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Updated: July 28, 2025
Billie drew him into a corner, and learned that Luck had just settled with him. "Anyone see him give it to you, Alec?" "No. He took me upstairs to the library and paid me." "In bills?" "Yes in twenties." "For God's sake, don't tell anybody that." In a dozen jerky sentences the owner of the Fiddleback told Flandrau of the suspicions of the sheriff. Together they went in search of Luck.
Curly was awakened by the sound of the cook beating the call to breakfast on a triangle. Buck was standing beside the bed. "How're they coming this glad mo'ning, son?" he inquired with a grin. "Fine and dandy," grinned back Flandrau. So he was, comparatively speaking. The pain in his arm had subsided. He had had a good sleep.
Evidently he was going to bring home the wounded man. His guards put Flandrau in the bunk house and one of them sat at the door with a rifle across his knees. The cook, the stable boy, and redheaded Bob Cullison, a nephew of the owner of the ranch, peered past the vaquero at the captive with the same awe they would have yielded to a caged panther. "Why, he's only a kid, Buck," the cook whispered.
Next day Stone rode down to Tin Cup to look over the ground. Maloney telephoned their movements to the Circle C and to the Hashknife. This brought to Saguache Luck Cullison, Curly Flandrau, and Slats Davis. Bucky O'Connor had been called to Douglas on important business and could not lend his help. Curly met Sam in front of Chalkeye's Place.
Serves Soapy right for double crossing Sam. Take care of that kid, Luck. He's all right yet." His eye fell on Flandrau. "You're a game sport, son. You beat us all. No hard feelings." "Sorry it had to be this way, Bill." The dying man was already gray to the lips, but his nerve did not falter. "It had to come some time. And it was Luck ought to have done it too."
He had helped Curly escape less than a month before, but he did not intend to stay friendly with a rustler. Flandrau caught him by the arm. "Hello, Slats. You're the man I want." "I'm pretty busy to-day," Davis answered stiffly. "Forget it. This is more important." "Well?" "Come along and take a walk. I got something to tell you." "Can't you tell it here?" "I ain't going to, anyhow. Come along.
When you find out pass me without stopping, but tell me when we are to meet and just where." Curly gave Slats a quarter of an hour before sauntering back to town. As he was passing the Silver Dollar saloon a voice called him. Stone and Blackwell were standing in the door. Flandrau stopped. Soapy's deep-set eyes blazed at him. "You didn't tell me it was Luck Cullison went bail for you, Curly."
Flandrau walked out to the grandstand at the fair grounds and sat down by himself there to think out what connection, if any, these singular warnings might have with the vanishing of Cullison or the robbery of the W. & S. He wasted three precious hours without any result. Dusk was falling before he returned.
"What in Mexico is the good of a county road there, Luck? Can't run a wagon over them mountains and down to the river. Looks to me like it would be a road from nowhere to nowhere," Alec Flandrau protested, puzzled at his friend's request. "I done guessed it," Yesler announced with a grin. "Run a county road through, and Cass Fendrick can't fence the river off from Luck's cows.
"I'm no lady's man," Sam protested, content to let the other follow a wrong scent. "Sure not. It never is a lady," Flandrau called after him as he departed. But Sam had no more than turned the corner before Curly was out of a side door and cutting through an alley toward Chalkeye's place. Reaching the back door of the saloon, he opened it a few inches and peered in.
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