“It’s not the sun I’m afraid of.” Lance laughed back.
XIII Hot Lead!
Katherine Gregory and Professor Jones were mounted, waiting for Lance, by the time he arrived at the hotel. He apologized for being late but asked to be excused on the grounds that he’d had some business to attend to.
“Yes”—Jones nodded—“we were watching you from the hotel-lobby window. You seemed quite busy for a few minutes with that fellow—Herrick—or some such name——”
“In fact,” Miss Gregory put in, “the hotel clerk tells us there’s been quite a bit of excitement around town while we were out in the hills this morning——”
“I hope you had a good time,” Lance mumbled sheepishly, sensing what was coming.
“… and I was quite surprised to find I had a visitor,” Katherine continued, apparently not noticing the interruption. “If I’d only known you were coming——”
“Look here, Miss Gregory,” Lance protested, growing red in the face, “I’m plumb sorry I had to go in your room this morning, but it was all in the line of duty. I inspected every room in the front of the hotel. I just had to— somebody fired a shot and—and”—he commenced to stammer and paused to get a grip on himself—“and, anyway, I didn’t look at anything. I just looked for the hombre who might have fired a shot. I—I——” Again he paused, feeling perspiration forming on his forehead.
Something very near to a giggle reached Lance’s ears. He glanced at the girl and saw she was having difficulty smothering her laughter. “Look, Mr Tolliver,” she said frankly, “it really didn’t make a speck of difference. I know you had to do what you did. It was the hotel clerk who was indignant, not I. Honestly, I didn’t believe our famous deputy sheriff could be so easily upset after all I’ve heard about him.”
“Aw, shucks,” Lance said awkwardly, “let’s forget it. I’m just mighty glad you weren’t really sore——”
“Think we—should make a start,” Professor Jones broke in. “Plan—cover—eight—ten miles today. Let’s go.”
The three horses moved west along Main Street, Katherine riding between the two men. The girl wore a corduroy divided skirt, mannish flannel shirt and high-heeled riding boots. A black Stetson adequately covered her heavy yellow hair. Jones wore his usual riding breeches, knee-laced leather boots and tweed jacket. His saddle was equipped with roomy saddlebags for holding his notebooks and any small specimens he might collect. At the cantle was a rolled burlap sack. From one of Jones’s jacket pockets projected the wooden handle of a trowel. Lance was surprised to note that both Jones and Katherine carried thirty-eight six-shooters in holsters at their sides. He wondered if they knew how to use them. Whatever his thoughts, both guns and holsters appeared well worn.
At the edge of town Jones turned in a northwesterly direction. The horses were moving at an easy lope. Lance had to admit that both Jones and Katherine were good riders. For a time there was silence between the three as they moved across the semidesert country toward a row of low foothills. Yucca and prickly pear and cholla dotted the landscape, with occasional bunches of dry, wispy sagebrush. Overhead the sky was a great blue, inverted bowl. Far on the western horizon fleecy white clouds floated above the highest peaks of the Saddlestring Mountains.
When five miles had passed to the rear the horses were pulled to a walk. Jones reopened the talk of the morning’s happenings. Apparently he and the girl were interested in learning firsthand the details of Kilby’s death and of the events leading up to the disarming of Herrick a short time before Lance joined them at the hotel. Lance gave brief details, but he could tell when he had finished that Jones wasn’t satisfied.
“It’s very—queer—very”—Jones frowned—“this Kilby fellow—found time to say nothing. You’re sure—didn’t let drop anything—to incriminate his gang?”
“Nothing a man could tie to,” Lance evaded. “Anyway, you don’t want to be bothered with such stuff. Remember, you were going to teach me something about cactus this afternoon.”
“Quite so, quite.” Jones nodded. “At any rate—I imagine this—Kilby fellow—put out of the way—by one of his gang. Logical, what?”
“Logical,” Lance agreed.
“Feel sure—someone in hotel—responsible for that shooting—from all I hear.” Jones looked sharply at Lance to see if he agreed.
“It’s logical,” Lance said dryly.
Jones said, “Humph! Like drawing cactus spines from one’s fingers—get information from you.” He smiled suddenly. “All right, cacti it shall be. Over that way”—he swept one arm to the left—“small stretch—haven’t investigated yet.”
He touched spurs to his pony, and the three horses lengthened their gaits. For twenty minutes they rode through a series of low-lying foothills. Once Jones drew to a halt, and the other two followed suit. Jones directed Lance’s attention to a slender, many-branched plant covered thickly with pale yellow spines. “What, for instance,” Jones asked, “do you call that?”
“Cactus, I suppose,” Lance guessed, though he usually thought of cactus as the prickly-pear variety.
“Right. Which genus—what kind of cactus?”
“I’ve always known it as cholla,” Lance answered.
Jones frowned. “Yes—and no. Not the true cholla. That particular specimen—
Lance said meekly, “Yes sir,” feeling like a small boy in school.
The horses moved on. They were crossing gravelly soil now. Outcroppings of granite rose at places and barred the way, necessitating wide swings to the right or left, as the case might be. Here and there Lance noticed barrel cacti growing along the way. Here at least he would show his knowledge. He spoke to the professor.
“You tell me if I’m right about those cactuses——”
“Cacti,” Jones corrected, frowning.
“… those cacti over there. In the Southwest we call ’em ‘barrel’ cactuses—cacti. They are also known as ‘viznaga’——”
“And ‘biznaga.’” Jones was quick to take him up.
Katherine put in, “And ‘mule’ cactus.”
“
Lance laughed weakly. “Anyway, they’re all Fero——Whatever that word was, Professor.”
“Wrong,” Jones jerked out. “Only tyro—think them all—same. Many of them—
“Well”—Lance laughed—“they look the same to me.”
“Not if—examined closely. The
“Have it your way,” Lance said helplessly.
“Uncle Uly”—Katherine laughed—“quit pestering Lance.”
Jones grinned suddenly. “He’s not too young—to learn.”
He moved his pony to a faster gait. Lance hadn’t overlooked the use of his first name by Katherine. He wondered why the girl appeared so friendly. What was back of all this? Lance felt sure Jones hadn’t brought him ’way out here simply to teach him the botanical names of certain species of cacti. He glanced back over his shoulder once and unconsciously moved his holster a trifle nearer the front.
Katherine didn’t miss the movement. She said dryly, “We really didn’t bring you out here to assassinate you, you know.”
Lance flushed. What he might have answered he didn’t know. At that moment the professor drew his pony to a halt at the entrance to a low rocky canyon descending sharply to an old river bottom. He motioned for Katherine and Lance to dismount. He pointed to a plant a few feet away. “There’s your true cholla, Lance.
