White Wolf's Law

CHAPTER XIV

JIM-TWIN AND JACK-TWIN

One day, two days passed, and still Jack-twin Allen made no move. He looked over the jail and had certain repairs made on it. He walked about the town, and, while he did not stroll down the center of the street, neither did he sneak about the alleys. He had a certain cold nerve that was far superior to reckless courage. He was there to catch and punish the gold robbers, and he had no intention of making a move until he was thoroughly familiar with his surroundings and the situation in general. He would stalk into various saloons, look the people over, and then draw one man aside and question him. His questions were direct and to the point, and usually the men would answer them freely, for they felt that what they said would go no farther. If a man lied, Allen would fix him with those hard, penetrating eyes of his and bluntly tell the man he lied. Yet, strangely enough, there were none who made an overt move to resent his accusations even in that town which was overrun by gunmen.

There were many who wondered why Jack Allen delayed his clean-up. The miners became impatient, but Jack knew the gang which was stealing the quartz would be getting nervous, and there is nothing so trying to the nerves as waiting.

On the third day he borrowed a horse from the livery stable and started to visit each mine in the neighborhood. Each one told him the same tale. The mine was robbed, the robbers’ trail went up the gulch and was finally lost in the wooded hills. Always pack horses had been used to haul the gold away.

The Blue Sky Mine was close to the American Beauty. When Jack Allen dismounted before the shack used as an office, Baldy Kane, the owner, stepped through the door and greeted him.

He was like a death’s-head, with his expressionless eyes, his hairless face and head and tightly stretched, sallow skin. When he spoke, his lips scarcely moved. Jack Allen knew the man had no more fear in him than a stone. There would be no taking such a man alive.

“Yeh, I’ve got a hard bunch workin’ for me, but I figgered that until this quartz gang is busted up I might as well have fighters as well as workers,” he said softly in reply to a question from Allen.

The Wyoming sheriff nodded; this sounded like sense to him.

“I hear yuh struck it rich?” he asked, after a pause, in which each man frankly studied the other.

“One of the old-timers went broke sinkin’ my shaft,” Baldy explained. “His vein petered out, an’ the fool killed himself. A greaser who worked for him tipped me off that by putting in a side cut I could strike a rich vein. I bought the place for taxes an’ did what the greaser tol’ me. An’ I’ve struck it rich – plenty rich! I’m sorta hopin’ that what that old fool Pop Howes believes about the El Dorado mother lode startin’ again on this side of the gulch is true, ’cause, if it does, I’ve got it an’ not him.”

“How many men yuh got workin’ for yuh?”

“Eight – an’ they’re all gun slingers.”

Jack Allen was silent for a moment. Was this a threat, or a mere statement of fact? His eyes caught and held Baldy’s.

“How did that ol’-timer kill himself?”

“Threw himself down the shaft,” said the mine owner quickly.

Allen thought to himself.

“He’s sure enough a cool customer, an’ he’d do anything – cut a man’s throat without a wink. Mebbe he threw that old-timer down the shaft, himself. But if the Blue Sky is as rich as he says it is, there ain’t no use tryin’ to hitch him up with them quartz robbers. A man worth a million doesn’t go about stealin’ thousands.”

It was late noon when Jack Allen turned up the path that led to the American Beauty Mine. Jim Allen, who was sitting on a bench on the shady side of the house, saw him coming and arose to his feet with the idea of vanishing, but on second thought he decided to remain and speak to his brother. Pop Howes was over visiting Hard-rock Hogan, and Mrs. Howes was asleep upstairs, so there would be no one to report that the sheriff had talked to the outlaw. But Jim was mistaken in this, for Mrs. Howes peered through the window and saw the meeting between the two brothers.

“Hello, Jack,” Jim said hesitatingly.

“Hello, yuh darned ol’ hoss thief,” Jack responded with a grin.

“Yuh ain’t changed none sense I see yuh last up in Wyoming.”

“You neither – yuh don’t look a day over twenty.”

There was a heavy silence. Both rolled and lit cigarettes. The woman watched through the window, and her heart ached at their attempt to appear casual and indifferent. She knew that here were two men, twin brothers, who had slept together, fought side by side in a feud that had rocked the whole West, until at last they were the only ones left. They had no other kin; all had died in the feud. Yet the two had been separated by an impassable gulf since that day when Jim Allen had shot and killed a United States army captain. That the killing had been deserved and had prevented an Indian uprising made no difference. Jack was one who believed in the letter of the law.

“Yuh remember when we was kids an’ pa used to hide our dinner an’ make us track it or go hungry?” Jim asked.

“Yeh. Yuh was always better’n me. Guess yuh are still,” Jack answered and stared down the gulch. He had less ability to hide his feelings than his twin; Jim had been forced to wear a mask so long it had become second nature to him.

Jim Allen’s freckled face split in a wide grin.

“Yuh try livin’ in the desert where yuh got to track lizards or go hungry an’ yuh’ll soon learn trackin’!”

Suddenly the restraint between the two dropped away. They were once more boys, brothers. Jim pointed at Jack’s high heels and then threw back his head and laughed aloud.

“The only lollygaholopus an’ wampus on stilts out of a museum! Ha-ha-ha!”

“Yuh darn little hoss thief!” Jack retorted. “Yuh still got Honey Boy, the hoss yuh stole from me? Lissen, you! Yuh want to stop laughin’ or some day the top of your head will fall off.”

The two stood there and thoroughly abused each other, mixing their abuse with fighting words. But in each case the fighting words were terms of endearment.

But again the twins grew silent. Jack was thinking of the day after to-morrow when he intended to post his list of undesirables. Jim headed the list.

“Listen, Jack,” the little outlaw said earnestly. “I’m thinkin’ that quartz gang what robbed Pop last week sure dropped that Mex kid, thinkin’ it was Pop. They tried to down him deliberate. I figger some gent knows Pop is due to strike it rich and figgered on buyin’ the American Beauty cheap from the widow. An’ don’t forget that gent is runnin’ with the quartz gang!”

He lowered his voice and explained his theory, but after he had finished, Jack shook his head.

“I don’t blame yuh, but your life has made yuh too darn suspicious. Yuh suspect everybody.”

“Mebbe so, but yuh got to set a thief to ketch a thief!” There was a touch of bitterness in Jim’s voice.

It was a long while before he spoke again.

“I’m tellin’ yuh, Jack, there is somethin’ darned funny about how an’ why them gents sent for yuh. They aim to double cross yuh, or somebody else, or mebbe both!” Jim warned.

“Why?” Jack smiled unbelievingly.

“Mebbe they got yuh down here to do somethin’ they’re scared to do,” Jim suggested.

“What?”

“I dunno, but suppose some gents is plumb scared of their partner. Suppose this here Baldy Kane was a member of their gang, an’ they was scared of him. He’s hell on wheels, that bald-headed ol’ jasper. They would figger out you would learn somethin’, then go try for Baldy. He ain’t a gent what would ever give up, so you’d sure cash him, an’ he’d prob’ly cash you. They’d have got rid of him, an’ anythin’ you’d learnt wouldn’t matter, ’cause you’d be dead!”

Later Jim-twin Allen stood there and watched his brother ride away. And the woman watching him saw Jim’s face grow old, become covered with a thousand wrinkles. It was lifeless, nearly, dead like the desert that was his home. The woman turned away, ashamed that she had witnessed the baring of a man’s soul.

Suddenly the outlaw’s face grew young again, and he grinned.

“All right, Jack. Whether yuh like it or not, the Wolf is goin’ to horn in on your play an’ sorta prove to yuh that yuh don’t know nothin’ a-tall!”

CHAPTER XV

THE TRAP

The sun had rushed behind the distant mountains, and the dusk was gathering in the gulch when Pop Howes rode up to the American Beauty and dismounted. His face was worried and haggard. He had had a long talk with his friend, Hard-rock Hogan, but neither of them could think of any way by which they could raise sufficient money to save the American Beauty from the clutches of the Black Rock Bank. Another week and the bank would automatically take possession, unless Pop could raise the necessary cash to pay the interest and part of the loan.

Jim Allen was waiting for him, and before Pop entered the house, the little outlaw drew him aside and talked rapidly for several minutes.

“That would be a fool thing to do!” Pop complained. “What you got in your head now?”

“Yuh do like I say; yuh trot down to the post office an’ pretend to get that letter; then yuh tell two or three people on the quiet what I just tol’ yuh to. Yuh act happy an’ glad – make believe you’re a little drunk – an’ then tell a coupla more folks. Then yuh come back here, get your ol’ lady, an’ sneak over to Hard-rock’s place an’ lay low. I’ll do the rest, an’ don’t yuh worry none. I ain’t sure she works, but if she does, mebbe yuh won’t lose your mine!” Jim spoke confidently and grinned one of his broad, likable grins.

Pop grumbled and complained about being left in the dark as to just what Allen intended to do, but at length he consented to do what Allen asked. He told his wife that he had to go to town with Jim Allen. And as Jim saw the look of worry that crossed her face, he realized she must have known all the while that the Mexican boy had been killed by mistake for her husband.

“Don’t worry none, ma’am. I stick close to him an’ he won’t get hurt none!” Allen reassured her.

The woman watched them, as the famous outlaw walked down the path beside her husband, whose tall, gaunt form made Allen seem smaller than ever. Behind them trotted Allen’s two gray horses. One was saddled and the other carried a small pack. Mrs. Howes felt no fear now for her husband; those two low-hung guns that Allen wore brought her a feeling of confidence that her man would return safely.

Dusk had given way to night by the time the two arrived in Goldville. The miners were streaming into town, and the saloons were rapidly filling. Most of the miners were Mexicans, but there were a few husky, broad-shouldered Americans among them.

Allen left his grays at the hitching rack before the Ace High and followed Pop Howes through the milling crowd toward the post office. Pop entered and then reappeared a moment later with a letter in his hand. Allen watched him as he ripped it open and read it by the light cast from the office window.

“Huh! It’s supposed to be good news, an’ Pop acts like it was an invitation to a funeral,” Jim grumbled. “He’s sure a bum actor!”

After Pop had consumed a few drinks, an optimistic conviction came to him that this plan of Allen’s, although he did not know just what it was, would work and the little outlaw would save his mine. So he no longer acted the part of a man who has just been saved from disaster, but in reality felt like one.

“Hello, Pop!” Bill Tucker greeted him. “Yuh look like the cat what just swallered the canary!”

“I sure feel all set up. Have a drink. I’m sorta celebrating.”

The two drained their glasses, and Pop ostentatiously drew the letter from his pocket, glanced at it, and then returned it, with a self-satisfied smile. The ruse worked perfectly.

“Did yuh get good news in the mail to-night?” the marshal asked.

“You betcha!” Pop hesitated and then added in a whisper: “I ain’t supposed to say nothin’ – for some reason the gent wants me to keep it under my shirt – but he’s goin’ to buy a quarter interest in the American Beauty for five thousan’ dollars!”

“Who is he? Who’s the darn fool?” Bill Tucker’s genial manner dropped from him like a cloak, and he snapped out the question.

“He ain’t no darn fool! He’s connected with the bank an’ knows that the youngster what examined the American Beauty reported I’m due to hit the El Dorado lode!” Pop said aggrievedly and convincingly.

“What’s this gent’s name?” Tucker asked.

“I ain’t tellin’ that!” Pop shook his head.

“Reckon I better have a look aroun’,” the marshal said as he swung around and headed toward the door. Then, as an afterthought, he called back over his shoulder: “I’m darn glad yuh got the money.”

Pop Howes had another drink, then wandered across the street to the Ace High. Here he found Hard-rock Hogan and confided his good news to him in a whisper which was clearly audible to several men standing near. By the time Pop had had another two drinks and had repeated the story several more times, always in confidence, he began to believe it himself and gave it a real ring of truth.

Jim-twin Allen followed him about and watched him. Several times he chuckled to himself.

“Darn me, if Pop ain’t turnin’ into a real fancy liar!”

Presently Allen wandered out and started a search of the various saloons. He found the man he sought playing stud poker in the back room of the Red Blood Saloon at the far edge of town. Allen whispered to him and went out again; he walked out of town a short distance, seated himself on a rock, and started whistling.

“Slivers” Hart, the young card player, waited several minutes and then cashed in his chips and left the bar. He was very slender and but a few inches taller than Allen. He had straw-colored hair and laughing, reckless eyes, but his mouth was hard and bitter.

“Hello, Slivers! I want yuh to do me a favor,” Allen greeted him a few moments later.

“Yuh saved me from wearin’ a necktie once, so shoot,” the other said quietly.

“’Tain’t much. I want yuh to go to the other end of the town an’ sorta watch an’ see if any one leaves in a hurry,” directed Allen. “Then, if some one comes a-runnin’ back, an’ if he’s a plumb important person, sorta foller him an’ see where he goes.”

“Is that all?”

“Yep, for now.”

Allen suddenly remembered he had not eaten that evening. After Slivers left him, he went into a Chinese restaurant, hastily devoured a steak, and then wandered back to the Ace High. He saw Pop sitting with several friends at a table in the rear. As Jim neared a group of men standing at the bar they grew silent, and he knew they had been discussing Jack Allen. He ordered a drink.

“Yuh driftin’ to-night? I see yuh got your grays all packed,” the bartender said genially.

“Reckon so. I hears tell that brother of mine is goin’ to post his list to-morrow, so I figgers on gettin’ out of town afore he tells me to get.” Allen grinned.

He waited and consumed another drink before going outside. At the hitching rail he swung onto the back of his saddled horse and waved his hand toward a group of loafers.

“S’long, fellers! To hell with this town, I say!” he called back with a laugh.

And, riding slowly, Jim-twin Allen passed down the street and out of the town. A mile farther on he climbed the banks of the gulch and hid his grays in a clump of trees. Then he hurried back toward town, his rifle under one arm. He skirted Goldville and cautiously approached the trail that led to the American Beauty. Here he found Slivers Hart waiting for him.

“About an hour ago a feller went by so fast I couldn’t tell who it was,” Slivers informed him.

“I’m bettin’ my hunch is plumb correct,” said Allen, grinning, “an’, if I ain’t mistaken, another gent will come a-runnin’ pronto.”

The two men waited. Minutes passed; several hours elapsed. Drunken Mexicans singing ribald songs staggered up the trail toward the mines. At last Allen heard what he was waiting for – the drumming of a hard-ridden horse’s hoofs.

“When he comes, follow him an’ see who he talks to, then beat it to the American Beauty, an’ don’t let no one see yuh arrivin’ there,” Allen warned.

Slivers nodded, and the moment the horseman passed he started in pursuit. The rider had pulled his mount down to a slow trot, and Slivers was able to keep him in sight.

A short time later, Jim Allen heard Pop Howes and Hard-rock Hogan coming from the direction of town. Pop was talking loudly and joyously. Allen waited until they were a short distance away and then glided like a shadow up the trail before them. He did not expect there would be any attempt on Pop’s life until later, but he dared not take chances, so he searched the trail carefully for a possible ambush.

The three arrived at the American Beauty, where Allen told Mrs. Howes that she and her husband were to spend the night with Hard-rock. Pop grumbled at not being allowed to stay to see the fun, but Allen insisted the whole scheme might fall through unless Pop obeyed orders. So the old couple departed.

It was an hour before Allen was joined by Slivers Hart, whose eyes were snapping from excitement.

“That gent on the horse was Steve Brandon!” he cried.

“Steve Brandon! Hadn’t expected that!” Allen grew thoughtful. “But, of course, that’s it. He would know that the El Dorado vein would be found again on this side!”

Young Hart related what he had seen. “Steve hits the steps of the Ace High two at a time. He is in a plumb big hurry. He grabs Bill Tucker, an’ they goes to a corner an’ whispers. I slide up, but can’t hear much, only somethin’ about ‘double-crossin’ sneak; he’ll go to jail if he tries it. Things don’t pan out to-night. Time to sick Jack Allen on – ’ I couldn’t ketch the name. Then I hears Bill whisper clear: ‘If things don’t pan out to-night, yuh got to write to Ed to put the screws on Thornton – ’ Then they sees me an’ sorta glares, an’ I walks off innocent-like!” Slivers declared triumphantly.

Allen smiled with satisfaction.

“I figger that part about things pannin’ out to-night means gun play, an’ I hereby declare myself in!” Slivers said positively.

“Don’t worry none. You’re playin’ decoy, an’ decoys sometimes gets plugged plenty!” Allen assured him cheerfully.