Cole of Spyglass Mountain

by Arthur Preston Hankins

California was thinking deeply. Old man-hunter that he was, he was capable of putting two and two together, and was not a stranger to the delicate art of deduction. Long ago he had decided that no mere freak of chance had brought The Whimperer and Slim Wolfgang to the country where Joshua Cole was working. And now that Lee Sweet had begun heckling the new homesteader, Bill was deeply interested in the close companionship he had of late observed between Wolfgang, Sweet, and the girl called Winnie the Weeper. Here was a mystery to be solved, and Bill meant to solve it.

But he was unfortunate that night in that neither Winnie the Weeper nor Slim Wolfgang made any move to join Lee Sweet. And not once did the cattleman enter The Golden Eagle. So Bill gave up his quest at midnight and went to bed, for he must be up early and on his way to Spur to continue his part in supplying the seemingly insatiable wants of Demarest, Spruce and Tillou.

After that night, every time that California Bill made Ragtown he watched for an opportunity to solve the mystery of Felix Wolfgang’s sojourn there. He hoped to discover the reason by stealing up on the gambler’s tent when he and Winnie and Sweet were holding a conference. He had rightly decided that Sweet was merely a tool in the hands of the parasitical pair, that they were egging him on to harass Joshua in order to serve their own mysterious ends. Sweet he did not fear, for he considered him incapable of any serious crime, a big, blustering, self-important boy who merely needed a spanking.

Then it occurred to Bill that he was on the wrong tack altogether, and he cursed himself for an idiot. If Winnie and Wolfgang were working against Joshua through Lee Sweet, Bill would learn nothing by listening in on a conversation among the three. He must forget Sweet for the time being, and make an effort to spy on the gambler and his girl when they were alone.

So he took to loitering about the town until he saw Winnie and Slim leave The Golden Eagle, when he would steal up in the darkness and stand silent at the back of their tent, with only the thin canvas between him and them. Three times he did this, but he heard nothing to his advantage. And these three times carried the actors in this little mountain drama well into the month of June, for each of Bill’s trips to Spur occupied eight days.

Bill was learning nothing from his stealthy spying. He had not once encountered Joshua during the month and a half that followed Joshua’s tale of Sweet’s activities. So he did not know whether Sweet had done anything more against him or not. Sweet was busy with the cattle now, for the spring drive into the mountains was on. Many herds had already been brought in and were scattered over the lush meadows, now rank with succulent feed. Sweet and the greater portion of his vaqueros were on the desert rounding up the stragglers over a range that extended for ninety miles. California Bill was about discouraged over the result of his efforts to help his friend when, on the night of the fifteenth of June, he stood silent at the back of Wolfgang’s tent and overheard conversation and certain other sounds that made him cup a thick hand behind his ear.

Because it was evident from what he heard that Slim Wolfgang and Winnie the Weeper were packing their trunks in readiness to take the stage for Spur next morning. And Slim asked Winnie if she remembered what her ticket from New York to California had cost.

This was sufficient to cause California Bill to clear for action. He had found out nothing, and now this precious pair were on their way East in the morning. There was only one thing to be done before it was too late. Bill stooped and softly began to pull the stakes from the ground at one corner of the tent. A little later he gently lifted one canvas wall, gave his body a quick flip, and was inside.

The girl sucked in a scream, turned chalk-white, and stared at him. Slim Wolfgang wheeled from a trunk that he was strapping, made a crawling dive for the table, and wheeled again, half crouched, a Colt revolver leveled at California Bill.

“Well, wot d’youse want in here?” he snarled.