The girl was seated at the far end of the lobby when Lance followed the professor into the long room. Jones performed the introduction, adding, “I believe we’re going to be brother enthusiasts, Katherine. I feel Tolliver will prove a most apt pupil in the study of cacti.”
All this was news to Lance. He blinked, though afterward he was never sure whether it was the pro fessor’s words or sight of Katherine Gregory that momentarily threw him off balance. He liked instantly the girl’s cool, rippling laugh that greeted her uncle’s words. The direct, even glance from the girl’s dark, long-lashed eyes did things to Lance Tolliver. She was tall and slim and healthily tanned. Mostly it was her heavy mass of yellow hair, knotted low at her nape, that caught Lance’s attention. The color was so vivid, reminding Lance of the golden pollen dust of certain desert flowers, it seemed to cast a pale shimmering light about her head.
“Uncle Uly is always trying to make converts, Mr Tolliver”—she smiled—“so don’t take him too seriously.”
Jones commented on the absence of Fletcher. The smile left Katherine Gregory’s face. “I don’t know where he is. We had a bit of an argument. To get out of it I made the excuse I was going to my room for a handkerchief. I haven’t seen him since. He wasn’t here when I returned.”
Lance put in, “He came into the bar and said something about going for a walk.”
The girl lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. She suggested that Jones and Lance take chairs. Lance seated himself, twirling his sombrero on one finger, scarcely knowing what to say. Katherine suggested that the men smoke. That put Lance more at ease. He rolled a brown-paper cigarette while Jones stuffed tobacco into a battered and ancient-looking brier.
“By the way, Tolliver”—Jones looked slightly apologetic—“do you mind if I tell Katherine of your deductions in the Bowman killing? Very interesting. I remember you said—confidential—that sort of thing—but—but——” His voice trailed off lamely.
“Go ahead,” Lance consented, feeling the professor would tell the girl whether he liked it or not if it pleased him to do so. Jones said, “Thanks,” and related the story in his jerky accents. The girl’s eyes widened, and something of admiration came into them as the story was unfolded. “All this—confidential—of course,” Jones concluded.
The girl was still looking at Lance. “Smart—awfully smart,” she said in a voice that was almost a whisper.
Lance felt a pleasurable flush mounting to his face. “It was just a matter of using my head,” he said awkwardly. “Professor Jones pointed out one clue I entirely overlooked—that matter of the creosote being wiped on the killer’s clothing.”
“Uncle Uly always was quite good that way,” Katherine Gregory said dryly. Lance didn’t understand her tone at the time.
To keep the conversational ball rolling Lance asked the professor if he had ever heard of an outfit called the Southwest Cactus Company. Jones replied promptly, “Why, of course. Situated in El Paso—old company—export to Europe a great deal—all over nation, in fact. Suppose you’ve passed the place—traveling through—Texas——”
Once on the subject of cacti it was natural for the professor to do all the talking. It was nearly midnight by the time Lance rose to leave. Someplace during the conversation he had promised to accompany the professor the following day and study “plants in their native soil,” as Jones put it. Pleading that he expected to be busy all morning had had no effect on Jones who had pointed out the afternoon would do just as well. Finally, when he had said his good nights and once more found himself on Main Street, Lance’s brain was still somewhat in a whirl.
Sheriff Lockwood had gone home by the time Lance arrived back at the sheriff’s office. Oscar was sitting on the cot where he spent his sleeping hours, eating from the usual paper sack. Oscar glanced up as Lance entered. “Huh, you made quite a stay. Learn anything new?”
“Maybe,” Lance said noncommittally. “Oscar, do you remember how sore Kilby got when I mentioned his new overalls?”
Oscar nodded. “That was just before you hit him. Why?”
“Where would he be likely to buy those overalls?”
“One of the general stores—Parker’s or Rumler’s.”
“Do me a favor tomorrow morning. Find out if Kilby did get his overalls at one of those places and if they know what became of his old ones. You can ask questions and get answers that might be refused me because I’m a stranger in Pozo Verde.”
“Sure, I’ll do that. But what’s the idea——?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m working on a hunch. What time does Johnny Quinn open his station? I’ve got to send another tele gram.”
“Probably around seven o’clock. Just before the limited goes through.”
“I’d better get along to bed, then, so I can rise early.”
“It’s an idea for both of us. By the way, did you get to meet the professor’s niece?” Lance nodded carelessly. Oscar said enthusiastically, “Stunner, ain’t she?”
Lance shrugged. “I didn’t notice in particular.”
Oscar snorted skeptically. “The hell you didn’t! You can’t look at that girl without noticin’ in particular. Did you ever see such hair? Pretty as—as—dlemon drops.”
Lance laughed and said good night. He retraced his steps toward the hotel, mounted to his room on the second floor and went to bed to dream of a girl with pollen-dust hair.
IX A Fighting Deputy
Early as Lance left his hotel room and got breakfast the following morning, Sheriff Lockwood was already at his office desk when Lance arrived. Lance asked, “Where’s Oscar?”
“He’s been sitting around here waiting for the general stores to open up. He just left. He tells me you wanted him to check up on overalls sales.”
Lance nodded. “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I’ve got to dust over to the railroad station and send a tele gram. See you in a little spell, Ethan.”
“Right, Lance.”
Lance walked rapidly along the street. As he passed Parker’s General Store Oscar was just emerging from the doorway. Lance said without preliminaries, “Any luck?”
Oscar shook his head, lowered his voice and fell in step with Lance. “Kilby hasn’t bought any overalls there recent. I’m going to try Rumler’s next.”
They parted at the corner of Laredo Street, Lance turning right in the direction of the railroad station. Old Johnny Quinn looked as though he’d had a hard night when Lance stepped into the depot. “How’s your hemoglobinuria this morning, Johnny?”
Johnny Quinn raised one hand tenderly to his head. “Poorly, Mr Tolliver. I took my bourbon last night too. Felt right pert then. But this mawnin’ my head thumps fit to be tied. Tongue feels sort of dry an’ parched too. Huh? Oh, my telygraph pad? Here ye are.”
Lance quickly composed and wrote out his message. He passed it across the counter and put down some money. Johnny took the paper, tried to make sense of the written words, then raised his eyes accusingly to Lance.
“Same crazy words like yisterday,” he complained. “Separate, I can read the words, but when I string ’em together they’re jest flapdoodle. I like to know what folks is sendin’.”
“I appreciate your interest,” Lance said gravely. “I’m just trying to make arrangements for Aunt Minnie’s funeral.”
“But the address here is to El Paso,” Johnny Quinn pointed out. “Aunt Minnie passed away in Washington, D.C.”
“I know,” Lance explained patiently. “You see, Aunt Minnie came from El Paso. They’re shipping the remains home to Uncle Obadiah. This feller I’m sending the message to is a relation of ours. He’s to let me know if they’re going to keep Aunt Minnie in a glass coffin or call in a taxidermist and have her mounted in her old rocking
