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W. N. U., ATLANTA, NO. 22-19201
By
William MacLeod Raine
(Copyright by G. W. D/lIlngham Co.)
CHAPTER VIII.
—14—
A Touch of the Third Degree,
It wus Bucky that caught the con-
fief. The two meu met at the top of a
mountain pass. Blackwell, headed
south, was slipping down toward
Stone’s horse ranch when they came
face to face. Before the bad man had
his revolver out, lie” found himself
looking down the barrel of the rang
er's leveled rifle.
“I wouldn’t,” Bucky murmured gen
ially.
“What you want me for?” Blackwell
demanded sulkily.
“For the W. & S. robbery.”
“I’m not the man you want. My
name’s Johnson.”
"I’ll put up with you till I find the
man I do want, Mr. Johnson,” Bucky
told him cheerfully. “Climb down
from that horse. No, I wouldn’t try
I hat. Keep your hands up."
Buck took his prisoner straight to
the ranger’s office and telephoned to
Cullison.
The lieutenant did not know any
thing about book psychology, but lie
.had observed that hunger and weari
ness try out the stuff that is in a man.
Under the Sag of them many a will
snaps that would have held fast if sus
tained by a good dinner and a sound
night’s sleep. This is why so many
“lmd men,” gun fighters with a reputa
tion for gameness, wilt on occasion
like whipped curs. In the old days this
came *to nearly every terror of the
border. Some day when lie lind a
jumping toothache, or when his nerves
were frayed from a debauch, u silent
stranger walked into his presence,
looked long and steadily Into his eyes
and ended forever his reign of lawless
ness. Sometimes the two-gun man
was “planted,” sometimes he subsided
into innocuous peace henceforth.
The ranger had a shrewd instinct
that the hour had come to batter down
this fellow’s dogged resistance. There
fore he sent for Cullison, the man
whom the convict most feared.
The very look of (he cattleman, with
that grim, hard, capable aspect, shook
Blackwell’s nerve.
“So you’ve got him, Bucky?”
Luck looked the man over as he sat
handcuffed beside the table and read
in his face both terror and a sly,
dogged cunning. 'Once before the fel
low had been put through the third de
gree. Something of the sort he fear
fully expected now. Villainy is usually
not consistent. This hulking bully
should have been a hardy ruffian. In
stead, he shrank like a schoolgirl from
the thought of physical pain.
"Stand up,” ordered Cullison, quiet
ly.
Blackwell got to his feet at once.
“Don’t hit me,” he whined.
Luck knew the man sweated under
the punishment his imagination called
up, and lie understood human nature
too well to end the suspense by mak
ing real the vision. For then the
worst would be past, since the actual
is never equal to what is expected!
“Well?" Luck watched him with the
look of tempered steel in his liurd
eyes.
“I—I—Mr. Cullison, I want to ex
plain. Every man is liable to make a
mistake—go off half cocked. I didn’t
do right. That’s a fac’. I can explain
all that, but I’m sick now—awful
sick.”
Cullison laughed harshly. “You'll be
sicker soon."
“You promised you wouldn’t do any
thing if we turned you loose,” the man
plucked up courage to remind him.
"I promised the law wouldn't do any
thing. You’ll understand the distinc
tion presently.”
“Mr. Cullison, please—I admit I
done wrong. I hadn’t ought to have
gone in with Cass Fendrick. He
wanted me to kill you, but I wouldn’t.”
Bucky had let Cullison take the cen
ter of the stage. He had observed a
growing distress mount and ride the
victim. Now he stepped in to save
the man with an alternative at which
Blackwell might he expected not to
snatch eagerly perhaps, but at least
to be driven toward.
“This man is my prisoner, Mr. Cul-
lison. From what I can make out you
ought to strip his hide off and hang it
out to dry. But I've got first call on
him. If he comes through with the
trfith about the W. & S. robbery I’ve
got to protect him.”
Luck understood the ranger. They
were both working toward the same
end. The immediate punishment of
this criminal was not the important is
sue. It was merely a club with which
to beat him into submission, and at
that a moral rather than a physical
one. But the owner of the Circle C
knew better than to yield to Bucky too
easily. He fought the point out with
him at leugth, and finally yielded re
luctantly, in such a way as to aggra
vate rather than relieve tho anxiety of
the convict.
“All right. You take him first,” he
finally conceded harshly.
Bucky kept up the comedy. “I’ll
take him, Mr. Cullison. But if he tells
ine the truth—and if I find out it’s the
whole truth—there’ll be nothing doing
on your part. He’s my prisoner. Un
derstand that.”
Metaphorically Blackwell licked the
Hand of Ills protector. “I aim to do
what’s right, Captain O’Connor. What-
ever’s right. You ask me any ques
tions.”
“I want to know all about the W. &
S. robbery, everything, from start to
finish.”
“Honest, T wish I could tell you.
But I don’t know a thing about it.
Cross iny heart, I don’t."
“No use. Blackwell. If I’m going to
stand by you against Mr. Cullison,
you’ll have to tell the truth. Why,
man, I’ve even got the mask you wore
and the cloth you cut it from.”
“I reckon it must a-been some one
else, major. Wlsht I could help you,
but I can’t."
Bucky rose. “All right. If you can’t
help me, I can’t help you. Mr. Cul
lison, 1 reckon I’ll run out and have
some supper. Do you mind staying
here with this man till I get back?”
“No. That’s all right, Bucky. Don’t
hurry. I’ll keep him entertained.”
Perhaps it was not by chance that his
eye wandered to a blacksnake whip
hanging on the wall.
O’Connor sauntered to the door. The
frightened gaze of the prisoner clung
to him as If for safety.
"Major—Colonel—you ain’t a-going,”
he pleaded.
“Only for an hour or two. I’ll be
back. I wouldn’t think of saying good-
by—not till we reach Yuma.”
With that the door closed behind
him. Blackwell cried out, hurriedly,
eagerly: “Mister O’Connor! I—I’ll tell
you everything—every last thing. Mr.
Cullison—lie’s aiming to kill me soon
as you’ve gone.”
“I’ve got no time to fool away,
Blackwell. I’m hungry. If you mean
business get to it. But remember that
whatever you say will be used against
you.”
“I’ll tell you any dog-goned thing
you want to know. You’ve got me
“Don’t Hit Me,” He Whined.
beat. I’m plumb wore out—sick. A
man can’t stand everything.”
“Sit down. There’s a good dinner
waiting for you at Clune’s when you
get through.”
His story was that he had found on
the street a letter that had inadver
tently been dropped. It was to Jordan
of the Cattleman’s National bank, and
it notified him that $20,000 was to be
shipped to him by the W. & S. Express
company on the night of the robbery.
Blackwell resolved to have a try for
it. He hung around the office until the
manager and the guard arrived from
the train, made his raid upon them,
locked the door, and threw away his
mask. He dived with the satchel into
the nearest alley, and came face to
face with the stranger whom he later
learned to be Fendrick.
Fendrick, who had heard the shout
ing of the men locked In the express
office, stopped the robber, but Black-
well broke away and ran down the
alley. The sheepman followed and
caught him. After another scuffle the
convict again hammered himself free,
but left behind the hand satchel con
taining the spoils. Fendrick (so he
later explained to Blackwell) tied a
cord to the handle of the bag and
dropped It down the chute of a laun
dry in such a way that it could later
be drawn up. Then he hurried back
to the express office and released the
prisoners. After the excitement had
subsided, he had returned for' the
money and hid it. The original robber
did not know where.
BlackwelJ’s second meeting with the
sheepman had been almost as startling
as the first. Cass had run into the
Jack of Hearts in time to save the life
of his enemy. The two men recognized
each other and entered into a compact
to abduct Cullison, for his share in
which the older man was paid one
thousand dollars.
Both inen asked the same question as
soon as lie had finished.
“Where is the money you got froqj
the raid on the W. k S. office?”
“Don’t know. I've been at Fendrick
ever since to tell me. He’s got it salt
ed somewhere. You’re fixing to put
me behind the bars, and he’s the man
that really stole it.”
From this they could not shake him.
****** *
Fendrick, riding on Mesa Verde, met
young Bob Cullison, and before he
knew what had happened found a gun
thrown on him.
“Don’t you move,” the boy warned.
“What does this tommyrot mean?”
the sheepnian demanded angrily,
“It means that you are coining back
with me to the ranch. That’s what it
means.”
“What for?”
“Never you mind what for.”
“Oli, go to Mexico,” Cass flung hack
impatiently. “Think we’re In some
fool moving-picture play, you blamed
young idiot? Put up that gun.”
Shrilly Bob retorted. He was excited
enough to be dangerous. “Don’t you
get the wrong idea. I’m going to
moke this stick. You’ll turn and go
back with me to the Circle C. You’re
wanted for the W. & S. express rob
bery. Blackwell lias confessed.”
Cass sat immovable as the sphinx.
He was thinking that lie might as well
face the charge now as any time. More
over, he had ieasons for wanting to
visit the Circle C. They had to do
with a tall, slim girl who never looked
at him without scorn in her dark, flash
ing eyes.
“All right. I’ll go back with you, but
not under it gun. I won’t stand for
any gun-play capture.” ’
“You’ll have to stand for it.”
Fendrick’s face set. “Will I? It’s
up to you, then. Let’s see you make
me.”
Sitting there with his gaze steadily
on the boy, Cass had Bob at a disad
vantage. If the sheep owner had tried
to break away into the chaparral, Bob
could have blazed away at him, hut he
could not shoot a man looking at him
with cynical, amused eyes. He could
understand the point of view of his
adversary. If Fendrick rode Into the
Circle C under compulsion of a gun in
the hands of a boy he would never
hear the end of the laugh on him.
Bob put up his big blue gun reluc
tantly. Never before had it been
trained on a human being, and it was
a wrench to give up the thought of
bringing in the enemy ns a prisoner.
But he saw ,he could not pull it off.
They turned toward the Circle C.
Kate was seated on the porch sew
ing. She rose in surprise when her
cousin and the sheepman appeared.
They came with jingling spurs across
the plaza toward her.
"Where’s Uncle Luck, sis? I’ve
brought this fellow hack with me.
Caught him on the mesa,” explained
the boy sulkily.
Fendrick bowed rather extravagant
ly. “He’s qualifying for a moving-pic
ture show actor, Miss Cullison. I
hadn't the heart to disappoint him
when he got that cannon trained on
me. So here I am.”
Kate looked at him and then let her
gaze travel to her cousin. She some
how gave the effect of judging him
of negligible value.
“I think he’s lu his office. Bob. I’ll
go see,”
She went swiftly and presently her
father came out. Kate did not return.
Luck looked straight at Cass with
the uncompromising hostility so char
acteristic of him. Neither of the men
spoke. It was Bob who made the nec
essary explanations.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Luck
said bluntly, after his nephew had fin
ished.
“So I gathered from young Jesse
James. Anything particular, or just
a pleasant social call?”
"You’re In bad on this W. & S. rob
bery. I reckoned you would be safer
in jail till it’s cleared up.”
“You still sheriff, Mr. Cullison?
Somehow I had got a notion that you
had quit the job.”
“I’m an interested party. We’ll take
the stage into town and see what
O’Connor says—that is, if you’ve got
time to go.” Luck could be as formal
in his sarcasm as his neighbor.
“With such good company on the
way I’ll have to make time.”
The stage did not usually leave till
about half past one. Presently Kate
announced dinner. A little awkwardly
Luck iuvited the sheepman to join
them. Fendrick declined.
His host hung in tlie doorway. Sel
dom at a loss to express himself, he
did not quite know how to put into
words what he was thinking. His ene
my understood.
“That’s all right. You’ve satisfied
the demands of hospitality. Go eat
your dinner. I’ll be right here on the
porch when you get through.”
Kate, who was standing beside her
father, spoke quietly.
“There’s a place for you, Mr. Fend
rick. We should be very pleased to
have you join us. People who happen
to be at the Circle C at dinner time are
expected to eat here.”
Fendrick looked at the young mis
tress of the ranch. He meant to de
cline once more, but unaccountably
found himself accepting instead. Some
thing In her face told him she would
rather have it so.
Presently a young man came into tin*
dining room and sat down beside Kate.
He looked the least in the world sur<
prised at sight of the sheepman.
“Mornin’, Cass," lie nodded.
“Morning, Curly,” answered Fend
rick. "Didn’t know you were riding for
the Circle C.”
“He’s my foreman,” Luck explained.
Gass observed that he was quite one
of the family. Bob admired him open
ly and without shame, because lie was
the best rider in Arizona ; Kate seemed
to lie on the best of tepns with him
and Luck treated him with the off
hand bluffness he might baye used to
ward a grown son.
The stage brought the two men to
town shortly after sundown. Lpck
called up O’Connor and made an ap
pointment to meet him after supper.
“There’s a matter that needs ex
plaining, Cass. According to Black
well’s story, you caught him with the
goods at the time of the robbery! and
'in making bis get-away He left the
loot with you. What have you done
with it?”
"Blackwell told you that, did he?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t doubt your word for a mo
ment, Bucky, but before I do any talk
ing I’d like to hear him say so. I’ll
not round on him until I know he’s
given himself away.”
The convict was sent for. He sub
stantiated the ranger reluctantly. He
was so hemmed in that he did not
know how to play his cards so as to
make the most of them.
Cass heard him out with a lifted
upper lip and his most somnolent tiger-
cat expression. After Blackwell had
finished and been withdrawn from cir
culation he rolled and lit a cigarette.
“By Mr. Blackwell’s say-so I’m the
goat. By the way, has it ever occurred
to you gentlemen, that one can’t be
convicted on the testimony of a single
accomplice?”
“We’ve got a little circumstantial
evidence to add, Cass,” Bucky suggest
ed pleasantly.
“Not enough—not nearly enough.”
"That will be for a jury to decide,”
Cullison chipped In.
Fendrick shrugged. “I’ve a notion
to let it go to that. But what’s the
use? Understand this. I wasn’t going
to give Blackwell away, but since ha
has tallied, I may tell what I know.
It’s true enough what he says. I did
relieve hhn of the plunder.”
“Sorry to hear that, Cass," Bucky
commented gravely. “What did you
do with it?”
The sheep owner flicked his cigar
ette ash into the tray and looked at the
lieutenant out of half-shuttered, Indo
lent eyes. "Gave it to you, Bucky. Got
that letter I handed you the other
day?”
The officer produced It from his safe.
“Open it.”
With a paper knife Bucky ripped the
flap and took out a sheet of paper.
“There’s something else in there,”
Fendrick suggested.
That something else proved to be a
piece of paper folded tightly, which,"
being opened, disclosed a key.
O’Connor read aloud the letter:
“To Nicholas Bolt, Sheriff, or Bucky
O’Connor. Lieutenant of Bangers:
“Having come into possession of a
little valise which is not mine, I am
getting rid of it in the following man
ner. I have rented a large safety-de
posit box at the Cattleman’s National
bank and have put into it the valise
with the lock still unbroken. The key
is inclosed herewith. Shaw, the cash
ier, will tell you that when this box
was rented I gave explicit orders it
should be opened only by the men
whose names are given hi an envelope
left with him, not even excepting my
self. The valise was deposited at ex
actly 10:30 a. ru. the morning after
the robbery, as Mr. Shaw will also
testify. I am writing this the evening
of the same day.
"CASS FENDRICK.”
“Don’t believe a word of it,” Cullison
exploded.
“Seeing is believing,” tlie sheepman
murmured. He was enjoying greatly
the discomfiture of Ills foe.
“Makes a likely fairy tale. What for
would you Iceep the money and not
turn It back?"
“That’s an easy one, Luck. Ho
wanted to throw the burden of the
robbery on you,” Bucky explained.
“Well, I’ve got to be shown.”
In the morning he was shown. Shaw
confirmed exactly what Fendrick had
said. He produced a sealed envelope.
Within this was a sheet of paper, upon
which were written two lines:
“Box 2143 is to be opened only by
Sheriff Bolt or Lieutenant Bucky
O’Connor of the Rangers, and before
witnesses.
“CASS FENDRICK.”
From the safety-deposit vault Bucky
drew u large package wrapped in yel
low paper. He cut the string, tore
away the covering and disclosed a
leather satchel. Perry Hawley, the
local manager of the Western & South
ern Express company, fitted to this
a key and took out a sealed bundle.
This he ripped open before them all.
Inside was found the sum of twenty
thousand dollars in crisp new bills.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Tbe average politician is ns tough
ns India rubber and his conscience i?
more elastic-
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