William MacDonald - The Battle At Three-Cross

Suddenly a dark, racing figure caught Lance’s eye. It disappeared behind tall brush, again came into view farther on and once more disappeared, moving fast. It was a rider, all right, but too far away to be recognized. Lance swore softly under his breath. “That coyote is heading for Pozo Verde but he’s got too much of a head start for me to overtake him before he gets there. Cripes! Once in town, he’d quickly lose himself. I reckon I’d better go back. This might be a trick to draw me off. After all, that first shot came a heap closer to Katherine than it did to me. I wonder which one of us that sidewinder was aiming to get. Maybe both. It was dang good shooting, at that. Blast the luck! There are too many good riflemen not getting caught.”

He turned his pony back down the ridge and started toward the spot where he had left Katherine. The sun was swinging wide to the west by the time he returned. The girl was waiting anxiously, and a look of relief swept across her face as his pony moved out from the tall brush.

“Lance!” she exclaimed. “Thank heaven you didn’t get hurt. Who was it?”

Lance shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t find anybody. Probably just some fool hunter trying to get a brace of quail for supper——”

“Lance! You know that’s not so. People don’t hunt quail with rifles—not generally. I’ve hunted enough to know that much. Somebody was trying to shoot you.”

“Anyway, he didn’t succeed, so there’s nothing to worry about. The professor not back yet?”

Katherine shook her head. “He’s probably neck-deep in cacti someplace. Even if he’d heard those shots he’d be so interested in his notes they wouldn’t register on him. He should be along soon though. The afternoon’s going.”

Jones put in an appearance in a few minutes though. He looked somewhat relieved at seeing Lance and Katherine. “I thought I heard some shots a time back,” he said. “Probably mistaken—what?”

“You’re not mistaken.” Lance shook his head. “Some hunter was potshooting around. Anyway, it’s about time to start back, I reckon.”

“Confound that hunter!” Jones exclaimed crustily. “I thought—something wrong. Very awkward. I’d just discovered—beautiful Echinocereus fendleri —very unusual—late for bloom, y’understand—but just covered—magnificent magenta flowers. But, Katherine, you’ll never believe it”—Jones’s tones took on enthusiasm—“I found an almost perfect specimen of Homocephala texensis —most unusual—these parts. That spot down there—veritable botanical garden. I’ve brought with me an Echinocereus rigidissimus and a Neomammillaria macdougalii —just seedlings—y’understand. Must return—tomorrow. Be no end interesting—stay beyond nightfall—any number Penicereus greggii —due for blooming. Night bloomer, Lance—y’understand——”

“Uncle,” Katherine said impatiently. “Lance is not telling the truth. Somebody was shooting at us.”

“What, what! Bless me—can’t believe it. No. I——”

“I wouldn’t say for sure they were shooting at us, whoever it was,” Lance said quietly. “Howsomever, I figure we’d better be getting back.”

Jones was considerably upset at the news. Saddle cinches were tightened. Jones gathered his papers and specimens into saddlebags, and they mounted and turned the horses’ heads toward Pozo Verde.

A mile or so was covered in silence before Katherine spoke. “It wasn’t any go, Uncle Uly,” she said. “Lance refuses to take the job as our guide down into Mexico.”

“Ridiculous,” Jones snapped. “Nothing else to do—far as I can see. Is there, Lance? Any number men—for deputy jobs. You’ll reconsider?”

Lance, smiling, shook his head. “No can do. I’m no guide——”

“Great Christopher! No need of a guide. I can get into a saddle and ride. Need a man to—hire crew—wagons—buy supplies—that sort of thing. We need you——”

“Sorry, Professor.” Lance shook his head. “I’m not so sure Katherine should go down there either.”

Katherine said “Fiddlesticks!” Jones continued to insist. Finally, to get his mind off the subject, Lance pointed to a tall, polelike cactus some short distance off. “I suppose you’ll be telling me that’s not an organ-pipe cactus. The Mexes call it pitahaya dulce , meaning ‘sweet fruit’ or something of the kind.”

Jones glanced briefly at the plant in question. “Only one of the organ pipes,” he jerked. “That one— Lemaireocereus thurberi . Now when we get down into Mexico I hope to show you a Pachycereus marginatus —some term it—true organ pipe——”

“But I’m not going to Mexico,” Lance insisted.

Jones fell into a moody silence, for once, apparently, not content to discuss cacti. Four or five more miles drifted to the rear. Abruptly Jones broke the silence. “I still don’t understand”—he appeared to be choosing his words with care—“that man Kilby not having time to tell you a few things about his gang before he died. You’re quite sure, Lance, he didn’t reveal anything of import?”

“Darn little.” Lance’s irritation showed in his words. He hated to be questioned. He considered. Something might turn up if he told the professor what Kilby had said. “Kilby refused to talk about the gang at first,” Lance continued. “He confessed to killing Bowman and taking the body out to that wash. I remember Kilby mentioned something about it being too dark to notice the peyote in Bowman’s hand——” Lance paused, struck by a sudden thought.

“What’s that you said?” Jones pounced on Lance’s words. “Too dark to notice—peyote in—Bowman’s hand?”

Lance nodded. “And that’s queer, too,” he said slowly. “There’s been so much action today, I reckon my mind isn’t working straight. I never thought of that until now——”

“Great Christopher, yes!” Jones exclaimed. “How many men knew that you found that peyote in Bowman’s dead hand?”

“Sheriff Lockwood, Oscar Perkins,” Lance said, “Katherine and yourself.”

Jones interrupted, “Fletcher overheard you telling me last night. Remember how he hurried from the hotel bar?”

“I’m thinking of it now,” Lance said ruefully.

Jones said quickly, “Only five people knew—one of them—told Kilby. Which one?”

Katherine put in, “It looks like Fletcher to me.”

“Couldn’t be—anybody—else,” Jones said.

Lance nodded. “Let’s push along. I’m aiming to talk to Fletcher when we get back——” Again he paused, wondering if he was telling Jones too much. After all, Kilby had confessed that somebody was supplying peyotes to the Yaquentes. Peyotes came from a cactus company. The professor could order those peyotes with immunity, so far as being suspected was concerned.

Jones said shrewdly, “Guilty conscience, what? Wondering if you’ve—revealed secrets—to me?” He laughed shortly. “Can’t say—much interested in peyote cactus—that standpoint.”

“Whatever I’m thinking”—Lance smiled—“I’ve got to admit this much. Maybe you haven’t improved my brain so far as cactus is concerned this afternoon but you sure started it working in another direction. That’s twice I’m indebted to you.”

“Perhaps”—Jones returned to the old subject—“make further improvement—if you decide—come to Mexico with us. Mutual improvement, what?”

“Sorry.” Lance’s lips compressed tightly. “I’m not going to Mexico. That’s out, Professor.”

Jones sighed. He didn’t press the matter further. The remainder of the ride to town was made in quick time. Arriving in Pozo Verde, Jones and Katherine offered to take Lance’s pony to the livery while Lance went directly to the hotel in search of Fletcher.