Savage Range (20 page)

When he stepped out into the office, Cope was still there, huge and sweating and angry as a bull. His crutch kept tap-tapping on the floor in impatience.

“You still here?” Haynes growled.

“I want to know things,” Cope said. “Where is the man who rode in here with Buckner yesterday?”

“Who was that?”

“How the hell would I know? That's your job. He brought a man with him from Sante Fe. A lantern-jawed gunnie that looked like he'd kill a man for the price of a drink. Go find him!”

“All right.”

“Another thing. Have you had Bonsell in here? He's another killer. He was partners with Buckner in the Excelsior. How do you know he didn't kill Buckner over the ranch?”

“I don't.”

“Then find out!” Cope raved. “You've grabbed an innocent girl on a simple frame-up, Link, and damned if I'm goin' to let you stop there! Get those two to start with! And another thing. Who sent that letter to you this mornin'?”

“What letter?” Haynes asked blankly.

“Why, you damn fool, I heard you bullyin' her into admitting that Buckner was her uncle. Who sent the letter?”

“I don't know.”

“Find out! Find out!” Cope raved. “Get out of here and do something!”

Sheriff Link Haynes was simply overwhelmed by Cope's fury. Fortunately for him, Max Bonsell and a stranger rode into town at nine o'clock and pulled up at the Exchange House tie rail. Bonsell had picked Ray Warren up on the road. Warren's horse had thrown a shoe last night and had gone lame. Early this morning, on his way to town, Max Bonsell had ridden into his camp. Seeing his plight, he had gone back to the hide-out for another horse and they had ridden in together.

Link Haynes saw them and went over to them as they dismounted.

“Where you two goin'?” he asked bluntly.

Bonsell regarded him coldly. “Well, it ain't much of your business, Haynes, but we're goin' in the hotel to see a man.”

“Who?”

Bonsell looked at Warren and then back at Haynes. “Why, man by the name of Buckner.”

“He's dead,” Haynes announced bluntly. “Murdered last night.”

Bonsell and Warren only stared at him, and then Warren said, “Jim Buckner murdered? Here?”

Haynes nodded. “Where were you two last night?”

Bonsell said quickly, “At my camp.”

“Both of you?”

“Yes.”

“Any proof?”

“All you want,” Bonsell drawled, and then asked, “How'd he die?”

“Never mind that,” Haynes said. “I want to talk to you two. Come over to the office.”

At the office, Haynes ordered Cope out and then began his examination of the two men. Both were closemouthed about their business with Buckner, saying only that their business was none of Haynes's. Warren crawled under the shelter of Max Bonsell's lie with a certain thankfulness, since a night spent alone at the time of a murder would place him as a suspect. Bonsell knew this, and he swore innocently that he and Warren had been at his camp with some men, some men he hired as a skeleton crew to man the Excelsior.

Haynes got nowhere. When he was finished, Bonsell spoke his mind. He said he thought it was a particularly offensive act on Haynes's part to arrest Mary Buckner as a suspect. In a roundabout way, and with a perfectly expressionless face, he said insulting things about Haynes's intelligence until the sheriff's face was red as brick. Bonsell finished, “Since you've got her in jail here, I don't suppose anybody can talk to her but you.”

“I didn't say that!”

“Then I'd like to speak to her,” Bonsell said. “If what you say is true that Jim Buckner was her uncle and not her father, that still makes her take over the Ulibarri grant, don't it? And if it does, she's my boss. And I'd like to talk to her and get some orders.”

Haynes took Bonsell's gun and let him into the cell block. Mary was seated on a bench, her head bowed, but when she heard the door open, she looked up.

Her brown eyes plainly told Bonsell that he was not welcome. For his part, he was a perfect gentleman. He drawled a good morning, took his hat off, and bluntly announced that he thought Haynes was a fool for doing this to her. Haynes slammed the door, and they were alone.

Mary looked at Bonsell with some curiosity in her glance. This was the man that had framed Jim Ward so neatly, a merciless gunman from Texas, Jim had said. He certainly didn't look the part, but Mary was not fooled.

She said coldly, “I don't imagine we have much to talk about, have we? Under what pretense did you get in here, anyway?”

“I'm still the ramrod for Excelsior, Miss Buckner,” Bonsell said humbly. “My boss is dead. You're his daughter so you're my boss.”

“I wish I were,” Mary said bitterly, her brown eyes flashing. “Let's drop the pretense. Both you and I know that James Buckner over there in the hotel wasn't my father. So does Haynes. What do you want?”

“Does the Ulibarri grant go to you now, Miss Buckner?” Bonsell asked.

“You know it doesn't!” Mary flared. “You've taken enough pains in these last years to make sure I never get it!” She paused, eying his cool, bland features with their smoky, expressionless eyes. “I've often thought that you're probably the man who stole the charter out of my trunk up in Wyoming.”

Bonsell colored a little at that. “You haven't accused me yet of killin' Buckner.”

“You probably did!” she said swiftly.

Max Bonsell grinned amiably. “Now, I've never torn up that kind of a meal ticket in my life, Miss Buckner. Give me credit for some sense.”

“Then what do you want with me?”

“I only wondered what yuh aimed to do when you get out of here. I mean, are you goin' to take to the law courts over the grant?”

“Of course.”

“Goin' to try and prove that Buckner was your uncle, not your father?”

“I am.”

“How?”

“By proving he was a fraud.”

“I know, but how?”

“There must be some way,” Mary said coldly. “He's made a slip somewhere.”

Bonsell conceded that. “But to prove he's your uncle, you got to prove your father's dead. And even you have got to admit that can't be done. You can't even find his grave.”

Mary said, “And how do you know all this? How do you know what I'll have to do in court?” Her intuition prompted the next remark. “Did he make you his heir, by any chance?”

Bonsell smiled and held up his hands. “He did not,” he said grinning. “That would make too nice a case for murder against me. No, he didn't leave me a thing—except the disposal of some of his papers.”

Mary missed that last remark, but Bonsell was patient.

“Then what do you want? What are you trying to tell me? That I have a long fight ahead of me to prove my identity, and that I have a slim chance of taking over my property?”

“That's about it,” Bonsell said.

“How does that concern you?”

“Well, what if I made it easier for you?”

“You mean testify that James Buckner was Harvey Buckner?”

Bonsell laughed. “No such thing. I'll never be dragged into a court, Miss Buckner.”

“Then how?”

“Isn't there something else that would help you?”

“Nothing short of—” She paused and looked keenly at him. “You mean the charter?”

Bonsell nodded.

Mary had her mouth open to say, “But it's in the bank under his name and nobody can touch it except his heirs,” but something warned her to keep silent. She said in a small voice, “Oh.”

“Wouldn't that help you?”

Mary nodded. “Have you got it?”

This time Bonsell nodded.

“How did you get it?”

Bonsell rolled a smoke and lighted it. “I'm goin' to tell you somethin', Miss Buckner, about me and your uncle. We aren't what you'd call trustful men. We've both had to live by our wits, and the law could take us for a lot of things if it could prove its case. Now, when we threw in together to do you out of the Ulibarri grant, it was risky.” He smiled suddenly. “I'm talkin' pretty blunt.”

“No blunter than I want. It's not news to me.”

“All right. When we made our plans, we saw it was risky. Also, there was no assurance that we wouldn't double-cross each other if we got a chance.”

“I can understand that,” Mary said dryly.

“On the other hand, if we were square with each other, we both stood to profit. But Buckner wanted to make sure of one thing. That was, that I wouldn't kill him if I saw a chance to grab the Ulibarri grant by myself.”

“You're both lovely men, I know,” Mary commented.

Bonsell ignored her. “So he couldn't make me his heir. He figured I'd kill him if he did. But in case of his accidental death, he wanted to leave me somethin'. Can't you guess what it was?”

“The charter?”

“That's it. He left me the charter. And whoever was goin' to take over the Ulibarri grant—his heirs, you, your folks, or a shyster outfit would have to have the charter. That left me with the charter to bargain with. That was my reward for shootin' square with him.” He paused. “Well, I got the charter. What's it worth to you?”

“You mean you're trying to sell it to me so I can prove title to the Ulibarri grant?”

“That's it to a hair. What's it worth to you?”

“But I haven't any money.”

“If you get the charter you will have. In the neighborhood of half a million dollars, maybe more.”

“But I can't get your charter without money.”

“I'll trust you.”

“You'll what?” Mary asked, amazement in her voice.

“I'll trust you,” Bonsell said placidly. “Look here, Miss Buckner. I may have done a lot of things in my life that wouldn't stand a too close look. But I've learned to judge people. I know an honest person, a fine woman when I see one. You're both. Your note would be as good as gold with me, even if I couldn't go to a court to collect it. That'd be enough, just your note.” Bonsell, for once, was telling the truth. He never doubted Mary's honesty. All a man had to do was look at her to know that. She was a person who would keep her word to a dog. And that one point was what Bonsell counted on. In a year, he would have that money from her, with only her promise as security. Even if he was proven ten times over a murderer, Mary Buckner would keep her promise. And, far from considering his attitude strange, Bonsell thought it only natural.

Mary looked at Bonsell a long moment. “That's quite a compliment, considering the source of it.”

Bonsell only grinned. “You'll admit you need it.”

“Yes.”

“Then it's yours for fifty thousand dollars.”

Mary said, “Isn't that quite a bit?”

“Less than ten percent of what the Ulibarri grant is worth.” He rose. “Think it over, Miss Buckner. I'll be back tomorrow.”

He left then. Mary called Sheriff Haynes and asked if she could see Cope.

When Cope came, she told him of Bonsell's offer. Cope left and went over to his rooms. Jim Wade was pacing the floor, his gray eyes hot with an anger that was almost choking him.

He whirled at Cope's entrance and said, “Have they let her out?”

Cope shook his head and pushed Jim down into a chair. “Listen to this,” he said, and told him of Bonsell's offer.

For a long moment, Jim said nothing, staring at Cope. Then he said, “But the charter's in the bank!”

“That's what we thought.”

“But it is!” Jim insisted vehemently. “We know Buckner brought the charter with him because he told Scoville so. Would he keep it in his room?”

“It don't look like it.”

“Would he keep it on him?”

“No.”

“Then where else could it be if it isn't in the bank?”

“But how can Bonsell get it if it's in the bank?” Cope said gloomily. “The bank won't give it to him. No, it's got to be somewhere else.”

Jim sat motionless for a moment, then comprehension flooded his face. He bounded up and grabbed Cope by the arm.

“We're fools, Cope, fools! Of course it's in the bank! Don't you see? Bonsell's goin' to bust the bank open and take it!”

Cope scowled, watching him.

“I know Bonsell,” Jim said, more quietly. “He never thinks of the risk in anything. What he wants, he'll take. He's busted banks before. He'll bust this one. He'll take all the cash he can find and rifle the boxes in the vault. And you'll find when he's done, the charter is gone out of Buckner's box. It'll pop up next week or so and cost Mary fifty thousand dollars.”

Cope said, “But he'd give himself away.”

“Who to?” Jim countered. “Nobody knows what's in that box but us and Warren. Warren, he can take care of. But he doesn't know we know it. Even the bank doesn't know it. That makes it easy, doesn't it?”

He started pacing the floor again, and Cope watched him, letting this piece of information turn over in his mind. It sounded logical. It sounded like Max Bonsell.

Jim paused and said quietly, “Also, he's the coyote that nailed Buckner.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Easy,” Jim said grimly. “Scoville convinced Buckner that Bonsell was double-crossing him. They had a row, and Buckner kicked Bonsell out. Bonsell just had a fortune taken away from him. What's left to be done? Get even with Buckner. But there was no information he could peddle to Mary that she didn't know already. There was only one way to make money from his knowledge. That was to get the charter and sell it to Mary. So he got even with Buckner by killing him. And he'll make his money on the charter. That could happen, couldn't it?”

“It could,” Cope conceded.

“It did,” Jim said. He paused at one of the heavily curtained windows and looked over the roofs of the town. He felt like a trapped animal, helpless. As long as daylight lasted, he was penned up in these rooms, and could only try to walk his restlessness off. In the jail across the street, they were holding Mary Buckner, an innocent girl, on the rottenest frame-up charge possible. He had to throttle the impulse to tuck a gun in his waist, go out in broad daylight, and kill the man who tried to stop him from taking Mary Buckner out of that jail. But it wouldn't help—except to prove to the world that Mary Buckner was guilty.