The Bandit of Hell's Bend - Edgar Rice Burroughs (reading tree .txt) 📗

you kin be decent to a feller what’s ben robbin’ you an’ your dad fer months,” said Colby, after Bull had left. ”’ Er mebby you don’t believe it even now?”

“I know it looks suspicious, Hal; but it’s so hard to believe it of Bull. I hate to believe it. I almost don’t believe it. You are hard on him because you don’t like him.”

“Didn’t I tell you he was one of my best friends-you know that-‘til I got wise to his game. I ain’t a-wantin’ no rattle-snake like thet as no friend o’ mine.”

Diana sighed and rose wearily from her chair. “I’m going to wash up for supper,” she said.

She had been gone but a moment when Corson entered the office.

“Well,” he asked, “has she changed her mind?”

“I didn’t say nothing about the matter to her,” replied Colby. “It wouldn’t have done no good after what I hears Bull atellin’ her just afore I come in the room.”

“What was that?” demanded Corson.

“He was atellin’ her not to sell, an’ furthermore he offers to run you an’ Miss Manill outta the country if she gives the word.”

“What did she say to that?” Corson’s voice showed indications of nervousness.

“Oh, she wouldn’t stand fer that o’ course; but he’s a dangerous feller to have around her. He’s got too damn much influence over her.”

“I wish we could get rid of him,” said Corson. “It seems funny that he isn’t arrested, when everyone knows he’s The Black Coyote.”

“He’ll run his neck into a noose one o’ these days,” replied Colby.

“But in the meantime he may spoil this deal with Wainright,” said Corson, “and I’ve got my heard set. on that. I want to get out of this damned country. It gives me the willies. Too many Indians, and coyotes, and irresponsible kids with firearms-it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t see why you are so anxious to sell now,” said Colby. “You can get more if you half try.”

“That would mean going back to New York. There isn’t any capital out here. Wainright is a find, pure and simple. I can’t chance taking the time to arrange a deal back East-I don’t know what Miss Henders would be up to out here. What Miss Manill wants to do is get some ready money out of it quick and get out. I guess there’s only one thing to do and that’s to spring my last card on the girl. I’d rather have done it an easier way, but she’s so damn stubborn she’s forcing me to it.”

“To what?” asked Colby.

Corson leaned close to him and whispered for several minutes into his ear.

When he was through Colby leaned back in his chair and whistled. “You don’t mean it!” he exclaimed.

“Wainright is coming over to Hendersville on the stage tomorrow and I want to get this matter settled with the Henders girl so that I can have something definite to say to him. I think she’s coming around all right now that she is commencing to realize that the mine’s about played out and that the cattle business isn’t much better. Of course it don’t make much difference what she thinks about it except that she could make it mighty unpleasant around here if she wanted to.”

“She shore could make if unpleasant fer you and Wainright ef she wanted to,” agreed Colby, “an don’t fool yourself that she thinks the business ain’t worth nothin’. Ef you had her thinkin’ so today, Bull’s give her something new to think about since he was here.”

“How’s that?” demanded Corson.

“I Learn him tellin’ her he’d been diggin’ ‘round in the mine while he was up there an’ that he knows the new vein’s rich as all get-out, an’ he told her the cattle business was all right, too. I reckon she’ll believe him afore she will you.”

Corson bit his lip. “That settles it!” he exclaimed. “I’ve fooled around long enough. I’m going to tell her tonight.”

Outside the bunkhouse some of the men were washing for supper. Inside, Bull was rolling and roping his bed preparatory to moving to the West Ranch after the evening meal.

“What yuh doin’?” demanded Texas Pete. “Yuh ain’t quit?”

“Goin’ over to the West Ranch-Cramer’s gettin’ off fer a spell,” explained Bull.

“Looks like they weren’t crazy fer your company here,” remarked Pete.

Bull shrugged his shoulders and went on with the business of half-hitches, to the final knot, after which he tossed the bed-roll onto his bunk.

“I shouldn’t think you’d stay on, Bull,” said Texas Pete. “Let’s pull our freight. I ain’t never ben to Calyforny-hev you’?”

The ex-foreman shook his head. “I got my own reasons fer stayin’ on a spell yet, Pete,” he said.

Pete said nothing more on the subject. Bull’s answer to his suggestion that they leave the country troubled him, however. It was not Diana Henders who was keeping Bull, of that Pete was certain, because Hal Colby had long since as much admitted that he, Colby, was engaged to marry the dainty boss.

It, wasn’t because of any love he had for the job, either-Texas Pete knew that-for Colby had never made Bull’s job any too easy since the former had become foreman, and Bull was not staying because he loved Colby. It was true that he never spoke a derogatory word concerning him, nor once had he criticized his methods as foreman, but Texas Pete knew as well as though Bull had told him that the latter had no use for the foreman.

What was it, then, that was keeping Bull? Texas Pete’s loyalty to his friend made it difficult for him to harbor the only answer that his knowledge of events permitted him to entertain; but that answer to the question persisted in obtruding itself upon his consciousness.

If Bull, was, after all, The Black Coyote he could not work to better advantage as a bandit than while in the employ of the Bar Y outfit, where he could easily obtain first-hand knowledge of every important bullion shipment.

“By gollies!” soliloquized Texas Pete, “I don’t give a durn ef he be, but I’ll be durned ef I believe it yit!’,

At the house Hal Colby was talking earnestly to Lillian Manill in the sitting room. Supper had not yet been served, Carson had gone to his room to clean up and Diana had not yet come down.

“Look here. Lill,” Colby was saying. “I don’t like the way Corson’s treatin’ Di. I think a heap o’ thet little girl an’ I don’t want to see her git the worst of it.”

Lillian Manill reached up and encircled his neck with her arms. “I thought you were all over that, Hal,” she said. “You’ve been telling me how much you love me, but how do you expect me to believe it if you’re always thinking of her and not ever considering my interests. You want her to have all the property and you don’t want me to have any. You don’t love me!”

“Yes, I do, Lill-I’m crazy about you,” he insisted.

“Then act like it,” she advised him, “and quit siding with her all the time. I’m going to be a rich girl, Hal, and we can have a mighty good time after we’re married, if you don’t go and make a fool of yourself and try to keep me out of what rightly belongs to me.”

“I ain’t always so durned sure you’re goin’ to marry me,” he said gloomily. “You’ve ben pretty thick with thet feller Corson, an’ he’s sweet on you-enny fool c’d tell thet.”

“Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed Lillian Manill, laughing lightly; “why, Maurice is only like a big brother to me. Now give me a kiss and tell me that you won’t let Diana or anyone else steal all our money.” She drew his face down to hers and their lips met in a long kiss.

When they separated Colby was panting heavily. “Gawd!” he exclaimed huskily. “I’d commit murder fer you.”

In the shadows of the hall stood Maurice B. Corson, scowling darkly upon them through the partially opened doorway. Presently he coughed discreetly and a moment later entered the room, where he found Lillian idly turning sheets of music at the piano, while Colby was industriously studying a picture that hung against the wall.

Corson accosted them with a pleasant word and a jovial smile, and a minute later Diana Henders entered the room and the four went in to supper. The meal, like its predecessors for some weeks, was marked by noticeable constraint. The bulk of the conversation revolved about the weather, about the only thing that these four seemed to have in common that might be openly discussed, and as Arizona summer weather does not offer a wide field for discussion the meals were not conspicuous for the conversational heights attained. Nor was this one any exception to the rule. When it was nearly over Carson cleared his throat as is the habit of many when about to open an unpleasant subject after long deliberation.

“Miss Henders,” he commenced.

Hal Colby arose. “I gotta see Bull before he leaves,” he announced hastily, and left the room.

Corson started again. “Miss Henders,” he repeated, “I have a painful duty to perform. I have tried to work in harmony with you, but I have never met with any cooperation on your part, and so I am forced to reveal a fact that we might successfully have gotten around had you been willing to abide by my judgment in the matter of the sale of the property.”

“And what fact is that?” asked Diana, politely.

“We will get to it presently,” he told her. “Now, my dear young lady, your father’s death has left you in very unfortunate circumstances, but, of course, as is natural, Miss Manill wants to do what she can for you.”

“I am afraid that I do not understand,” said Diana. “Lillian and I have suffered equally in the loss of our fathers and uncles, and together we have inherited the responsibilities of a rather large and sometimes cumbersome business. I am sure that we wish to help one another as much as possible-I as much as she.”

“I am afraid that you do not understand, Miss Henders,” said Corson, solemnly. “By the terms of your uncle’s will everything would have gone to your father had he survived Mr. Manill, but he did not. Your father made a similar will, leaving everything to your uncle. So you see, Miss Henders!” Corson spread his palms and raised his brows in a gesture of helplessness.

“I must be very dense,” said Diana, “for I am sure I do not know even yet what you are driving at, Mr. Corson.”

“It is just this,” he explained; “your father left everything to your uncle-your uncle left everything to his daughter. It is very sad, Miss Henders-Miss Manill has grieved over it a great deal; but the law is clear-it leaves you penniless.”

“But it is not what was intended and there must be another will,” exclaimed Diana. “Uncle John and Dad both wished that, when they were gone, the estate should be divided equally between their lawful heirs-half and half. Dad left such a will and it was his understanding that Uncle John had done likewise-and I know he must have for he was the soul of honor. Their wills were identical-Dad has told me so more than once. They had such implicit confidence in one another that each left everything to the other with the distinct understanding that eventually it all was to go to the heirs of both, as I have explained.”

“I do not doubt that your father left such a will, if you say he did; but the fact remains that Mr. Manill did not,” said Mr. Corson, emphatically.

“But you shall not want, Miss