The Last Days of Wolf Garnett

sign. The storm had washed it away, erased it from the prairie.

But there was a few things they had learned. One, the wagon was being drawn by two animals. They concluded, without discussing the matter, that Shorty Pike's horse had been put in harness with the Garnett mule. Also, it was now clear that Esther Garnett's destination was generally north from the Little Wichita, although she seemed to be taking a roundabout way of getting there—wherever it was. It occurred to the three men, almost at the same time, that she was carefully avoiding all steep slopes or grades, preferring to go farther and keep to flatter ground.

The same thought was in all their minds, but Gault was the one to voice it. 'Gold, they say, is right heavy. I don't know how much $200,000 would weigh, but I don't expect I'd want to put a two-horse team up any steep grades if I was haulin' it.'

Around midday they unbitted the horses, chewed some jerky and made coffee from Torgason's meager supplies. Wompler and the detective were strangely quiet. Sudden visions of wealth rose up like walls of gold and isolated them.

It was Wompler, with the honesty of a man who had nothing to lose, who finally voiced his thoughts. 'I always wondered what it would be like to be rich. Maybe we'll all find out, before this little set-to is over.'

'We don't know she's got any gold in that wagon,' Gault said.

'I got a feelin',' Wompler said comfortably. 'It's the only thing that makes sense. The way she's drivin' that wagon. General Heath's gold watch. Where would Colly get his hands on that watch if he hadn't been with the bunch that bushwhacked the escort? And Wolf's bunch is the only one he ever ran with.' The ex-deputy smiled. His eyes had a faraway look. 'We're on the track of that gold, all right. If it ain't in the wagon, then Wolf hid it somewheres. Either way, all we have to do is stay on the job, and Esther Garnett will lead us to it.'

'Maybe,' Del Torgason said dryly. 'But the sheriff has seen that watch too. If there's any gold, he knows as much about it as we do.'

They pulled their stakepins and continued to the north. As the mild spring sun slipped away to the west they spotted the two horsebackers moving over the sandhills along the north bank of the Red. 'Colton,' Torgason said with some surprise.

'And the old line rider, Elbert Yorty.'

Gault studied them carefully. He easily recognized the old cowhand. The other man was a thick-set, heavy rider, one whose rocklike weight would punish even the strongest saddle animal. This was Gault's first look at the manager of the Circle-R.

'Let's talk to them,' Wompler said. 'Maybe one of them caught sight of the wagon.'

The three men put their horses down the long grade toward the sandy banks of the Red. At first it appeared that Colton was going to pretend that he hadn't seen them; he and Yorty reined their animals toward a thicket of budding trees. Suddenly Wompler rose in his saddle and bellowed, 'Hold up there, Colton!' Then, with a grin at his two companions, he said amiably, 'Even if I ain't a deputy any more, I can holler like one.'

It was effective. The ranch manager pulled up with a jerk. After a hurried conversation between the old line rider and his boss, Yorty headed west toward the line camp and Colton reluctantly pointed up the long slope.

'I figgered,' Torgason told the manager, 'you'd still be out seein' that the crew got all the strays branded.'

Colton smiled wanly. 'I got good hands; they tend to business without me watchin' over them all the time.'

Torgason started to say something, but Wompler butted in. 'You or your boys see anything of a wagon movin' up this way from the south?'

Colton looked at Wompler as if he were seeing him for the first time. 'What kind of wagon?'

'Light spring rig; farm wagon. Had the sheet up, most likely.'

The rancher shook his head slowly. 'Nope, we never saw any kind of rig like that.'

Gault was puzzled to see Torgason quietly fold his hands on the saddle horn, with the bored air of a man who had no personal interest in the proceedings. 'Much obliged, anyhow,' he said. 'Nothin' to fret about—it ain't important.'

Colton, with a look of relief on his face, started to rein toward Circle-R headquarters. At the last moment Gault reached out and caught his animal by the head stall. 'Just a minute, Colton. There's somethin' I've been aimin' to ask you about, but I never got the chance before now. You recollect back several nights ago—there was a thunderstorm—that Doc Doolie was out at your headquarters patchin' up one of your men?'

The ranch manager turned to Gault and looked blank. 'The doc hasn't been near my headquarters in over a year.'

Gault smiled without warmth. 'That's all I wanted to know.'

Once again Colton reined away from them. Wompler, glaring at the rancher's back, said, 'He was lyin' about not seein' the wagon—it was all over his face.'

'Most likely,' Torgason shrugged. 'But you can't get a straight answer from a straw boss. If we want the truth about what they seen or what they didn't see, we'll have to talk to Yorty.'

Gault was beginning to understand Torgason's reasoning. 'Because,' he said, 'Yorty's an old man and scared of losin' his job? He'd be scared not to tell the truth, to a stock detective.'

Torgason smiled coolly. 'You're learnin', Gault.'

CHAPTER NINE

They found the old line rider hurriedly rolling his bed in front of his half-dugout hut. There was dismay, and maybe a little fear, in his eyes when he saw the three horsebackers coming toward him.

'Aimin' on takin' a trip, Yorty?' Torgason asked, smiling his smile so thin and heatless that it was almost a smirk.

The old man's gaze darted from Gault to Torgason to Wompler. 'Not a trip. There's a outbreak of colic over on the west pasture that the boss wants me to see about.'

'Fine.' The detective honed his knife-edged smile. 'Proud to see an old hand lookin' after his job.' The words 'old hand' had not been wasted on Elbert Yorty. His face became a little longer, his eyes a little paler. No one had to point out to him that a word from an Association man could get even the most competent cowhand fired without notice or explanation. With that unpleasantry behind him, Torgason softened a little. 'What we want to know, Yorty, is about the wagon.'

The old man seemed to sigh. 'The spring rig? Farm wagon, from the looks of it, with the sheet up?'

'That's the one.'

Wompler shot a glance at Gault and smiled crookedly.

He had used this same technique on the old wrangler at Circle-R headquarters.

The line rider shrugged and spread his hands in an attitude of surrender. 'Come across the prairie first thing this mornin', headin' west along the river. I figgered it was headin' for the old Indian crossin' about a mile upstream, but I didn't foller to make sure.'

Gault leaned over his saddle horn. 'Who was drivin'?'

'Kind of squarebuilt bird, not too tall. I think it was Shorty Pike.'

'Anybody else?'

'That's all I seen. But like I said, the sheet was up. Could of been somebody under it, I guess.' He paused for a moment, trying to remember. 'Nope, that's all. Just the stubby-lookin' galoot up on the box, that might of been Shorty Pike. A black mule and a chestnut stud was in the traces.'

Wompler broke in impatiently. 'Why didn't you want to tell us about this?'

'Boss told me not to.'

'Why wouldn't Colton want you to tell us about the wagon?'

The old man smiled sadly. 'Not so long ago—around dinnertime, I guess it was—the sheriff and that young sprout of a deputy, they come up to our camp and asked about that wagon, just the way you're askin' now.'

Gault came suddenly erect. Torgason looked surprised. But Wompler only smiled his slack smile and grunted. 'The sheriff told you and Colton not to say anything about seein' the wagon.'

'That's the way it was.'