plain’s day, only I don’t remember——It was shipped from—from—some sort of Southwest Something Company. I wish I could think of that middle word. All’s I can think of is cactus. Wouldn’t that be the consarnedest idea? Southwest Cactus Com pany. Hee-hee! Like if there was a company org’nized to sell something that grows wild all over——”
“Cactus?” Lance said quickly, breaking in on the oldster’s gleeful cackling.
Quinn paused from lack of breath. “I do get th’ most redickerlous idees sometimes,” he panted. “No, it sartainly couldn’t have been cactus. Must have been somethin’ else.”
“Do you remember where it came from?” Lance queried.
Quinn concentrated. “Texas,” he said at last—“El Paso, Texas. Nope, I’m wrong! It was some place in New Mexico. Or was it Texas? Come to think on it, seems like I rec’lect readin’ Colorady on thet box.” He removed the cap and scratched his head some more. The harder he concentrated the angrier he became. Suddenly he exploded heatedly, “I don’t know why it should make any business of yours where my freight comes from. You come around here askin’ questions like a brass hat and a-wastin’ of my time. Valyble railroad company time! If ye’re figgerin’ to ship anythin’ or if ye expect freight to arrive I’ll be pleased to take care of ye. Otherwise, I’m too busy for more lallygaggin’!”
He spun angrily about, entered his office. At once the telegraph instrument commenced rattling at a furious rate.
Lance looked at Oscar. Oscar looked at Lance. “I reckon we might as well leave.” Oscar sighed. “I know that old coot, and he won’t talk to us no more today. But, Lance, do you reckon a box did come from the Southwest Cactus Company—if there is such a company? And how does it all fit in? What’s the creosote got to do with it? That’s the first I’ve heard of a cold chisel too. And that pine splinter you picked up——”
“Whoa!” Lance laughed. “Maybe we got more out of that conversation than you figure.” They slowly descended the steps to the cinder-packed earth around the platform. Lance surveyed the ground for “sign,” but it was too tracked up to furnish any fresh information. Oscar remained silent while they walked slowly back toward the center of town.
Finally Lance spoke. “I’m going to do a little supposing and speculating and see if I can reconstruct a picture of what happened to Frank Bowman. I may be miles off in my guess, but here’s the way I see it. As you know, Bowman was here as one of our operatives—I’ll explain why at another time. Anyway, we’ll say he hit on some sort of clue here. I don’t know just what, but it was hot. I’ve a hunch it was connected with peyotes——”
“Basing that on the fact he had one in his hand when you found him?”
“Exactly. We’ll say Bowman was watching a certain man. Now, mezcal buttons don’t grow hereabouts, so this certain man had a supply of the plants shipped here from some cactus company. Let’s suppose Bowman saw that box of cactus plants and got suspicious, though he wouldn’t know for sure there were peyotes inside. He watched, and no one called for it. Maybe the guilty man knew Bowman was watching the box. When no one called for the box Bowman decided to open it and learn what it contained. With a cold chisel he pried off the top of the box——”
“There’s the cold chisel Johnny Quinn found!”
Lance nodded. “We’ll say the box top splintered when it was forced off. I saw splinters on the station platform, remember, and picked one up. With the box open, Bowman stuck his hand inside and got a peyote. A loose splinter at the edge of the box stuck in Bowman’s shirt sleeve.”
“Could be, could be!” Oscar had lost his indolent manner.
Lance continued, “Now Bowman has his peyote evidence. He knows who the box is shipped to. But that person or some of his gang are watching Bowman. They see him break into the box. Remember this is around midnight; it’s dark. Bowman doesn’t see his assailant approach. Just as Bowman straightens up from the box someone comes running toward the platform. It’s too late for Bowman to pull his gun. The killer’s bullet strikes at a sharp angle—proving the killer was on the earth below the platform. He may even have been hiding under the platform. Bowman falls, and as he goes down his right hand strikes that bucket of creosote standing near, tipping it over. The creosote floods out over Bowman’s hand, accidentally painting it black.”
“Lance, you’re sure knocking the mystery out of this.”
“When a man hasn’t the facts,” Lance said grimly, “he has to work his imagination overtime…. Let’s get on. Somebody takes away the box of peyotes. Somebody gets through Johnny Quinn’s office window and steals the bill of lading so the shipment of cactus can’t be traced to the guilty man—right off at least. Now, remember, it was Doctor Drummond’s opinion that Bowman, while unconscious, didn’t die at once. Something had to be done with the body. The killer didn’t dare risk firing more shots for fear of attracting attention. And he didn’t dare leave the body there for fear it might be found and Bowman, regaining consciousness, make some sort of dying statement ——”
“So they took the body out to that wash where you found it.”
Lance said, “That’s my idea. They threw the body across the saddle of Bowman’s horse and lit out pronto. I figure it took two to lift him to the saddle, one at the shoulders, one at the feet. Maybe Bowman’s spur rowel caught on one man’s shirt. That accounts for the woolly threads I found on Bowman’s spur. Remember, this is largely guesswork.”
“Damn good guesswork,” Oscar said admiringly.
“Meanwhile,” Lance continued, “in the darkness the killers had failed to notice that Bowman clutched that mezcal button in his hand. Bowman was a man of great determination, strong will. Probably his last conscious thought was to hang onto that bit of evidence at any cost. So he was still gripping that button when they dumped him off his horse out in that dry wash. As he died and grew cold his fingers stiffened rigidly about the plant—and didn’t release it until I took it from his hand.”
“Cripes A’mighty, Lance! You’ve hit it!”
“Don’t be too certain, Oscar. I may be striking far wide of the mark. But who do you suppose might be having a box shipped from a cactus company?”
“I just see one man,” Oscar said promptly. “Professor Ulysses Z. Jones.”
“I may be mistaken,” Lance said slowly, “but I sure aim to further my acquaintance with the professor.”
“He was plumb eager to get that mezcal button you had.”
“He won’t be so eager to get another one,” Lance stated grimly, “if I’m right in my suspicions!”
V War Talk!
It was nearly noon by the time Oscar and Lance arrived back at the sheriff’s office to find Lockwood still working on his monthly accounts. The sheriff glanced up as they entered, then resumed work on the printed forms before him. “Well, sleuths,” he grunted, entering some figures in lead pencil, “did you get to the bottom of our crime problem?”
“We mebbe didn’t get to the bottom of it,” Oscar stated, “but Lance sure constructed a picture that brings us nearer the top, I’m thinking.”
Lockwood looked quizzically at Lance. “Think you found anything definite?”
Lance nodded. “Yes, I do, Ethan. Here’s the way it looks to me….” From that point on he told the story of what he and Oscar had discovered. When he had finished:
“By grab!” Lockwood exclaimed. “I think you’ve hit it.”
“So far, so good,” Lance pointed out, “but I still don’t know who the murderer is nor what Bowman found here that had to do with mezcal buttons. That’s not the case he was on—what I mean is, I don’t see what mezcal buttons have to do with the case. But it’s all tied in—somehow.”
“Do you feel like telling us just what brought you and Bowman here?” Lockwood asked.
“I’ll give you the story,” Lance consented. “This information is to be held confidential, of course. I’m after a man named Matt Foster. Something over a year ago Foster and a gang of four accomplices stuck up a United States messenger who was delivering thirty thousand dollars, in bills, to a bank in Kansas City. The messenger and two guards were killed, but one of Foster’s men was wounded and captured in the fight that took place. Through information from this captured bandit we managed to run down and capture all but Foster himself. Foster got away
