Even though Pete Evans had made it clear that Davies was in cahoots with someone in San Rafael, it was unlikely any of Don Enrique’s vaqueros would know Brett Davies, a gringo from California. However, if Davies was clever or powerful enough to have telegraph messages intercepted, he easily could have sent someone ahead to San Rafael either to recruit a spy or personally to wire him back. Someone like this Luke Pierce, who apparently had led the rustlers who trailed us from the start.
That’s why I headed over to the telegraph office next. Judging by appearances, my suspicions probably weren’t too far off. The key-pad operator was a rather scrawny fellow with a nose like a ferret. He sported long, wide sideburns and had a nervous habit of constantly tugging his left earlobe. His vest was worn to a shine, and he favored a string tie worn over a stiff-collared white shirt. In general, he seemed a very uncomfortable sort.
I took out some cigarette paper and walked slowly up to his window where a sign read Luis B. Jacobs, Station Attendant. Acting once more as if I owned the place, I rolled a cigarette and struck a match on the sill. “Howdy,” I said. “You Jacobs?”
“That’s right,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”
“Davies sent me.”
“That so? Don’t believe I know you,” he said, glancing up at the mention of Davies’s name. I leaned over the sill and blew some smoke into the room.
“No reason you should,” I agreed, tossing away the match. “I’m new here.”
“So what do you want?” he asked abruptly.
“Look, bub, I’m just following orders. Davies said to check with you and see if you’ve got anything new for him.”
“He ain’t paid me for that last bit,” Jacobs replied angrily. “This ain’t as simple as it seems, you know. I take a lot of risks.”
That cinched it. I was on the right track.
“Look, all I know is what I was told to do. You got a problem, take it up with Pierce,” I said. I was just playing along, sort of shooting for effect, but I’d definitely struck a nerve. His whole expression changed as he slumped back in his chair. Pierce must really be a hard one to contend with, I thought grimly.
“All right, all right. Tell Mister Davies nothing’s come through here or gone out since that last message I gave him…the one from McFarlen.” Jacobs started sweating and tugged nervously at his ear.
“Nothing from those mejicanos?” I asked.
“Nah. She ain’t sent nothin’ for some time.”
That “she” caught me by surprise.
“She ain’t, huh? Say, by the way, now that you mentioned it, I’ve always wondered how you fellers figure out if it’s a guy or a gal talking, what with all that clicking?” I offered him some tobacco, which he refused.
“You mean if they don’t mention it outright?” he asked.
I just nodded.
“Well, since there ain’t many women operators around, after a while you can tell by the sender’s touch. Now, on the other hand, if a man’s sending a message for a woman you can sometimes pick up on the kind of phraseology women use. ’Course, that only comes with my kind of experience.” He was calming down some, regaining his composure. “Just between you and me,” he added, “Iought to get more respect for what Ido.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more.” I nodded. “Always thought this job was pretty complicated myself.”
“Darn’ tootin’ it is,” he said boastfully.
“And I’ll bet an expert like you could even tell if a message came from a wife talking to a husband, or say a girl talking to her uncle?”
“Sure as hell could. For example, I know those last few messages to Davies came from a woman, and that she was usin’ the same dispatch office as the earlier ones sent by that chili-dippin’ brother-in-law of McFarlen’s down south.”
Now I was really puzzled. Who could it be?
“Thought I heard Pierce mention something about a daughter or niece, or something,” I said.
“Not so’s I know,” he said, scratching his head. “But it could have been, though. See, I picked up what went on between the Mex and his greaselovin’ brother-in-law, McFarlen. The messages from the girl to Davies came later, but they didn’t have no name on them.”
“So how’d you know they came from the same place.”
“Easy. Same operator. Kinda like readin’ a signature.”
I’d been lucky enough so far, and didn’t want to spoil things, so I decided to cut it short.
“Mister Davies told me to tell you to sit tight and keep quiet. But, look, don’t talk to no one unless I tell you, and, in the meantime, I’ll see what I can do about your pay. But don’t expect too much,” I added. “Like I said, I’m new here.”
“All right, I’ll see ya later,” he replied. Jacobs turned back to the keys as another message came in and I left with more questions than before.
Chapter Twenty
For the next three days I camped out in the hills north of the 4 Box Ranch, watching the goings-on from hiding. Whenever riders left the ranch, I’d follow, but inevitably they’d simply ride the fence line, or head back into town for supplies. On two separate occasions I spotted Luke Pierce riding my Morgan and had to restrain myself from repaying his favors with a head shot.
Finally, on the fourth day, a couple of riders left early, seemingly going about their usual rounds. After about fifteen minutes, however, one of the men split away, taking a different trail from any previously used, north up into the hills.
I followed him for two and a half hours until coming to the front of a high rock face where he’d suddenly and completely disappeared. I rode up and down the path, searching, for about twenty minutes until finally returning to the spot where I’d lost him. I sat there studying the wall, trying to spot the entrance to what had to be a hidden cañon. There were a few gaps in the wall that all ended in solid rock and several tree trunks that seemed too large to move.
I cursed my luck and was just about to call it quits when I spotted a hawk diving down on a sparrow. Both flew at top speed straight through the trees, yet neither came back out. Not one to distrust Mother Nature, I refused to believe they’d both flown blindly into a solid wall, and a closer inspection confirmed my suspicions.
It was a beautiful job of disguise, one so clever even old Ali Baba and his Arabs would have been proud of it. Two large clumps of trees grew in opposite curves forming an arch. The middle three trees had been hollowed out, dug up, and replaced in the same spot. From a distance the thick green cover growing down from the end trees hid the fact that the whole middle section of trees was dead.
There was a large rope and pulley affair tied to some clusters of rock located on both sides of the wall. When tripped from a lever hidden in a notch in the wall, the balance was sprung and the rocks dropped, pulling the middle section of tree trunks up, roots and all. It was like one of those castle drawbridges Ma had described when she read to me about Arthur and Lancelot.
Behind the door was a long passage leading out into a blind cañon. There I found green pasture, a line shack at the far end, and a herd of Spanish EH brand horses grazing contentedly.
So far nobody had spotted me. The smart thing to do now would be to hightail it straight back to the McFarlen Ranch, and then over to the sheriff ’s. That would have been the smart thing, but instead I decided to snoop around the line shack.
I suppose I knew, deep down, that simply recovering the herd for Don Enrique and his relatives, the McFarlens, was the important thing, and that it would be sufficient to clear my name, but I had a more personal score to settle. I wanted to be able to prove conclusively that Davies and Pierce were behind the rustling. Men had died and many other lives placed at risk because of the greed of these two men. I wasn’t about to let them get away with it.