The Battle At Three-Cross by William Colt MacDonald

make some sort of dying statement——”
    â€œSo they took the body out to that wash where you found it.”
    Lance said, “That’s my idea. They threw the body across the saddle of Bowman’s horse and lit out pronto. I figure it took two to lift him to the saddle, one at the shoulders, one at the feet. Maybe Bowman’s spur rowel caught on one man’s shirt. That accounts for the woolly threads I found on Bowman’s spur. Remember, this is largely guesswork.”

    â€œDamn good guesswork,” Oscar said admiringly.
    â€œMeanwhile,” Lance continued, “in the darkness the killers had failed to notice that Bowman clutched that mezcal button in his hand. Bowman was a man of great determination, strong will. Probably his last conscious thought was to hang onto that bit of evidence at any cost. So he was still gripping that button when they dumped him off his horse out in that dry wash. As he died and grew cold his fingers stiffened rigidly about the plant—and didn’t release it until I took it from his hand.”
    â€œCripes A’mighty, Lance! You’ve hit it!”
    â€œDon’t be too certain, Oscar. I may be striking far wide of the mark. But who do you suppose might be having a box shipped from a cactus company?”
    â€œI just see one man,” Oscar said promptly. “Professor Ulysses Z. Jones.”
    â€œI may be mistaken,” Lance said slowly, “but I sure aim to further my acquaintance with the professor.”
    â€œHe was plumb eager to get that mezcal button you had.”
    â€œHe won’t be so eager to get another one,” Lance stated grimly, “if I’m right in my suspicions!”

V
War Talk!
    It was nearly noon by the time Oscar and Lance arrived back at the sheriff’s office to find Lockwood still working on his monthly accounts. The sheriff glanced up as they entered, then resumed work on the printed forms before him. “Well, sleuths,” he grunted, entering some figures in lead pencil, “did you get to the bottom of our crime problem?”
    â€œWe mebbe didn’t get to the bottom of it,” Oscar stated, “but Lance sure constructed a picture that brings us nearer the top, I’m thinking.”
    Lockwood looked quizzically at Lance. “Think you found anything definite?”
    Lance nodded. “Yes, I do, Ethan. Here’s the way it looks to me….” From that point on he told the story of what he and Oscar had discovered. When he had finished:
    â€œBy grab!” Lockwood exclaimed. “I think you’ve hit it.”
    â€œSo far, so good,” Lance pointed out, “but I still don’t know who the murderer is nor what Bowman found here that had to do with mezcal buttons. That’s not the case he was on—what I mean is, I don’t see what mezcal buttons have to do with the case. But it’s all tied in—somehow.”

    â€œDo you feel like telling us just what brought you and Bowman here?” Lockwood asked.
    â€œI’ll give you the story,” Lance consented. “This information is to be held confidential, of course. I’m after a man named Matt Foster. Something over a year ago Foster and a gang of four accomplices stuck up a United States messenger who was delivering thirty thousand dollars, in bills, to a bank in Kansas City. The messenger and two guards were killed, but one of Foster’s men was wounded and captured in the fight that took place. Through information from this captured bandit we managed to run down and capture all but Foster himself. Foster got away scot free. Not only that—he had all the money. The gang hadn’t had an opportunity to divide the spoils. Luckily, the numbers of the stolen bills were on record and a warning sent out. The first bill showed up in New Orleans. My Denver office sent me to New Orleans to trace it down. From there the chase took me to Tampico, in Mexico,