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were many problems.
He went over to the bookshelves and looked at the titles: Locke'sEssay
Concerning Human Understanding,Mills'sOn Liberty, Blackstone'sCommentaries on
the law, and dozens of others. Could the man who read such books kill for
hire? If so, what had happened to him?
The Pinkerton report had accounted in general outline for six years of his
life, but what of the time before that? What of the time before he arrived in
thatMissouri town and went to work for a tie-cutting camp? If he was a mystery
to others, he was even more of a mystery to himself.
BenJanish , now ... Ben had tried to kill him, and he had apparently taken
payment to kill Ben, but he felt no desire to kill him, or anyone else.
Was that why BenJanish had tried to kill him - because he knew he was a
hunted man? Or had he himself tried to killJanish and failed, and been shot in
return?
He knew what he had to do. He must go back, search out his past; he must find
out who and what he was. He would go toEl Paso . He had the address of
DeanCullane .
He went to the closet again and carefully went through the pockets of every
garment. There were no letters, no papers, noaddresses .. .nothing .
The desk next.Again failure.There was a quantity of writing paper, there was
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ink, and there were pens, and there was an account book with a list of figures
in it, apparently sums of money running into several thousands, but there was
no clue unless it was the initials after several of the sums.
Suddenly he thought of the mirror ... he had not looked in a mirror since he
had become "Jonas," and he had no idea what he looked like.
The face he saw was strange. It was a rather triangular face, with strong
cheekbones and a strong jaw. It was a handsome face, in a rugged way. He
studied it critically, but saw nothing there that reminded him of anyone or
anything.
His eyes went to the patch of bandage on his skull, which needed changing. He
removed it, and then, after getting a fire started, he heated water and bathed
the wound with care.
He went back to the mirror. There was an older scar there, evidently from a
severe blow on the skull. The present cut had glanced across a corner of it,
ripping his scalp.
He searched about, found a small drawer of medical supplies, and bandaged the
wound again. It was healing fast, and a bandage would soon not be needed. A
bandage attracts attention, and he hoped he could do without it before he
reachedEl Paso .
Finding a carpetbag in the closet, he packed a suit, several shirts, and a
few other necessary items; then he went out to the stable, stripped the gear
from the dun, and turned it loose.
At the mirror he trimmed the several days' growth of beard, and sat down and
shined the boots he was wearing. From some storehouse of memory he remembered
something: "If you want the law to leave you alone, keep your hair trimmed and
your boots shined." There was something to it.
After this he entered the closet, closed the door behind him, and went to the
shaft. The arrangement of block and tackle had been done by an expert, and
would have handled several times his weight. Taking the bag, he lowered
himself down the shaft, taking it easy.
Once men had climbed part way up here ... he could see where steps, now
almost obliterated, had been carved into the sandstone. They stopped at a
shelf that showed a black cave beyond. Sometime he would take the tune to
examine that cave.
At the bottom of the shaft he took time to listen,then stepped out. He was in
a large, roomy cave. At the front was part of a ruined wall, and he had to
walk around fallen rock to reach the outer cave, which was formed merely by an
overhang hollowed by wind and rain.
Beyond this a steep path led diagonally down to a sheer cliff that dropped
some twenty feet. He looked around and saw a notched pole tucked into a
crevice. He took it out, descended by this means, and hid the pole in the
brush. From below he could see nothing of the path, only the roof of the
overhang.
He looked all around carefully. He saw a trail, an ancient one by the look
ofit, that led away along the face of the rock and angled down the slope.
There were no tracks on the trail.
He went slowly, stepping on rocks where he could, avoiding making any sign of
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passage. Suddenly he paused. Around a corner of rock he saw a cabin built of
native stone, with a pole corral, some chickens, and a few guinea hens. In the
corral were several horses and three cows.
He went up to the cabin, walking warily. An old Mexican came out and went to
the corral. Taking down a rope, he caught a horse and led it outside.
He spoke to the Mexican, who merelylifed a hand, and then went to the cabin
and returned with a saddle and the rest of the rigging.
In his own mind he was now quite sure that he was Ruble Noon. He said, "Has
anyone been around?"
The Mexican shook his head. His eyes went to the bandage, just visible under
Noon's hat, but he said nothing. He was an old man, square and solid, a
muscular man with a seamed and scarred face.
Noon touched the bandage. "Dry-gulch," he said, "I was lucky."
The Mexican shrugged, then gestured toward the house and made a motion of
eating. When his mouth opened, Ruble Noon saw the man had no tongue.
Noon shook his head, and believing the saddled horse was for him, he went to
it and gathered the reins. The horse nickered softly, seeming to know him. '
'I'll be back in about a week," he said, and the old Mexican nodded.
The trail dipped down, went through a notch in the cliffs, and headed
southeast. At first, he saw no tracks on the trail, then a few, obviously many
days old. After an hour's ride he saw something gleaming in the sun, still
some distance off ... it was the railroad.
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