Читать книгу Fool's Goal - B.M. Bower - Страница 6

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THE tawny-haired young man strolled in, with a nod to Burnett and a half-smiling look of recognition for Dale. Burnett crooked an authoritative finger and he came over, his hands in his trousers pockets, the faint suggestion of a swagger in the set of his wide shoulders. A bigger man than his brother in the bank, Dale thought; bigger and younger, with the look of an open-air life that sat well upon him.

"Hugh, I want you to meet Mr. Emery, the fellow that was chloroformed and robbed," Burnett said, as he and Dale rose. "This is Hugh Mowerby—lives out near my place," he added.

"Met him unofficially this afternoon, Quin," Hugh said, as he held out his hand. "Glad to know you, Mr. Emery. Hope this little experience won't sour you on Wyoming."

"Not at all. It could have happened in Chicago just as easily as here."

"Would have, probably, if you'd stuck around long enough. Somebody trailed you out, most likely. Don't you think so, Quin?"

"That's about it, I guess," drawled Burnett. "Somebody was probably hangin' around the bank when he got it and trailed him out here."

"Well, I better put in a word for the Stockgrowers' Trust and Savings, I reckon, and tell Mr. Emery he oughta put his money in Jim's bank."

"If you'd told me sooner, it might have helped," Dale agreed, smiling a little. "I was over there, Mr. Mowerby, and I think I met your brother."

"Yeah? Well, Jim's a good old scout. He's the cashier and what he says goes around there." He lighted a cigarette with negligent precision. "Going to stick around awhile? I s'pose you'll have to, while the sheriff's office gets busy on the robbery."

"I'll have to anyway. I'd like to land a job if I can," Dale told him. Then his glance went to Burnett, who was lazily smoking and staring out into the street. "I don't think I'll be buying a ranch right away, Mr. Burnett," he said meaningly. "Circumstances over which I had no control have changed my plans. If you know of any one who wants to hire a green hand, I'd appreciate the tip. I can ride," he added, "and the rest I can learn if I have the chance."

Burnett turned his fine, aristocratic head and looked at Dale for a moment, then flicked the ash off his cigar.

"I don't know but what I could give you a job myself, if you can't do better," he said quietly. "It'd have to be in the hayfield, though, and that's hard work if you ain't used to it."

"Maybe we could give you a job up at our place," Hugh volunteered. "One of our riders is in town sick and there's nothing sure about his going back. I could let you know to-morrow, maybe."

Dale thanked them without committing himself to either offer and presently left them. He was still feeling the effects of his experience, he told them, and he thought he'd lie down for awhile.

As he turned from the desk with his key, he saw two women enter the lobby and go straight over to Burnett, and from the glimpse he had of the meeting he guessed that they were Burnett's wife and daughter. The old man had spoken of his "women folks" being in town with him, Dale remembered. The woman looked the motherly sort, so typical of country women. The other was young and smartly dressed and had nice hair, but since her back was toward him he was denied a look at her face. He did see, however, that Hugh Mowerby was gazing down upon her with glowing eyes, so Dale guessed she must be pretty. Not that it mattered a great deal to him. He had burned quite a heap of sentimental keepsakes and letters before he left home and his attitude toward women was boyishly cynical. They were all alike, in his opinion; all ready to make a fool of a man. Still, it was interesting to know that Quin Burnett had a daughter who could wear her clothes like a city girl and could make a man stare at her the way Hugh Mowerby was staring. He caught himself almost regretting that he had left Burnett so soon.

"Fool," he told himself sharply, when he became aware of the direction his thoughts were taking, "you've burnt your fingers often enough to have some sense. Anyway, you've got something else to think about now."

Up in his room he began sorting over his belongings, making a more comprehensive examination of the damage his nocturnal visitors had done. His clothes had been returned from the tailor neatly mended, but he could still trace the slashes of the knife and note the precision with which it had been used. Not one unnecessary cut had been made, so far as he could see; none save those which would let exploring fingers search the interlining. His two big suit cases had come in for their share of suspicion, but the small, soleleather trunk was slashed with small systematic incisions which left no possible doubt that the vandals had known exactly what they were looking for and suspected him of using extra care in the hiding.

Yet they had missed the thing they were after! As he walked to the window and stood looking out, Dale's brief thrill of triumph merged into a frown of concentrated thought. The way into the room had been comparatively simple, for the roof of a lower building lay like a broad platform, almost on a level with the window-sill and no more than five or six feet away. A short plank brought up to the roof—and that could be done by way of a ladder—could bridge the space with no trouble at all. According to the newspaper account of the robbery, the building next door was used mostly for offices of the cheaper sort, vacated at night so that one might walk on the roof without the slightest danger of being heard from below. The rooms on either side of Dale's had been empty night before last, the manager had said, explaining that this was the dull season and he had given Dale that particular room because of its more commodious bath and the addition of a shower. Dale could not doubt the manager's hospitable intention, especially after he had inspected the neighboring rooms that morning and had seen for himself just what the manager had meant; yet had he been placed in a room for the express purpose of being robbed, this probably would have been chosen for its convenience. Dale pondered that phase of the affair and finally dismissed it as accident, though he was certain that the thieves were familiar with the hotel. Indeed, Varney had gone into that yesterday and had established the fact that Dale himself was the only stranger registered at the Rocky Mountain that night. There were several guests, but they were all old patrons. Quin Burnett and his family were among them, but not Hugh Mowerby, who was probably staying with his brother. Dale thought he must hang around the hotel lobby on account of Burnett's daughter.

But all that didn't matter so much. The thing he had to foresee and provide against now was the thieves' next move, and it was that which held him staring out of the window at the lengthening shadows of the chimneys on all the housetops where the westering sun shone full. What would they do about it? They knew that he was on his guard now and that he, of course, knew they had failed to find the money—that in the wallet, though no small sum, not really counting in this game. They knew he was merely pretending that he had been robbed of the fifty thousand—and he now saw what a blunder he had made. Why hadn't he said at once that he had left the money in Chicago? There was no possible reason for letting the police and the public assume that it had been stolen, no reason except that he had it with him in Cheyenne. They might, of course, think he had put it in the hotel safe, but even then he would have been likely to mention the fact to Varney. And every one knew that Varney believed it was gone. The numbers of the notes had been published, and Burnett said Varney was offended because Dale had kept the full extent of his loss a secret.

Burnett! How had Burnett been so keen as to guess that Dale still had the money? Or was it merely a guess? Dale shook his head unconsciously as the dark thought appeared. That fine old man with the aristocratic profile and whimsical, soft drawl a thief? With a wife and daughter like that? Again Dale shook his head in mute denial. No, Burnett couldn't be anything but what he seemed, a big-hearted, broad-minded range man, ex-sheriff, rancher, well-to-do and shrewd—

"But he was mighty darned quick at reading my mind, just the same," Dale muttered, rebellious toward the thought, even when it took form. "And he's the only one so far that's suspected such a thing. Only the men who came in here looking for that money would know they didn't get it. And how the deuce did they know I had it? I'd trust Kittridge and his bunch—oh, Lord! Dad would have disowned me if he'd ever caught me thinking of such a thing. Rock of Ages, that bank, and that means Kittridge, of course. No, Burnett's a stranger to me, after all; but if he was in with them he'd be the last man to let on. Or would he? If a man like him goes crooked, there's no way of figuring what he'd do! He'd beat the devil himself for cunning. He'd figure that I'd never dream he'd have the nerve to tell me I had the money if he was the thief—oh, Heck!"

He turned impatiently away from the window and kicked one of his suit cases under the bed. He picked the top book off the neat pile on his dresser, opened it, read a line and flung it back. He was in no mood for poetry just then. He turned once more to the window.

"How the devil did they know I had it?" he doggedly attacked the question again. "Stan wouldn't tell—I'd stake my life on that. Stan's kept things under his hair that it would be a darned sight more temptation to spill. He doesn't give a hoot for money, anyway. All he cares about is his printing plant and books. And nobody could have heard me tell Stan—they couldn't. If any one had," he added grimly, "I'd never have got as far as Cheyenne with it. Same at the bank. Chicago yeggs don't wait this long. I'd have been nailed before I left town.

"If it's Burnett—but how did he find out about it? He'd have to be a mind reader for certain. But if it's Burnett—well, I guess I'll take that job, even if it is in the hayfield."

It is a fact that the girl he had seen in the lobby talking to Burnett had nothing whatever to do with Dale's decision, for no thought of her entered his mind when he made it.