Chapter Eight -- The Deposit
Hagan looked inside and outside the livery, but his mount was nowhere to be seen. Finally he found the side door that had been left ajar. That was a convenient mistake for somebody, and it wasn't hard to figure whom. Looking around the street and in back of the stores brought no results, so he went back to the office to wait.
Sure enough, by mid-afternoon the oldster from the livery stable rode up with the ranger's horse in tow.
"Found him about three miles out of town. Don't know how he got loose. Must have been kids fooling around."
There wasn't much that Hagan could say. He knew that the man had driven his mount out those three miles, but to the passer by the old timer had done him a big favor. He decided to play that angle to the hilt.
"Why thanks, I'm sure glad to have that horse back. It's darned poor country to do much walking. Come on in. There must be something I can do to thank you."
"No, no, that's okay. You'd do the same for me." It was easy to see that the oldster wanted nothing to do with any jailhouse.
""Sure I would, but that's my job. You took it a step further and helped me out of the goodness of your heart. Tell you what, if you don't want to come in and sit here we'll go to the café and get a good meal. I haven't eaten since breakfast and my gut is starting to complain. "
The ranger took a firm grip on the old man's elbow so that he had to go along with him. From a distance it would look like they were best friends walking arm in arm. Sure enough, the white of a face showed in the window of the general store. By nightfall everyone in town would know about it.
"So, my new found friend, what's your name, anyway? I don't believe I caught it before."
"It's Elijah, but most folks just call me Oats."
"Well, then, Oats it is. You can call me Bud. Looks like there's plenty of room. Let's take this table right here in the front."
Hagan deposited the man at a chair right in the window, for he was still steering him by his elbow. "Looks like the menu is just the same as yesterday. Beef and beans. Well, I never get tired of those, as long as biscuits come with them. How about a cup of coffee?"
Now Oats had been dreaming of a beer for the last two hours, but the ranger had him nervous and he didn't dare speak up. "Sure, I guess so. Kind of hot for it, though.""Cools you off better. At least that's what the dirt farmers say. Do you know this country very well, Oats?"
"Oh, sure, I've been here for years. Used to do some prospecting before I took this job."
"Ever hear of Lost Canyon?" Hagan was watching the man closely. He saw a flash of recognition and of fear in the man's eyes. So, the place did exist!
Oats tried to smooth it over. "I've heard the stories. I don't believe 'em."
"Strange things happen in the desert. I've even heard stories of some strange creature being seen out there. Some people have vivid imaginations."
Now the hostler showed a look of smugness. "Yeah, they sure do. A lot of them are downright stupid."
"I agree, but what makes you say that? "
"Well, I mean, er, look at all the stories you hear. I heard J...I mean, Jim say that superstition rules the desert. He had a point."
Hagan kept watching him closely. The man had started to say J.D., of that he was sure. Bud asked him some more questions, but the stable man had now clammed up because he knew he had let on too much all ready.
Hagan walked out onto the boardwalk with his guest. As he had expected, up the street the storeowner was in front of his place, ostensibly sweeping off the walk but really watching the unlikely couple in the café. As soon as the banker returned he was sure to have this story handed to him.
As the ranger watched Oats walk away it occurred to him that he had not heard his prisoner for hours. Previously Twombly had making such a racket that you could hear him all the way to the end of town. Hagan spun on his heal and headed quickly for the jail. It was well that he did, for he found the man working diligently on removing a second bar from the window.
"Going somewhere, Twombly?" Hagan had crept in so silently that the prisoner hadn't heard him enter. He just about jumped out of his skin.
"You're a smart guy, ain't you? " said the uncouth Twombly. "You wait and see. It's like I told ya, it's a long way to Yuma."
Hagan checked another cell and found the bars to be more secure. Then, handcuffing Twombly so that there was no chance for escape, he transferred the prisoner to new quarters. As a safeguard he left the handcuffs in place.
"I can't do anything with these cuffs on," whined Twombly.
"That's the general idea," answered his jailer.
The ranger needed that deputy back. One man could not watch a prisoner and do his duties as well. He went over to the doctor's house to see Marshal Smith.
"So, Bud, how are you doing on your first day? Have they got you buffaloed yet?"
"Nope," Bud smiled, "but I sure could use that deputy back." He told the story of Twombly almost busting out. "When does the circuit judge come through, anyway? I'll be glad to have an empty jail."
"He should be in Tombstone next Tuesday. He'll stay there for a day or two, depending on how many cases there are."
"Tombstone? I thought he came here."
"No such luck. You will have to move the prisoner over there. Maybe you can pick up a different deputy for the trip."
"I'm not worried about the trip. I just don't like leaving the town unprotected while I'm gone. There seem to be some strange goings on."
If such a statement bothered Wes Smith he didn't show it. "Are you telling me I missed something? The big J.D. and associates? That backer is involved with more than loans. There's no question about that. But I haven't been able to find him engaged in anything illegal. Yet. Maybe you will have better luck."
Inwardly the ranger breathed a sigh of relief. He had been afraid that Smith was involved. in some shady dealing. He should have known better, he thought to himself. "What were you able to figure out?"
"Not much. I figure that J.D. is financing some shady deals, probably buying illegally into government contracts for mining and for feeding the Indian reservations. That's the only thing I can figure."
"You are probably right. I'd like to get a look into his books. "
"Watch out if you do. If he should catch you in there after hours he'd shoot you, and I doubt if a jury in this territory would convict him. Arizona Ranger or not, you would be in a heap of trouble."
Hagan smiled. "I'm not that anxious to get shot. But I might go in tomorrow and open a savings account. You ever know what I might see in there."
"Good luck, Bud. You'll need it."
The night was a repeat performance of the last one, with the prisoner threatening and whining off and on through the wee hours. The ranger periodically arose and made threats but Twombly did not seem to take them seriously. He knew that Hagan wouldn't hurt an unarmed man.
Bud had three cups of coffee and took a walk around the main street before he felt human. Then he returned to his office, shaved, and put on his best clothes. He wanted to present a good appearance at the bank.
Just after opening time he went back to the bank and presented himself again to the teller. This time he was met with fawning courtesy. Why the change? It must be because of his lunch with Oats. These people didn't know what to expect now.
"Good morning, Ranger. Mr. Jones is in this morning, and he will be happy to see you."
He was led to an office in the rear, where J.D. himself met him.
"Good morning, Mr. Hagan. Sorry about that business yesterday; I was just trying to protect the money of the taxpayers." The ranger almost broke into laughter. This fellow wouldn't be happy until he had the taxpayer's money in his pockets. He managed to keep a straight face.
"I quite understand. I am interested in depositing some money in your bank. Naturally I would like to see that it remains safe."
"To be sure. Our bank is one of the safest in the territory. We have never been robbed."
"Could I inspect your vault? I will only take a minute."
J.D. Jones looked at him carefully. The ranger did not look like a wealthy man, but in the West you never knew. A lot of men out here made their fortunes and it didn't change their style of dress one iota. Since this man was a lawman perhaps he was open to accepting money for favoritism. It was worth remembering. He got up and led Hagan to the vault.
He made sure the ranger did not see the combination as he unlocked it, and then he stood to the side and motioned the other in. Hagan stood in the center and took a look around. He was startled to see Jones now had a sawed off shotgun in his hands.
"Locks are good, but I like a good line of defense," said the banker. "This scattergun could clean out this place in a hurry."
"Amen to that. What is that, a Purdy?" The shotgun was engraved and inlaid with silver filigrees. The side locks were detachable. Why someone would cut back the barrels on such a beautiful gun Bud didn't know.
"No, but you're close. It was made by Joseph Manton. The ends of the barrels were mashed in a train wreck, so I bought it and use it for a sweeper."
As the man talked Hagan surveyed the vault. Some unmarked ore sacks were stacked along one side of the room. Jones saw the direction of his gaze.
"I store some metal for the small miners, and o course I buy it myself when the price is advantageous. For a small bank we do a lot of business."
"So I can see. All right, I'll open an account."
"Very good, have a seat here in the office while I get the papers."
Hagan was alone, but he only had a few moments to himself. He quickly shuffled what papers that he could reach. One dealt with a herd of beef critters bought from a party in Sonora and resold to the government for reservation use. The agent in charge of the operation was Jones. Talk about a license to steal!
"Here we are, Mr. Hagan. Now, before we fill this out, are you looking for any work on the side? Something, er, different from your usual line?"
"I am always open to suggestions," said the ranger. "After I transport my prisoner to Tombstone next week my venue is wide open."
"Very good, we will talk then. Now, how much do you wish to put in the bank today?"
"Twenty three dollars."
"Twenty three dollars! I thought you were talking about thousands."
"On a ranger's salary? I figure I'm lucky to have the twenty three."
"I see." The banker looked like a kid who dropped his candy down an ant hole. "I'll have the teller fix you up with a savings book."
The ranger put on his best smile. "Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Jones. I now feel that my money will be safe tonight."
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