Chapter II

In spite of the dust and the rough road, the ride to Pinnacle City seemed short to Jim Bailey. Pinnacle City was booming with some new mining strikes. Jim left his valise in the stage depot and located Ed McLean’s office.

The lawyer was short, fat and nearly bald. Seated behind his desk, he looked at Jim Bailey thoughtfully. This young man didn’t exactly look like ready money.

“Well, young man, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I am Jim Meade,” replied Bailey soberly.

McLean twitched visibly and his pale-blue eyes blinked.

“Jim Meade?” he asked. “You--uh--ah, yes, Jim Meade. Well, I--”

“I am answering your letter,” explained Jim.

“Oh!” the lawyer’s relief was explosive. “For a moment, I had an idea--sit down! I want to look at you. Hm-m-m-m. You don’t look very prosperous, but that is good.”

McLean leaned back in his chair, an expression of satisfaction on his face. Apparently Jim Bailey met with his approval.

“You’ll do,” he half-whispered. “Have you met anybody--talked with anybody?”

“I met a girl on the stage. Mary Deal.”

“Did she come in this morning?” asked McLean quickly. “I was expecting her, but I didn’t know when she was coming. Did she talk with you?”

“Yes, some. I told her my name was Meade.”

“Hm-m-m! Still, that name wouldn’t mean anything to her.”

“You were expecting her?”

“Yes--I wrote to her. But forget girls. This deal is a big one, and we can’t afford to miss out on it, my friend. How are you fixed for funds?”

“I am not.”

“I see. Well, go easy. Here is fifty dollars. Your room will not cost over a dollar a day. Don’t drink, don’t gamble. Let me handle everything. And above all, don’t try to explain anything.”

“Isn’t that a rather ridiculous order?” asked Jim. “After all, what could I explain?”

“True. But if anybody asks you questions about where you come from and what you are doing here--evade them.”

“When do I learn what this deal is all about?” asked Jim.

“Didn’t Hawley tell you anything about it?”

Jim shook his head, wondering if Hawley should have told him.

“Does Hawley get a cut out of the deal?” he asked.

“I’ll take care of Hawley. As soon as we can get together, I’ll explain everything. Too many people come in here. I’ll get in touch with you tonight, if I can, and we’ll go into the deal.”

Jim got his suit-case at the stage depot and secured a room at the hotel. He signed the register with the name of Jim Meade, and gave his address as San Francisco. The lobby was full of roughly-dressed men, some of them wearing chaps and spurs--and guns. Jim Bailey didn’t like that idea. He stopped at the top of the stairs and saw several of them examine the register.

“I feel like a criminal,” he told himself, “and I haven’t done a thing--yet.”

The food was good in the little restaurant, but Jim spent most of his time watching the people. In all his life he had never seen as many hard-looking men, but they seemed good-natured, having a good time. There were cowboys, cattlemen, miners, prospectors, and a sprinkling of dapper-looking gamblers. Just after dark he met Ed McLean on the street.

“I’ve been looking for you, Jim,” the lawyer said. “We can’t talk tonight, but I typed out some stuff for you to memorize. Put this in your pocket and study it in your room. See you tomorrow.”

Jim went back to his room and studied the paper. It read:

You are Jim Meade, born twenty-seven years ago in
Denver, Colo. Your mother was Gale Haverty, your
father was Henry Meade. He was a small merchant,
and died fifteen years ago. Your mother died nine
years ago. You heard vaguely of relatives in the
Pinnacle country, and came here, hoping to get work.

Jim studied the few lines carefully. It still didn’t make sense. He repeated it over to himself several times, tore the note into small pieces and sifted them out the window, where they blew away in the breeze.

“Haverty?” queried Jim to himself. “That’s the name of the man who died and left the big ranch--the one Mary--” He stopped and thought things over. “But where does Jim Meade enter into the deal? Maybe Jim Bailey is getting in over his head. Well, I’ve got to know a lot more about it than this, before I get excited.”

* * * * *

Mary Deal sat on the big porch of the Lazy H and talked things over with Tellurium Woods, the old cook, who had been there for years. Tellurium was as wide as he was high, and he was only five feet, three inches tall. Except for a tuft above each ear, Tellurium was as bald as a billiard-ball.

“You’ll jist have to blame Ed McLean for not bein’ told about Clint dyin’,” sighed Tellurium. “I reckon he was too busy to do much thinkin’. Ed McLean and the Cattlemen’s Bank are the executioners of the will, which ain’t been read yet. I heard it was to be read tomorrow. You’ll get the Lazy H--that’s a cinch. Clint wouldn’t give Ace and Dick Haverty the sleeves out of his vest.”

Mary had no comments. A rider came up to the ranch-house and drew up at the porch. The rider was tall and thin, with a long, rather humorous-looking face. He took off his sombrero and grinned at them.

“I’m lookin’ for the ramrod of this spread,” he said quietly.

“If I ain’t mistaken, pardner,” replied Tellurium, “you’ll find Tex Parker down around the corrals.”

“Much obliged, mister--and ma’am,” he said soberly, and rode down across the yard.

“There goes Arizona,” said Mary.

“Huh? I didn’t git it.”

Mary laughed. “When I was at school, I thought of Arizona a lot, Tellurium--and Arizona was always a tall cowpoke on a long-legged horse, squinting into the sun.”

“Yeah, I know what yuh mean. That hombre looks like real folks, and he packs his gun low and handy. I like his grin.”

The tall cowboy found Tex Parker at the stable. Tex was a raw-boned cowboy, hard-faced, with little sense of humor. He sized up the stranger questioningly.

“Yo’re Tex Parker? Good! I’m knowed as Skeeter. Smith is the last designation. Glad to meet yuh.”

Skeeter Smith dismounted and leaned against the fence. “What can I do for yuh, Smith?” asked the foreman.

“A job,” replied Skeeter. “I was up in Pinnacle City, kinda askin’ around, and somebody told me that the bank was runnin’ the Lazy H; so I went to see the head-man of the bank, and he said you was startin’ a roundup next week.”

“I see,” said Parker. He didn’t like the idea of the bank taking things over like that. After all, nothing had been settled.

“I’m just a pilgrim,” said Skeeter. “Kinda moseyin’ around all the time, lookin’ at things and places. Right nice lookin’ spread you’ve got here. I’ve been rated as a top-hand with cows.”

Tex Parker smiled. “You pack yore gun awful low for jist a pilgrim,” he remarked.

“Long arms,” said Skeeter soberly. “Kinda lazy, too. Hate to have to crook m’ elbow too much. How about a job for a while?”

The foreman nodded. “All right, Smith. I’ll show yuh a bunk, and you can dump yore war-bag. Start workin’ in the mornin’.”

“Right nice and pleasant of yuh, Parker. Thanks.”

Skeeter Smith left his war-bag in the bunk-house, got on his horse and headed back for Pinnacle City. Tex Parker was thoughtful, as he went back to the stable.

“I’d like to know who that rannahan is,” he remarked to himself. “Pilgrim! Oh, well, all I want is a good cow-hand--and he talks like a good one.”

On the porch Tellurium and Mary were talking about Len Carson, the stage-driver.

“Ol’ Len’s a character,” laughed the cook. “I think he was exaggeratin’ about the drummer. I don’t believe he ever fell into Coyote Canyon. I heard the drummer made a derogatory re-mark about some woman in Pinnacle City, and Len knocked him off the seat. Didja hear about Len gettin’ held up? No?

“Yeah, that happened about a month ago. Two fellers stuck up the stage. Got away with some gold from the Santa Isabella mine, and some registered mail, I heard. Had masks on. Len wasn’t able to say who they looked like.”

“Len never told me about it,” said Mary. “In fact, we didn’t have much chance to talk.”

“You mentioned a passenger named Meade,” said Tellurium. “Yuh know, I’ve been thinkin’ about that name, and I kinda remembered Clint speakin’ of somebody named Meade. It seems to me that it was some relate of his’n, but I can’t be sure.”

“I suppose there are a lot of people by that name,” said Mary.

“Yeah, I reckon there must be. Well, I’ve got to start cookin’.”

Tellurium bow-legged his way into the house, headed for the kitchen. He whistled off-key, but with enthusiasm.