Part 6

“That’s right,” agreed Jim. “I can’t hit a thing in the daylight.”

They managed to find their way back to the rope. The light was better, and the climb did not look nearly as formidable as it did in the darkness. Mary went first, clinging to the rope, hooking her feet over the projections, until she swung up beside the old snag, out of breath, but safe. Jim’s hands were in no shape to handle that rope, but he managed to get up there, ready to collapse. They rested a while, before climbing to the top.

“Your hands are bleeding, Jim! Oh, I didn’t notice them before. And your face is swollen!”

“I’m all right,” said Jim wearily. “I’m alive and you’re alive--and that is really something.”

“Something I didn’t expect,” said Mary quietly. “Look, Jim! The east is rosy. It will soon be full daylight.”

“We better get to the top, Mary.”

There was still a steep, dangerous climb, but they didn’t mind it, until they reached the top, when their knees went weak, as they looked back down the cliffs. Irish was there, and so was the other man’s horse.

“You better ride Irish, Jim,” Mary said, “we don’t know the other one.”

Jim laughed weakly. “Listen, woman,” he drawled, imitating Archibald and Cactus Spears, “I can ride anythin’ on four laigs. Lemme at him.”

The horse snorted at Jim as he started to untie him. Suddenly Mary yelled a warning and Jim whirled. A horseman was coming down through the rocks near the rim, not over fifty yards away. He saw them and jerked up quickly.

Jim Bailey had two guns now, but he drew the one he had found. The rider fired one shot, and barked the tree to which the horse was tied, missing Jim Bailey’s head by three feet.

Then Jim Bailey fired--fired with one hand--his eyes open. The rider jerked back in his saddle, the horse swung sharply and the rider dropped his gun, grabbing at the saddle horn, as he spurred his horse savagely. A moment later he was gone, racing back along the rim.

“No!” exclaimed Jim Bailey in amazement. “I can’t believe it!”

“You hit him!” exclaimed Mary.

“Yeah!” breathed Jim Bailey. “You know, Mary--I was shooting at the wrong kind of targets--tin cans.”

Jim had a little trouble in mounting, but he made it, and drew up the horse sharply.

“Do you know the way to Pinnacle City?” he asked.

“We are going to the ranch,” she said sharply. “You must have those hands fixed up.”

“We are going to Pinnacle City,” he declared soberly. “I want to look at buildings--a street--people. Not only that, but I’m due in court to prove who I am. You lead the way.”

“Yessir,” she said soberly. “Follow me, please.”

* * * * *

The three groups of riders, out searching all night, were back at Pinnacle City eating breakfast, tired and discouraged. They were finishing breakfast when Tellurium and Archibald came in from the Lazy H. Tellurium shook his head sadly, in answer to their unspoken question. Archibald said wearily:

“That blamed dude ain’t even there. He ain’t been there all night either, ’cause no bed has been slept in.”

“My gosh, have we lost him, too?” asked Cactus.

Tex Parker said, “What horse did he take?”

“None I reckon,” replied Tellurium. “Ain’t no saddle missing, Tex.”

Ed McLean joined them and heard them discussing Jim Bailey. It was almost time for the court to open. McLean’s eyes were a bit bleak, as he said to Tex Parker:

“Where would Jim Meade go, Tex?”

Tex shook his head. Skeeter Smith smiled wearily.

“You may not have a candidate for the Lazy H, McLean,” he said.

McLean turned away and walked toward the frame building, which housed the court of Pinnacle City. The men looked curiously at Skeeter.

“What did yuh mean, Skeet?” Cactus asked.

“They’re probatin’ that Haverty will this mornin’, Cactus.”

Cactus nodded. The men were all too tired to care much. They stood around, waiting for the sheriff to suggest their next move.

“Boys,” he finally said, “I don’t know what to do next. We’ve covered every likely place, and--” Mace Adams stopped, staring up the street, where a lone rider had appeared. He seemed to be sitting drunkenly in his saddle, as he came slowly into town.

“That’s Ace Haverty!” exclaimed Cactus. “He wasn’t drunk, when he left us last night.”

“This mornin’,” corrected the sheriff.

Ace Haverty pulled up in front of the court-house, tried to get out of his saddle and fell off into the dirt. He staggered to his feet and headed for the door of the court house.

“That’s queer,” declared the sheriff. “We better find out--”

Ace had trouble, trying to open the door. The men came in behind him, and he snarled:

“Keep away from me--I’ll kill yuh!”

“He’s been shot!” whispered someone.

There were several men in the big court-room. The elderly judge was at his desk, and McLean was with him, talking fast, asking the judge to postpone probating the will, while he looked for Jim Meade, who had disappeared. Then the door was flung open and Ace Haverty staggered in. His left shoulder and arm were blood-caked, his knees rubbery, as he came haltingly toward the judge’s desk.

“What in the name of heaven!” gasped the judge.

Ace Haverty tried to say something, tried to hold his balance, but suddenly collapsed in front of the desk. The men were crowding in through the doorway. McLean’s face was the color of wood-ashes, as he stared from Ace Haverty to the crowd.

From outside came a shrill yell.

“Here’s Mary Deal and the tenderfoot!”

McLean’s move was totally unexpected. He whirled, leaped to an open window, which opened on the main street, and dived through it like a trained dog going through a hoop. He landed on his hands and knees on the sidewalk, rolled into the dusty street, and landed against the legs of Jim Bailey, who had just dismounted. The horse whirled away, but Jim Bailey fell on top of the lawyer. A moment later Jim Bailey had a tight grip on McLean’s two ears and was bouncing his face up and down in the dust.

Then strong arms reached through the dust cloud, lifted Jim Bailey away, picked up the choking lawyer and carried him into the court house. Jim Bailey followed them in. Mary was there, and everybody was trying to talk at once.

McLean, half-choked from the dust, pointed a shaking finger at Jim Bailey and spluttered:

“He’s a liar! That man is an impostor! Arrest--”

“Shut up!” snapped the sheriff. “Stop the noise! Let’s get some sense out of this. Mary, what happened to you? The rest of yuh shut up and let her tell it.”

* * * * *

Mary told them all about it. She told them how Jim Bailey found her, fought with an unknown man on the cliff and what he told her about himself. The crowd was silent, until Tellurium came galloping through the doorway, waving a piece of paper.

“Look at this, will yuh?” he yelled. “I--I just found it! It’s Clint Haverty’s own writin’. It’s what he told McLean to put in the will! I had it in my pocket and-- Whoa, Blaze!”

“You dirty thief!” screamed the lawyer. “You held me up! You--” McLean stopped short, his eyes blinking tearfully.

“Let me see that, Mr. Woods,” said the judge.

Tellurium handed it to the judge, who peered at it closely.

“This is Clinton Haverty’s writing,” he said. “It appears to be instructions regarding his will. It says, ‘Give Tex Parker one thousand dollars, Tellurium and Archibald five hundred apiece, one dollar each to Ace and Dick Haverty. The rest of the Lazy H I wish to give to Mary Deal. This includes the ranch, stock and everything I own, including any money in the bank. That covers it. Make it up like this right away.’”

The judge looked up at the crowd and said, “It is signed by Clint Haverty, gentlemen. Mr. McLean, what do you know about this paper?”

McLean shook his head.

“Judge, the man lies,” Skeeter Smith said. “He worked with Ace and Dick Haverty, robbin’ the Lazy H. They robbed the stage and took registered mail, and they held up the bank and killed Mr. Estabrook!”

“I didn’t!” husked McLean. “Those two ignorant fools took the mail. I told them--they tried to rob the bank and--”

“Thank you, McLean,” smiled Skeeter. “I had the deadwood on yuh for alterin’ the Lazy H to the Box Four H, but I had to have you tell me about the mail robbery. I figured out the brand deal right away, and I suspected the mail robbery, but I had to wait for it to stew a while.”

The judge fixed a baleful eye on Jim Bailey. “Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Not a thing, Judge,” replied Jim wearily. “I admit everything. I told McLean I would not go through with the deception; so he had Mary Deal kidnapped to force me to appear. You see, Judge, after Mary disappeared, I received a note, saying that if I did not go through with my agreement, she would never come back.”

“Have you that note, sir?”

Jim Bailey smiled and drew a paper from his pocket.

“It was written in disappearing ink, Judge--here is the paper.”

The judge examined the paper and placed it on his desk.

“Young man, do you admit that you are not Jim Meade?”

“I insist that I am not, Judge.”

“The kid is all right, Judge,” said Skeeter Smith. “He started wrong, but he’s all right now. McLean saw a chance to steal the Lazy H. Haverty’s eyesight was bad, so McLean shuffled the wills, and tricked Haverty into signing the one he made to suit his own needs, givin’ the Lazy H to Jim Meade, instead of to Mary Deal. Yuh see, Judge, I knew all the time that this boy was not Jim Meade.”

“You knew it all the time, sir? And just how did you know that this boy was not Jim Meade?”

Skeeter smiled. “Because I am Jim Meade, Judge. A few years ago I was reported killed in an explosion.”

“I see. So you are Jim Meade. Well, I--isn’t it rather coincidental that you should come here at this particular time, sir?”

“Not exactly, Judge,” smiled Skeeter. “You see, I am a deputy U. S. Marshal, sent here to investigate that mail robbery, but I use the name of Smith, especially when I smell a rat.”

* * * * *

Mace Adams snapped handcuffs on McLean who stared at them with stony eyes.

Tellurium said, “And they say the kid shot both of the Haverty boys. Seein’ is believin’ on my part--I saw what he didn’t do to a tin can. Why don’t somebody get a doctor for Ace Haverty--he ain’t dead. C’mon, Jim--I’m takin’ you out to the ranch, where I can fix yuh up with some horse-liniment.”

Jim shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tellurium,” he said, “the masquerade is over. I won’t be going out to the ranch again.”

Jim Bailey limped toward the doorway, going out alone. No one said anything, but they looked at Mary, who got to her feet and limped after him. They disappeared outside.

“I ain’t no bettin’ man,” Archibald Haas said, “but I’ll bet a dollar agin a bent-nail that he goes out to the Lazy H again.”

Skeeter and Tex Parker stepped over to the open window, where McLean had done his high-dive. Mary and Jim were only a few feet away, facing each other.

Jim said, “But, Mary, I’m a cheat. I’ve lied to everybody. I’m just a no-good hound. And you--”

“I’m glad you realize it,” said Mary soberly. “You said that love had to be honest--and you are honest, Jim.”

“Anybody want to take m’ bet?” asked Archibald.

Skeeter and Tex turned away from the window, and Skeeter said seriously:

“I don’t like to ruin what looks like a good bet, boys, but keep yore bent nails in yore pockets.”

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the Spring, 1948 issue of _Giant Western_ magazine.]