The Battle At Three-Cross

“Why—oh yes, of course.” Katherine appeared flustered. She went on, “And Uncle decided you’d be the man to accompany us on the trip into Mexico. Will you?”

Lance slowly shook his head. “I’d like to, but I can’t just see my way clear.” He tapped his deputy sheriff’s badge. “You see, I couldn’t very well resign after just taking on this job. It may prove to be a big job before I get through with it. If you’re bound to go down there it seems to me Fletcher is the man you want. He knows the conditions and the country down there. Probably he’ll be all right when he understands you insist on going.”

“I’m afraid not,” Katherine said, flushing a little. “You see, he’s against my going there in the first place, and in the second—well, we quarreled over it—and something else. You may as well know. He asked me to marry him, and I refused.”

“What! I don’t blame you,” Lance blurted.

Katherine smiled. “You don’t like him, do you?”

What Lance might have answered the girl never knew. At that instant there came a sudden silvery flattening of lead against a large chunk of granite situated near the girl’s left shoulder. Almost instantly the report of a high- powered rifle reached their ears. A second shot whined viciously close to Lance’s face, then a third!

XIV Manley Disappears

Lance threw himself swiftly across the stretch of sandy soil intervening between himself and Katherine, threw one arm around her waist and forced her to the earth. Then he half dragged, half carried the girl behind the shelter of an upthrust of granite rock. Even as he moved another leaden missile scattered dust and gravel close to his body.

“You stay there—down, out of sight!” Lance snapped.

Turning, he sprang to his pony, gathered the reins and leaped into the saddle without touching stirrup. The roan gelding needed no more than a touch of the spur to get into motion.

“Lance,” Katherine wailed. “Come back! You’ll be hit!”

“You stay out of sight,” Lance yelled back over his shoulder.

He was riding low in the saddle, crouched behind his horse’s head. Those shots had come from an easterly direction, and Lance was heading toward a brush-covered ridge from which he calculated the shots had been fired. It wasn’t easy going. There was too much brush and cacti barring the way.

“Damn cactus!” Lance growled, and touched the gelding again with his spurs.

He was nearing the side of the ridge now, momentarily expecting to ride straight into a hail of rifle fire. Lance’s six-shooter was out, but he could see nothing at which to shoot. His eyes were intent on the ridge ahead. No further shots were forthcoming. Lance wondered if the hidden assailant was holding his fire for close-up work. The tough little gelding dug in its hoofs and scrambled, panting, up the side of the steep slope.

It was slow going, but finally horse and man reached the crest. From this position Lance had a wide view of the surrounding country, but there was nothing to be seen except a vast sea of mesquite, paloverde trees, creosote bush and cacti, with the hot sun making shimmery waves of the distant landscape.

Suddenly a dark, racing figure caught Lance’s eye. It disappeared behind tall brush, again came into view farther on and once more disappeared, moving fast. It was a rider, all right, but too far away to be recognized. Lance swore softly under his breath. “That coyote is heading for Pozo Verde but he’s got too much of a head start for me to overtake him before he gets there. Cripes! Once in town, he’d quickly lose himself. I reckon I’d better go back. This might be a trick to draw me off. After all, that first shot came a heap closer to Katherine than it did to me. I wonder which one of us that sidewinder was aiming to get. Maybe both. It was dang good shooting, at that. Blast the luck! There are too many good riflemen not getting caught.”

He turned his pony back down the ridge and started toward the spot where he had left Katherine. The sun was swinging wide to the west by the time he returned. The girl was waiting anxiously, and a look of relief swept across her face as his pony moved out from the tall brush.

“Lance!” she exclaimed. “Thank heaven you didn’t get hurt. Who was it?”

Lance shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t find anybody. Probably just some fool hunter trying to get a brace of quail for supper——”

“Lance! You know that’s not so. People don’t hunt quail with rifles—not generally. I’ve hunted enough to know that much. Somebody was trying to shoot you.”

“Anyway, he didn’t succeed, so there’s nothing to worry about. The professor not back yet?”

Katherine shook her head. “He’s probably neck-deep in cacti someplace. Even if he’d heard those shots he’d be so interested in his notes they wouldn’t register on him. He should be along soon though. The afternoon’s going.”

Jones put in an appearance in a few minutes though. He looked somewhat relieved at seeing Lance and Katherine. “I thought I heard some shots a time back,” he said. “Probably mistaken—what?”

“You’re not mistaken.” Lance shook his head. “Some hunter was potshooting around. Anyway, it’s about time to start back, I reckon.”

“Confound that hunter!” Jones exclaimed crustily. “I thought—something wrong. Very awkward. I’d just discovered—beautiful Echinocereus fendleri—very unusual—late for bloom, y’understand —but just covered—magnificent magenta flowers. But, Katherine, you’ll never believe it”—Jones’s tones took on enthusiasm—“I found an almost perfect specimen of Homocephala texensis—most unusual—these parts. That spot down there—veritable botanical garden. I’ve brought with me an Echinocereus rigidissimus and a Neomammillaria macdougalii—just seedlings—y’understand. Must return—tomorrow. Be no end interesting—stay beyond nightfall—any number Penicereus greggii—due for blooming. Night bloomer, Lance—y’understand——”

“Uncle,” Katherine said impatiently. “Lance is not telling the truth. Somebody was shooting at us.”

“What, what! Bless me—can’t believe it. No. I——”

“I wouldn’t say for sure they were shooting at us, whoever it was,” Lance said quietly. “Howsomever, I figure we’d better be getting back.”

Jones was considerably upset at the news. Saddle cinches were tightened. Jones gathered his papers and specimens into saddlebags, and they mounted and turned the horses’ heads toward Pozo Verde.

A mile or so was covered in silence before Katherine spoke. “It wasn’t any go, Uncle Uly,” she said. “Lance refuses to take the job as our guide down into Mexico.”

“Ridiculous,” Jones snapped. “Nothing else to do—far as I can see. Is there, Lance? Any number men—for deputy jobs. You’ll reconsider?”

Lance, smiling, shook his head. “No can do. I’m no guide——”

“Great Christopher! No need of a guide. I can get into a saddle and ride. Need a man to—hire crew— wagons—buy supplies—that sort of thing. We need you——”

“Sorry, Professor.” Lance shook his head. “I’m not so sure Katherine should go down there either.”

Katherine said “Fiddlesticks!” Jones continued to insist. Finally, to get his mind off the subject, Lance pointed to a tall, polelike cactus some short distance off. “I suppose you’ll be telling me that’s not an organ-pipe cactus. The Mexes call it pitahaya dulce, meaning ‘sweet fruit’ or something of the kind.”

Jones glanced briefly at the plant in question. “Only one of the organ pipes,” he jerked. “That one— Lemaireocereus thurberi. Now when we get down into Mexico I hope to show you a Pachycereus marginatus—some term it—true organ pipe——”

“But I’m not going to Mexico,” Lance insisted.

Jones fell into a moody silence, for once, apparently, not content to discuss cacti. Four or five more miles drifted to the rear. Abruptly Jones broke the silence. “I still don’t understand”—he appeared to be choosing his words with care—“that man Kilby not having time to tell you a few things about his gang before he died. You’re quite sure, Lance, he didn’t reveal anything of import?”

“Darn little.” Lance’s irritation showed in his words. He hated to be questioned. He considered. Something might turn up if he told the professor what Kilby had said. “Kilby refused to talk about the gang at first,” Lance continued. “He confessed to killing Bowman and taking the body out to that wash. I remember Kilby mentioned