"SECOND TIME WEST"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 6 September 1938, Page 10

"SECOND TIME WEST"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

COPYRIGHT

BY

T. C. BRIDGES

(Author of “Watching Eyes,” “Seven Years’ Sentence,” etc.)

CHAPTER Xll.—(Continued). “It ain’t a bit o’ use arguing,' Mr Slatter. I knowed Jim out West when he were just a cowboy. He’s pigheaded, Jim is. Hell or high water, he’ll go after Joan. Only thing for us is to help him - best way we can. You are a wise bird. Maybe you got some plan to put up.” A frown creased Slatter’s forehead, he thought a moment before he spoke. “If I was in Sir James’s place I’d hire a dozen strong arms out of the Tenderloin and send them down to Loomis to shot up Fame and this crook sheriff; but ne being an English, I don’t reckon that notion would appeal to him.” “You’re right! —it wouldn’t,” said Jim with a sipile. “If it comes to shooting, I prefer doing my own. Anyhow, I have two stout fellows with me.” “And Fame and Garnett have got a score,” put in Haskell. “If we’re to do any good down in Loomis we got to do it by using our brains.” “You hit it!” said Slatter. “You’ve got to fool Fame into thinking that Sir James here has given it up as a bad job. Here’s my notion. We send some fellow back to England under Sir Jame’s name, and see that it’s reported in the papers. I know one of the boys on the ‘Tribune,’ so that’s easily fixed. Then I’d suggest that you three go West by air. That way you’ll reach Loomis two or three days ahead of Fame. Sir James’ll have to be disguised some way so this sheriff won’t know him, and Trant will have to be fixed up so Fame won’t recognise him.” Haskell smacked his knee with a hard palm. ’ “I. said you was the wise one, Mr Slatter,” he declared admiringly. “But how’s Jim here going to be changed the way you say?” “That’s easy,” Slatter answered. “I will give you the address of a man who will fix him up so he won’t'know himself. What’s worrying me is where he’ll stay and what he’ll do when he gets to your cow town. I don’t reckon you have many strangers, there.” “That’s a fact,” Haskell agreed, “but why wouldn’t he and Trant stay at my place? I could take ’em on as hands.” Jim spoke. “Fame will be watching you, Ward, and if you had new hands he’d be suspicious. I’ve though of a better scheme than that. Does Dave Condon still own the Painted Cross?” Haskell nodded quickly. • “Sure, he does. He’s a queer old cuss but he don’t like Garnett no better than I do. We’ll try if he wont take you and Trant and get it all fixed before Fame arrives.”. At this moment there was a knock and a telegraph boy entered and handed a message to Slatter. He tore it open. A look of amazement crossed his face. “It’s from Miss Chandler,” he explained. “She says: ‘Am safe. Please tell Jim on no account to follow.’ ” “What’s the address?” Jim asked sharply. Slatter shook his head. “No address, Sir James. Reckon she sent it from the train.” CHAPTER XIII. The car bumped over an apology for a road and Trant wrenched the steering wheel to avoid a huge pot hole. “If this here is a sample of New Mexico I don’t thing a lot of it,” he marked.

“It ain’t all like this,” Haskell informed him. ■ “There’s right nice country round Loomis.” “Then I hopes we get there pretty soon,” Trant answered, changing down to low gear as the track dipped steeply over the edge of a cliff that crumbled down into the desert.

To the right lay a maze of barren ridges in front and beneath a vast stretch of sage-covered plains reaching to a range of hills which made a wall against the distant sky. The sun blazed down with such force that the land seemed red-hot, crickets whirred unceasingly and rattle-snakes basked in the heat or crawled sluggishly among the cactus on the ledges. There was no shade anywhere, no water, no escape from the hot wind that blew unceasingly across the waste and, wherever there was a bare spot, raised sand devils which spun for a few moments then fell soundlessly.

Jim and his two companions were on the last stage of their journey. They had flown as far as Jimson, which lies about 70 miles from Loomis, and there bought the second-hand car in which they, were making for Painted Cross. Of the three, Ward Haskell was the only one who resembled his former self. Slatter had told no more than the truth when he said that his makeup man would alter Jim so that he wouldn’t know himself. Jim had worn a close-cropped moustache. That' was gone and his fair skin had been turned to the colour of mahogany, while his hair, formerly brown, was now black. But the really clever touch was a scar which ran from the corner of his left eye near to his ear and give him a slightly sinister appearance. As for clothes, his were exactly what a cowboy wears all through the West, a pair of blue jean trousers tucked into high boots, a dark blue flannel shirt, laced, not buttoned, a silk handkerchief round his neck, and '*a . Stetson hat which looked as if it had seen years of heavy weather. And he wore these things as if he had worn them.all his life. Except for his height and breadth of shoulder no one would have looked at him twice in a crowd. Trant, who was actually thirty-five had been made to look nearly twenty years older. A cleverly fitted wig of iron-grey hair and wrinkles worked in artistically around his eyes had done the trick and the artist had assured him that these wrinkles would last for at least a month. The neat grey suit which Trant had worn in New York had been exchanged for brown overalls stained with oil and his hat was an imitation Panama of coarse straw. For a long hour the car bumped along the sandy track which lay like a ribbon across the plain, then came a steep gradient winding endlessly upwards into the hills. The air grew cooler. There were clumps of trees here and there and once they forded a shallow stream, its banks bordered by cottonwoods where canyon wrens fluttered in and out. The road began to descend. To the right was a deep ravine, to the left a slope covered with coarse grass and clumps of wind-stunt-ed trees. Haskell, who had been lounging in the back of the car, smoking endless cigarettes, suddenly sat up. “Guess you’ll see something Trant,” he said. The words were hardly out of his mouth before there came the sharp flat crack of a rifle followed by the cry of a hurt man. Then two more shots in rapid succession. Dowa

the slope through the trees a horse came galloping wildly. On his back was a man who must have been badly hurt for the reins had dropped from his nerveless fingers and he lay forwards, clinging feebly with both arms round the neck of the maddened beast. At the sound of the shots, Trant had stopped the car. Jim who had been sitting in front with Trant, was on his feet and out over the door all in one act. He landed on his toes and sprinted desperately down the steep trail.

■ When he had first seen the runaway : it was no more than a hundred paces. ; from the road and some fifty ahead ot ■ the car. It was heading straight for the ravine, and to the breathless . watchers it looked as if horse and rider ■ must both be over the edge before Jim could possibly reach them. Yet Jim . made it. With a superb effort he reacned the horse just as it arrived on the . road. Haskell who was out of the car ■ and running hard behind Jim, held his ; breath. He knew that, if Jim tried to stop the horse, he would go over the . edge and share the fate of the frantic ; animal and its rider. Jim knew that too, and instead oi grasping the reins, reached up and ‘flung his arms round the rider. Haskell saw him stagger backwards and fall flat on the road, at the same moment the. horse went over the rim of the gulch to fall with a thudding crash into its rocky depths. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that Jim had the wounded man in his arms. CHAPTER XIV. Before Haskell could reach Jim two mounted men came tearing down the slope, pulled off on the road, and flung themselves off. One lifted the wounded man, the other, a fresh-faced young fellow of about twenty-three, pulled Jim to his feet. “Good work, cowboy,” he said. “That sure took nerve. “I never reckoned you’d do it. Are you hurt?” “No, just winded,” Jim answered. “But that chap is badly hurt. Who shot him?” “lYever did see the dirty skunk,” growled the second man who had laid the wounded one oh the side of the road and was stripping off shirt, “but I’ll lay it was that yellow-faced breed, Diego Lopez. Ain’t no one else would bush-whack a kid this way.” Jim looked at the wounded man and saw he was only a boy, not more than eighteen years old. A good-looking lad, but now his face was white as paste and his eyes closed. Ward Haskell came up. “Why, it’s Bud Condon!” he exclaimed. He turned and shouted to Trant. “Bring that first-aid case out of the car. Here, let me take on, Mart. I’ve had more experience of gun-shot wounds than you.” The man called Mart looked up. “Dog-gone if it ain’t Ward Haskell,” ' he said. ‘l’m sure glad to see-you. Is ! Bud badly hurt?” Haskell was already examining the wound which was in the boy’s right side. There was relief in his face as he saw where the bullet 1 had come out. “Not near so bad as I thought. It hit a rib and glanced. It’s shock and loss of blood knocked him out.” Trant arrived with the first-aid case and Mart brought water. With capable fingers Haskell washed and disinfected the wound, plugged it and tied it up, putting a tight bandage round the boy’s body. Bud was already coming round and a nip of whisky from Haskell’s , flash brought a touch of colour back to his cheeks. He looked round in : puzzled fashion. “Say I though I was dead. I sure ought to have been. Who got me off that bronc?” “Here’s the fellow that did it,” Has- • kell said. “Grant Andrews his name is,” Bud looked up at Jim. “I’ll do as much for you if the chance comes,” was all he said, but Jim knew that, if ever the pinch did come, . this boy would be exactly as he had promised. ( “Glad I was there,” was all he said, ( and spoke to Mart. ■ “Ward and I are on our way to your place. We can take Bud here along in the car.” j “That’s fine,” said Mart, whose other ( name was Dowling, and who was a stock, reliable looking fellow of about r forty. He added in a lower voice. ‘Dave’ll be real grateful. Bud’s his r grandson and the apple of his eye.” Trant brought up the car, they lifted Bud in and made him comfortable, then drove on slowly, Mart Dowling , and the younger man, whose name was Nat Vedder, riding after. The road curved around a great tower of red rock and there was the Painted Cross. Even Trant opened his eyes. He could hardly believe that such a paradise could exist in this country of deserts. Below was a wide valley which looked to be ten or twelve miles long. It was green as an English meadow and dotted with clumps of trees. Through it, like a silver snake, wound a sizeable stream, < and everywhere catle grazed. To the ■ right rose broken cliffs seamed with deep canyons, and above these was c the peak which gave, the place its name. High against its rugged side £ was an outcrop of white quartz in the r shape of an almost perfect cross. To ■ the left—that is the east—the valley „ was bounded by tall hills, the lower j slopes of which were heavily timbered. The ranch itself lay on a flat bench above the valley. The big comfortable looking house built of a “°° e ’ : Mexican fashion, was surrounded by stables, barns and store houses, and < great cottonwoods gave welcome j shade. “Gosh, it might almost be England, I Trant muttered. Mart Dowling and Nat Vedder gal- i loped ahead and when the car, driven c slowly for Bud’s sake, pulled up in J front of the ranch house Dave Condon himself was waiting. It gave Jim a i thrill to see the fine old fellow ag al .n- t Dave was long past seventy but still straight as a lance. With his face the colour of old teak, bright blue eyes 1 and mop of snow-white hair, he was as E fine a sample of the old type Westerner 1 as could be found anywhere. < “Ward, I’m glad to see you, were 1 his first words. He looked at Jim. 1 reckon you’re the man as saved Bud i “Just luck,” Jim said. “Never mind I about me, Mr Condon. Lets get Bud inside and to bed.” He picked up Bud 1 gently and lifted him out of the car < went into the house and straight through the wide hall. , „ ■ “Steady!” whispered Haskell close behind. “You ain’t supposed to know j rhe house.” Sam Loy, the Chinese cook, came running and opened tne “You plis put him in here. I take care him.” Sam was as good a nurse

as any woman so they left Bud in his charge' and went back into the hall. It was a fine room with a vast fireplace and skins of bear, panther and wolf on the floor. Dave brought out rye whiskey and cool water in a red olla and courteously helped his guests. Haskell spoke. “Who’s this dirty bush-whacker, Dave? The boys say Diego Lopez, but that’s a new name to me.” “He’s new since you went away, Ward,” the old man answered. “Murray Fame hired him just before he left and half a dozen other tough characters as well. Fame’s out to run this country and run us all out of it, I reckon.” Ward nodded. “I’ve knowed for a long time that was his ambition. He and Bignal will be back here in a few days. They was leaving New York when we come through.” Old Dave’s blue eyes widened. (To be Continued.)