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seated on benches or chairs along the boardwalk. One chair was in front of the
newspaper office.
He drew up and stepped down from the saddle, and a man seated there looked up
curiously.
Ruble Noon knew that this was a time in which to be wary. TheLincolnCounty
war was playing itself out, the warriors were beginning to drift to more
healthful climes, but haphazard violence continued. Solitary riders were apt
to be regarded with some suspicion until there destinations and intentions
became clear.
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He looked up the quiet street. He would have liked to sit in one of those
chairs himself, listening to the sound of voices, waiting to go to bed until
the night had cooled somewhat.
"A pleasant evening," he said. "You're not working?" he asked. He was taking
it for granted that the man belonged on the newspaper.
"No. This is a case when no news is good news," the man said. His voice
sounded young. "Riding through?"
"As a matter of fact, I was going to ask if I might go over the files of your
papers.Last year, maybe, or the year before."
"Now, that's the first time I've been asked that." The newspaper man sat up.
"Not many people care what happened that long ago. Anything I can help you
with? I've a good memory." He stood at the door of the office.
"Hell, no.To tell you the truth, Iwas just wanting to get the feel of the
country. You know, a man can read a lot between the lines of a newspaper, and
I want to see what goes on around."
"Help yourself. Try that set of drawers over there."
"Do you copy much news from out of town?Or much eastern news?"
The man's attention suddenly became sharper. "Ocassionally," he said. "If it
has any local connection wedo, or if it is of major interest. Once in a while
we use eastern orCalifornia stuff just to fill in space. Local news usually
gets around by grapevine before we can print it."
Ruble Noon went inside and took out the first sheaf of newspapers from the
drawer. Settling down near the light, he began to scan the pages.
Outside, the printer turned a little in his chair. His attention had been
arrested by the use of the word "copy." It was a newspaperman's use of the
word. He had heard it used in this way many times in the East, but rarely west
of theMississippi .
That did not imply that this stranger had been a newspaperman, but he had
seen a good many of them drifting along the trails - more since the railroad
had come in a few months back. Mallory himself was a tramp printer who had
worked on more than a dozen newspapers, and not so much as a year on any of
them after his first, when he was fourteen. He had worked in big towns and
small ones, but he preferred the little towns, and the western ones.
He had been in Mesilla for only three months now, but he was about ready to
drift. He was going to trySanta Fe next, or perhaps go toArizona . He lighted
his pipe and tipped back his chair. This stranger, now ... what he had said
was true: the best way to make a quick judgment of a town was through its
newspaper, to read the advertisements, the news items on local issues ... but
Mallory did not for a minute believe this man was interested in settling in
Mesilla.
The fact was thatLas Cruces was the coming town. Since the railroad had come
toLas Cruces the population here had fallen off a little, and the center of
activity seemed to be shifting. For himself, he liked Mesilla.
He stoked his pipe again, and glanced around, hitching his chair a little to
watch the stranger, who had finished one sheaf of papers and gone on to
another. He was scanning the paper with a rapidity that Mallory envied. He was
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obviously looking for something particular, and he seemed to be checking most
of the items.
The difficulty was that Ruble Noon did not himself know what he was looking
for. Some mention of JonasMandrin , perhaps, or some news story that might jog
his memory, some clue from the tune before he was shot. He was trying to
eliminate all items that offered no interest, reading more carefully those
items that might provide him with the information he wanted.
He was on the fourth sheaf of newspapers and it was almost midnight when he
found an item tucked away in a corner of the newspaper.
DISAPPEARANCEThe $500 reward offered for information as to the whereabouts of
JonasMandrin has been withdrawn, asMandrin , who disappeared two years ago, is
presumed dead.Mandrin , despondent after the murder of his wife and child
during his absence inNew York , was reported seen inSt. Louis and inMemphis ,
but then dropped from sight.
A noted hunter of big game and a crack shot, he was president of the newly
foundedMandrin Arms Co. of Louisville. He had formerly been a correspondent
for various newspapers and magazines in both theUnited States andEurope . The
discovery of several items of clothing and letters has led to the belief that
JonasMandrin is dead.
Ruble Noon sat very still, staring at the item. The newspaper he held in his
hands was five years old, and JonasMandrin had disappeared two years prior to
that time. The man known as Ruble Noon had appeared in aMissouri tie-camp
about a year after the disappearance. It all seemed to fit nicely.
Was he JonasMandrin ? If so, what led JonasMandrin , a sportsman and
businessman, to become Ruble Noon, themankiller ?
He returned the papers to the filing cabinet, and went to the door.
"Find what you wanted?" Mallory asked.
Ruble Noon took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, it
seems like a good place," he said, "although the railroad will make a
difference."
He stepped into the saddle and started down the street, looking for a livery
stable.
Mallory got up and went inside. He took down the first sheaf of papers and
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