On the day following Billy Gee’s spectacular escape from Sheriff Warburton, Coates and Tyler, the Mohave & Southwestern Railroad detectives, temporarily abandoned their search for the suspected cache on the Huntington ranch, and motored away over the fifty-odd miles to the station of Mirage, backtracking the bandit’s course to the distant grading camp where he had robbed the paymaster’s car.
At Lex Sangerly’s request, the Geerusalem constable—an official regarded more as an ornament than as a legal necessity in the township—detailed a number of his deputies to guard the ranch against the possibility of Billy Gee’s return; for Sangerly was more convinced now than ever that the disappearance of the twenty thousand dollars centered around the Huntington place. He reasoned, therefore, that the bandit, if alive, would come back after it.
The morning after Lemuel sent the telegram to Mrs. Liggs asking her to join him and Dot in San Francisco, for the purpose of selecting the girl’s wardrobe, the little dry-goods storekeeper had informed Lex, when he voiced his surprise at her trunks and suit cases being loaded on a freight wagon, that she was leaving for the metropolis to be gone an indefinite period. A few days later, however, he learned that Mrs. Liggs had sold out her business. He wondered vaguely, regretfully, over this. It seemed to him that she at least might have told him of her plans. He couldn’t understand it. It was not like her—certainly, not like the Mrs. Liggs he had known in the past, the wistful little woman whom he had found again and still loved, second only to his dead mother.
Meanwhile, Coates and Tyler back from their painstaking, arduous investigation of the route Billy Gee had taken from the grading camp into Soapweed Plains, reported to Sangerly that, even as Warburton had stated, there was not the remotest likelihood that the outlaw had hidden his stealings on the way. They had found that he had not dismounted once throughout his long heartbreaking ride.
This discovery simply served to strengthen all the more the theory that the ranch was the site of the missing loot, and again these two sleuths set diligently to work to find it, making an exhaustive hunt of the premises, exploring the barn from mudsill to rafter, prying into every nook and corner of the house, wielding the pick and shovel in the garden, the corrals, the field, questing with the ardor of bloodhounds each spot or locality where a man would be tempted to conceal a stolen fortune.
After a week of this, they talked the matter over between themselves and they agreed that by all the signs Lemuel Huntington knew more about the disappearance of the money than any other living man—not even excepting Billy Gee. They were absolutely convinced that, while his daughter might have acted solely from humanitarian reasons in giving aid to the wounded outlaw, her father unquestionably had not only collected the reward for capturing the fellow but had succeeded in getting possession of the contents of the saddlebags as well.
It was obvious, they argued, that since Huntington had taken Billy Gee into custody so easily—desperadoes, their experience told him, did not submit without a struggle—he had doubtless been shrewd enough to study the bandit’s movements for some time prior to getting the drop on him. Such being apparently the case, it followed then that Dot’s father had seen the outlaw cache his stealings; and after delivering his prisoner to Warburton, he had returned home and robbed the cache, feeling himself secure in the belief that Billy Gee would, in all probability, go to jail without divulging the hiding place of a treasure whose value was such as to assure him of a comfortable stake against the day of his release, providing, of course, it was never found. Moreover, Coates and Tyler began to discern where Huntington’s hurried trip to San Francisco was the result of sudden panic, brought on by the haunting thought that in some way suspicion might fasten on him and that he might be made the object of a rigid examination which, he felt, he could not undergo. Coupled with this notion, was their prevailing belief that Huntington had taken the twenty thousand dollars away with him.
However, Coates and Tyler said nothing of all this to Sangerly. They were of the opinion that Lex was altogether too lenient in his judgment of Lemuel Huntington; that he was letting Huntington’s seeming hospitality stand in the way of those suspicions which, they were positive, he must have entertained against the rancher. Secretly, they began to regard their superior with a sort of pitying scorn for his obvious gullibility. Their criminal-hunting instincts, too, started rebelling at being held in leash, at being hindered in their functioning by the dictations of a man whose faith in human nature was, to all intents and purposes, destined to bring about the ultimate failure of the case—immunity for Huntington, the loss of the money.
Brooding thus, becoming more and more disgusted with their fruitless search of the ranch, these two conscientious investigators resolved to take matters in their own hands, at the risk of incurring Sangerly’s displeasure and receiving a reprimand into the bargain. They decided that, unknown to him, they would arrest Lemuel on his return, charge him with having made away with the twenty thousand dollars, threaten him with disgrace—anything that would terrorize him, wring a confession from him.
But inquiry of the man who was caring for the ranch during the absence of the Huntingtons brought the disturbing information that, not only was he ignorant of the family’s whereabouts in San Francisco, but he had not the slightest idea when Dot and her father would return. Coates and Tyler, their plans balked at the outset, went back to their half-hearted search, waiting grimly for the arrival of their victim.
Meanwhile, Lex had likewise been giving considerable thought to the mysterious disappearance of his company’s money. He also was beginning to recognize the necessity of carefully questioning Lemuel, as well as his daughter, on the entire Billy Gee episode. While he did not believe they were accomplices of the bandit in any sense of the word, or even knew him for that matter, he felt convinced that it was quite possible that their stories would shed some light on Billy’s movements which would facilitate the search Coates and Tyler were making, resulting probably in immediately locating the whereabouts of the outlaw’s cache, for, though he would not admit it to himself, he saw where their quest was rapidly reaching an end, that it had seemingly been for naught.
Ever since the departure of Dot and her father, Lex had made it his business to ascertain the standing of the Huntingtons, in order to fully satisfy his mind as to the type of persons they were. He had done this quietly, so as not to arouse suspicion, and had found that without exception the community regarded Lemuel as a sterling, though simple, character, and held Dot in no less high esteem than did Mrs. Liggs. About the only weakness that the father had, was an inordinate worship of education and educated people, which found reflection in a consuming passion to provide his daughter with those advantages that would make her a woman of superior culture and refinement, so the camp said. And this, to Lex’s mind, was an unerring sign of probity in any man, a native genteelness that could not go far wrong.
One morning, two weeks after the Huntingtons had left for San Francisco, Lex motored from the ranch into Geerusalem. He had said nothing to Coates and Tyler about what he now contemplated doing, merely instructing them to await his return. Once in camp, however, he had the constable send a wire to the San Francisco chief of police requesting him to locate if possible the hotel at which Lemuel and Dot were registered. Around six o’clock that afternoon a reply was received, naming the Golden West.
Without loss of time, Lex sprang into his roadster and drove to the railroad, where he caught the night train for the North. After due reflection, he had decided to have a quiet talk with Huntington and his daughter, one in which the detectives would have no part; for somehow he rather resented their thinly veiled insinuations and coarse remarks toward a man against whom they possessed not a vestige of incriminating evidence. In fact, he was certain he could get more from the Huntingtons through a friendly discussion, than might be gained by the intimidating, browbeating methods employed by inquisitors of the Coates and Tyler type.
Besides, manlike, he was just a little bit curious to meet this girl, Dot, of whom he had heard such flattering reports, whose picture he had gazed on so many times during his fortnight at the ranch, who was so close to his dear little old friend, Mrs. Liggs.
But in one particular, his plans miscarried, for it so happened that while he was en route to San Francisco, Lemuel—having sight-seen the metropolis to his entire satisfaction, as well as gratified the desire of his life by settling Dot in Longwell Seminary for her first year—was on his way back to Geerusalem, with a headful of progressive ideas calculated to make him in the next decade, through the early purchase of a herd of stock cattle, the principal cowman of southern California. Their trains passed each other in the night.
The following day when Lemuel reached home, he was confronted by Coates and Tyler and learned to his bewilderment and dismay that he was under arrest for no less a crime than knowingly appropriating to himself twenty thousand dollars belonging to the Mohave & Southwestern Railroad Company. They ordered him into the kitchen and began grilling him—bombarding him with questions, disputing his answers, tripping him up, now and again hurling their accusations at him, cajoling him in one breath, threatening him in the next.
Hour after hour, they kept it up untiringly, mercilessly, and because he could not give a convincing story of how he had known that Billy Gee was hiding in the hayloft—fearing as he did to mention even so much as his daughter’s name in conjunction with the case—they decided to hold him on the John Doe warrant they had procured from the local judge, pending further investigation.
At dark, Coates mounted one of Lemuel’s horses and rode into Geerusalem and communicated by telephone with Sangerly, senior, Western manager of the Mohave & Southwestern in Los Angeles. He gave a brief account of the failure which had attended their search and ended with the declaration that it was the professional opinion of himself and Tyler that Lemuel Huntington was the thief. Stating simply that Lex had gone to San Francisco, Coates informed Mr. Sangerly that they desired to remove their prisoner to the county jail for further questioning and asked for official sanction in the matter.
This being granted, he rushed the usual legal formalities necessary to take a prisoner out of the jurisdiction of the Geerusalem courts and sped away for the ranch in a rented machine, his object being to get Lemuel out of the district before Lex returned; for now there was not the remotest doubt in the mind of those two man-hunters that Dot’s father was the sensational catch of their careers.
It was a bright, starry night, warm and quiet, and it was nine o’clock, when the driver brought the car to a halt before the Huntington ranch. Coates sprang out and was presently pounding on the front door.
“Who’s there? That you, Ray?” shouted Tyler from inside.
“Yes. Open up! Everything’s jake. We’re on our way.”
The next moment the door was thrown open and Coates entered, gazing in amazement at his partner, grim of face, six-shooter in hand. Back of him, in the hall, stood Lemuel, his sunburned, leathery cheeks yellow with alarm, his eyes bulging wildly.
“See anybody outside?” asked Tyler.
“Only the driver of the machine. What’s eating you anyhow? You look like you been shot at and missed.” He chuckled roughly.
“Yeh? Well, come on in the kitchen and I’ll show you something’ll make your hair curl.” Turning the key in the lock, Tyler led the way toward the rear of the house. On the oil-cloth covered table lay a soiled old envelope containing a lead-pencil scribble. He picked it up and handed it to Coates, who read:
I jest cum to take my saddle an bags an pack off the 20,000 that you dicks aint bin able to find. After this better close the window so folks cant lissen. An dont show yore nose outside cos Im shootin tonite.
Coates stared at his colleague, the yellow lamplight showing his face drawing into hard, cruel lines. A furious curse burst from him. “Billy Gee!” he shouted.
“Yes, damn him!” growled Tyler. “Half an hour ago I heard a knock out front. I thought it was you coming back. That’s what I found shoved under the door.” He indicated the envelope. “While we were quizzing the old duffer, like a coupla rummies, Billy was getting an earful at the window. Kids us about it, you’ll notice.”
Coates’ withering eyes rested on the other. “He beats it with the swag, you notice that, too, don’t you? And you’ve stuck inside here, like a big walrus, and let him. What the hell kind of a free-lunch detective——”
“Say, soft-pedal that stuff, pal!” flared Tyler menacingly. “I don’t see you busting no records—except it’s slipping the bull. If you think I’m tearing out after this wild and woolly yegg, so’s he can pot-shot me first flop out of the box, you’re cuckoo. Maybe I ought’ve taken the lamp and looked under the rosebushes for him, eh?”
Coates made no reply. Raging silently he paced the floor. Some seconds afterward he halted before Tyler.
“This is certainly some swell mess. That’s all I got to say. I phoned the chief, got his O. K., talked my head off to get the papers signed, and rented a machine for the trip. For what? We’ve put in two weeks in this hole for nothing. The money’s gone. Get me? Gone! We might as well sling onto our grips and report back to headquarters for a damn fine panning. Hot dog!”
Tyler laughed. “Rave on! To hear you say it I’m the whole show, ain’t I? I’m supposed to pull a fancy moving-picture stunt, while you stand on the side lines rooting for me. Pretty soft! Sure, I get you! You’re trying to slip out from under—make me the goat. Say, bo, any time you think——”
“Aw, cut it out! Let’s get out after this wise bird, see if we can’t pick up his tracks. I got the car outside. If we don’t get a line on him, we’ll shoot to camp and phone the old man,” cut in Coates surlily. He turned to Lemuel, standing near the stove, rubbing his bony hands in hopeless apprehension. “Mr. Huntington, we’re letting you go on probation. But don’t leave the country till we tell you, d’you understand? Take care of our traps for a few days. If we don’t come back we’ll send for them. Come on, Tyler, we’ll——”
He broke off abruptly, interrupted by the furious honking of the horn of the machine waiting out on the road, the thunderous roar of its open muffler.
With Tyler at his heels he dashed for the front door. Clearing the porch in one bound they sped down the garden walk, gripping their revolvers, straining their eyes toward the car, looming black against the sky horizon of the plains.
“I’m cutting for the field. Watch your shots!” panted Coates in low tones, swinging off on a tangent through the garden.
But he had barely cleared the walk when the automobile suddenly leaped away; and simultaneously its headlights flashed on, boring twin avenues of white flame through the darkness in the direction of distant Mirage. Alongside the driver, the silhouette of a man was now visible. He megaphoned back with his hands at the two detectives:
“Thanks for the machine, fellers. Noo York service I call it. Give my reegards to old Law an’ Order.”
Coates and Tyler emptied their six-shooters wildly at the car. Cursing frantically, they sprang in pursuit, loading and firing their weapons as they ran. But the machine, speeding on like the wind, whirled out of range and went on and on, plunging and careening over the uneven road, vanished into the vastness of the desert night.
“That squares us. You had your fling at him,” said Tyler to Coates.