Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 66/Number 3/East of Sunrise/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII.
TO THE RESCUE.
IN the back room at Simms & Norcross, Eph Springer had told his story of treachery and vengeance to Ethel and Simms. “I’d like to get a grubstake out o’ this,” finished Springer, noting with satisfaction the sensation his story had caused. “I’m gettin’ in wrong with Chombo, and he’s a hard case. What I’ve told y’u ort to be worth a good grubstake, hadn’t it now?”
The girl’s face was white; she had clenched her hands convulsively and was staring into space with fear-filled eyes.
“I wouldn’t take it so hard, Ethel,” said Simms; “this man may be lying just to wheedle us out of some supplies.”
“Is it true, Eph Springer?” the girl demanded.
“S’ help me, ma’am, every word is gospel!” declared Springer. “D’y’u reckon,” he went on, appealing to Simms, “that I’d come here with a lie like that ag’inst Chombo? All the grubstakes in the world wouldn’t be worth the risk. I’m tryin’ to help Seward.”
Ethel was apparently convinced that the information was reliable. “We’ve got to do something for Mr. Seward, Mr. Simms,” she declared, “and without loss of time. If he hadn’t been trying to help you and father by taking that gold to Los Cerillos he wouldn't have fallen into this trap. We must get a car and hurry over the Hermosito Trail to the pass east of Sunrise Cañon. Can’t you see,” she cried wildly, “that it’s the only thing to be done?”
“It would be dark before we could make the trip,” said Simms, “and we couldn’t find Seward after sundown. It will probably be hard enough to find him in broad day. He’ll be prospecting through the hills as he works his way south.”
“At any rate,” insisted the girl, “we can go to this pass. We must get there as soon as we can and wait for him and warn him. I’ll go alone, if that’s the only way.”
“You are excited, Ethel,” Simms told her gently, “and this is a case where we must remain calm and do some cool thinking. A wrong move, just now, would be worse than making no move at all. Go over to the jail and ask Jerry Blake to come here.”
“No!” broke in Springer apprehensively. “If y’u’re goin’ to get Blake in on this, right here’s where I duck.”
He jumped from his chair and would have bolted for the door had not Simms caught up a rifle leaning in one corner of the room.
“You sit down!” he ordered. “If you’re giving us a square deal you can’t object to talking with the sheriff and telling him exactly what you have told us. Get back in that chair.”
Springer dropped into his seat. “I’d never ’a’ come here,” he complained, “if I’d knowed I was to be jumped on like this. Only tryin’ to do somethin’ fer Seward—and mebby clear up a grubstake.”
“You’ll get one of the biggest grubstakes you ever had, Springer, if we find we can depend on what you’ve told us,” said Simms; “but if we find you’re lying there’ll be something else coming to you.”
Fortunately the sheriff was in his office, and Ethel brought him at once. He tossed a grim look at Springer as he came into the back room and pulled up a chair.
“Now then, grubber,” he remarked, “you use a straight tongue in talking with me. I know more than you think about the operations you and Red Galloway have been putting across, and I won’t stand side-stepping from you. What’s this about Chombo and Lola Sanger and Walt Seward?”
“If I give y’u facts, Blake, y’u won’t make me any trouble?” faltered Springer.
“No; but I’ll make you a lot if you don’t. Go ahead with it.”
Springer repeated the story he had already told Ethel and Simms—how Lola Sanger and Chombo had started on two fast horses for the pass east of Sunrise Cañon to lay an ambush for Seward, and how La Joya, from Forty-mile, was to delay Seward on his way until the ambush was in readiness.
Blake sat back in his chair, lowered his brows, and tossed a glance at the girl. “I thought you were keeping Seward’s work with that money a close secret,” he remarked.
“We are, Jerry,” put in Simms; “Norcross, Ethel, and I haven’t told a soul.”
“Then how did Lola Sanger get hold of it?”
“Wait!” spoke up Ethel. “I have a suspicion about that, and we’ll see how close it is to the truth.”
She left the room and could be heard climbing up the outside stairs. Presently she returned, bringing with her Francisca, a Maricopa girl, who helped her with the housework. Francisca was a stolid person and did not seem in the least awed by the sheriff or by any business that might be afoot.
"Francisca was in the kitchen, Mr. Blake,” Ethel explained, “while I was talking with Mr. Seward in the front room, upstairs, and asking him if he would take the money to Los Cerillos. It just occurred to me that she had overheard the conversation and had told of our plans to others. Did you, Francisca?” she asked.
The Maricopa girl nodded. “Si,” she answered, evidently with no desire to hold anything back.
“Oh, you did?” said Blake. “How many did you tell, Francisca?”
The girl held up a stubby brown finger. “Uno,” she answered.
“Only one? Who was that?”
“La Joya, of Forty-mile.”
Here was evidence to bolster up Springer’s report, and everybody was interested.
“Where did you see La Joya?” went on the sheriff.
“She come to door when Miss Ethel was downstairs. She ask ’bout Seward, who had just left. She give me cinco pesos”—five stubby fingers were lifted—“and I tell her ’bout Seward taking the gold.”
“There you have it,” observed Blake to the others; “five dollars is a lot of money to a girl like Francisca. It appears from what Springer says that Lola Sanger has been staying at the posada at Forty-mile since she and Dirk made their get-away from the jail. La Joya hid her away there, I suppose. The Jewel rode back, told the news to that tiger cat, Lola, and she made up her mind that she’d be revenged on Seward for the second capture of her brother. She rang in Chombo. That half-breed is an enemy of Seward’s and a friend of the two Sangers. I’m inclined to think, from the indications, that Springer has told the truth. Just to be on the safe side, though,” he added, “I’m going to lock him up until I sift this thing and make sure his story is O.K.”
A wail went up from Springer. “And that’s what I get fer tryin’ to do the right thing,” he growled; "I’m to be locked up. I wish to thunder I’d stayed away from Tres Alamos and let Seward take his medicine.”
“You’ll be treated like a white man, Springer, maybe for the first time in your worthless life,” said Blake reassuringly, “if your information pans out.”
“What will you do, Mr. Blake?” asked Ethel anxiously.
"By sunup, to-morrow,” was the answer, “I’ll hit the Hermosito Trail for the pass east of Sunrise Cañon, in order to head off Seward. Joe Reeves, my best deputy, will go with me. Maybe we can make a good haul and bring in Lola Sanger and Chombo, and then pick up The Jewel at Forty-mile.”
"But why not go to-night?” demanded Ethel.
“We’d be apt to miss some bets, Ethel, if we tried to do anything to-night. It’s too late for a start.”
“But already La Joya may have met Mr. Seward and”
“Haven’t you learned enough about Walt Seward to know that La Joya won’t be able to fool him for a minute? I’ll gamble that if we never stirred a hand in this thing, Seward would come out of it as he comes out of everything else—top hole. I’m not worried about Seward and this fool talk of an ambush at the pass. I’m all set to recapture Lola Sanger. It was supposed she had left the country, but I’m going to show her that she was foolish for stickin’ around. This is too good a chance to miss.”
“Anyways,” put in Springer, “Seward will be tipped off afore he can tumble into any trouble at the pass. He’s goin’ to have plenty o’ warnin’.”
“How?” asked Ethel eagerly. “In what way?”
“My pardner, Red Galloway, started out the Hermosito Trail to find Seward at the same time I rode in here. I was aimin’ to head him off with that money if he hadn’t got started.”
“I wouldn’t trust either you or Red Galloway as far as I could throw a steer by the tail,” said the sheriff; “you’re both of you bad medicine. You’re playing this little game straight, looks like, just for what you can get out of it. Maybe Galloway will find Seward and tip him off about Chombo, and maybe he won’t. If he does, then that’s something on the right side of Galloway’s account, and I’ll not forget it. If he doesn’t—well, I won’t forget that, either. Come along, Springer, and we’ll stroll over to the jail.”
“What time do you intend to start in the morning, Mr. Blake?” queried Ethel.
“Oh, about sunup. It won’t take us long to cover the ground in the flivver."
“I’m going with you,” the girl declared.
Blake shook his head. “No, Ethel,” he told her; “it’s going to be a rough trip. Joe’s a fast driver, and he’ll hit all the bumps on ‘high.’ And there’s plenty of bumps, believe me.”
“You think I’ll be in the way!” exclaimed Ethel.
“You? In the way?” Blake laughed and patted her shoulder. “Why, you stood in that door, there, and took a shot at Dirk Sanger with a rifle when he was forcing Simms to open the safe and get out that five thousand dollars in gold. If you get tired clerking in the store, come over to my office and I’ll swear you in as a two-gun deputy.”
Mentioning the gold started the sheriff on another tack. “I’ll be glad when those double eagles are transferred to Los Cerillos. They have made me more trouble, first and last, than any other gold that was ever minted. I suppose you want to drive with us to-morrow to make sure they’re delivered to this man Sparling?”
“That gold, Mr. Blake,” the girl answered, “is the least of my worries. I’m afraid for Mr. Seward.”
The sheriff gave her a quick look, and there was something in his eyes that brought a vivid color into her cheeks. He laid a fatherly hand on her arm. “You haven’t known Seward as long as I have. Ethel,” he told her gravely, “and you don’t understand how thoroughly capable he is of taking care of himself. There was a time, not so very long ago, when something happened to him that caused me to worry a lot; but when the returns were all in, I found that I had been making a fool of myself. Seward doesn’t thank any one for worrying about him. But I’ll tell you, Ethel; if it will ease your mind any, and your father is willing, you can ride south with Reeves and me to-morrow.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blake,” returned Ethel gratefully; “I know father will let me go, and I shall be ready by the time you and Mr. Reeves are. I’ll send a good supper over to the jail for Eph Springer, for I’m sure he is trying to do what is right.”
The next morning disappointment awaited Ethel. The weatherwise sheriff, reading the storm warnings, refused to start until after the sandstorm, which he was almost certain was coming. But directly after Tres Alamos had opened its doors and windows and was enjoying a little relief from the sweltering heat, the official car pulled out of town, with Reeves on the front seat, Blake beside him, and Ethel in the tonneau.