The Mesa Trail Page 12

  CHAPTER XII--THE STONE GODS VANISH

  The loss of ten thousand dollars was not a negligible matter, even toSandy Mackintavers, who was accustomed to gambling on a large scale.Like a good gamester, he swallowed the bitter pill and said nothing.However, the loss left a scar which, contrary to the custom of scars,grew more red and angry with each passing week.

  The realization that he had been outwitted and outgamed by the despisedMehitabel Crump was bad enough; the actual monetary loss made itselfmore gradually felt. However, Mackintavers knew that he would recouptenfold once his hands gripped Number Sixteen. So, by means of variousreports from Eastern sources, he discovered that Coravel Tio, the curiodealer of Santa Fe, was negotiating for the sale of the property, andheld an interest in the mine. Over this, Mackintavers laughed long andloud--and perfected his plans for taking over Number Sixteen.

  In the meantime, he gave his attention to the seven stone gods and hisscientific reputation.

  His ranch house was a roomy, comfortable place; one half was inhabitedby Old Man Durfee, who ran the ranch, and the other half was inhabitedby Sandy and his frequent guests. At the present moment he had threeguests besides Abel Dorales. Two were withered, wrinkled old bucks fromthe Cochiti pueblo, and these were quartered in the bunk house a halfmile distant, by the corrals. The third was the eminent archaeologistpreviously mentioned, who had arrived to witness the establishment ofSandy as a scientist.

  "To-morrow is the big day, eh?" Sandy Mackintavers spread his squarebulk to the blaze in the big library fireplace, and surveyed hisscientific guest with complacent expectation. "Dorales is goin' to bringthem bucks up here. We'll have the little gods all ready, then we'll seewhat happens."

  He glanced at the wide mantel whereon sat seven worn stone images,grinning widely over the room.

  "You've not coached them, of course?" demanded the wary scientist. "Ifthey had an inkling of what you wanted, they'd say anything to pleaseyou."

  "Huh!" snorted Mackintavers with honest indignation. "I should say not!Surprise is the thing, professor. Aiblins, now, I'll explain to ye thesystem we've invented to make these Cochiti bucks talk--but first, takea look at this. I'm coming fast, eh? Aiblins, in another year or twoI'll be having a world-wide reputation, eh? Just look at this, now."

  He handed the scientist a letter. Now, Mackintavers himself could notread that letter; but it had been translated for him, and he wasinordinately proud of it.

  The scientist glanced at the letter-head above, a large and flauntingletter-head of the _Societe Academique_, and below, in very smallletters, the remainder of the legend: _d'ethnologie Amerique_. In otherwords, not particularly good French, denoting the Academic Society ofAmerican Ethnology, of Paris.

  The eminent scientist repressed the smile that rose to his lips. It wasobvious that Sandy, keenly canny in most things, was highly susceptibleto this sort of flattery.

  "I'm sending for their gold medal," went on the speaker. "Costs aboutfifteen bucks, but I guess it'll be worth it when the papers write meup, eh? They sent along an engraved parchment to show I'm a member. Someday I'll go to Paris and visit 'em."

  The eminent scientist, who knew all the ins and outs of that game, didnot spoil poor Sandy's dream by any intrusion of cold and hard facts.Instead, he reflected to himself upon the odd twists and quirks ofcharacter, which would bring such a man as Sandy Mackintavers into thetoils of a vain ambition, and into the nets of smooth sharpers who knewwell how to flatter the American ignoramus into parting with hisdollars.

  Cordial and warm was Sandy Mackintavers that evening, expanding underthe genial thought of what was to happen on the morrow, and makinghimself a wondrous fine host. He told how Abel Dorales had secured aninterpreter, had approached two withered, wrinkled old Cochiti bucks wholoved round silver dollars, and had brought them here upon speciouspretexts. He told how, on the following morning, those two withered,wrinkled Cochiti bucks were to be left for an hour in this same room,alone with the seven stone gods on the mantel and a whiskey bottle onthe table; and he told how a dictagraph, already concealed and inreadiness, would be waiting for them.

  Being presumably alone, being mellowed by one or two stolen drinks,being in the amazing presence of those seven stone gods, the twowithered, wrinkled old Cochiti bucks would most unquestionably talk toeach other in their own language. Later, the dictagraph record could betranslated.

  It never occurred to Sandy that the entire Cochiti pueblo might havebeen aware that he was in possession of these seven stone gods almostfrom the very day he obtained them. Sandy had picked up some knowledgeabout the relics of dead redskins; but he had a good deal to learn aboutIndians in the flesh.

  So the morning came--the morning that was to bring about thesatisfaction of ambition. Abel Dorales left the breakfast table in orderto bring the two withered, wrinkled old Cochiti bucks. Mackintavers drewthe eminent scientist into the library for a last look at thepreparations--ah!

  "It might be an excellent idea," said the professor, dryly, "to set yourstone gods in place, Mr. Mackintavers."

  "Aiblins, yes!" And Mackintavers stared blankly at the mantel. "Wherethe devil have they gone? They were here last night!"

  That the seven stone gods had sat, grinning, upon the mantel only theevening previous, was true; but they were not on the mantel now. Theywere not in the room. They were not in the ranch house at all!

  Curious to incoherence, suspecting everyone around him, SandyMackintavers sought an explanation. He obtained none. The two wrinkled,withered old bucks had been in the bunk house all night. Every man aboutthe place established a convincing alibi.

  Every building upon the place was searched from ground to rafters,without avail. Noon came, and Mackintavers had relapsed into a dour,grim rage. At this juncture, the old Chinaman who served as cook relatedthat, while emptying the slops the previous evening, he had seen astrange horseman down near the creek. He could give no description.

  "Stolen!" howled Sandy, beside himself with fury. "Out and after him!"

  Now ensued confusion great and dire. Every man on the ranch, except thecook and Abel Dorales and the eminent scientist, shared the generalexodus. Dorales openly expressed profound disgust for gods, forMackintavers, and for the whole accursed business; having assumedresponsibility for the safe return of the two wrinkled, withered oldCochiti bucks, he loaded them into the ranch flivver and set out forSocorro and the main line of the railroad. Sandy and Old Man Durfee weregone with the big car.

  The professor, left alone, secured a volume of scientific reports andsettled himself in comfort on the wide, screened veranda. The noon mealhad not been pleasant. The afternoon was hot and dusty. Presently thescientific gentleman slept.

  Just when his slumbers had deepened into snoring somnolence, thearchaeologist was aroused by a sonorous bass voice that boomed like abell. Startled, he sat up. He first visualized a buckboard close athand, within a dozen feet of the veranda--a strange thing, for he wellknew that natives of the country would have driven their teams to thecorrals. Upon the seat of the buckboard was a suitcase.

  It was a small wicker suitcase, a battered little yellow suitcase withloose ends of wicker torn and protruding from its faded surface; it wasa suitcase manifestly third or fourth-hand, cheap in the first place,and now absolutely contemptible. It looked more like a lunch basket thana suitcase.

  Then the professor was aware of a tall man, a large, shaggy-bearded man,who stood at the screen door of the veranda and spoke in sonorousaccents.

  "Sir, it grieves me thus to break your slumber, but I am searching withsuch power as lies within my soul for one named Mackintavers. I chargeyou, if you be fair Scotia's son and him whom I do seek, declareyourself!"

  "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the scientist. "Do I gather that you arelooking for Mr. Mackintavers?"

  "Such indeed are my intent and purpose," declaimed Thady Shea.

  "He's gone. Everyone's gone." The professor inspected this specimen ofhumanity with swiftly growing interest. "They'll be back
presently;things are a bit upset. Won't you come in? Better take your team over tothe corrals."

  The scientist rose and introduced himself. Thady Shea solemnly gave hisabbreviated cognomen and stated that, since he had hired the team atMagdalena and expected to return almost at once, the horses could staywhere they were. He then entered the screen veranda, shook hands, andwith a sigh sat himself down.

  Mackintavers gone! It upset all his calculations. However, he soon foundhimself engaged in sprightly discourse.

  Lemonade and cigars made an incongruous accompaniment. This entiresituation, in fact, was the most incongruous the professor had everexperienced. He could not make out whether Thady Shea were here as aguest or as an enemy, as a chance caller, or as a business acquaintance.Thady Shea kept a tight mouth on some things.

  "You'd better take those horses into the shade," reiterated theprofessor at length. "And that suitcase of yours--why, the sun willbroil it!"

  Thady Shea smiled slightly.

  "I perceive dust upon the horizon," he said, gesturing toward the road,"which doth to my mind betoken the speedy return of our host, and theconclusion of my business. As for the suitcase, sir, therein lie foodfor musing!"

  "What's in it then?" The professor chuckled. "A set of Shakespeare?"

  "Nay, sir, of its contents I am ignorant."

  Thady Shea eyed the approaching dust cloud, which might give birtheither to Mackintavers or to Abel Dorales. In his own fashion, heproceeded to tell his companion how he had acquired that suitcase, twohours previously, and while on his way here.

  He had encountered a horse, saddled and bridled and still alive, lyingin the road with a broken leg. Of the rider, there had been no sign. Alittle distance farther on Shea had come upon this battered littlesuitcase lying in the dust. Whether the suitcase appertained to thevanished horseman could not be told. There had been some sort ofaccident, yet there was no human being in evidence. All this upon themain highway.

  "Did you notice the brand on the animal, or anything which mightidentify it?" queried the professor, who was well versed in the ways ofthe country.

  Thady Shea had learned enough, also, to notice a few such things. Thebrand was a queer mark, a queer zig-zag which to him meant nothing. Theanimal's saddle blanket had been an Indian rug, woven for such use. Thebridle had also been woven. Upon the suitcase, however, there was nomark of ownership.

  "H'm! Sounds like a Navaho brand," commented the professor, sagely.

  At this point, Thady Shea rose and abruptly closed the discussion. Theapproaching automobile had drawn up.

  From the car alighted Sandy Mackintavers, who stood for a moment staringat the buckboard; Old Man Durfee went on with the car to the garage, inthe rear of the ranch house. Thady Shea did not need the professor'svouchsafed admonition to know who this square-hewn man was, this manwith the square jaw and mouth and figure, this man who turned from thebuckboard and came dourly up to the veranda.

  "Who's here?" Mackintavers stood in the screen doorway.

  "You're Mr. Mackintavers?" Theatricalisms fell away from Thady Shea. Hefumbled in his pocket. He produced the check which he had previouslyfilled out. He extended it. "This belongs to you, I think. There wassome mistake in the matter. Your check was cashed through amisapprehension."

  Mackintavers swept Thady Shea with keen, puzzled eyes; then he glancedat the check.

  His square mouth contracted slightly at the corners. Otherwise, not amuscle moved in his face. After an instant he folded the check andglanced up at the professor.

  "No luck with the thief," he said, curtly. "That is, unless some of theboys bring in news. There was an accident on the Magdalena trail thismorning--a fool Navaho buck was hit by the flivver from Doniphan'sranch. Knocked him and his cayuse to glory. I thought for a time he wasour man, but telephoned into town from Doniphan's and found otherwise.Took a look at the horse to make sure. Nothing doing."

  His eyes went back to Thady Shea. He held open the door and gestured.

  "You're Shea, eh? Come on into the office, will you? Excuse me,professor."

  Shea followed his enemy host into the house, and into a small room whichserved Mackintavers as office and study. Sandy dropped into a chair,motioned Shea to another, and set out a box of cigars.

  This greeting left Thady Shea entirely at sea. Mackintavers did not seemto be infuriated; he seemed to understand perfectly all about the check.He seemed alert, precise, cold-blooded, as though this were someordinary business deal.

  "So you're Shea!" he repeated. "Aiblins, now--ye look it. Friend o' Mrs.Crump, eh?"

  "I am." Thady Shea began to feel sorry that he had come inside.

  "How come you're turning back that money? The old lady feelin' herconscience?"

  "I told you, sir, that there had been an error. When the mistake wasbrought to my attention, I posted straightway hither, seeking you; themoney was not mine to store away; reparation was incumbent on me."

  "What the hell!" muttered Sandy, with a touch of wonder.

  Mackintavers knew men. He could read men at a glance, but Thady Shea wasslightly beyond his visual acuity. None the less, he came fairly closeto the mark in that he adjudged Shea to be of a simple and wonderfulhonesty, a man of fundamental virtue. Sandy took for granted that ThadyShea was mentally unbalanced; a theory which would explain this amazingrefund, and also the wild stories which were current about the man.

  "I hear you own that claim Mrs. Crump is workin', Shea."

  "No. It belongs to her." Thady Shea rose to his feet. "We need notprolong this----"

  "Oh, don't be in a rush!" soothed Mackintavers, cordially. "Now, I'llhave your team attended to, and you'd better stay overnight with us, eh?We'll have a talk, and we'll get squared up on the trouble between youand Dorales----"

  Thady Shea looked down at him. Under those eyes Mackintavers fellsilent.

  "Sir, you are an infernal villain," said Thady Shea calmly. "I want noneof your hospitality. There is no trouble whatever, save in your owngreed and covetous rapacity. You are an arrant rogue, a caitiff vile;there can be naught between us. Sir, farewell!"

  Thady Shea strode from the room and slammed the door after him.

  Sandy Mackintavers sat motionless, completely astounded by thisoutburst. He looked down at the check in his hand, then looked out thewindow; he could see Thady Shea climbing into the buckboard and drivingoff.

  "Aiblins, yes; the man's mad!" he reflected. A slow chuckle came to hislips. "And to think I never so much as said thank'ee! If the check'sgood, now--h'm! Better find out about it. A fool, that's what the fellowis. A loose-brained fool."

  He sought the telephone and spoke with the Silver City bank. The checkwas good.

  Later in the afternoon came the first word of the actual thief who hadmade off with the seven stone gods. One of the men brought in a reportthat he had found signs of a camp on the creek a mile distant.Mackintavers and Old Man Durfee went out to investigate. They were goodat reading signs; they discovered that a man had spent the previousnight in this spot, and that he had presumably been an Indian. Thetracks of his unshod horse showed a cracked off hind hoof. A few tinyshreds of gray wool showed where his saddle blanket had been laid.

  Over the supper table that evening Sandy Mackintavers recounted theseresults to the archaeologist. Abel Dorales had not yet returned fromSocorro.

  "The gods are gone, professor," he stated, disconsolately. "Clean gone!Aye. D'ye see, the thief, that fellow camped by the creek, was the sameIndian who got wiped out by Doniphan's flivver this morning! The same,aye. That saddle blanket was gray, and that horse had the off hind footcracked. Aye. The Navaho dog was the thief. And now the gods are cleangone! There was no sign of 'em about the horse, and the man himself hadnothing. But he took 'em, right enough."

  The professor glanced up, roused from his abstraction.

  "That's queer!" he ejaculated. Excitement rapidly grew upon him. "Lookhere, Mackintavers! The man who was here this afternoon, the manShea--did you notice that queer little grip
on his buckboard? He told mehe had picked up that grip near the crippled horse, and he did not knowwhat was in it!"

  Just then Abel Dorales returned, to find that Thady Shea had come andgone.

  Thirty minutes later Mackintavers and Dorales were on their way toMagdalena in the big car; Mackintavers was after the seven stone gods,and Dorales was after Thady Shea.