'I raised a lot of hell when I was a kid,' Hal admitted. 'You'll be glad to know I'm a responsible citizen now.'
'Then I won't have to go bail for you this time?'
'It may come to that,' Hal said blithely. 'Ranny and I are probably going in for burglary.'
The banker glanced at Arnold. 'As a career?' he asked.
Hal shook his head. 'No. Arnold is a Government bureaucrat. We'll try it only once, if at all. But first we would like your advice.'
'My advice is — don't.'
'You can't give it wisely without knowing the circumstances. The reasons—'
'I know,' interrupted Hunter. 'A starving wife and seven children at home.' He put a silver half-dollar on the table and pushed it toward Hal. 'Take that and buy them some oatmeal.'
The cattleman threw up his hands. 'All right. If you won't become an accomplice in crime, will you give me some perfectly lawful information?'
'No promises.' Hunter looked at him suspiciously. 'What do you want to know?'
'If you were going into a business enterprise, would you pick Jubal L. Gibson as a partner?'
That question wiped the smile from the banker's face. When he spoke, after a few moments of consideration, it was to say, 'I would accept Mr. Gibson's check with no misgivings.'
'Not what I asked you, Mr. Hunter.' Hal grinned at Arnold. 'I think it's time to take Wall Street into our confidence.'
'Go slow, boy, if this is going to be as bad as it sounds,' the banker warned.
Hal told briefly the whole story, coming back in the end to the question of Gibson's integrity.
Hunter blew some fat smoke wreaths before he said anything. 'Mr. Gibson puts a high value on a dollar,' was his comment. 'Maybe too high a value.' He presently continued, cautiously: 'There have been some ugly stories told about him. I have never seen any of them entirely confirmed. He takes considerable interest in public affairs. On the whole, he is an influential citizen.'
'But you wouldn't trust him any farther than you could throw a bull by the tail,' Hal said bluntly.
The banker opened up. 'That's my position exactly,' he replied. 'Jubal L. is at heart a scoundrel.'
'You think he might be in a deal with Black?'
'Not unless he felt it was quite safe. For instance, I think he might be satisfied in his mind that some of the stock coming in from Black was stolen, but he would be sure to go through the proper formalities to protect himself.'
'The point is, we wouldn't get anywhere if we went to him and asked permission to look the hides over,' Hal said.
'Not if he is in with these thieves. You would only be warning him to get rid of the evidence.'
'That's what we are afraid of,' Arnold agreed.
'So we'll hold everything and tell you nothing more, Mr. Hunter,' Hal contributed. 'We wouldn't want a leading citizen in jail with us as an accessory before the fact.'
They rose to leave. Hunter had one last word of advice. 'I don't
Hal nodded lightly. 'Important and true.'
As they walked back to the hotel where they were stopping, Hal caught sight of Cash Polk dodging into a cigar shop. When they reached it, they dropped in, too.
Cash said, with bright excitement, 'Think of you boys being here! I came up on a little business. Starting home pretty soon. You staying long?'
Hal was not sure how long they would stay, but he said it certainly was nice to meet old friends by chance, though he would not give Cash the name of the hotel where they were staying because it was expensive to buy new doors when the boys from home called.
TICK BLACK was not himself with the party that drove to Fair Play for the jail break. He liked to spin the web of his schemes, but he preferred to stay back at the ranch while others executed them. This had several advantages. He avoided the immediate personal danger. In case the plan failed, he could lay the blame on his subordinates. And if there should be trouble with the law, he could be shocked and distressed about what his wild young friends had done.
Since Cash Polk was at Casa Rita watching Arnold, Frawley at the ranch sulkily nursing a wound practically healed, and Brick Fenwick fretting in a cell, Black selected a young man named Bill Nuney to head the rescuers. Nuney was a lank, happy-go-lucky young fellow who had gone bad because in following the line of least resistance it had chanced to take him down the wrong turn. Without an ounce of wickedness in him, the weak strain might in the end bring him to the same destination as much worse men.
He drew up in a quiet street just outside of the better-lighted part of town. With him were Mullins and a Mexican named Carlos Vallejo. He told them to wait in the car until he returned.
Bill wanted to see a man who spent most of his evenings at Hank's Pool Hall, but he did not care to be observed talking with the man, nor to be identified by anybody as having been here on this particular night. Taking advantage of the darkness, he slipped down a back road to the alley beside the pool hall. Here he waited for ten minutes, on the lookout for a suitable messenger.
A barefoot negro boy passed the mouth of the alley, and Nuney hailed him. 'Want to make half a dollar, kid?' he asked.
The boy did. Nuney gave him careful instructions. He was to go into the pool hall and draw Shep Rogers aside, to tell him that a man in the alley had five dollars to give him to do a little job that would not take over an hour. Bill paid the boy and said that, after he had delivered the message, he could go on his way.
A few minutes later, a man came to the alley entrance and peered into the darkness. 'Someone want to see Shep Rogers?' he asked.
Bill drew Rogers a bit deeper into the alley. 'You don't know me,' he said. 'But that doesn't matter. Here is your five.'
Rogers held the bill in his hand suspiciously. He never did any work and he lived on nothing a year, but it was his experience that five-dollar bills were not so easily come by as this.
'What you want me to do?' he demanded.
'I'll tell you as we go along. It won't take half an hour.'
'You'll tell me now,' the loafer differed.
'You owe John Webster three dollars, don't you?'
'What if I do? I ain't got through borrowing it yet.'
'I want you to go with me and tell him you've come to pay it back. That is all you have to do.'
This did not make sense to Rogers, and he said so. 'I don't get this. Who are you? And what difference does it make to you if I never pay John back?'
Bill Nuney saw that he was not getting far on this line. Shep needed more urgent persuasion. He pushed the barrel of a revolver into the man's belly. 'Less talk from you,' he ordered. 'Just do as I say.'
The eyes of Rogers bulged and his jaw fell. 'Goddle-mighty, don't shoot me,' he gasped. 'I haven't got a nickel, mister.'
'You've got five dollars, and there will be five more on top of that if you behave right. You are as safe as an old lady in church. Walk beside me down the alley to the road. Take it easy and don't try any monkey-shines.'
Bill put the gun under his coat as they started. Rogers mentioned that he had a bad heart and excitement was bad for him. Maybe somebody else could do this job better. Nuney told him that he could do it fine and that his heart did not need to act up because there wasn't going to be any excitement. 'You don't even need to pay the three dollars,' he added with a grin. 'Just say you are going to pay it.'
Rogers's heart had another shock when they reached a car in which two masked men sat. He was invited to get into the back seat, and did so after a mumbled protest. Nuney sat beside him and one of the two in front
