CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JAMES BLAINE HAWKINS FINDS HIS COURAGE—AND LOSES IT
Gary had measured his man rather accurately, and his guess hit close to the mark. He slept late that morning, probably because he had lain awake until the morning star looked at him through the window. The sun was three hours high when he got up, and he loitered over his breakfast, gave Faith a severe talking to and fed her all the canned milk she would drink, so that she would not be teasing him for it later on when her insistence might be embarrassing. Faith was a methodical cat and a self-reliant cat. She loved her milk breakfast and her little talk with Gary afterward. Then she would head straight for the creek, cross it and go bounding away up the bluff. She always took the same direction, and Gary had sometimes wondered why. Of course, she hunted birds and kangaroo rats and mice; she was an expert huntress. Gary thought she must keep a private game preserve up on the bluff somewhere. However that might be, Faith was off for her daily prowl on the bluff and would not show up again at the cabin until noon or later.
Gary was up at the corral rubbing down the chunky little sorrel horse he called Jazz, when he heard the chug of a motor coming up-grade through the sand. James Blaine Hawkins, he knew without looking, had discounted his terror of last night and was returning to take possession.
“Well, Jazz, if I get the gate, there’s your new master.” Gary slapped the horsefly that was just settling on the sorrel’s neck. “But I won’t tell you good-by till I’m gone.”
He turned and went down to the cabin, reaching it just as James Blaine Hawkins stopped in the dooryard. Gary chose to take the return as a matter of course.
“Had your breakfast, Mr. Hawkins?” Gary asked him genially. “The coffee may still be hot. I had a pretty good fire while I was washing the dishes. Thought I’d cook up a mess of beans. Takes a heck of a while to cook them in this altitude.”
James Blaine Hawkins gave him a look that might easily be called suspicious. But Gary met it innocently.
“I’ve et,” James Blaine Hawkins grunted. “Camped out on the desert—better than walking distance away from whoever it was that tried to get funny last night. Feller don’t know what he’s going up against, in a strange place like that after dark. But there can’t nobody bamboozle me, once I’ve got my bearings!”
His whole manner was a challenge. He eyed Gary boldly, watching for some overt act of hostility. He climbed out of the car and began to unpack, with a great deal of fussing and mighty little accomplished.
Gary did not say anything. He leaned against the cabin with his arms folded and watched James Blaine Hawkins indifferently. His silence affected the other unpleasantly.
“Well, why don’t you say something? What yuh standin’ there grinnin’ that way for? Why don’t yuh own up you know a damn sight more’n what yuh let on?” he demanded pugnaciously.
James Blaine Hawkins came toward him, his fists opening and closing nervously at his side. “I ain’t to be bluffed, you know! I ain’t to be bluffed nor scared!”
Gary’s lip curled. He rubbed the ash from his cigarette against a splinter on the log wall beside him.
“You’re brighter than I thought,” he drawled. “I do know a damn sight more than I’m saying. I’ll say as much of what I know as I happen to choose. No more—and bullying won’t get you anything at all. I might have told you a few things last night, if you hadn’t got scared and beat it.”
“Scared? Who was scared?” fleered James Blaine Hawkins. “Not me, anyway. I seen right away there was some kind of frame-up agin me here and I didn’t want no trouble. Any fool can go head down into trouble, but a man uh brains’ll side-step till he knows what he’s up against.”
“Well,” smiled Gary, “do you know what you’re up against?”
“Sure, I know! For some reason, somebody don’t want me here. They tried to scare me last night—but I seen through that right off.”
“Yes, you saw more than I did,” Gary told him quietly.
“Well, and what’s all this you know?” Hawkins’ voice was rising angrily. “I’m here to stay. I want to know what’s back of all this.”
Gary took an exasperating time to reply. “If you find out, you’ll do more than Waddell did,” he said at last. His face was sober, his tone convincing. “I’ve a little matter of my own to discuss with you, but that has nothing whatever to do with last night. Last night you claimed to see a man—and there wasn’t any man. You know darned well there wasn’t, or you wouldn’t have been so scared. That’s something I have nothing to do with. I didn’t see any one in the cabin—but you.” He smoked for another minute. “You also claimed you saw a cat.” He looked at James Blaine Hawkins steadily.
“I claimed to and I did! There’s a frame-up of some kind. You said yourself——”
“I said Waddell thought he saw things here. That’s the plain truth, Hawkins. It worried Waddell so he nearly went crazy, from all accounts. You needn’t take my word for that. You can ask the Indians, or Monty Girard—any one who knows this place.”
He stopped and drew some legal papers from his pocket. “Here’s something I meant to show you last night—if you had stayed,” he said. “I’m not in the habit of babbling my business to every chance stranger. I didn’t tell you, because I wanted to make sure that it concerned you. But it happens that I have a prior right here. That’s what brought me over here in the first place. It’s true I wanted to see Waddell, and he was gone when I arrived. But I knew all about the sale, Mr. Hawkins. I know Miss Connolly very well. She begged me to undertake the complete management of Johnnywater ranch, and to that end she signed this Power of Attorney. You will see, Mr. Hawkins, that it has been duly certified and that the date is much earlier than your first knowledge of the place. Miss Connolly also gave me the deed and this certificate of the water rights. Everything is perfectly legal and straight, and I’m sorry to say—No, by heck, I’m not sorry! It’s a relief to me to know that your contract isn’t worth a lead nickel. In order to get this place on shares, you would need to make an agreement with me. And you would not get the terms Miss Connolly was so generous as to give you. One half the increase in stock, any loss in the old stock during the term of contract to be made good when you turned the place back to its owner, are the usual terms. Your expenses would not be paid for you.
“However, that is beside the point. I am not in favor of letting the place go on shares—not at present, anyway. So this is what you did not wait last night to hear.”
“It’s a frame-up!” snorted James Blaine Hawkins indignantly. “It’s a rotten frame-up! I’ll bet them papers is forged. There’s a law made to handle just such cases as yours, young feller. And yuh needn’t think I’m going to stand and be held up like that.”
“Well, I’ve told you all you’re entitled to know. I’ve no objection to your camping here for a while, so long as you behave yourself.” Gary threw away his cigarette stub. His tone had been as casual as if he were gossiping with Monty, but was not so friendly. He really did not want to fight James Blaine Hawkins, in spite of the fact that he had discussed the possibility quite frankly with the cat.
But James Blaine Hawkins had spent an uncomfortable night and he wanted some one else to pay for it. He began to shake his fists and to call names, none of which were nice. Gary was up to something, and Hawkins was not going to stand for it, whatever it was. Gary was a faker, a thief—though what he had stolen James Blaine Hawkins failed to stipulate. Gary was a forger (Hawkins hinted darkly that he had, in some mysterious manner, evolved those papers during the night for the express purpose of using them as a bluff this morning) and he was also a liar.
Wherefore Gary reached out a long arm and slapped James Blaine Hawkins stingingly on the ear. When the head of James Blaine Hawkins snapped over to his right shoulder, Gary reached his other long arm and slapped the head upright. James Blaine Hawkins backed up and felt his ear; both ears, to be exact.
“I didn’t come here to have no trouble,” James Blaine Hawkins protested indignantly. “A man of brains can always settle things with his brains. I don’t want to fight, and I ain’t goin’ to fight. I’m goin’ to settle this thing——”
“With your brains. Well, go on and settle it then. Only be careful and don’t sprain your head! Thinking’s dangerous when you’re not used to it. And if you do any more talking—which I certainly don’t advise—be careful of the words you use, Mr. Hawkins. I’m not a liar or a thief. Don’t call me either one.”
James Blaine Hawkins spluttered and swore and argued one-sidedly. Gary leaned against the cabin with his arms folded negligently and listened with supreme indifference if one were to believe his manner.
“Rave on,” he said indulgently. “Get it all out of your system—and then crank your little Ford and iris out of this scene, will you? I did say you could stay for a day or so if you behaved yourself. But you better beat it. The going may not be so good after awhile.”
James Blaine Hawkins intimated that he would go when he got good and ready. So Gary went in and shut the door. He was sick of the fellow. The man was the weakest kind of a bully. He wouldn’t fight. Heretofore Gary had believed that only a make-believe villain in a story would refuse to fight after he had been slapped twice.
When Gary came out of the cabin for a bucket of water, James Blaine Hawkins was fumbling in the car and talking to himself. He straightened up and renewed his aimless accusations when Gary passed him going to the creek.
The Voice suddenly shouted from the bluff, but Gary continued on his way, seemingly oblivious to the sound.
“Who’s that hollerin’ up there? Thought you said you was alone here. What does that feller want?” James Blaine Hawkins left the Ford and started after Gary.
“Beg pardon?” While the Voice continued to shout, Gary looked inquiringly at Hawkins.
“I asked yuh who was hollerin’ up there! What does he want?”
Gary continued to look at James Blaine Hawkins. “Hollering?” His eyes narrowed a bit. “On the bluff, did you say?”
“Not over on that bluff,” James Blaine Hawkins bellowed. “Up there, across the creek! Good Lord, are yuh deef? Can’t yuh hear that hollering?”
Gary half turned his head and listened carefully. “Can you still hear it?” he asked in the midst of a loud halloo.
“You must be deef if you don’t,” James Blaine Hawkins spluttered.
Gary shook his head. “My hearing is splendid,” he stated calmly. “I was a wireless operator on a sub-chaser during the war. Do you still hear it?”
James Blaine Hawkins testified profanely that he did. He was looking somewhat paler than was normal. He stared at Gary anxiously.
“What was that damfool yarn you was telling last night——”
“Oh, about the Indian that heard some one hollering on the bluff after Steve Carson disappeared? By Jove! I wonder if it can be the Voice you hear!” He looked at Hawkins blankly. “Say, I’m sorry I slapped you, Mr. Hawkins. I’d like to feel—afterwards—that you didn’t hold any grudge against me for that.” He held out his hand with the pitying smile of one who wishes to make amends before it is too late.
James Blaine Hawkins swallowed twice. Gary set down the bucket and laid a hand kindly on the man’s shoulder.
“Aw, buck up, Mr. Hawkins. I—I guess they lied about that Injun dying right after—don’t you believe it, anyway.” And then, anxiously, “Do you still hear it, old fellow?”
Gary felt absolutely certain that James Blaine Hawkins did hear. Above the sound of the wind in the tree tops, the Voice was calling imperiously from the bluff.
“You can keep the damn place for all of me,” James Blaine Hawkins exploded viciously. “I wouldn’t have it as a gift. There’s that damned cat I seen last night! A man’s crazy that’d think of staying in a hole like this.”
He was cranking furiously when Gary tapped him on the shoulder.
“Since you aren’t going to stay and fulfill the contract,” Gary said evenly, “you better hand over that two hundred dollars which Miss Connolly advanced you under the ‘found’ clause of your agreement. I’ll give you a receipt for it, of course.”
James Blaine Hawkins meant to refuse, but Gary’s fingers slid up to his ear and pulled him upright.
“We’ll just go in the cabin where I can write that receipt,” he explained cheerfully, and led James Blaine Hawkins inside. “You’re in a hurry to go, and I’m in a hurry to have you. So we’ll make this snappy.”
It must have been snappy indeed, for within five minutes James Blaine Hawkins was driving down the trail toward the mouth of the cañon, quite as fast as he had driven the night before. Only this time he went in broad daylight and he had no intention of ever coming back.