William MacDonald - The Battle At Three-Cross

“Nothing a man could tie to,” Lance evaded. “Anyway, you don’t want to be bothered with such stuff. Remember, you were going to teach me something about cactus this afternoon.”

“Quite so, quite.” Jones nodded. “At any rate—I imagine this—Kilby fellow—put out of the way—by one of his gang. Logical, what?”

“Logical,” Lance agreed.

“Feel sure—someone in hotel—responsible for that shooting—from all I hear.” Jones looked sharply at Lance to see if he agreed.

“It’s logical,” Lance said dryly.

Jones said, “Humph! Like drawing cactus spines from one’s fingers—get information from you.” He smiled suddenly. “All right, cacti it shall be. Over that way”—he swept one arm to the left—“small stretch—haven’t investigated yet.”

He touched spurs to his pony, and the three horses lengthened their gaits. For twenty minutes they rode through a series of low-lying foothills. Once Jones drew to a halt, and the other two followed suit. Jones directed Lance’s attention to a slender, many-branched plant covered thickly with pale yellow spines. “What, for instance,” Jones asked, “do you call that?”

“Cactus, I suppose,” Lance guessed, though he usually thought of cactus as the prickly-pear variety.

“Right. Which genus—what kind of cactus?”

“I’ve always known it as cholla,” Lance answered.

Jones frowned. “Yes—and no. Not the true cholla. That particular specimen— Opuntia bigelovii —more spiny than the true cholla. Remember that next time.”

Lance said meekly, “Yes sir,” feeling like a small boy in school.

The horses moved on. They were crossing gravelly soil now. Outcroppings of granite rose at places and barred the way, necessitating wide swings to the right or left, as the case might be. Here and there Lance noticed barrel cacti growing along the way. Here at least he would show his knowledge. He spoke to the professor.

“You tell me if I’m right about those cactuses——”

“Cacti,” Jones corrected, frowning.

“… those cacti over there. In the Southwest we call ’em ‘barrel’ cactuses—cacti. They are also known as ‘viznaga’——”

“And ‘biznaga.’” Jones was quick to take him up.

Katherine put in, “And ‘mule’ cactus.”

“ Ferocactus wislizenii ,” Jones snapped.

Lance laughed weakly. “Anyway, they’re all Fero——Whatever that word was, Professor.”

“Wrong,” Jones jerked out. “Only tyro—think them all—same. Many of them— Ferocactus lecontei .”

“Well”—Lance laughed—“they look the same to me.”

“Not if—examined closely. The lecontei —narrower plant—spines not so hooked.”

“Have it your way,” Lance said helplessly.

“Uncle Uly”—Katherine laughed—“quit pestering Lance.”

Jones grinned suddenly. “He’s not too young—to learn.”

He moved his pony to a faster gait. Lance hadn’t overlooked the use of his first name by Katherine. He wondered why the girl appeared so friendly. What was back of all this? Lance felt sure Jones hadn’t brought him ’way out here simply to teach him the botanical names of certain species of cacti. He glanced back over his shoulder once and unconsciously moved his holster a trifle nearer the front.

Katherine didn’t miss the movement. She said dryly, “We really didn’t bring you out here to assassinate you, you know.”

Lance flushed. What he might have answered he didn’t know. At that moment the professor drew his pony to a halt at the entrance to a low rocky canyon descending sharply to an old river bottom. He motioned for Katherine and Lance to dismount. He pointed to a plant a few feet away. “There’s your true cholla, Lance. Opuntia fulgida . Beyond that—see—with the red and yellow flowers—clump— Opuntia versicolor —remarkable color range—of bloom——”

“Look,” Katherine exclaimed, “a dove just flew out of the versicolor.”

“Nest probably there—spines protection—certain enemies. Katherine—suggest you and Lance—rest here—wait for me—get acquainted, y’understand.” Jones paused awkwardly.

“Where are you going?” the girl asked.

Jones jerked one thumb over his shoulder. “Down into that canyon—gravelly limestone soil—evidence presence—perhaps— Echinocactus horizonthalonius —valuable field observation—that sort of thing, y’understand——” Jones was moving off, burdened with notebooks and trowel, even before he finished talking. Within a few minutes he had passed from sight around a high shoulder of rock.

Katherine sighed and dropped to a sitting position on the earth. “Well, there doesn’t seem anything else to do, does there?”

“Suits me.” Lance dropped down a few feet away.

“Poor Uncle Uly.” Katherine laughed ruefully. “Sometimes I think he’s plain batty on the subject of cacti——”

“At the same time,” Lance said directly, “he didn’t bring me out here to just educate me along those lines.”

Katherine’s blue eyes met his a moment, then dropped before his steady gaze. Suddenly she lifted her head. “Lance, we haven’t fooled you a moment, have we?”

“How do you mean?”

“You know how I mean. You’ve been suspicious right from the start. I’ve felt it. Uncle Uly felt perhaps I could persuade you better than he—you know”—the girl’s face crimsoned—“turn on my winning feminine charm or something of the kind. I can see, now, it was all so silly.”

“I think,” Lance said directly, “that if anybody could persuade me to anything it would be you, Miss Gregory.”

Katherine smiled. “Very nicely put, Lance, and you can dispense with the ‘Miss.’ I’m plain Katherine to my friends. And that’s not part of the charm. At least I’m sincere in that.”

“Just what,” Lance asked, “are you supposed to persuade me to do?”

“Uncle wants,” the girl replied, “a guide to take us down into Mexico.”

Lance considered. Just what was back of this? Why should anybody try to persuade him to leave Pozo Verde? He said, “So your uncle is going through with the Mexican trip. I had understood from Fletcher that he wasn’t going——”

“Mr Fletcher is against the trip. He says it is no place for me to go.”

“For once I think I agree with Fletcher.”

The girl made an impatient little gesture. “I’ve been able to take care of myself for a long time,” she said slowly. “I don’t believe I have anything to fear from Mexico.”

“Even so, why should your uncle want me for a guide? I’ve been all through Sonora and Chihuahua, of course, but I don’t count myself as thoroughly familiar with that country down there. You could probably find dozens of men around Pozo Verde who’d make far better guides than I.”

“That may be,” Katherine agreed, “but it isn’t so much a guide as it is a man to manage the trip. There ’ll be wagons to buy, men to hire; someone to handle them is necessary. Uncle says you’re smart. He likes you. He said he considered the trailing down of Frank Bowman’s murderer one of the finest pieces of detection he ever heard of.”

Lance smiled. “I reckon your uncle isn’t too familiar with the business of detection.”

“He might fool you.”

“He might, at that.” Lance added after a minute, “And you’re going to the expense of such a trip just to collect and study cacti? Do you expect me to believe that, Katherine?”

The girl was silent for several minutes. Lance rolled and lighted a cigarette. Finally Katherine spoke. “Maybe I’d better give you the whole story. You’ve probably heard that my father owned the Three-Cross Ranch down in Mexico—and that he was killed down there?”