Jim Waring of Sonora-Town Part 4

Waring pulled up a chair and leaned his elbows on the table. Quigley unscrewed the cap of the canteen. A stream of sand shot across a map.

The a.s.sistant started to his feet. Quigley shook the canteen and poured out a softly clinking pile of gold-pieces. One by one he sorted them from the sand and counted them.

"One thousand even. Where'd you overtake Vaca and his outfit?"

"Did I?" queried Waring.

"Well, you got the mazuma," said Quigley. "And that's good enough for me."

Donovan stepped to the table. "Williams, I won't need you any more to-day."

The a.s.sistant rose and left the office. Donovan pulled up a chair.

"Never mind about that receipt, Quigley. You can witness that Waring returned the money. Jim, here, is not so dam' particular."

"No, or I wouldn't be on your pay-roll," said Waring.

Donovan laughed. "Let's get down to bed-rock, Jim. I'm paying you your own price for this work. The Eastern office thinks I pay too high. I got a letter yesterday telling me to cut down expenses. This last holdup will make them sore. Here's the proposition. I'll keep you on the pay-roll and charge this thousand up to profit and loss. n.o.body knows you recovered this money except Williams, and he'll keep still. Quigley and you and I will split it--three hundred apiece."

"Suppose I stay out of the deal," said Waring.

"Why, that's all right. I guess we can get along."

Quigley glanced quickly at Waring. Donovan's proposal was an insult intended to provoke a quarrel that would lead to Waring's dismissal from the service of the Ortez Mines. Or if Waring were to agree to the suggestion, Donovan would have pulled Waring down to his own level.

Waring slowly rolled a cigarette. "Make out my check," he said, turning to Quigley.

Donovan sighed. Waring was going to quit. That was good. It had been easy enough.

Quigley drafted a check and handed it to Donovan to sign. As the paymaster began to gather up the money on the table, Waring pocketed the check and rose, watching Quigley's nervous hands.

As Quigley tied the sack and picked it up, Waring reached out his arm.

"Give it to me," he said quietly. Quigley laughed. Waring's eyes were unreadable.

The smile faded from Quigley's face. Without knowing just why he did it, he relinquished the sack.

Waring turned to Donovan. "I'll take care of this, Bill. As I told you before, you can't bluff worth a d.a.m.n."

Waring strode to the door. At Quigley's choked exclamation of protest, the gunman whirled round. Donovan stood by the desk, a gun weaving in his hand.

"You ought to know better than to pull a gun on me," said Waring. "Never throw down on a man unless you mean business, Bill."

The door clicked shut.

Donovan stood gazing stupidly at Quigley. "By cripes!" he flamed suddenly. "I'll put Jim Waring where he belongs. He can't run a whizzer like that on me!"

"I'd go slow," said Quigley. "You don't know what kind of a game Waring will play."

Donovan grabbed the telephone and called up the Sonora police.

Chapter IV

_The Silver Crucifix_

When in Sonora, Waring frequented the Plaza Hotel. He had arranged with the management that his room should always be ready for him, day or night. The location was advantageous. Nearly all the Americans visiting Sonora and many resident Americans stopped at the Plaza. Waring frequently picked up valuable bits of news as he lounged in the lobby.

Quietly garbed when in town, he pa.s.sed for a well-to-do rancher or mining man. His manner invited no confidences. He was left much to himself. Men who knew him deemed him unaccountable in that he never drank with them and seldom spoke unless spoken to. The employees of the hotel had grown accustomed to his comings and goings, though they seldom knew where he went or definitely when he would return. His mildness of manner was a source of comment among those who knew him for what he was.

And his very mildness of manner was one of his greatest a.s.sets in gaining information. Essentially a man of action, silent as to his plans and surmises, yet he could talk well when occasion demanded.

It was rumored that he was in the employ of the American Government; that he had been disappointed in a love affair; that he had a wife and son living somewhere in the States; that for very good reasons he could not return to the States; that he was a dangerous man, well paid by the Mexican Government to handle political matters that would not bear public inspection. These rumors came to him from time to time, and because he paid no attention to them they were accepted as facts.

About an hour after he had left Donovan's office, Waring entered the Plaza Hotel, nodded to the clerk, and pa.s.sed on down the hallway. He knocked at a door, and was answered by the appearance of a stout, smooth-shaven man in s.h.i.+rt-sleeves. They chatted for a minute or two.

Waring stepped into the room. Presently he reappeared, smiling.

After dinner he strolled out and down the street. At a corner he edged through the crowd, and was striding on when some one touched his arm. He turned to confront the Mexican youth, Ramon. Waring gestured to Ramon to follow, and they pa.s.sed on down the street until near the edge of the town. In the shadow of an adobe, Waring stopped.

Ramon glanced up and down the street. "The police--they have asked me where is my Uncle Jose. I have told them that I do not know. The police they asked me that."

"Well?"

"But it is not that why I come. They told me to go to my home. It was when I was in the prison that the policia talked in the telephone. He spoke your name and the name of Senor Bill Donovan of the Ortez Mine. I heard only your name and his, but I was afraid. You will not tell them that I was with my Uncle Jose?"

"No. And thanks, Ramon. I think I know what they were talking about. Go back home, p.r.o.nto. If you were to be seen with me--"

"The senor is gracious. He has given me my life. I have nothing to give--but this." And Ramon drew the little silver crucifix from his s.h.i.+rt and pressed it in Waring's hand.

"Oh, here, muchacho--"

But Ramon was already hastening down a side street. Waring smiled and shook his head. For a moment he stood looking at the little crucifix s.h.i.+ning on the palm of his hand. He slipped it into his pocket and strode back up the street. For an hour or more he walked about, listening casually to this or that bit of conversation. Occasionally he heard Mexicans discussing the Ortez robbery. Donovan's name, Waring's own name, Vaca's, and even Ramon's were mentioned. It seemed strange to him that news should breed so fast. Few knew that he had returned.

Possibly Donovan had spread the report that the bandits had made their escape with the money. That would mean that Waring had been outwitted.

And Donovan would like nothing better than to injure Waring's reputation.

Finding himself opposite the hotel, Waring glanced about and strode in.

As he entered the hallway leading to his room three men rose from the leather chairs near the lobby window and followed him. Waring's door closed. He undressed and went to bed. He had been asleep but a few minutes when some one rapped on the door. He asked who it was. He was told to open in the name of the city of Sonora. He rose and dressed quickly.

When he opened the door two Sonora policemen told him to put up his hands. Donovan stood back of them, chewing a cigar. One of the policemen took Waring's gun. The other searched the room. Evidently he did not find what he sought.

"When you get through," said Waring, eyeing Donovan grimly, "you might tell me what you're after."

"I'm after that thousand," said Donovan.

"Oh! Well, why didn't you say so? Just call in Stanley, of the bank. His room is opposite."

Donovan hesitated. "Stanley's got nothing to do with this."

"Hasn't he?" queried Waring. "Call him in and see."

One of the police knocked at Stanley's door.