But the way he told it, the way he looked convinced Fenner he was lying.
“Okay, Johnny,” he said mildly. “That puts you right in the clear. Just too bad you don’t know where they went Blandish is offering a reward for information. Wouldn’t you like to lay your hands on fifteen thousand bucks?”
Johnny blinked. It was now over three months since he had buried Riley, Bailey and Old Sam, and what a job that had been! Schultz had promised him a cut of the ransom money, but he hadn’t had it. He knew the ransom had been paid. He had taken the trouble to go into town and buy a newspaper. He had been double-crossed and he felt mean and bitter about it.
“Fifteen thousand bucks?” he repeated. “How do I know I would get it?”
“I’d see you got it, Johnny,” Fenner said.
Better not, Johnny told himself. It was too dangerous to monkey with the Grisson gang.
He shook his head reluctantly.
“I don’t know nothing,” he said.
“You’re lying,” Fenner said and moved over to the old man. “Do you want me to work you over, Johnny? Like this?” He hit Johnny a backhand slap across his face: not a hard blow, but hard enough to make the old man rock and nearly fall off the box. “Come on! Spill it!” Fenner went on, raising his voice. “Where’s Riley? You can either pick up fifteen thousand bucks or take a beating! What’s it to be?”
Johnny cringed away.
“I don’t know nothing,” he said desperately. “If you want to know anything ask the Grisson gang. They were right here. They fixed Riley...” He stopped, his raddled face turning grey.
“The Grisson gang?” Fenner stiffened to attention. “How did they fix Riley?”
But Johnny was staring past Fenner through the open door. His expression of terror chilled Fenner’s blood.
Fenner looked over his shoulder. He saw a shadow fall across the open doorway: the shadow of a man with a Thompson gun in his hands.
Then everything seemed to happen at once.
Fenner dived to the floor, well clear of Johnny. He rolled towards a big iron tank that stood across a corner of the room: a tank in which Johnny used to store his horse feed when he owned a horse. As he jerked himself behind the tank with one swift movement, there came the violent and continuous sound of the Thompson firing.
A stream of lead ripped into Johnny’s chest. The old man was thrown over backwards. He rolled over, twitching, then his body went limp. Seconds later, Fenner was nearly deafened as slugs hammered against the side of the tank. He crouched down, his heart thumping, his breath whistling through his clenched teeth.
For three or four seconds the slugs beat against the side of the iron tank, making a noise like a giant rivet-gun at work. Then the shooting stopped. The sudden silence was nearly as violent as the gun fire had been.
Fenner wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand. He guessed the Grisson gang had arrived. He was in a hell of a jam. He knew if he attempted to look around the side of the tank, he would have his head blown off. His one hope was that Brennan would be arriving soon, but would he arrive in time?
He flattened himself in the dust and put his ear to the wooden floor. He couldn’t hear anything. He doubted if any of the gang out there would have the nerve to come in and tackle him.
Then he heard the murmur of men’s voices. There was a pause, then a man shouted, “Come on out! We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands in the air!”
Fenner grinned crookedly. Not likely, he told himself, if you want me, come and get me. He waited.
The Thompson started up again. The noise made Fenner wince. He could hear some of the slugs dropping into the tank, having cut their way through the outer side of the tank. The gun stopped firing.
“Come on out, punk!” a voice bawled.
He lay motionless and silent.
He heard a man say, “Give it to me! Get down flat, both of you.”
Fenner stiffened. He knew what was coming. They were going to blast him out with a pineapple. He flattened down, protecting his head with his arms. The few seconds’ pause of silence seemed an eternity. Then he heard something drop on the floor. The bomb went off with a devastating bang. The blast lifted him and tossed him against the side of the tank.
He rolled over onto his back, choking and gasping. For a moment, everything became very clear and sharply etched. He could see the roof of the shack above him. It was sagging. As he watched, there came the sound of splintering wood, then the roof came crashing down on top of him.
Something hit him a violent blow on the side of his head. Bright lights flashed before his eyes, then he felt himself falling into a black, bottomless pit.
Chapter twenty-one
The darkness was suddenly pierced by a hot, hard light. Fenner heard himself groan as he raised his hand to shield his eyes.
“You’re okay,” a distant voice said. “Come on; come on. Don’t just lie there pitying yourself.”
Fenner made the effort. He opened his eyes and shook his head. He became aware of a man bending over him. The man’s face swam into focus. He recognized Brennan, and he slowly sat up.
“That’s the idea.” Brennan said. “You’re okay. What’s all the fuss about?”
Fenner nursed his head in his hands.
“Who’s making a fuss?” he demanded, and then grunted as his head began to ache violently. Hands took bold of him and hoisted him to his feet. “Don’t rush me!” he went on, leaning on the arm of a policeman. “Hell! My head feels as if it has been kicked by a horse.”
“No horse around here,” Brennan said cheerfully. “What happened?”
Fenner drew in a deep breath. He felt stronger now. Gently he ran his fingers through his hair and winced, but finding he hadn’t a hole in his head, he managed to grin wryly.
“Seen anyone around?” he asked.
“Just you and what’s left of Johnny,” Brennan said. “Who let off the pineapple?”
“Johnny dead?”
“Sure is — deader than a mackerel.”
Fenner turned and looked at the wrecked shack. He was feeling better every minute. With a slightly unsteady step, he moved out of the sun and sat down on an uprooted tree. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one while the three policemen and Brennan stood watching him impatiently.
Fenner wasn’t to be hurried. His mind was at work. He suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed to Brennan.
“Know something?” he said. “We’re going to bust the Blandish snatch! Here’s what you do! Get your men to look around. They’ll be looking for ground recently dug. Hurry it up!”
“What’s the idea?” Brennan demanded.
“Someone’s been buried here recently. Come on, get going! You want to bust this thing, don’t you?”
Brennan gave orders and the three policemen went off in different directions. Brennan came to sit by Fenner’s side.
“Who’s been buried?” he asked. “Let’s have it, dick, don’t act mysterious.”
“It’s my bet Riley, Bailey and Old Sam are buried around here,” Fenner said. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am.”
Brennan gaped at him.
“Who threw the pineapple?”
“Again I wouldn’t know, but I’m willing to bet it was one of the Grisson gang.”
“What would they want to do that to you for?”
“Leave it lie for a moment, Brennan,” Fenner said. “One step at a time.”
Brennan scowled at him, then he lit a cigarette and stared across the clearing at the ruined shack.
“You were lucky to get out of that alive,” he said. “I thought you were done for.”