asked Benson, pale eyes on the glass mountain, around the foot of which they were skirting.
“My name is Ethel Masterson,” she said.
“You live around here?”
“Yes. At Cloud Lake Ranch, eight miles away. I just rode over this morning to . . . to—”
“To take another shot at me?”
Ethel Masterson bit her lip and was silent.
“There is a lake near your ranch?” said Benson. “Is that the reason for the name?”
“Yes. There is a lake in an old crater that borders our . . . my . . . land, and the ranch next to us. It’s not very big, but it’s absolutely bottomless, as far as any one knows. Dad and I live . . . lived . . . there. Then, a few days ago, he was . . . he was—”
She couldn’t go on.
The colorless, deadly eyes raked hers.
“He was killed?” said Benson.
She looked up at him out of the corners of her eyes.
“Yes! He was killed. I’m all alone, now.”
They covered more ground. She said:
“You didn’t know there was a lake up on the other mountain?”
“No,” said Benson.
“You’ve never been around here before?”
“Never, in quite this territory,” said Benson. His pale, icy eyes met hers for an instant. “It is curious that you should think I was at your ranch, and was the man who had killed your father.”
“I . . . I don’t think that any more,” said Ethel, avoiding his eyes again. “See there. That black slot in the face of the mountain is a fissure. From it, a deep cave opens. I’m sure that’s the place the three men must have taken your friend. It’s the only place around here where you could hide anybody.”
“We’ll go there,” nodded Benson. “Tell me a little more about your father’s death.”
Ethel’s firm, round chin quivered.
“There isn’t much to tell. He was down at the edge of the lake. I was in the ranchhouse getting dinner ready for him. I heard three shots. They came from the place where Dad was. They weren’t from his gun—I know the sound of that as well as I know his own voice. So I hurried down there.”
Her gaze was straight and hard on the rock before them.
“Dad was lying next to his boat, which he kept moored to a little dock he’d built. He was half in the water, and he was dead. All three shots had gone through his head, at close range. Any one of them would have killed him, of course, but the murderer wanted to make sure of it. I saw him, running, just before he got on a horse and got away.”
“You saw the murderer?”
“Yes. He was a man of average size,”—she was keeping her eyes carefully away from Benson—“and had snow-white hair. I saw that from the back.”
“You notified the sheriff?”
“Yes, but of course a description that vague didn’t do any good.”
“Your father was at the edge of the lake?” The Avenger repeated, with little glints in his eyes. “How high is Cloud Lake, anyway?”
“About eight thousand feet,” said Ethel. “About three thousand feet above the rest of this tableland, I’d say.”
They were at the fissure in the basalt flank of Mt. Rainod.
“You think the men took MacMurdie in here?” said Benson, eyes like pale diamond drills.
“It’s the only place near here, where they could hide him,” she repeated.
Benson sized up the fissure. It was so narrow that his body could barely manage to get through.
“It widens in there?” he asked.
She nodded.
The Avenger wormed into the fissure.
Smitty had once made the remark that Benson seldom avoided a trap. Instead, it was his custom deliberately to walk into them, to see what could be learned. Traps were nearly aways revealing—if they didn’t kill you before you could put your information to use.
However, The Avenger didn’t care much about that. He knew he was going to die some day, in his many fights with superkillers. He knew it, and didn’t bother even to think about it. Death could come any time it liked. Life wasn’t too kind, with wife and daughter taken from him in a criminal plot.
This
“My name is Ethel Masterson,” she said.
“You live around here?”
“Yes. At Cloud Lake Ranch, eight miles away. I just rode over this morning to . . . to—”
“To take another shot at me?”
Ethel Masterson bit her lip and was silent.
“There is a lake near your ranch?” said Benson. “Is that the reason for the name?”
“Yes. There is a lake in an old crater that borders our . . . my . . . land, and the ranch next to us. It’s not very big, but it’s absolutely bottomless, as far as any one knows. Dad and I live . . . lived . . . there. Then, a few days ago, he was . . . he was—”
She couldn’t go on.
The colorless, deadly eyes raked hers.
“He was killed?” said Benson.
She looked up at him out of the corners of her eyes.
“Yes! He was killed. I’m all alone, now.”
They covered more ground. She said:
“You didn’t know there was a lake up on the other mountain?”
“No,” said Benson.
“You’ve never been around here before?”
“Never, in quite this territory,” said Benson. His pale, icy eyes met hers for an instant. “It is curious that you should think I was at your ranch, and was the man who had killed your father.”
“I . . . I don’t think that any more,” said Ethel, avoiding his eyes again. “See there. That black slot in the face of the mountain is a fissure. From it, a deep cave opens. I’m sure that’s the place the three men must have taken your friend. It’s the only place around here where you could hide anybody.”
“We’ll go there,” nodded Benson. “Tell me a little more about your father’s death.”
Ethel’s firm, round chin quivered.
“There isn’t much to tell. He was down at the edge of the lake. I was in the ranchhouse getting dinner ready for him. I heard three shots. They came from the place where Dad was. They weren’t from his gun—I know the sound of that as well as I know his own voice. So I hurried down there.”
Her gaze was straight and hard on the rock before them.
“Dad was lying next to his boat, which he kept moored to a little dock he’d built. He was half in the water, and he was dead. All three shots had gone through his head, at close range. Any one of them would have killed him, of course, but the murderer wanted to make sure of it. I saw him, running, just before he got on a horse and got away.”
“You saw the murderer?”
“Yes. He was a man of average size,”—she was keeping her eyes carefully away from Benson—“and had snow-white hair. I saw that from the back.”
“You notified the sheriff?”
“Yes, but of course a description that vague didn’t do any good.”
“Your father was at the edge of the lake?” The Avenger repeated, with little glints in his eyes. “How high is Cloud Lake, anyway?”
“About eight thousand feet,” said Ethel. “About three thousand feet above the rest of this tableland, I’d say.”
They were at the fissure in the basalt flank of Mt. Rainod.
“You think the men took MacMurdie in here?” said Benson, eyes like pale diamond drills.
“It’s the only place near here, where they could hide him,” she repeated.
Benson sized up the fissure. It was so narrow that his body could barely manage to get through.
“It widens in there?” he asked.
She nodded.
The Avenger wormed into the fissure.
Smitty had once made the remark that Benson seldom avoided a trap. Instead, it was his custom deliberately to walk into them, to see what could be learned. Traps were nearly aways revealing—if they didn’t kill you before you could put your information to use.
However, The Avenger didn’t care much about that. He knew he was going to die some day, in his many fights with superkillers. He knew it, and didn’t bother even to think about it. Death could come any time it liked. Life wasn’t too kind, with wife and daughter taken from him in a criminal plot.
This
Similar Books
