Edward G. Cheyney

THE INTERCEPTED MESSAGE

When Scott realized where he was he found himself sitting in the shade of the pines beside Jed. The horse seemed to realize that something was wrong. He was standing close with his soft muzzle almost resting on his master’s shoulder. For one wild moment Scott thought that he might have been dreaming, but the dirt on his shirt where he had been lying in the aspens and the vividness of the picture soon forced him to accept it as a reality.

Watching the fate of that great mass of sheep was the most tragic experience of his life. It seemed to him like a personal catastrophe. Certainly this would put a stop to any further attempts on the part of the stockmen to evade the laws. Judged only as a financial problem the loss of that band would cost Jed Clark more than he would have gained by crowding on all the extras that the range could possibly support under any conditions. And to Scott the financial loss was the smallest part of it; to him it appeared more in the light of a crime.

His first impulse was to ride directly down to the supervisor’s office and report the whole affair, taking it for granted that the horrible accident would make Jed Clark penitent and cause him to give up the fight. Fortunately, however, he did not act upon the impulse. Instead he tried to analyze the case as coldly and logically as he could. After all, would Jed feel as he did? He knew that Jed was not very soft hearted. His experience in the horse trade had taught him that much. Moreover, he knew that most of these men looked on sheep as values in wool and mutton rather than animals, and would probably look on the death of those poor beasts as so many dollars to be charged off to profit and loss. It would make Jed even more determined than ever to make good his loss by any means within his reach. No one but his own men knew of his loss and he had the extra sheep in the other caÑon to conceal.

The more Scott thought about it the clearer it became to him that it was his duty to push the case right through to a finish as he had been doing before the accident. After all, he had no proof against Jed as yet and would not have until the recount had been made and he had shown up the hidden sheep. He had heard and seen enough to convict a dozen men, but he had only his own word for it and he felt sure that he, a stranger, could not make himself believed as against Dawson, an old timer with a good record in the service. No, he must push the thing through, and he must be about it.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost four o’clock. He did not think there was much danger of their trying to move the sheep out of the caÑon, but he decided to have Baxter watch them. He wanted his advice anyway. He would be a good witness, too, and anything he could learn from the herders would help to back Scott’s testimony.

With a final glance at the scene of the tragedy he mounted and rode swiftly away in search of Baxter. He guessed rightly that he would find him patrolling the boundary of his district. There was no trace of him but he followed his hunch to turn to the left and soon ran onto him.

“Nothing doing here,” he shouted as soon as Scott was within shouting distance. “Any news over your way?”

“Is there?” Scott exclaimed, “there’s nothing but news and I need some more help from you.”

“Good, I hope you have a more lively job for me this time. Things have been pretty dull here, even for a Sunday afternoon.”

Scott had been so intent on his problem that he had forgotten it was Sunday. He had even forgotten that he had not had any lunch.

“It may not be any more lively, but I think maybe it will be more interesting,” he explained. Then he proceeded to tell Baxter how he had found the sheep, and how he had watched them build the fence. Baxter listened eagerly and in silence for fear he would interrupt the story, till Scott came to the discovery of Heth’s real name.

“Dugan!” Baxter exclaimed excitedly. “Did you say he was a thin, wiry fellow, medium height, dark hair, and a rather sharp face?”

“That’s the man,” Scott said, “Do you know him?”

“Know him,” Baxter exclaimed excitedly, “I know him like a book. I thought that I knew all the sheep men in this country and I know him. Why man, he used to be Williams’ foreman over on the Onama when they had all that trouble over there. He’s a gun man and a crook from the word go.”

“He’s a crook, all right,” Scott said, “whatever else he is. And what’s more I believe that Dawson is in with him.”

“Oh, he can’t be,” Baxter remonstrated, “and yet, hold on. He knows Dugan as well as I do and he must have appointed Dugan for this job.”

Scott told of the proposed meeting that evening between Dawson and Jed Clark.

Baxter gave a long whistle. “It would be interesting to know what goes on at that meeting.”

“And that is exactly what I am going to find out. But I did not tell you the worst of this caÑon business.”

Scott felt the horror of that awful sight coming over him again as he told the story and Baxter listened with open mouth.

“The poor fools,” Baxter exclaimed sympathetically. “It’s just like them though; one go, all go. You say there were about three thousand of them? Well, they ought not to be so hard to count now.”

The cold-blooded remark made Scott realize how well he had guessed what Jed’s attitude would be. If it did not affect Baxter any more than that it would roll off Jed like water off a duck’s back.

“What’s your plan now?” Baxter asked.

“Well, Dugan said Dawson was going to ’phone Jed to-night where he would meet him and I am going to listen in and see if I can find out where that meeting is going to be. If I succeed, I propose to be there and see what happens.”

“Where do I come in?” Baxter asked curiously.

“I wanted to see if you would watch those sheep over there in that caÑon and see if you can overhear any more of the conversation between those two herders. We’ll need all the evidence we can get and besides I want to be sure that those sheep will be there when I come down to show them up to-morrow after the recount.”

“Sounds interesting,” Baxter grumbled. “Well, it can’t be any worse than watching this line. I’ll go get some blankets and hike down there.”

“I certainly shall appreciate your help,” Scott said. He knew that it was not the kind of a job that Baxter would most like but he felt confident that he would do it.

“Oh well,” Baxter replied cheerfully, “I’m just as anxious to see Jed Clark cleaned up as you are and I’m glad enough to do anything to help. I only hope they try to take them out of there. There might be some excitement then. I’ll see you to-morrow when you come down to prove up. Luck to you on your mission to-night.”

“Thanks, wish you could be there.”

There was nothing to do now but to hurry back to the cabin and see if he could intercept that telephone message. It did not seem to be essential to his case to know what happened at that meeting. As Baxter had said Dawson must have approved Heth’s appointment and it would be easy enough to prove that he knew who Heth really was. Nevertheless, Scott wanted to sift the thing to the bottom now that he had started on it and he felt that his own success in the service would depend on cleaning up the whole situation. He was getting a little nervous. Dugan had said that Dawson would call in the evening but that was a vague term, and he might be too late to catch the message. It was never any trouble to get speed out of Jed. He loosened the rein a little and the big horse fairly flew. He seemed to delight in those wild runs over the mountain trails.

Scott knew that sounds traveled far in the stillness of those mountain forests, and he thought it best to approach the cabin cautiously. He pulled Jed down to a walk long before he reached the cut off to the cabin and turned down through the woods instead of following the stony trail.

It was still light enough to see. When he came within sight of the cabin he stopped and watched for some time. There was no sign of life. He rode quietly up to the cabin door and pushed it open. There was no one there. He hurriedly put Jed in the corral, ran up to the cabin and cautiously took down the receiver of the telephone. All was quiet. He hung up the receiver and started to get some supper. He was beginning to realize that he had not had anything to eat since breakfast.

He had not relished this detective business at the first, but he was beginning to like it now, and his wits were alert to every move that the enemy might make. A new thought occurred to him. It was a dangerous thing for a ranger to make a secret date with a crooked stock man over the telephone, especially over a party line. If these two were as thick with each other as he suspected, would they not have some way of talking over the ’phone without ringing up? A set time or something of that kind?

It was only a hunch, but it took such a strong hold on Scott that he abandoned his supper preparations, grabbed some biscuits and sat down at the ’phone. Cautiously he took down the receiver once more. All was still, but with a look of grim determination he held the receiver to his ear with one hand while he handled the biscuits with the other.

It was a long chance he was taking but he felt it was the only safe way and he hung on. The ’phone rang once or twice and he listened to several long conversations between the ranger’s wife and the wife of the man at the lookout station and with a woman somewhere in the town. They seldom had a chance to see their neighbors and these long telephone conversations took the place of personal calls. Scott learned more about the ills of children and the multiplicity of petty troubles that worry a house-wife than he had ever dreamed of. It seemed to him that those conversations would be endless.

“Fine figure I am cutting here,” he thought, “if they have had their little talk before I came.” His arm cramped from holding up the receiver. He tried the other one and devised all kinds of schemes for propping it up. It seemed as though he simply could not hold it any longer.

“Oh what’s the use,” he exclaimed aloud after two hours’ struggle with the thing, “they probably did their talking before I came. Or Dawson may be in town now calling him up over some other line.” But it was his only chance and he hung on.

He shifted the receiver to his left hand for the twentieth time and tried to write up his diary with the other. It worked fairly well. His hand was numb but seemed to have frozen into position. He had become thoroughly absorbed in recording the exciting incidents of the day as accurately and vividly as he could when his ear caught a faint click in the ’phone. He almost stopped breathing. Nothing more followed and he had about concluded that he must have been mistaken when there was another faint click.

There was another long silence while Scott waited in tense expectation. He felt absolutely certain that Dawson and either Jed Clark or Dugan were on the line listening to make sure that the coast was clear.

A quiet voice which he instantly recognized as Dawson’s said casually, “The fire was in the caÑon a half mile below the chute was it?”

“Was at half-past ten,” answered another voice in the same tone.

A short period of silence followed by two faint clicks announced that the conversation was over. Scott intended to hang up as carefully as they had, but when he moved his hand it flumped down on the table with a bang as though it did not belong to him. The noise startled him so that he jumped to his feet as though to defend himself. Then he laughed at himself for he realized that it was only his over wrought nerves, that the other parties had both hung up, and that he was alone on a mountain several miles from anywhere.

So the meeting was to be in the caÑon a half a mile below the chute at half-past ten. He was so tickled with his own success that he felt like shouting aloud. He knew exactly how a detective must feel when an indefinite clew leads him straight to the mark. But he also knew that there was a hard job ahead of him that night and a long day coming to-morrow, so he suppressed his desire to celebrate and fried some bacon instead.