CHAPTER XVII: MYSTERY
It was from Horace Baker, elderly clerk of the court, that Hashknife learned some of the facts about Len Ayres’s trial. Baker had been clerk of the court for ten years, being elected every two years, because no one else wanted the office. The transcript of testimony was all on file, but Hashknife did not ask to read it.
According to Baker, a lone bandit had twice operated successfully within a period of a month. The Wells Fargo safe had been smashed one night between Lobo Wells and Randall, netting the bandit about ten thousand dollars.
Less than a month later the Kernwood stage, carrying five thousand dollars in the strong box, was robbed just out of Lobo Wells, and the description of the lone robber tallied closely to that of the man who had robbed the express car. Descriptions given by men who have been looking down the muzzle of a gun are seldom accurate enough for identification, so the officers merely waited for the bandit to break out again.
It had come sooner than they anticipated, it seemed. Charley Prentice, transferring money from his window to the safe near closing time, the bank being empty of customers at the time, turned his head at a sound and found himself confronted by a masked cowboy.
According to Prentice’s testimony, the man spoke hoarsely, demanding all the money in the safe. Prentice was in no position to refuse, and had given the man what later proved to be seven thousand dollars.
At this moment a man came along the sidewalk in front of the bank, which was still open, and the bandit struck Prentice a sharp blow on the jaw with his fist, knocking Prentice down and badly dazing him, and then leaped the railing and going out through a rear entrance before Prentice could recover.
The man who had stopped in front of the bank was Amos Baggs, at that time prosecuting attorney, and he came in just in time to see the bandit stumble in the rear doorway, his hat falling back into the bank. Baggs did not know that the bank had been robbed, until he found Prentice on his hands and knees trying to stand up.
Even then Baggs did not realise what had been done until Prentice managed to explain, when Baggs ran for the sheriff, Harry Cole. Then Baggs remembered the bandit’s hat, which they found against the rear wall of the bank near the door, and in the sweat-band had been stamped the initials L.A.
According to Horace Baker, Len had no defence.
He admitted ownership of the hat, but said it had been misplaced at home and that he had been wearing an old one. The hat was a nearly-new Stetson and so large that the jury smiled when he said that it had been misplaced.
But Len refused to tell them where the money had been hidden, and they convicted him on the strength of the hat. Prentice was partly able to identify Len as the robber, and his first description covered the cowboy fairly well.
Baker told Hashknife that he had known Mrs. Ayres for a number of years, and had known Prentice since he came to work for the bank.
“Was she a pretty woman?” queried Hashknife.
“Well, yes, she was; very pretty.”
“Did she attend the trial?”
“No, she didn’t. A great many people thought she was wrong in not attending, but I suppose she didn’t feel that way about it.”
“Was she happy with Len?”
“I don’t know, Hartley. She was a woman who liked to dress well and have a good time, and Len wasn’t makin’ much money. I’ve always had an idea that was why Len turned bandit.”
“To buy her things, yuh mean?”
“Yes.”
“Do yuh reckon she got the money?”
“I don’t believe she did. Some folks seemed to think that Prentice married her to get some of it. But I guess Len was too wise for all of them. He’s no fool. Some day he’ll dig up all that money, disappear out of the country and have a nice bunch of cash to start in business for himself.”
All of that was merely conjecture, and Hashknife left Baker’s office no wiser than he had been before. As far as he could learn from talking with the residents of Lobo Wells, they considered Len guilty of all three robberies, and it was the general opinion that some day Len would dig up the twenty-two thousand dollars and leave the country.
Hashknife wondered what Amos Baggs would have to say about his near assassination and as he left the little courthouse he decided to talk with Baggs. The buckboard, carrying Nan, little Larry and Whispering, was just leaving town as Hashknife came out on the street.
He paid no attention to whose equipage it was, but sauntered up the street to Baggs’s office, shoved the door open and walked in. Baggs was slumped down in his chair, his collar loose on one end and standing up past one ear, his necktie torn. He lifted a scarlet face and stared at Hashknife. There were plenty of welts in evidence, attesting to the fact that Len was heavy of hand.
“What’s the matter with you—smallpox?” asked Hashknife.
Baggs heaved himself up from his chair, fairly spitting with rage, not realising that Hashknife did not know what had happened.
“Get out of here!” he croaked. “Get out! By God, I’ll be well paid for this! I’ll kill somebody! I’ll⸺”
“You act as though yuh was mad,” said Hashknife calmly.
“Get out! Don’t talk to me! Will you leave this office?”
“Shore. I’ll tell the sheriff, so that he can come up and tie yuh to a tree.”
“Damn yuh! Leave the sheriff out of this. I’ll⸺”
Hashknife closed the door behind him, wondering what in the world was the matter with Baggs, who was still raving. He found Dillon and Breezy at the office, and told them what Baggs had said and how Baggs had looked.
“What do yuh reckon is eatin’ him?” wondered Dillon.
“Capillary fit,” said Breezy.
“You mean cataleptic fit,” corrected Dillon. “Capillary has somethin’ to do with hair, don’t it?”
“If it does, I mean capillary. His hair is so tight it cramps his brain.”
“I guess yo’re right, Breezy,” grinned the sheriff. “Mebbe he ain’t got over his scare of last night. I don’t blame him.”
“Who do yuh reckon tried to kill him?” asked Hashknife.
The sheriff shook his head wearily.
“I dunno. The longer I’m in this office the less I savvy about crime. I used to read detective stories, about ’em findin’ clues and all that, and puttin’ the deadwood on a criminal. Them writers lied. Yuh can’t do it. When a shot is fired in the dark, and all yuh see is the flash, how are yuh goin’ to deduct who pulled the trigger? Can’t be done. Who would bushwhack Amos Baggs? Why not kill him openly and get a medal? Who shot Charley Prentice? You answer it, I can’t. I’ve lost all faith in detective stories. I tell yuh, it’s all luck, when yuh catch a criminal. Instead of votin’ a man into this office, they ought to check up and find out who is the luckiest man in the county.”
“I guess there’s a lot of luck connected with it,” agreed Hashknife.
“A lot? It’s all luck. Brains don’t do yuh any good, unless yuh carry a horseshoe and a rabbit’s foot.”
Nan Whitlock was doing a lot of thinking about her luck, as the buckboard lurched over the rough road to the Box S. There was no question in her mind that she must get out of the Lobo Wells country before the following noon or go to jail. But how to get away without explaining? That was the rub.
Whispering and Larry kept up a spirited conversation, but Nan’s mind was too busy to allow her to join them. The boy seemed filled with joy over the prospect of living at the ranch, and boasted of his prowess with an axe.
“Yuh got to show me,” declared Whispering. “I’ve seen a lot of you braggin’ cowboys, old timer. How are yuh with a rope?”
“Pretty good,” admitted the seven-year-old.
“Don’t mean a thing. We’ve got to have ’em perfect.”
“Well, I can practice, can’t I?”
“Shore. Work yore string on the cat. When yuh can forefoot a cat, yo’re a dinger. I used to know a Mexican who could rope lizards with a fish line. How are yuh with a six-gun, Larry?”
“I never had one.”
“We’ll stop that. Sailor’s got an old one, and I’ll steal it for yuh. Needs quite a lot of fixin’, I reckon.”
“Well, I’ll fix it all right.”
“Gosh, yo’re shore a handy man for to have, don’tcha think so, Nan?”
“I think he is wonderful, Whispering.”
“More’n that; he’s almost unbelievable.”
Len was at the ranch ahead of them. Whispering drove the team up to the front porch and Nan started to jump out, but the restless team jerked ahead and Nan went sprawling.
For a moment she was dazed, but a sharp pain through her left ankle caused her to sit up quickly, and at the same instant Len reached her. Whispering was swearing at the team and trying to saw their heads off with the bits, while Larry clung to the seat with one hand and his hat with the other.
“Hurt yuh, Nan?” Len asked quickly.
“My ankle!” she whispered. “I think it is broken.”
“Gosh a’mighty, I hope not!”
He picked her up bodily and carried her in the house, while Whispering quickly tied the team and came in. Len took off her shoe and cut the stocking loose with his knife. The ankle was swelling rapidly, but after a quick examination Len said:
“I think it’s a bad sprain, Nan. Heat some water, Whisperin’.”
Len mixed some whisky with water and asked Nan to swallow it.
“It’ll do yuh good,” he said. “Yuh need a bracer.”
The liquor made her a little light-headed, but helped her to bear the pain of having the ankle soaked in hot water, and afterward Len bound it tightly with strips from a sheet.
She managed to get to bed, where she lay white-faced, staring up at the ceiling. Suddenly she realised that it would be impossible for her to leave within her allotted time. Len came in and sat down beside the bed.
“That was shore some shock for yuh,” he told her. “Yore face is almost as white as the pillow, Nan. Can I have Whisperin’ cook somethin’ especial for yuh for supper?”
“I couldn’t eat,” she said wearily. Suddenly an inspiration came to her, and she said:
“Len, I—I told Mr. Baggs I’d be in to see him in the morning. It was important, you see. But I can’t see him now, and I wondered if Sailor would go to Lobo Wells to-night and tell him what happened.”
“Why, shore, Nan. I’ll send Sailor right after supper. Is that all yuh want to tell him?”
“That’s all, Len; that I can’t walk. He will understand.”
“I hope he will. Is there anythin’ else?”
“No; just that.”
Len left the room, and in spite of the throbbing ankle Nan fell asleep, feeling sure that Amos Baggs would understand and be human enough to give her a few days of grace.