Mavericks by William MacLeod Raine

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"A little o' nothin', Sam. The way they're telling it you been having
all the fun down here."

Sam Wilcox gathered the chips pushed toward him by the croupier and
cashed in. He was a heavy-set, bronzed man, with a bleached,
straw-colored mustache. Taking his friend by the arm, he led him to one
end of the bar that happened for the moment to be deserted.

"Have something, Jim. Oh, I forgot. You're ridin' the water wagon and
don't irrigate. More'n I can say for some of you Malpais lads. Some of
them was in here right woozy the other day."

"The boys will act the fool when they hit town. Who was it?"

"Slim and Budd and young Sanderson."

"Was Phil Sanderson drunk?" Yeager asked, hardly surprised, but
certainly troubled.

"I ain't sure he was, but he was makin' the fur fly at the wheel, there.
Must have dropped two hundred dollars."

Jim's brows knit in a puzzled frown. He was wondering how the boy had
come by so much money at a time.

"Who was he trailin' with?"

"With a lad called Spiker, that fair-haired guy sitting in at the poker
table. He's another youngster that has been dropping money right
plentiful."

"Who is he?"

"He's what they call a showfer. He runs one o' these automobiles; takes
parties out in it."

"Been here long? Looks kind o' like a tinhorn gambler."

"Not long. He's thick with some of you Malpais gents. I've seen him with
Healy a few."

"Oh, with Healy."

Jim regarded the sportive youth more attentively, and presently dropped
into a vacant seat beside him, buying twenty dollars worth of chips.

Spiker was losing steadily. He did not play either a careful or a
brilliant game. Jim, playing very conservatively, and just about holding
his own, listened to the angry bursts and the boastings of the man next
him, and drew his own conclusions as to his character. After a couple of
hours of play the Malpais man cashed in and went back to the hotel where
he was putting up.

He slept till late, ate breakfast leisurely, and after an hour of
looking over the paper and gossiping with the hotel clerk about the
holdup he called casually upon the deputy sheriff. Only one thing of
importance he gleaned from him. This was that the roan with the white
stockings had been picked up seven miles from Noches the morning after
the holdup.

This put a crimp in Healy's story of having seen Keller in the Pass on
the animal. Furthermore, it opened a new field for surmise. _Brill Healy
said that he had seen the horse with a wound in its flank._ Now, how did
he know it was wounded, since Slim had not mentioned this when he had
telephoned? It followed that if he had not seen the broncho--and that he
had seen it was a sheer physical impossibility--he could know of the
wound only because he was already in close touch with what had happened
at Noches.

But how could he be aware of what was happening fifty miles away? That
was the sticker Jim could not get around. His alibi was just as good as
that of the horse. Both of them rested on the assumption that neither
could cover the ground between two given points in a given time. There
was one other possible explanation--that Healy had been in telephonic
communication with Noches before he met Phyllis. But this seemed to Jim
very unlikely, indeed. By his own story he had been cutting trail all
afternoon and had seen nobody until he met Phyllis.

Yeager called on the cashier, Benson, later in the day, and had a talk
with him and with the president, Johnson. Both of these were now back at
their posts, though the latter was not attempting much work as yet. Jim
talked also with many others. Some of them had theories, but none of
them had any new facts to advance.

The young cattleman put up at the same hotel as Spiker and struck up a
sort of intimacy with him. They sometimes loafed together during the
day, and at night they were always to be seen side by side at the poker
table.

CHAPTER XXI

BREAKING DOWN AN ALIBI

Keller found convalescence under the superintendence of Miss Sanderson
one of the great pleasures of his life. Her school was out for the
summer and she was now at home all day. He had never before found time
to be lazy, and what dreaming he had done had been in the stress of
action. Now he might lie the livelong day and not too obviously watch
her brave, frank youth as she moved before him or sat reading. For the
first time in his life he was in love!

But as the nester grew better he perceived that she was withdrawing
herself from him. He puzzled over the reason, not knowing that her
brother, Phil, was troubling her with flings and accusations thrown out
bitterly because his boyish concern for her good name could find no
gentler way to express itself.

"They're saying you're in love with the fellow--and him headed straight
for the pen," he charged.

"Who says it, Phil?" she asked quietly, but with flaming cheeks.

He smote his fist on the table. "It don't matter who says it. You keep
away from him. Let Aunt Becky nurse him. You haven't any call to wait on
him, anyhow. If he's got to be nursed by one of the family, I'll do it."

He tried to keep his word, and as a result of it the wounded man had to
endure his sulky presence occasionally. Keller was man of the world
enough to be amused at his attitude, and yet was interested enough in
the lad's opinion of him to keep always an even mood of cheerful
friendliness. There was a quantity of winsome camaraderie about him that
won its way with Phil in spite of himself. Moreover, all the boy in him
responded to the nester's gameness, the praises of which he heard on all
sides.

"I see you have quite made up your mind I'm a skunk," the wounded man
told him amiably.

"You robbed the bank at Noches and shot up three men that hadn't hurt
you any," the boy retorted defiantly.

"Not unless Jim Yeager is a liar."

"Oh, Jim! No use going into that. He's your friend. I don't know why,
but he is."

"And you're Brill Healy's. That's why you won't tell that he was
carrying your sister's knife the day I saw you and him first."

The boy flashed toward the bed startled eyes. Keller was looking at him
very steadily.

"Who says he had Phyl's knife?"

"Hadn't he?"

"What difference does that make, anyhow? I hear you're telling that you
found the knife beside the dead cow. You ain't got any proof, have you?"
challenged young Sanderson angrily.

"No proof," admitted the other.

"Well, then." Phil chewed on it for a moment before he broke out again:
"I reckon you cayn't talk away the facts, Mr. Keller. We caught you in
the act--caught you good. By your own story, you're the man we came on.
What's the use of you trying to lay it on me and Brill?"

"Am I trying to lay it on you?"

"Looks like. On Brill, anyhow. There's nothing doing. Folks in this neck
of the woods is for him and against you. Might as well _sabe_ that right
now," the lad blurted.

"I _sabe_ that some of them are," the other laughed, but not with quite
his usual debonair gayety. For he did not at all like the way things
looked.

But though Phil had undertaken to do all the nursing that needed to be
done by the family, he was too much of an outdoors dweller to confine
himself for long to the four walls of a room. Besides, he was often
called away by the work of looking after the cattle of the ranch.
Moreover, both he and his father were away a good deal arranging for the
disposal of their sheep. At these times her patient hoped, and hoped in
vain, that Phyllis would take her brother's place.

Came a day when Keller could stand it no longer. In Becky's absence, he
made shift to dress himself, bit by bit, lying on the bed in complete
exhaustion after the effort of getting into each garment. He could
scarce finish what he had undertaken, but at last he was clothed and
ready for the journey. Leaning on a walking stick, he dragged himself
into the passage and out to the porch, where Phyllis was sitting alone.

She gave a startled cry at sight of him standing there, haggard and
white, his clothes hanging on his gaunt frame much as if he had been a
skeleton.

"What are you doing?" she cried, running to his aid.

After she had got him into her chair, he smiled up at her and panted
weakly. He was leaning back in almost complete exhaustion.

"You wouldn't come to see me, so--I came--to see you," he gasped out, at
last.

"But--you shouldn't have! You might have done yourself a great injury.
It's--it's criminal of you."

"I wanted to see you," he explained simply.

"Why didn't you send for me?"

"There wasn't anybody to send. Besides, you wouldn't have stayed. You
never do, now."

She looked at him, then looked away. "You don't need me now--and I have
my work to do."

"But I do need you, Phyllie."

It was the first time he had ever spoken the diminutive to her. He let
out the word lingeringly, as if it were a caress. The girl felt the
color flow beneath her dusky tan. She changed the subject abruptly.

"None of the boys are here. How am I to get you back to your room?"

"I'll roll a trail back there presently, ma'am."

She looked helplessly round the landscape, in hope of seeing some rider
coming to the store. But nobody was in sight.

"You had no business to come. It might have killed you. I thought you
had better sense," she reproached.

"I wanted to see you," he parroted again.

Like most young women, she knew how to ignore a good deal. "You'll have
to lean on me. Do you think you can try it now?"

"If I go, will you stay with me and talk?" he bargained.

"I have my work to do," she frowned.

"Then I'll stay here, thank you kindly." He settled back into the chair
and let her have his gay smile. Nevertheless, she saw that his lips were
colorless.

"Yes, I'll stay," she conceded, moved by her anxiety.

"Every day?"

"We'll see."

"All right," he laughed weakly. "If you don't come, I'll take a _pasear_
and go look for you." She helped him to his feet and they stood for a
moment facing each other.

"You must put your hand on my shoulder and lean hard on me," she told
him.

But when she saw the utter weakness of him, her arm slipped round his
waist and steadied him.

"Now then. Not too fast," she ordered gently.

They went back very slowly, his weight leaning on her more at every
step. When they reached his room, Keller sank down on the bed, utterly
exhausted. Phyllis ran for a cordial and put it to his lips. It was some
time before he could even speak.

"Thank you. I ain't right husky yet," he admitted.

"You mustn't ever do such a thing again," she charged him.

"Not ever?"

"Not till the doctor says you're strong enough to move."

"I won't--if you'll come and see me every day," he answered
irrepressibly.

So every afternoon she brought a book or her sewing, and sat by him,
letting Phil storm about it as much as he liked. These were happy hours.
Neither spoke of love, but the air was electrically full of it. They
laughed together a good deal at remarks not intrinsically humorous, and
again there were conversational gaps so highly charged that she would
rush at them as a reckless hunter takes a fence.

As he got better, he would be propped up in bed, and Aunt Becky would
bring in tea for them both. If there had been any corner of his heart
unwon it would have surrendered then. For to a bachelor the acme of
bliss is to sit opposite a girl of whom he is very fond, and to see her
buttering his bread and pouring his tea with that air of domesticity
that visualizes the intimacy of which he has dreamed. Keller had played
a lone hand all his turbulent life, and this was like a glimpse of
Heaven let down to earth for his especial benefit.

It was on such an occasion that Jim Yeager dropped in on them upon his
return from Noches. He let his eyes travel humorously over the room
before he spoke.

"Why for don't I ever have the luck to be shot up?" he drawled.

"Oh, you Jim!" Keller called a greeting from the bed. Phyllis came
forward, and, with a heightened color, shook hands with him.

"You'll sit down with us and have some tea, Jim," she told him.

"Me? I'm no society Willie. Don't know the game at all, Phyl. Besides,
I'm carrying half of Arizona on my clothes. It's some dusty down in the
Malpais."

Nevertheless he sat down, and, over the biscuits and jam, told the
meagre story of what he had found out.

The finding of the stocking-footed roan near Noches so soon after the
robbery disposed of Healy's lie, though it did not prove that Keller had
not been riding it at the time of the holdup. As for Healy, Yeager
confessed he saw no way of implicating him. His alibi was just as good
as that of any of them.

But there was one person his story did involve, and that was Spiker, the
tinhorn, tenderfoot sport of Noches. During the absence of this young
man at the gaming table, Jim and his friend, Sam Weaver, had got into
his room with a skeleton key and searched it thoroughly. They had found,
in a suit case, a black mask, a pair of torn and shiny chaps, a gray
shirt, a white, dusty sombrero, much the worse for wear, and over three
hundred dollars in bills.

"What does he pretend his business is?" Keller asked, when Jim had
finished.

"Allows he's a showfer. Drives folks around in a gasoline wagon. That's
the theory, but I notice he turned down a mining man who wanted to get
him to run him into the hills on Monday. Said he hadn't time. The
showfer biz is a bluff, looks like."

The nester made no answer. His eyes, narrowed to slits, were gazing out
of the window absently. Presently he came from deep thought to ask
Yeager to hand him the map he would find in his inside coat pocket. This
he spread out on the bed in front of him. When at last he looked up he
was smiling.

"I reckon it's no bluff, Jim. He's a chauffeur, all right, but he only
drives out select outfits."

"Meaning?"

The map lying in front of Keller was one of Noches County. The nester
located, with his index finger, the town of that name, and traced the
road from it to Seven Mile. Then his finger went back to Noches, and
followed the old military road to Fort Lincoln, a route which almost
paralleled the one to the ranch.

The eyes of Phyllis were already shining with excitement. She divined
what was coming.

"Is this road still travelled, Jim?"

"It goes out to the old fort. Nobody has lived there for most thirty
years. I reckon the road ain't travelled much."

"Strikes through Del Oro Canon, doesn't it, right after it leaves
Noches?"

"Yep."

"I reckon, Jim, your friend, Spiker, drove a party out that way the
afternoon of the holdup," the nester drawled smilingly. "By the way, is
your friend in the lockup?"

"He sure is. The deputy sheriff arrested him same night we went through
his room."

"Good place for him. Well, it looks like we got Mr. Healy tagged at
last. I don't mean that we've got the proof, but we can prove he might
have been on the job."

"I don't see it, Larry. I reckon my head's right thick."

"I see it," spoke up Phyllis quickly.

Keller smiled at her. "You tell him."

"Don't you see, Jim? The motor car must have been waiting for them
somewhere after they had robbed the bank," she explained.

"At the end of Del Oro Canon, likely," suggested the nester.

She nodded eagerly. "Yes, they would get into the canon before the
pursuit was in sight. That is why they were not seen by Slim and the
rest of the posse."

Yeager looked at her, and as he looked the certainty of it grew on him.
His mind began to piece out the movements of the outlaws from the time
they left Noches. "That's right, Phyl. His car is what he calls a
hummer. It can go like blazes--forty miles an hour, he told me. And the
old fort road is a dandy, too."

"They would leave the automobile at Willow Creek, and cut across to the
Pass," she hazarded.

"All but Brill. Being bridlewise, he rode right for Seven Mile to make
dead sure of his alibi, whilst the others made their getaway with the
loot. When he happened to meet you on the way, he would be plumb
tickled, for that cinched things proper for him. You would be a witness
nobody could get away from."

"And what about their hawsses? Did they bring the bronchs in the car,
too?" drawled Keller, an amused flicker in his eyes.

The others, who had been swimming into their deductions so confidently,
were brought up abruptly. Phyllis glanced at Jim and looked foolish.

"The bronchs couldn't tag along behind at a forty per clip. That's
right," admitted Yeager blankly.

"I hadn't thought about that. And they had to have their horses with
them to get from Willow Creek to the Pass. That spoils everything," the
girl agreed.

Then, seeing her lover's white teeth flashing laughter at her, she knew
he had found a way round the difficulty. "How would this do,
partners--just for a guess: The car was waiting for them at the end of
the Del Oro Canon. They dumped their loot into it, then unsaddled and
threw all the saddles in, too. They gave the bronchs a good scare, and
started them into the hills, knowing they would find their way back home
all right in a couple of days. At Willow Creek they found hawsses
waiting for them, and Mr. Spiker hit the back trail for Noches, with his
car, and slid into town while everybody was busy about the robbery."

"Sure. That would be the way of it," his friend nodded. "All we got to
do now is to get Spiker to squeal."

"If he happens to be a quitter."

"He will--under pressure. He's that kind."

A knock came on the door, and Tom Benwell, the store clerk, answered
her summons to come in.

"It's Budd, Miss Phyl. He came to see about getting-that stuff you was
going to order for a dress for his little girl," the storekeeper
explained.

Phyllis rose and followed the man back to the store. When she had gone,
Jim stepped to the door and shut it. Returning, he sat down beside the
bed.

"Larry, I didn't tell all I know. That hat in Spiker's room had the
initials P.S. written on the band. What's more, I knew the hat by a big
coffee stain splashed on the crown. It happens I made that stain myself
on the round-up onct when we were wrastling and I knocked the coffeepot
over."

Keller looked at his friend gravely. "It was Phil Sanderson's hat?"

Yeager nodded assent. "He must have loaned his old hat to Spiker for the
holdup."

"You didn't turn the hat over to the sheriff?"

"Not so as you could notice it. I shoved it in my jeans and burnt it
over my camp fire next day."

"This mixes things up a heap. If Phil is in this thing--and it sure
looks that way--it ties our hands. I'd like to have a talk with Spiker
before we do anything."

"What's the matter with having a talk with Phil? Why not shove this
thing right home to him?"

The nester shook his head. "Let's wait a while. We don't want to drive
Healy away yet. If the kid's in it he would go right to Healy with the
whole story."

Yeager swore softly. "It's all Brill's fault. He's been leading Phil
into devilment for two years now."

"Yes."

"And all the time been playing himself for the leader of us fellows that
are against the rustlers and that Bear Creek outfit," continued Jim
bitterly. "Why, we been talking of electing him sheriff. Durn his
forsaken hide, he's been riding round asking the boys to vote for him on
a promise to clean out the miscreants."

"You can oppose him, of course. But we have no absolute proof against
him yet. We must have proof that nobody can doubt."

"I reckon. And'll likely have to wait till we're gray."

"I don't think so. My guess is that he's right near the end of his rope.
We're going to make a clean-up soon as I get solid on my feet."

"And Phil? What if we catch him in the gather, and find him wearing the
bad-man brand?"

Keller's eyes met those of his friend. "There never was a rodeo where
some cattle didn't slip through unnoticed, Jim."

CHAPTER XXII

SURRENDER

The weeks slipped away and brought with them healing to the wounded man
at Seven Mile. He moved from the bed where at first he had spent his
days to a lounge in the living room, and there, from the bay window, he
could look out at the varied life of the cattle country. Men came and
went in the dust of the drag drive, their approach heralded by the bawl
of thirsty cattle. Others cantered up and bought tobacco and canned
goods. The stage arrived twice a week with its sack of mail, and always
when it did Public Opinion gathered upon the porch of the store, as of
yore. Phil Sanderson he saw often, Yeager sometimes, and once or twice
he caught a glimpse of Healy's saturnine face.

A scarcity of beef and a sharp rise in prices brought the round-up
earlier than usual. Every spare man was called upon to help comb the
hills for the wild steers that ran the wooded water-sheds, as untamed as
the deer and the lynx. Even the storekeeper, Benwell, was pressed into
the service. 'Rastus and the nester were the only men about the place,
the deputy sheriff having been recalled to Noches on the collapse of
Healy's story.

The removal to a distance of the rest of her admirers did not have the
effect of throwing Keller alone with Phyllis more often. The young
mistress of the ranch invited Bess Purdy to visit her, and now he never
saw her except in the presence of her other guest.

Bess took him in at once, evidencing her approval of him by entering
upon a spirited war of repartee with him. She had not been in the house
twenty-four hours before she had unbosomed herself of a derisive
confidence.

"I don't believe you're a bank robber, at all! I don't believe you are
even a rustler! You're a false alarm!"

Both Keller and Miss Sanderson smiled at the daring of the girl's
challenge. But the former defended himself with apparent heat.

"What makes you think so? Why should you undermine my reputation with
such an assertion? You can't talk that way about me without proving it,
Miss Purdy."

"Well, I don't. You don't _look_ it."

"I can't help that. You ask Mr. Healy. He'll tell you I am."

"You'll need a better witness than Brill before I'll believe it."

"And I thought you were going to like me," he lamented.

"I like a lot of people who aren't ruffians, but of course I can't
admire you so much as if you were a really truly bad man."

"But if I promise to be one?"

"Oh, anybody can _promise_," she flung back, eyes bubbling with
laughter.

"Wait till I get on my feet again."

A youth galloped up to the house in a cloud of alkali dust.

"There's Cuffs," announced Phyllis, smiling at Bess.

That young woman blushed a little, supposed, aloud, she must go out to
see him, and withdrew in seeming reluctance.

"He wants Bess to go with him to the Frying Pan dance. He sent a note
over from the round-up to ask her. She hasn't had a chance yet to tell
him that she would," explained her friend.

"How will he take her?" asked the nester, his eyes quickening.

"In the surrey, I suppose. Why?"

"The surrey will hold four."

She made no pretense of not understanding. Her look met his in a
betrayal of the pleasure his invitation gave her. Yet she shook her
head.

"No, thank you."

"But why--if I may ask?"

"Ah! But you mayn't," she smiled.

He considered that. "You like to dance."

"Most girls do."

"Then it is because of me," he soliloquized aloud.

"Please," she begged lightly.

"My reputation, I suppose."

She began to roll up the embroidery upon which she was busy. But he got
to the door before her.

"No, you don't."

"You are not going to make me tell you why I can't go with you, are
you?"

"That, to start with. Then I'm going to make you tell me some other
things."

"But if I don't want to tell?" Her eyes were wide open with surprise,
for he had never before taken the masterful line with her. Deep down,
she liked it; but she had no intention of letting him know so.

"There are times not to tell, and there are times to tell. This will be
one of the last kind, Phyllis."

She tried mockery. "When you throw a big chest like that I suppose you
always get what you want."

"You act right funny, girl. I never see you alone any more. We haven't
had a good talk for more than a week. Now, why?"

She thought of telling him she had been too busy; then, moved by an
impulse of impatience, met his gaze fully, and told him part of the
truth.

"I should think you would understand that a girl has to be careful of
what she does!"

"You mean about us being friends?"

"Oh, we can be friends, but----If you can't see it, then I can't tell
you," she finished.

"I can see it, I reckon. You saved my life, and I expect some human cat
got his claws out and said it was because you were fond of me.

"Then you saved it again by your nursing. No two ways about that. Doc
Brown says you and Jim did. I was so sick folks knew it had to be. But
now I'm getting well, you have to show them you're not interested in me.
Isn't that about it?"

"Yes."

"But you don't have to show me, too, do you?"

"Am I not--courteous?"

"I ain't worrying any about your courtesy. But, look here, Phyllie. Have
you forgotten what happened in the kitchen that night you helped me to
escape?"

She flashed him one look of indignant reproach. "I should think you
would be the last person in the world to remind me of it."

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