“Why, I’m afraid I threw it out.”
“You didn’t!”
“It was only a stone...”
Tompkins exclaimed. “It was solid silver, that’s what it was. Worth three hundred dollars if it was worth a nickel... Where did you throw it?”
“I don’t remember.” Johnny pursed up his lips. “Three hundred dollars... are you sure?”
“Naturally. And I’ve got to find it.”
“If it was so valuable why’d you throw it?”
“ ’Cause I lost my temper. I’m that way. Out in Arizona they cross the street when I’m drunk, ’cause I’m too doggone mean.”
“A man ought to learn to control his temper,” Johnny said, sanctimoniously. “It pays in the long run. Take this case — you throw away something worth three hundred dollars. Now, it’ll probably cost you about a hundred and fifty to get it back.”
“Huh?”
“Naturally, you’d pay that much — as a reward — wouldn’t you?”
“Say...!” cried Tompkins. “I’m beginnin’ to think...”
“Don’t!” said Johnny.
Tompkins glowered at Johnny for a moment. Then he shrugged. “All right, I know when I’m licked. A hundred bucks!”
“A hundred and fifty.”
“It ain’t really worth three hundred. I was just talking...”
“Talking costs money.”
Tompkins groaned. “I never will learn to keep my mouth shut.” He dug into his trousers pocket and brought out a roll of bills. He peeled off three — all fifties. Johnny took them and went into the bedroom. After a moment he returned with the lump of silver.
Tompkins grinned and produced a revolver. “There’s more’n one way to skin a cat...”
Sam Cragg — almost lazily — reached out and slapped Tompkins’ hand. The gun hit the floor with a thud. Tompkins howled and leaped back, clutching his right hand with his left.
“Mustn’t,” Sam chided.
“Jumpin’ tarantulas!” cried Dan Tompkins. “What’ve I run up against?”
“Just a couple of boys trying to make an honest living,” Johnny said. “Sit down and we’ll talk things over.”
“What else is there to talk about?”
“You’re in trouble,” Johnny continued. “You said this Joe Cotter’s in your hair. Well, we don’t like him either. Maybe we can pool our interests.”
“I dunno what your trouble with him is,” said Tompkins. “Can’t be the same as mine, though.”
“You never can tell. You didn’t happen to stop over in San Bernardino the night before last, did you?”
“Me? No. But I know somebody who did.”
“Let’s talk about it.”
Sam was trying to catch Johnny’s eye, but the latter refused to look. He went to the pull-down bed and seated himself on it. After a moment, Tompkins crossed to an armchair. Sam groaned and headed for the bathroom.
“About Joe Cotter,” Johnny said. “He’s from your part of Arizona?”
“Yeah. He’s from Tombstone. I make Hansonville my headquarters.”
“Hansonville,” Johnny mused. “I thought that place was a ghost town.”
“It is — pretty near. But she was plenty lively in the old days.”
“So I’ve read. The town’s just a few miles from Tombstone?”
“ ’Bout twelve. Well, sir, you were going to tell me about Joe Cotter.”
“No, you were going to tell me about him. He’s your enemy.”
“He’s yours, too.”
“All right,” Johnny conceded. “But we’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t lay all your cards on the table.”
“Sure,” grinned Tompkins. “You were saying something about San Bernardino. Uh, there was somethin’ in the paper about somethin’ that happened there yesterday morning. Seems the police found a car over by Fontana which had a dead man in it.” Tompkins paused. “Fella name of Kitchen. Lemme see, Hugh Kitchen.”
“Never heard of him. But I was coming through San Bernardino the other night and saw this Joe Cotter pulling into a motel.”
Dan Tompkins showed interest. “The name of that place couldn’t have been El Toreador, could it?”
“It could.”
Tompkins was silent a moment. Then he gave Johnny a shrewd glance. “Mister,” he said, “I don’t know you from Geronimo. What’s your business?”
“Why,” said Johnny, “I’m a sort of detective.”
Sam Cragg, coming out of the bathroom, exclaimed, “Nix, Johnny!”
“Pay no attention to Sam,” Johnny said to Tompkins. “He never wants me to take cases unless there’s a big retainer. You wouldn’t think to look at him that he’s one of the best operators in the business.”
“Well, he looks plenty strong. And he’ll need strength if he’s going to go up against Joe Cotter. They say Joe’s the strongest man in Arizona...”
“That’s because Sam isn’t there.” Johnny picked up the Los Angeles phone directory. “Sam!” He tossed the book to Sam.
Sam caught it and with a quick jerk ripped it in half. Then he took each section and tore it across again. Dan Tompkins whistled softly.
“See what I mean,” Johnny said. “Now if you’ll give me a little retainer...”
“You already got one-fifty!”
“That was for something else. However, I’ll take it into consideration. Another fifty and we’re working for you.”
Tompkins looked at Johnny for a moment, then began chuckling. “Fletcher, I like you.”
“I like you, too. The fifty...?”
Tompkins reached for his roll and peeled off an additional fifty. Johnny stowed it away with its mates. “Now, let’s have it — the whole story.”
“It’s a silver mine,” said Tompkins.
“You found one?”
“Not exactly. It’s been there all the time. Only it ain’t been worked since around 1886. You might rightly call it deserted. That’s why I figure she ought to be mine.”
“But it actually belongs to someone else?”
Tompkins scowled. “A girl who happens to be the grandniece of Old Jim Walker. He willed it to her. But what he actually willed was a worthless hole in the ground. Walker didn’t know that I spent two years poking around in the old shafts, working my fingers to the bone, risking my life...”
“All right,” Johnny conceded. “You worked like a dog and you struck pay dirt... what then?”
“I wanted to do the right thing. Jim Walker hadn’t taken an ounce of silver out of the mine since 1886. But he did own it... so I wrote him, offering to buy the mine from him — for a reasonable price. I didn’t know he had shoved off. So then I get this letter from his grandson, Charles Ralston...”
“I thought you said a grandniece owned the mine?”
“That’s right — Helen Walker. But I didn’t find that out until later. You got to know the setup. Ten years ago Old Jim Walker was worth about ten million dollars. He retired, turning his affairs over to his son-in-law. The depression came along and said son-in-law lost every dollar of the old boy’s money. Not only that but he made things miserable for Old Jim, so that finally Jim went to live with his nephew’s widow... When he died six months ago he willed the only thing he still owned — this mine — to the widow’s daughter, Helen Walker.
“But when I wrote to Jim — not knowing he was dead — his grandson got the letter. Young Ralston smelled a chance to make some money and tried to buy the mine from his cousin, Helen Walker. The girl wouldn’t sell, then right away Ralston got suspicious. He got a lawyer by the name of Kitchen...”
“Ah yes,” said Johnny. “The man in San Bernardino.”
“That’s right. Only Ralston claims he don’t know a thing about it.”
“You mean Ralston’s here in Hollywood?”
“It was him I was arguin’ with last night. Him and Cotter.”