An Arrest

: LUCK
: Crooked Trails And Straight

After half a week in the saddle Lieutenant Bucky O'Connor of the Arizona

Rangers and Curly Flandrau reached Saguache tired and travel-stained. They

had combed the Rincons without having met hide or hair of the men they

wanted. Early next morning they would leave town again and this time would

make for Soapy Stone's horse ranch.



Bucky O'Connor was not disheartened. Though he was the best man hunter in

Ariz
na, it was all in the day's work that criminals should sometimes

elude him. But with Curly the issue was a personal one. He owed Luck

Cullison a good deal and his imagination had played over the picture of

that moment when he could go to Kate and tell her he had freed her

father.



After reaching town the first thing each of them did was to take a bath,

the second to get shaved. From the barber shop they went to the best

restaurant in Saguache. Curly was still busy with his pie a la mode when

Burridge Thomas, United States Land Commissioner for that district, took

the seat opposite and told to O'Connor a most interesting piece of news.



They heard him to an end without interruption. Then Curly spoke one word.

"Fendrick."



"Yes, sir, Cass Fendrick. Came in about one o'clock and handed me the

relinquishment just as I've been telling you."



"Then filed on the claim himself, you said."



"Yes, took it up himself."



"Sure the signature to the relinquishment was genuine?"



"I'd take oath to it. As soon as he had gone I got out the original filing



and compared the two. Couldn't be any possible mistake. Nobody could have

forged the signature. It is like Luck himself, strong and forceful and

decided."



"We're not entirely surprised, Mr. Thomas," Lieutenant O'Connor told the

commissioner. "In point of fact we've rather been looking for something of

the kind."



"Then you know where Luck is?" Thomas, a sociable garrulous soul, leaned

forward eagerly.



"No, we don't. But we've a notion Fendrick knows." Bucky gave the

government appointee his most blandishing smile. "Of course we know you

won't talk about this, Mr. Thomas. Can we depend on your deputies?"



"I'll speak to them."



"We're much obliged to you. This clears up a point that was in doubt to

us. By the way, what was the date when the relinquishment was signed?"



"To-day."



"And who was the notary that witnessed it?"



"Dominguez. He's a partner of Fendrick in the sheep business."



"Quite a family affair, isn't it. Well, I'll let you know how things come

out, Mr. Thomas. You'll be interested to know. Have a cigar."



Bucky rose. "See you later, Curly. Sorry I have to hurry, Mr. Thomas, but

I've thought of something I'll have to do right away."



Bucky followed El Molino Street to the old plaza and cut across it to the

Hotel Wayland. After a sharp scrutiny of the lobby and a nod of

recognition to an acquaintance he sauntered to the desk and looked over

the register. There, among the arrivals of the day, was the entry he had

hoped to see.



Cass Fendrick, C. F. Ranch, Arizona.



The room that had been assigned to him was 212.



"Anything you want in particular, Lieutenant?" the clerk asked.



"No-o. Just looking to see who came in to-day."



He turned away and went up the stairs, ignoring the elevator. On the

second floor he found 212. In answer to his knock a voice said "Come in."

Opening the door, he stepped in, closed it behind him, and looked at the

man lying in his shirt sleeves on the bed.



"Evening, Cass."



Fendrick put down his newspaper but did not rise. "Evening, Bucky."



Their eyes held to each other with the level even gaze of men who

recognize a worthy antagonist.



"I've come to ask a question or two."



"Kick them out."



"First, I would like to know what you paid Luck Cullison for his Del Oro

claim."



"Thinking of buying me out?" was the ironical retort of the man on the

bed.



"Not quite. I've got another reason for wanting to know."



"Then you better ask Cullison. The law says that if a man sells a

relinquishment he can't file on another claim. If he surrenders it for

nothing he can. Now Luck may have notions of filing on another claim. You

can see that we'll have to take it for granted he gave me the claim."



It was so neat an answer and at the same time so complete a one that

O'Connor could not help appreciating it. He smiled and tried again.



"We'll put that question in the discard. That paper was signed by Luck

to-day. Where was he when you got it from him?"



"Sure it was signed to-day? Couldn't it have been ante-dated?"



"You know better than I do. When was it signed?"



Fendrick laughed. He was watching the noted officer of rangers with

narrowed wary eyes. "On advice of counsel I decline to answer."



"Sorry, Cass. That leaves me only one thing to do. You're under arrest."



"For what?" demanded the sheepman sharply.



"For abducting Luck Cullison and holding him prisoner without his

consent."



Lazily Cass drawled a question. "Are you right sure Cullison can't be

found?"



"What do you mean?"



"Are you right sure he ain't at home attending to his business?"



"Has he come back?"



"Maybe so. I'm not Luck Cullison's keeper."



Bucky thought he understood. In return for the relinquishment Cullison had

been released. Knowing Luck as he did, it was hard for him to see how

pressure enough had been brought to bear to move him.



"May I use your 'phone?" he asked.



"Help yourself."



Fendrick pretended to have lost interest. He returned to his newspaper,

but his ears were alert to catch what went on over the wires. It was

always possible that Cullison might play him false and break the

agreement. Cass did not expect this, for the owner of the Circle C was a

man whose word was better than most men's bond. But the agreement had been

forced upon him through a trick. How far he might feel this justified him

in ignoring it the sheepman did not know.



O'Connor got the Circle C on long distance. It was the clear contralto of

a woman that answered his "Hello!"



"Is this Miss Cullison?" he asked. Almost at once he added: "O'Connor of

the rangers is speaking. I've heard your father is home again. Is that

true?"



An interval followed during which the ranger officer was put into the role

of a listener. His occasional "Yes----Yes----Yes" punctuated the rapid

murmur that reached Fendrick.



Presently Bucky asked a question. "On his way to town now?"



Again the rapid murmur.



"I'll attend to that, Miss Cullison. I am in Fendrick's room now. Make

your mind easy."



Bucky hung up and turned to the sheepman. The latter showed him a face of

derision. He had gathered one thing that disquieted him, but he did not

intend to let O'Connor know it.



"Well?" he jeered. "Find friend Cullison in tolerable health?"



"I've been talking with his daughter."



"I judged as much. Miss Spitfire well?"



"Miss Cullison didn't mention her health. We were concerned about yours."



"Yes?"



"Cullison is headed for town and his daughter is afraid he is on the

warpath against you."



"You don't say."



"She wanted me to get you out of her father's way until he has cooled

down."



"Very kind of her."



"She's right, too. You and Luck mustn't meet yet. Get out of here and hunt

cover in the hills for a few days. You know why better than I do."



"How can I when I'm under arrest?" Fendrick mocked.



"You're not under arrest. Miss Cullison says her father has no charge to

bring against you."



"Good of him."



"So you can light a shuck soon as you want to."



"Which won't be in any hurry."



"Don't make any mistake. Luck Cullison is a dangerous man when he is

roused."



The sheepman looked at the ranger with opaque stony eyes. "If Luck

Cullison is looking for me he is liable to find me, and he won't have to

go into the hills to hunt me either."



Bucky understood perfectly. According to the code of the frontier no man

could let himself be driven from town by the knowledge that another man

was looking for him with a gun. There are in the Southwest now many

thousands who do not live by the old standard, who are anchored to law and

civilization as a protection against primitive passions. But Fendrick was

not one of these. He had deliberately gone outside of the law in his feud

with the cattleman. Now he would not repudiate the course he had chosen

and hedge because of the danger it involved. He was an aspirant to

leadership among the tough hard-bitted denizens of the sunbaked desert.

That being so, he had to see his feud out to a fighting finish if need

be.



"There are points about this case you have overlooked," Bucky told him.



"Maybe so. But the important one that sticks out like a sore thumb is that

no man living can serve notice on me to get out of town because he is

coming on the shoot."



"Luck didn't serve any such notice. All his daughter knows is that he is

hot under the collar. Look at things reasonably, Cass. You've caused that

young lady a heap of trouble already. Are you going to unload a lot more

on her just because you want to be pigheaded. Only a kid struts around and

hollers 'Who's afraid?' No, it's up to you to pull out, not because of

Luck Cullison but on account of his daughter."



"Who is such a thorough friend of mine," the sheepman added with his

sardonic grin.



"What do you care about that? She's a girl. I don't know the facts, but I

can guess them. She and Luck will stand pat on what they promised you.

Don't you owe her something for that? Seems to me a white man wouldn't

make her any more worry."



"It's because I am a white man that I can't dodge a fight when it's

stacked up for me, Bucky."



He said it with a dogged finality that was unshaken, but O'Connor made one

more effort.



"Nobody will know why you left."



"I would know, wouldn't I? I've got to go right on living with myself. I

tell you straight I'm going to see it out."



Bucky's jaw clamped. "Not if I know it. You're under arrest."



Fendrick sat up in surprise. "What for?" he demanded angrily.



"For robbing the W. & S. Express Company."



"Hell, Bucky. You don't believe that."



"Never mind what I believe. There's some evidence against you--enough to

justify me."



"You want to get me out of Cullison's way. That's all."



"If you like to put it so."



"I won't stand for it. That ain't square."



"You'll stand for it, my friend. I gave you a chance to clear out and you

wouldn't take it."



"I wouldn't because I couldn't. Don't make any mistake about this. I'm not

looking for Luck. I'm attending to my business. Arrest him if you want

to stop trouble."



There came a knock on the door. It opened to admit Luck Cullison. He shut

it and put his back to it, while his eyes, hard as hammered iron, swept

past the officer to fix on Fendrick.



The latter rose quickly from the bed, but O'Connor flung him back.



"Don't forget you're my prisoner."



"He's your prisoner, is he?" This was a turn of affairs for which Luck was

manifestly unprepared: "Well, I've come to have a little settlement with

him."



Fendrick, tense as a coiled spring, watched him warily. "Can't be any too

soon to suit me."



Clear cut as a pair of scissors through paper, Bucky snapped out his

warning. "Nothing stirring, gentlemen. I'll shoot the first man that makes

a move."



"Are you in this, Bucky?" asked Cullison evenly.



"You're right I am. He's my prisoner."



"What for?"



"For robbing the W. & S."



Luck's face lit. "Have you evidence enough to cinch him?"



"Not enough yet. But I'll take no chances on his getting away."



The cattleman's countenance reflected his thoughts as his decision hung in

the balance. He longed to pay his debt on the spot. But on the other hand

he had been a sheriff himself. As an outsider he had no right to interfere

between an officer and his captive. Besides, if there was a chance to send

Fendrick over the road that would be better than killing. It would clear

up his own reputation, to some extent under a cloud.



"All right, Bucky. If the law wants him I'll step aside for the time."



The sheepman laughed in his ironic fashion. His amusement mocked them

both. "Most as good as a play of the movies, ain't it? But we'd ought all

to have our guns out to make it realistic."



But in his heart he did not jeer. For the situation had been nearer red

tragedy than melodrama. The resource and firmness of Bucky O'Connor had

alone made it possible to shave disaster by a hair's breadth and no more.



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