The keeper of Red Horse Pass

CHAPTER IV: CULTUS COMES TRAILING

CHAPTER IV: CULTUS COMES TRAILINGOld Jim Kelton, familiarly known as “Uncle Jimmy” by every one in Painted Valley, sat in the cool shade of the upper verandah of the JK ranch-house. He was sagged forward, an elbow on the arm of his chair, his chin resting in the palm of his hand, his eyes half closed. In his other hand he held a sheet of writing paper, which had been folded to fit an envelope.

A closer inspection would have revealed a letter, which read:

“Dear Uncle Jimmy:

“Just to let you know that Kendall Marsh has pulled enough wires to get Blaze Nolan out on parole, and Nolan is to report at once to Marsh in Los Angeles. You are welcome to this information, if it is of any value. Best regards to you and all the family.

“Sincerely your old friend,

“Lew.”

The letter was dated the preceding month. Lew Miller was an old friend of the Kelton family, employed as assistant warden at the state penitentiary. Uncle Jimmy had received the letter about a week previous to the time Nolan had kept his appointment with Kendall Marsh.

Jane Kelton leaned against one of the arches of the veranda, dressed in a cool, white garment, looking off across the valley, where the heat waves danced in the afternoon sun.

“Harry tells me that Nolan is stayin’ out at the Circle M,” said the old ranchman.

Jane nodded, but did not look at her father.

“I’m goin’ to call a meetin’ of the Painted Valley folks,” said her father slowly. “They got to know what you heard Marsh tell Nolan that night in Marsh’s home, Jane. They’ve got to know that Blaze Nolan knows where the Lost Trail leaves this valley. We know now that Marsh aims to loot the valley, and that Nolan is his man.”

Jane shook her head quickly.

“We don’t know that, Dad,” she said. “We know what Marsh intends to do, but we don’t know what Blaze Nolan will do.”

“We know that Nolan will do as Marsh directs. Marsh got him out of the penitentiary, the damned murderer!”

Jane winced visibly.

“He could have held me for the police,” she said. “He thought Kendall Marsh was dead.”

“Scared of his own skin, Jane. The police don’t believe the word of a parolled murderer. I’ll send out word for the meeting, and we’ll decide what to do. And I believe,” the old man’s eyes hardened, “that when Painted Valley knows the truth about Blaze Nolan bein’ out on parole—it won’t be healthy for Mr. Nolan.”

“But, daddy,” she turned appealingly to him, “we don’t know that Blaze Nolan accepted Marsh’s proposition. Marsh did all the talking. Do you imagine that Kendall Marsh or anybody else could drive Blaze Nolan into doing a thing he didn’t want to do?”

“Would you protect Blaze Nolan, Jane?” harshly.

“If he is innocent, yes, daddy.”

“He killed your brother.”

“That is what the jury decided. The law was satisfied with the penalty.”

“I’m not! That man shot my son. For what he did to you personally, I don’t see how you can even speak a word for him, Jane. He don’t deserve any consideration. Marsh, the dirty sneak, pulled his wires and got Nolan free to help him break all of us. Satisfied! My God, I don’t understand you. You don’t mean to say that you still care for Blaze Nolan!”

“It isn’t that, daddy. The past is buried deep, as far as Blaze and myself are concerned. But I don’t believe Blaze would ever carry out Kendall Marsh’s orders, not even to keep out of prison. He knew I had heard everything that was said that night between him and Marsh. He knew that in a short time everybody in Painted Valley would know it. And still he came back here.”

“Brazen nerve, I tell yuh, Jane.”

“Yes, he has nerve, daddy.”

“He shore has. But Painted Valley will deal with him. And we’ll deal with Kendall Marsh, too. Wait until Painted Valley finds out that Marsh intends to rustle our cattle. By God, we’ll hang ’em all on the same rope! So he intends to steal my cattle and force me to the wall on that mortgage, eh?”

“Why not sell your cattle now, daddy?”

“It’ll break me, Jane. The price is so low that I might, if I was lucky, get enough to take up that mortgage. But we’d be broke. No, I’ll take a chance; wait for a higher price. I’m not fighting in the dark now. Marsh has showed his cards. Nolan was his ace-in-the-hole, but we know what he’s got now. Tell Harry to come up here as soon as he comes, Jane; I want to see him; we’ve waited long enough.”

Jane went down the stairs and out to the patio, where she sat down on the well curb, wondering if she did care for Blaze Nolan any more. It was difficult for her to believe that Blaze ever cared for a dance-hall girl. He was intensely human, but she did not believe this of him. She believed that he had killed her brother. Ben was a wild, hard-drinking young man, altogether too prone to use a gun, and the killing had not surprised her, except that Blaze Nolan had done it. Ben had been riding for a fall for a long time.

Kendall Marsh had shown a decided interest in the trial, and as far as Jane had been able to learn, had favoured the prosecution. Alden Marsh had been the chief witness for the prosecution. Just why Marsh had done all in his power to convict Blaze she did not know, but she realised that Blaze’s knowledge of the Lost Trail would prove of extreme value to Marsh’s interests; so it was not difficult to see why Marsh had used his political influence to get Blaze out on parole.

Jane was still sitting on the old well curb when Harry rode in. He had the same fine features as his sister, but there was a hardness about his eyes and mouth which she did not have. He was of medium height and looked as wiry as a manzanita stalk. He dropped off his horse and let the animal bury its nose in the watering trough.

“I seen Blaze Nolan to-day,” he told her. “Came past the Circle M, and dropped in. Blaze was there alone, and I tried to pump him about what happened at Marsh’s place that night, but he was as tight as a clam.”

“Dad wants to see you, Harry,” she told him.

“What does he want?”

“He didn’t tell me what he wanted, Harry.”

“No? Huh! What are you moonin’ about out here? Look as though you’d lost yore last friend. I’m hungry. Was goin’ to stop at the restaurant in Medicine Tree, but I seen Alden Marsh and Butch Van Deen in there; so I came on home. Marsh is drinkin’ a lot lately, and he’s usually lookin’ for a fight. Some day I’ll give him what he’s lookin’ for.”

“Did Blaze have much to say, Harry?” she asked.

“Not much. Oh, he was pleasant enough, as far as that goes. He always was that way. But he was a fool to come back to this country, after what he knows you heard that night at Marsh’s place.”

“Let’s not talk about that, Harry.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll go up and talk to dad as soon as I put up my horse.”

Harry led his horse back through a wide archway in the patio wall, where the climbing roses almost hid the contour of the arch. He stabled his horse and came outside. A lone rider had just appeared out of the mouth of Red Horse Pass, and was coming slowly down to the big gate, which was always kept securely locked. It was the only way out. There was one more locked gate between that and the JK stable.

Few riders ever came through the Red Horse Pass; and none without the consent of the Kelton family. Harry walked back to the first gate, unlocked it, and went on to the gate where the strange rider waited.

He was rather an odd-looking person, this stranger. About six feet three inches in height, with a long, thin face, high cheekbones, a long nose, not entirely straight, a wide gash of a mouth. His once-blue shirt seemed moulded to his torso, the wrinkles of long duration, and around his neck, which was long and thin, was a well-worn scarlet muffler. His bat-wing chaps were scored from many a mesquite encounter, and the wide cartridge belt and handmade holster from which protruded the butt of a heavy Colt gun had been patched many times. Atop his head perched a wide Stetson, almost shapeless now.

“How do-o-o-o,” he drawled lazily as Harry came up to the gate, and a smile sent a hundred wrinkles dancing across his lean face.

Harry looked at him critically.

“Where’d you come from?” he asked, rather unethically for that country.

“That would prob’ly take a long time in the tellin’,” smiled the stranger. “All my life I’ve been comin’ from some place and goin’ to another. Ain’t this Painted Valley?”

“Yeah, this is Painted Valley.”

The stranger turned in his saddle and looked back at the Pass.

“She’s a long ways through that place,” he said. “Some of them sheepherders are awful liars when it comes to distance. But then yuh can’t expect too much intelligence, I s’pose. If they knew a mile from a rod they wouldn’t be herdin’ sheep. The last meal I had was in Marshville. My name’s Collins.”

“My name’s Kelton,” said Harry as he unlocked the gate. “And we might scare yuh up a little food down at the house.”

The tall man dismounted and led his roan mare through the gateway. She was a small animal, hardly a fit mount for a man the size of her rider.

“I thought I saw a town, ’way down there,” he said, pointing a lean forefinger towards Medicine Tree.

Harry nodded as he unlocked the gate.

“That’s Medicine Tree,” he said.

“Well, shucks, I’ll jist ride down there and nourish m’self.”

“You’ll stop at the ranch,” said Harry. He wanted more information about this man who rode from Marshville.

“Well, that’s nice of yuh, Kelton; if it ain’t too much trouble.”

They walked down to the stable, where Harry gave the roan a feed of oats before they walked on into the patio, where Collins took off his spurs and unbuckled his chaps. Then he slipped off his cartridge belt and hung it across the railing along with his chaps.

“Can I wash out here at the well?” he asked.

“Shore.”

Little José, the Mexican house-boy, was in the doorway.

“Bring the gentleman a towel, José,” ordered Harry. “Toalla, pronto.”

“Si, si.”

Collins grinned widely and walked to the well, while Harry went up to see his father on the upper verandah.

“Who came from the Pass?” asked Jim Kelton. “José saw him from the roof.”

“Said his name was Collins, dad. You better come down and talk with him. Came from Marshville, and if he ain’t a character, I’ve never seen one.”

“Marshville, eh? Probably a spy for Kendall Marsh. Yes. I’ll talk with him. Harry, I’ve got a job for yuh, after this man is gone. I’m goin’ to hold a meetin’ here soon. The men of this valley must know what we know about Marsh and Nolan. Help me down the stairs.”

They found Collins in the patio. He shook hands with Jim Kelton, who sat down on the wide curb of the well.

“The curse of rheumatism,” he said to Collins.

“Sure.”

“Harry tells me that you came from Marshville.”

“Well, that’s the last town I was in. I’m not from Marshville.”

“Been in the sheep business very long, Collins?”

“That,” said Collins smiling, “is a trick question. I’m supposed to understand that you know I’m in that business. Well, my friend, yo’re a long way off the mark. I eat lamb chops once in a while, and when I hit some cold weather, yuh might discover some woollen clothes on my back; but that’s about as near as I get to the sheep business. I shore seen a lot of sheep around Marshville. In fact, I was offered a job over there.”

“Herdin’ sheep?” asked Harry.

“I imagine that was it.”

“Do you know Kendall Marsh?” asked Uncle Jimmy.

“No, I never met the gent, but I heard his name mentioned. I reckon he’s the big man over in that country, ain’t he? Heard ’em sayin’ that he was shot a while ago, but his head was so hard that the bullet couldn’t get in.”

“I didn’t hear about that,” said Uncle Jimmy quickly. “Who shot him, Collins?”

“I didn’t hear any of the details, but I did happen to hear the date,” and Collins gave them the exact date, which was about three weeks before. Uncle Jimmy looked keenly at Harry, who evidently was not interested in the exact date.

“Is Marsh well known around here?” asked Collins.

“Well enough,” grunted Harry, “to get him a short stay, if he ever shows up again—him or any of his damn sheep spies.”

“We won’t discuss that, Harry,” said his father. “If Mr. Collins is ready to eat⸺”

“Y’betcha, I’m ready,” smiled Collins. Uncle Jimmy walked to the dining-room with him, and after they had gone in, Jane came out.

“Who is the stranger?” she asked as Harry joined her.

“Says his name is Collins. Dad thinks, and so do I, that he’s one of Marsh’s men. He told dad about Kendall Marsh gettin’ shot. Said he heard it in Marshville. And he gave dad the exact date.”

“And we gave dad the date⸺” Jane faltered. Harry laughed shortly.

“We don’t know anythin’ about it,” he told her. “Marsh don’t know who shot him. Mebby he thinks Blaze Nolan did it. Anyway, that ’Frisco paper said that he didn’t know who shot him. Blaze Nolan is the only one who knows anythin’ about it, Jane; and if he tried any funny work, I’ll stop him pretty quick.”

Jane’s face was a trifle white and her lips were unsteady, as she said:

“We won’t talk about it, Harry. And Blaze Nolan isn’t the kind of a man to start what you call ‘funny work.’”

Harry looked closely at her, but she turned away.

“Listen, Jane,” he said, “you—no, you’ve got more sense than to care for Blaze Nolan. He’s just a dirty killer, with plenty of money and political pull behind him. Forget him.”

Jane walked into the house, without answering him, and he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle, as he walked back to the well and began filling the watering trough with fresh water.