is he?” This was a turn of affairs for which Luck was manifestly unprepared: “Well, I’ve come to have a little settlement with him.”

Fendrick, tense as a coiled spring, watched him warily. “Can’t be any too soon to suit me.”

Clear cut as a pair of scissors through paper, Bucky snapped out his warning. “Nothing stirring, gentlemen. I’ll shoot the first man that makes a move.”

“Are you in this, Bucky?” asked Cullison evenly.

“You’re right I am. He’s my prisoner.”

“What for?”

“For robbing the W. & S.”

Luck’s face lit. “Have you evidence enough to cinch him?”

“Not enough yet. But I’ll take no chances on his getting away.”

The cattleman’s countenance reflected his thoughts as his decision hung in the balance. He longed to pay his debt on the spot. But on the other hand he had been a sheriff himself. As an outsider he had no right to interfere between an officer and his captive. Besides, if there was a chance to send Fendrick over the road that would be better than killing. It would clear up his own reputation, to some extent under a cloud.

“All right, Bucky. If the law wants him I’ll step aside for the time.”

The sheepman laughed in his ironic fashion. His amusement mocked them both. “Most as good as a play of the movies, ain’t it? But we’d ought all to have our guns out to make it realistic.”

But in his heart he did not jeer. For the situation had been nearer red tragedy than melodrama. The resource and firmness of Bucky O’Connor had alone made it possible to shave disaster by a hair’s breadth and no more.